#it’s been a hot minute since i last wrote something like this cut me some slack

[curry-sause]

(nobody left. you’re alone with your thoughts; abandoned in the fog so thick. your friends have left you, taking away the group’s fishstick. here you sit, staring to the sky. flyfish; i am the flyfish, you cry.

you’re out of luck; out of home. there’s strangers in your dome. left to die out in the cold. go home, little smallfry, for victory is out of your hold.)

[scififettuccine]

Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader: Darts

Pairing: Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Quick One-Shot Hurt/Comfort! Your girlfriend finds you playing darts in your office, and she can tell that something is up. If there's one thing Victoria doesn't like, it's seeing her girlfriend upset.

Word Count: 1.25k

Warnings: Darts (?), mentions of Homelander, mentions of Homelander being a whore, mentions of family death, glass cuts, corrupt government system, Vicky being a raging lesbian

Notes: I wrote this after playing darts for 3 hours. As you can see the concept has infected my brain. IF YOU DON"T UNDERSTAND HOW CRICKET WORKS WITH DARTS I'M VERY SORRY. (And honestly I don't know if the way my family plays is exactly right so don't come after me Dart Experts.) I know I put up a pole, and this option lost by a long shot, but half of it was already written and I needed to finish it since it was super gut wrenching <3

Your parents had added to the growing number of many unnecessary obituaries that came out of Homelander’s career. It happened around this time, ten years ago. Your parents had owned a bakery in the city, and on a hot day ten summers back, someone attempted to rob their small business. Of course, after the authorities were called, Vought added their golden boy to the scene. They must have expected some sort of heroic story, with a headline like “The Seven’s Homelander saves the lives of two elderly bakers, and keeps the beloved business open.” But instead of that headline, they weren't mentioned in any headline…Only in the obituary section of a few local newspapers due to Vought covering up Homelander’s sloppy use of his heat vision. The last you saw of your parents' bodies was the bottom half of one…and the top half of the other. You were twenty, planning your parent’s funeral all on your own from your dorm room halfway across the country. All Vought sent was a card extending their deepest condolences, signed by the company's CEO, and Homelander himself. Since then? You’ve had a vendetta against Homelander and Vought as a whole. Coincidentally, that's how you met your girlfriend, Victoria Neuman, and started working for The Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs.

You had been in your office all day, admittedly drowning yourself in work so you didn't have to think about it all. But once there was nothing else to drown yourself in, you cracked open another redbull and decided to play a game of darts. Since you didn't have a partner, you just decided to time yourself to see how long it would take you to clear the scoreboard: Three twenties, three nineteens, three eighteens, three seventeens, three sixteens, three fifteens, and three bullseyes. And of course…all your attempts were aimed at the sympathy card that had turned ten years old this morning. You played darts often, so you had gotten down to the bullseyes within 10 minutes. Yet the more you missed, the more you got upset…the more your mind drifted. You thought about what might have happened had you not gone off to college.

Double ninteens.

You thought about what might have happened had you just stayed and helped to better the family business.

Double sixteens.

You thought about what would have happened if you would have answered the phone when they called you earlier that day.

Shattered glass.

You gasped as the last dart you threw hit the frame you had hung on the wall, housing a photo of you and your parents holding a photo of you and your parents at your highschool graduation. You shook your head as you walked over to the mess…the dart you had thrown had pierced right through the center of the photo…right through your face. It was lodged deep into the wall, due to the force of your throw. You wanted to cry, scream out of frustration even…But a voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“Everything alright in here, pretty girl…?” You heard the voice of your girlfriend and turned around, stepping over a bit to try and hide the mess of glass shards. When your eyes met hers, there was a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah…Yeah. It’s all good, Vic. I just knocked a picture frame off the wall.” You said, desperately trying to make your voice sound a little more upbeat than it truly was. Vicky raised a brow and looked up at the dart sticking out of the wall, then over to the dart board, and then to the card that was push-pinned to the dart board. Her gaze immediately softened, and her heart dropped.

“Baby…” She started, walking further into your office so she could close the door behind her. You shook your head and turned back around, trying to pick up some of the bigger glass shards with your hands.

“I’m fine. It’s not-” You cut yourself off with a wince as a piece of the glass slit your palm. “Shit-” Vicky shook her head and quickly moved to your side. She took your hand and turned your palm so the glass you had collected would fall back into the pile.

“You’re not fine. And you’re clearly not thinking straight if you're picking up broken glass with your bare hands, you're smarter than that.” Vicky sighed, moving to untuck her dress shirt so she could wipe the blood from your palm. It was moments like these where you truly understood how much Vicky cared about you. She would ruin a perfectly white dress shirt just to wipe blood off of a small cut. “You’ve gotta talk to me, pretty girl…What’s going on? You’ve been in here all day, there's 3 empty cans of RedBull on your desk, and you just threw a dart through a picture frame. Talk. Now.” You sighed and tried to pull your hand away, to which she held it a bit tighter.

“I can’t fucking stand it. How Vought gets off scott free after every fucked up thing they do. I was twenty years old, planning my parents' funeral from my dorm room. And what was he doing? Probably getting sucked off by some higher up for ‘a job well done.’ My parents were the only people I had. I sat in the first pew of that church alone. Completely and utterly alone.” You paused to take a breath, and pointed to the card pinned to the dart board. “That’s all I got. That’s all I have to show for it. I got…what? A fifty cent card with a bogus apology and two signatures on it? My parents were-” You choked on your words. “My parents were fucking sliced in half-” Your voice seemed to have left you as Vicky pulled you against her chest, being careful of the pile of glass shards.

“I know, baby…I know.” She cooed softly, tracing patterns on your back. Admittedly, you just sobbed into her shoulder, clutching onto her blazer as if it would disappear if you didn't. The two of you just sat like that. You couldn't even say how long. It was just the two of you, Vicky whispering comforting words to you as you let the ten years of suppressed emotions finally find some relief. “You are so strong, honey…And so incredibly loved, I want you to know that. You never have to hide these things from me. Whenever you want to talk about it, I'm here. I don’t care if I’m at a meeting with the god damn president…I’ll get to you as fast as I can.” Vicky pulled your face off her shoulder, and wiped your tears ever so gently. “I love you…So fucking much. It hurts me to see you like this.” Vicky herself was almost choked up at the sight of you in such sadness. She kissed your lips softly, before she moved to press her forehead against yours, her hands holding both sides of your face. “What can I do to make you feel even just a little bit better…? Say the word and it's yours.” She whispered. You swallowed and took a breath as you placed your hands over hers.

“Ice cream…and a Band-Aid.” You replied softly. Vicky laughed and squeezed your cheeks ever so slightly. 

“That's it? Just ice cream and a Band-Aid? You could have anything and you chose ice cream and a Band-Aid?” She smiled and shook her head, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips.

“Yeah…That’s it.” You replied softly.

“Alright pretty girl…what flavor?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well...what can I say? Shes my favorite. Hope you liked it as much as I did, most likely starting either Butcher x Supe!Reader or Soldier Boy x Sidekick!Reader real soon depending on the results of the pole...It's been really really close! Adieu!

[strwbnnie]

chileee what is up with me & angst 😭 I was able to salvage this from my notes so I thought why not post it lol probably my first and last aot piece cause idk how to write them fr 😭 & sorry to the Reiner loves cause I wrote him so mean 😭

cw: fat shaming, fat phobia, best friend Eren, ex-boyfriend Reiner, mention of cheating, verbal abuse, mention of k!lling, friends to lovers, one sided pining, sorry if I missed anything!

Word count is undetermined but it’s not that long.

❀

Eren hasn’t said a word to you since you arrived at his apartment, puffy eyed and soaking wet from the rain, just stepped out of the way and allowed you to walk in. 

You didn’t blame him, it’d been quite a while since the two of you had last spoken. Two or three weeks maybe, you couldn’t remember. It was difficult keeping track of time when your mind was slowly but surely shutting down. Either way it made you feel like shit. 

You wanted to to sit and talk to him but your first priority was getting out of those wet clothes. You went straight to his bedroom, closing yourself in the en-suite.

You let the shower run for a little bit, fogging up the room and hopefully drowning out your sorrow as you sit on the covered toilet, aimlessly scrolling. You checked the notifications on your phone, tapping around until you heard your ex-boyfriend’s voice projecting from the speakers. 

“Baby, just come back home. Please, let’s just talk about it.” “Hear me out, Y/N. I’m sorry okay, just come back.”

The way he was pleading you’d think he actually gave a damn about you.

“Come on Y/N,” There’s a short pause and a deep sigh. You know it’s coming. You hear the change in his tone, that false compassion and empathy has withered away. “Let’s face it, Y/N. Nobody’s gonna want you but me. Nobody’s into fat bitches. You’re lucky your face is cute. Nothing but a pretty face and a hole to fuck. Or should I say holes? I’m sure a slut like you takes it up the ass too-.”

Globs of hot tears ran down your face, budding at your chin and pooling on the screen of your phone. You deleted the nasty voice message Reiner left, only thirteen seconds into the minute and twelve second voice message, his harsh words breaking your heart all over again. 

The wound was still fresh and he did nothing but cut you deeper. Why was he like that???

Blocking his number so you wouldn’t receive anymore, you were ready to be done with this shit. Ready to heal from Reiner and all the bullshit he‘s put you through.

After your eyes are cried out and your skin is parched from the piping hot water, you finally exit. 

You didn’t leave with anything except your purse, phone and the clothes on your back, so you’re more than grateful to see a white tshirt and a towel on Eren’s bed waiting for you. The shirt was a little tight on your arms and the hem ended right at the cusp of your butt but it was better than nothing. 

The California King in his bedroom looked freshly made, plush and inviting, but you’d spent far too many nights alone in an empty bed while your so-called partner occupied another. You should’ve known that’s how it’d be when you decided to get yourself into a domesticated situationship with a narcissistic cheater.

You opted for the couch, where Eren was also sitting. He’s munching on a bowl of cereal watching some crime documentary. The atmosphere is dull, but it’s not as bad as you thought it’d be.

“Hey!”

He didn’t bother feigning the same excitement, sending nothing but a head nod you’re way but you’re still grateful to get something out of him.

Maybe he was annoyed, which he had every right to be. It was late as hell, around three in the morning, and you honestly felt a little bad. Showing up out of the blue and forcing him to share his space. 

“I really appreciate you letting me stay here, there were no rooms available anywhere.”

He ignored you, you figured he would. He hasn’t said much since you’ve been there. He’s treating you as if you’re a stranger, almost.

Unfortunately the documentary has lost all of his interest, he figured out the wife was the killer all along and there’s no reason to keep watching. 

Now he’s stretching out, manspreading if you will, with his legs cocked open. He’s sporting that same bored look, except now he’s on his phone watching TikTok’s with his volume obnoxiously loud.

Honestly, he didn’t even touch this app unless he was watching the shit ton of videos you sent him at some manic hour of the night. But right now he needed something to distract him. To distract him from everything only you made him feel.

“I get paid Friday, I can send you something once it’s deposited, my money lookin kinda funny right now so...” 

You’d spent close to your last getting an Uber to Eren’s. You weren’t sure why you even decided to come to Eren’s. Your parents lived in the same city and they probably would’ve been more welcoming than he was being right about now. 

“When have I ever asked you to pay me back for anything y/n?” 

His tone isn’t cold or mean, but indifferent. Like he doesn’t care. You’re sure he doesn’t. 

The tension is almost tangible, thick and suffocating.

“I know, but-“ You cut yourself off, stumbling over your words. Your throat is scratchy and your mouth dry. You didn’t know exactly what to say to mend things between you and your bestfriend. 

You hoped to pick up the pieces. Pickup where you left off like the two of y’all always did. But this here just showed how dumb and deluded you really were.

“I’m sorry…you were right.” You feel ashamed. Embarrassed even.

You can feel him staring at you, so you keep your eyes glued to your hands in your lap, twirling your thumbs in hopes to make amends. 

“What are you talking about, y/n?” You can feel his gaze boring into you.

“About Reiner…and every-everything else really. We not getting back together, forreal this time, I can’t.”

He was right about everything. Reiner was an immature asshole. You trusted his smooth talking, pretty smile and it backfired horrendously. 

Reiner was verbally abusive, insecure and mean, and he projected it without a care. Tore you down every chance he got, belittling you until you were almost an empty shell of your former self. 

On top of that, he was insensitive as hell, bullied you worse than any of those middle and high school nobodies you no longer remembered.

He’d probably use his last breath to lie, just because. If you were blind he’d tell you the sun was blue and the sky was yellow, for no reason whatsoever other than to be a dick. 

All of this Eren warned you about, but you just had to go and see for yourself. You fell for the first boy to show interest in you. The first to give you attention and affection. The first one who wasn’t looking to ‘try it out’ with a fat girl or looked at you like some pity case. 

So you thought. 

“You’ve said that before.”

“I know! But I mean it this time, and I’m so sorry for ghosting you and lying a-and putting him first before our friendship cause..I know you wouldn’t do that to me and I’m such an awful person-.”

Your sniffles turned into sobs, deep sobs that shook your entire body against his when he finally went against his stubborn ways and pulled you into a hug. 

You sound sincere, but Eren doesn’t know if he believes you. Hell it wouldn’t be the first time you lied to him about getting back with Reiner.

He wanted to tell you off. Scold you and yell at you for abandoning him. For giving him your ass to kiss cus you thought you were in love, only to come crawling back asking him to pick up the fucking pieces, again.

“I should’ve listened to you.”

Words muffled into his chest but he heard you. 

“You should’ve.” He doesn’t mean to sound condescending but it’s true. “I don’t like seeing you cry.” 

His voice startled you a little bit, velvety and deep, chest rumbling as he still had you pressed up against his frame. The aloof facade cracking with each sob. 

“I’ll handle it.”

He’d handle it. Handle him. 

His arms embraced you tighter. One holding you against him while the other ran down your back, over your thigh then back up again as he allowed you to bawl your eyes out.

“I hate when you talk like that Ren,” You leaned back to look at him. “You know I don’t like unnecessary viole-.” 

He grabs your face mid sentence, squishing your cheeks together, your lips round and pouty as you stared back at him. 

“How’s it unnecessary when my princess is sitting here with tears running down her pretty ass face?”

It slipped but he made no attempt to correct it.

His princess. He’d always called you a princess, especially when y’all were younger. He found it very intriguing how spoiled you were, especially by the men in your life. Dad, uncles, even Eren himself. 

He remembers saving up his little paychecks from working part time to spoil you as well, buying you little trinkets and gifts you probably didn’t even have anymore. 

Nothing was unnecessary when it came to his princess. He’d die for you. Kill for you, even. You were the light of his dim life. Why wouldn’t you just realize it?

[fallingdownhell]

I'd kill for you to write some Xiao x fem reader smut

No need to kill anyone, I'm so down to doing it without that xD

Though, it has been a hot minute since I last wrote smut, so I apologize in advance if it's not the best

Content ahead: female bodied reader; top reader; bottom Xiao; ooc Xiao; nipple play; coming untouched; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; praise; no protection; creampie; not proofread yet

Word count: 3,8k words

Sorry it took me this long to write it, but still, have fun reading&lt;3

I hope I did not forget to mention anything of the content. But if I did, please tell me so I can add it!

Minors do NOT interact!

You sighed as you collapsed on your couch, completely exhausted from a long day of travelling around and fulfilling commissions. The heat of the sun during this hot summer day didn't exactly help either, only adding to the pile of external factors that kept draining your energy.

For a few minutes, you just laid there, contemplating wether you should just get up and take a well needed and deserved shower, or just fall unconscious right here and now.

But in the end, a shower seemed far too appealing, with the way you felt dirty from all the sweating during the day. So, with a grumble, you got up and went to your bathroom, hoping that the water would aid you in feeling a bit more relaxed.

And in the end, it did help. Once you exited the shower and finally put on your pyjama, you felt like an entirely new person. You couldn't help but take a deep breath of relief, before working on your skin-care-routine in front of the mirror.

When finally satisfied with the well deserved self-care, you unwrapped the towel on your head, letting your still wet hair fall down. You only brushed through it, deciding to just let the rest dry on the air.

Finally feeling better again, you exited the bathroom to once again make yourself comfortable in the living after getting something to eat.

When you got out and rounded the corner towards your living room, you got the scare of a lifetime when you noticed a person standing there in the middle of the room.

You let out a short scream, ready to summon your weapon and fight for your life, when the figure turned around. That's when you finally recognized the familiar hair and stature of the intruder to be Xiao.

You visibly relaxed and let out a deep breath, beginning to laugh a bit at the situation.

"Xiao! Archons, you scared me! Don't do that."

"Sorry..", was the only answer you got back. You noticed his tone sounded a bit strange, almost a little... beat up. You approached him and in getting closer to him, you finally noticed it.

"You're hurt!", you exlaimed as you saw several cuts all over his body. You knew that as an adeptus, Xiao's body couldn't be compared to that of a mere human. But this was still strange.

Precisely because he is an adeptus, his own healing powers should have already taken care of such injuries. But here he was, clearly not healing the wounds.

When you pointed it out, he turned his head to the side, but said nothing about it.

"I'm sorry, I.. shouldn't have come here.."

But he was here. And the fact that he allowed you to see him like that and wasn't trying to hide it from you, told you more than you needed to know. He felt safe with you and trusted you to take care of him.

Even if he denied it afterwards, saying that he can take care of himself, sometimes, the touch and love deprived adeptus just wanted to be doted on.

"Come on", you gently said, extending your hand towards him. "Let's get you fixed up again."

And when he looked at your hand first and then your soft smiling face, he couldn't find it in himself to deny you of anything. So, without protest, he took your hand and went with you to the bathroom, where you kept your first aid kit.

You knew that there probably wasn't much stuff in there that would actually do anything for him, but it was the closest thing you had in your household, so you both just had to deal with that for the time being.

Making him sit on the bathroom floor, you went to look for said bag and when you found it, you took a seat in front of him, starting by assessing his condition.

In the end, Xiao wasn't in as bad a shape as you had initially thought. Sure there were many cuts scattered all over his body, but those really were just minor scrapes you only needed to clean out a bit.

However, there was a noticeably bigger one, stretched across his left upper arm. Since you couldn't really do much, you opted to clean it and then wrap some bandages around it. You would leave it there until the morning, and if his adepti powers hadn't healed it till then, you would have to find some other way to patch him back up.

Throughout this entire ordeal, Xiao kept quiet, simply watching you moving around, trying to help him, even though he could clearly see how tired you yourself were.

Once you were finally done, smiling to yourself while looking at your boyfriend, Xiao still didn't say anything. Instead, he began to lean forward a bit, letting his head come to rest right under your chin, while slowly wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

You were a bit surprised by his actions, but quickly adjusted your position to sit more comfortably, returning the hug by placing one hand around his back and the other into his hair, softly massaging his scalp.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he melted into your touch, plus the added reassurance he got from listening to your heartbeat made Xiao feel at peace again. He often felt like this when being with you, and although he wasn't quite used to it yet, he still very much enjoyed it. You slowly but surely became his sole reason to keep going, to not succumb to his dark and twisted desires. And he loved you even more for it, for saving him without you even realising it.

No words were spoken as you both sat there for a few more minutes, just basking in each others presence. Silence never felt uncomfortable between the two of you, and you were grateful for it.

When you pulled away from Xiao for the first time, he too raised his head to look into your eyes. You both studied each others faces as you slowly leaned in, getting closer and closer until finally, your lips met in a slow, loving kiss.

There was no urgency whatsoever behind the kiss, just a soft press of your lips against each other, conveying just how much love you had for the other.

When you parted again, you looked into Xiao's eyes, able to see the lust behind them, slowly beginning to cloud over him. He did the same as his grip around your waist tightened a bit, trying to hold you even closer to him.

Then, the next second, your lips crashed together again, but more forceful this time around. It was a messy, open-mouthed kiss that openly displayed the desperation the both of you had tried to hold back.

You burried both your hands into his hair, gripping tight and pulling him in even more. A soft moan escaped Xiao's lips as he used his strength to press you against him, so you could feel how turned on he was from all this.

You were the first to break the kiss again, gasping for air, while Xiao settled with kissing down your neck and nibbling on the exposed skin there. His hips had started to grind against clothed cunt, the friction feeling incredible, as his hands wandered upwards to cup your breasts, gently kneading them.

"Mhh..", you let out softly, hands still in his hair, holding him against your neck. Now joining in with the motion of his hips, you matched his pace and were able to draw yet another quiet moan out of him.

"Bedroom.", you managed to get out in a low breath, but you still managed to get Xiao's attention.

"Yes!" He sounded desperate, but you refrained from laughing at him, fearing that he would dissapear on you if you did that.

Instead, you both scrambled to get up from the floor, but as soon as you were standing, his lips were on yours again, desperate to feel you against him again.

You moaned into the kiss, trying to guide the two of you towards your bedroom. Luckily, it was just acroos the hallway, but it still proved itself a difficult task.

But you made it, and when you were sure of your destination, you gave Xiao a slight push, making him land with his back against the mattress. He was about to protest, but you didn't waste any time and immediately climbed on top of him.

Your still clothed cunt pressing against his erection again, you continued to grind against him, giving him more of that delicious friction. He let out a moan, but it was quickly swollowed as you leaned in for another kiss.

Soon, both your hips were moving in rythm, riling each other up even more. Xiao gripped your hips, desperately trying to push you down even more.

You smiled into the kiss, deepening it even more when you slid your tongue into his mouth, exploring it.

But you soon noticed that Xiao, although he seemed to enjoy it, wasn't really doing anything. He didn't really initiate anything to take things further. And while you were concerned for a second, you soon realized it.

That maybe, today was one of those nights. Where he didn't want to be in control. Where he just wanted to relax, let you do anything that you wanted to him, without having to care about anything at all. But, not wanting to just assume anything, you had to make sure. After all, you wanted this to be enjoyable for the both of you.

So, you slowed down your movements against his clothed cock, which obviously seemed to upset Xiao. He let out a frustrated noise as he pushed his hips up further into you, grinding even harder now.

"Xiao, darling. Slow down.", you whispered into his ear, one hand gently pressing against his chest. He whined at that, but still listened to you, slowing down his movements but never stopping completely.

You leaned back a bit so you could look at your boyfriend beneath you. He was looking up at you, his eyes clouded over with lust and desperation.

"Why.. did I... something wrong?"

He was already unable to form a proper sentence and you guys haven't really started yet. It was adorable. But you refrained from straight up pouncing on him again.

"No, baby. You did nothing wrong. But I need you to tell me what you want tonight. I don't want to assume anything.", you reassured him, gently grazing your fingertips over his arm and chest.

Xiao looked up at you, his eyes filled with the love he held for you. He knew that you knew what he wanted, but you still needed him so say it. "Want you.. only you. Do what you want, I don't care!"

You couldn't control yourself anymore. After hearing him so needy and desperate, the last thread of restraint within you finally snapped, as you went down to attack his neck while pressing your hips into his again.

Xiao cried out at the sudden pleasure, thrusting up into you in a hectic rythm. He circled his arms around your head, keeping you pressed against his neck, as you altered between kissing and licking his skin. You could clearly feel how hard he was through his clothes, shortly wondering how he could still be so sensitive even after all the times you already did it. Not that you were complaining about it, in fact, you find it rather adorable.

As you were still busy marking up his neck, your hands wandered down his chest and slipped underneath his shirt, pushing it up until you reached his nipples. Slowly circling them with your fingers, they quickly hardened under your touch, causing Xiao to let out a loud moan.

He quickly threw an arm over his mouth to try and keep him more quiet. "Don't do that", you said as you detached yourself from his neck, looking into his eyes while slowly wandering down his chest. "I want to hear you, hear everything."

And as he began to lift his arm up again, you smiled and started to lick one of his nipples, taking it into your mouth, sucking on it, before circling it with your tongue again.

"A-Ah! (Name)!"

You continued with it, one hand keeping itself busy with the other nipple, while your free hand gently caressed the skin on Xiao's hip. He was squirming so much under your touch. His cock, still in the confines of his clothes, was throbbing and pressing against your stomach. And in your mind, you wondered if you could push him over the edge like this.

"Please, I'm so close! Please, please... touch me!", he cried out, gripping the sheets beneath him, trying to thrust up more into you, to get more friction against his dick. But you wouldn't budge.

"Not yet.", you whispered, before attaching your mouth to his other nipple, switching places with your hand. "I want to see you come undone like this first. Can you do that for me, darling?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!", Xiao screamed, already so close to his orgasm. He could feel it, so, so close..

"Then do it."

As you said that, you gently bit his nipple, pinching the other between your fingers, pushing him over that delicious edge. You felt his cock throbbing in his pants as he screamed, coming from all the pleasure he was recieving.

His entire body spasmed as he came down from his high, eyes glazed over with lust as he looked at you. His mouth hung open, his chest heaving up and down heavily with each breath and you smiled at him.

You crawled up to him again, giving him a gentle kiss to his cheek as he was still out of breath.

"You did so good, Xiao. Such a good boy for me.", you praised him, knowing that he needed this. He needed to know that you were satisfied with him, that he did nothing wrong. Because, even in moments like these, that was still a constant fear in his mind.

"Are you ready for more?", you whispered into his ear, and although Xiao didn't trust himself to speak again just yet, he still nodded, giving you the okay to go ahead.

You smiled at him again, giving him a quick, loving kiss. Then, you worked on getting Xiao out of his clothes, first his already pushed up shirt, then to his shorts. Once he was only in his underwear, you got rid of your own shirt, finally revealing your soft breasts to him.

His eyes were immediately fixed on them. With the way he was looking at them, you thought that he could almost start drooling.

You couldn't help but laugh a little at the thought, as you got up a bit to get rid of your sleep short and your panties along with them. But, even now, Xiao's eyes were still fixed on your breasts.

"Do you want to touch them?", you asked, cupping them in your hands, playing with them, while you remained out of Xiao's immediate reach.

"Please!", he begged, not feeling above it anymore. He needed this badly and he would do anything to achieve it.

You smiled at him as you crawled towards him, your legs now on either side of his chest, with your pussy hovering in the air above him, your breasts now hanging in front of his face.

"Go ahead."

Once given the go, Xiao immediately cupped them in his hands, latching his mouth and tongue onto your nipple, trying to make you feel just as good as you did to him a few minutes ago.

"Mhh..", you let out a soft hum at the feeling, enjoying it. You let him play with them for a while, holding his head close to you as he switched between your breasts.

Then, unbeknownst to him, you let your free hand wander between your own thighs, starting to prepare yourself for him. You slowly circled your fingers around your clit, playing with it.

Realizing how wet you already were, you easily slipped a finger inside yourself. "Ahh!", a moan escaped your mouth at the feeling of intrusion. That sound only spurred Xiao on even more, now also starting to knead the soft flesh in his hands.

With the added stimulation, you pressed against his mouth more, slipping another finger inside yourself to stretch you even more. And as you glanced behind you, you caught sight of Xiao, already hard in his boxers again, thrusting up into the air, searching for some kind of friction against his aching cock.

Now eager yourself, you pushed a third finger inside, feeling a bit of discomfort at that, but the added stimulation from both your clit and your breasts easily drowned that out, turning it into pleasure.

You continued to let out low hums and moans, spurring Xiao on with them, who shamelessly moaned against your skin.

When you felt like you prepared enough, you pulled back from Xiao's face, sliding down his chest to sit on his dick again. At first, he chased after you, but as soon as he felt you on him where he needed it the most, his head fell back again, moaning loudly at the contact.

"Ahh! (Name), please!"

"Are you ready for more?", you asked above him, slowly circling your hips on top of his boxers.

"Yes! Please, please! I want it!"

A smirk present on your lips, you gribbed the last fabric of clothes remaining on his body, pushing it down. Wet, sticky noises could be heard as you did so, the cum from his previous orgasm staining parts of the fabric. When he was finally freed from it, some of it still remaining on his hard cock, you gently took him in his hands to give him a few strokes.

"A-Ahh!! Oh... Archons! So... goooood!", he wailed loudly, not even trying to hide his voice anymore. His body twisted and turned, probably because he was still sensitive, but his hips still tried to thrust up into your strokes, not wanting the pleasure to stop.

But by now, you were impatient as well. You wanted to feel Xiao inside you again, not wanting to wait any longer.

So, not wanting to loose any time, you gribbed him by the base, holding him there, while you positioned yourself above him. Before you lowered your cunt onto him, you looked him into the eyes, whispering a soft "I love you", then you sank down on him.

Xiao, who was opening his mouth to reply back to you, had the words punched out of him, a loud moan coming out in their stead as he felt his cock going inside you.

So wet, so tight, so warm...

It was such an overwhelming feeling, he had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from immediately coming again. He could feel everything of you, how his cock twitched inside you, as you bottomed out, taking all of him.

"Hah.. ahh.. (name).."

Xiao was gone. The last thread of sense he tried to hold on to was finally cut. He cared for nothing else anymore but you and him, together like this. And he wanted it to never end.

You, on the other hand, felt the same way as him. But you were also impatient, having dragged out your own orgasm for far too long. So, eager to finally get your release as well, you slowly raised your hips, before sinking down on him again.

"Ahh! Yes! Yes!"

"Mhh, Xiao..", you hummed as you leaned down to catch his lips in a heated kiss again, starting to raise the pace of your hips with each thrust. Xiao tried to match you, thrusting up into your cunt in rythm with your own movements, making him reach even deeper inside of you.

You both moaned into the kiss, swallowing each others noises, but not drowning them out completely. When you finally pulled away again to catch your breath, you noticed how Xiao's thrusts were starting to grow more irregular. He must be close.

"(Name)! (name), (name), (name)!", he chanted your name like a prayer, seemingly not able to form any other, coherent words.

"Are you close, darling?", you asked, watching him as he shut his eyes closed, his brows furrowed, nodding his head at your question.

"So... so close!"

"Me too. Touch me, Xiao."

And he knew exactly what you wanted him to do. Without wasting a second, his hand flew to your clit, circling it and stroking it between two fingers, giving you the stimulation that you needed.

"Ahh...", you let out a moan, picking up your speed even more.

"Please, please! I'm.. close! Coming..", Xiao whined beneath you. He was so close, desperatley wanting to come, and yet, you could tell that he was still holding back. But you were not about to let him suffer anymore.

"Do it. Come for me, Xiao. Be a good boy and do it."

"AHH! Coming, coming!"

As he screamed, you felt his cock twitching, releasing inside you like you asked him to do. His mouth still hanging open, unintelligible noises coming out of him as he continued to empty himself. His movements against your clit slowing down for a few seconds, before he picked it up again.

But you have not yet finished. So, you continued to push his cock in and out of you, even as he started to whine from the overstimulation.

"(Name)! Too much! It's.... too much!"

"I'm almost there, baby. Just.."

Hearing that, he concentrated on his fingers, making you feel good and before you knew it, you were pushed over the edge as well, your walls spasming and clenching around his cock, still inside of you.

"Ahh, Xiao!", you moaned as Xiao tried to hold back his tears, the feeling starting to become too much for him to handle. Yet, he continued to stroke your clit through your orgasm, wanting to earn your praise still.

When you finally came down from your high again, still twitching a bit, you focused your gaze on Xiao, who looked up at you. You gave him a soft smile, leaning down to capture him in a kiss again, but this time, slower and more loving.

Your lips were lazily moving against his, the fatigue catching up to the both of you now.

"Shower?", you asked as you pulled away from him. Xiao groaned as he nodded at your question.

You both made your way to the shower, cleaning each other up while whispering sweet and loving words into each others ears. That night, no nightmares came to haunt Xiao in his sleep as he felt saved and loved in your embrace.

[sequinsmile-x]

Cotton

They lose themselves in each other. Soft sighs and touches that make her feel delicate, but not in a way that makes her feel weak, but strong. Like she’s made of the most precious strands of thread all tied together just for him to unravel.

AKA - Aaron and Emily's first time

-x-

Hi friends,

This is a birthday fic for the lovely @cloudlessly-light <3 I hope you had a wonderful day and I love you very much!!

It's been a hot minute since I wrote some smut and it never gets any less nerve-wracking to write for some reason.

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, Smut

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She laughs as they step into his apartment. His hands on her hips as he steadies her when she almost slips, the rainwater from the downpour they’d been caught in dripping down onto the hardwood floor. 

“I should have checked the weather forecast,” he mumbles, closing the door behind them, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he helps her out of her soaked through coat, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t exactly the romantic walk I had in mind.” 

It had only been six weeks. Six amazing weeks since she’d first leant forward and kissed him, bored of waiting for him to make the first move, the knowledge that they’d already wasted so much time pushing her forward until her lips met his. They’d been on as many dates as they could, ranging from nights curled up on either his couch or hers as they watched a movie, or going out for dinner like they had tonight. Both of them sat on the same side of the table, hands linked in front of them as they exchanged kisses and conversation as if things had always been this way. 

He’d chosen the restaurant. A French place within walking distance of his apartment building. She’d arrived at his, go-bag tucked away in the trunk of her car in case this turned into a sleepover, and they’d walked there hand in hand, enjoying the cool autumn air around them as they went. At some point during the meal it had started to rain. A light drizzle that she insisted they’d be fine walking in when he suggested they get a cab to his place. About halfway back the heavens had opened, a heavy downpour taking them both by surprise as she’d stopped to kiss him on a street corner. They’d half-run the rest of the way, their hands still clasped tightly as they held onto each other, laughing as if they were in some kind of movie, a type of peace Emily liked to think they’d both earned. 

She smiles and cups his cheek, tasting the rainwater against his lips when she kisses him, “Don’t apologise,” she kisses him again, unable to stop the shiver that passes through her, “Getting caught in the rain like that is very romantic,” she smiles and kisses him one last time before she pulls back, “Very old Hollywood.” 

Aaron chuckles, something about her presence soothing him. He’s distracted as a drop of cold water runs down his back, and she watches her shiver too, “What isn’t romantic is catching a cold because of the rain,” he says, squeezing her hand before he guides her further into the apartment, “You can have the bathroom first,” he clears his throat, embarrassment he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager climbing up it, “I’ll find you something to change into.” 

She presses her lips together in an attempt to suppress her smile, never wanting him to think she was making fun of him. They’d mutually agreed, without really having to say anything, that they’d wait to have sex until they were both ready, not going beyond making out and wondering hands as they ignored whatever movie they were pretending to watch. He’d only ever been with Haley. And neither of them had been with anyone since they were torn apart by their respective monsters, the landscapes of their bodies forever changed and scarred by the anger of two dead men. 

She’d come to terms with the changes to her body, could mostly ignore the phantom ache in her abdomen these days, and she’d bought new lingerie for tonight just in case it was the night. The dark red lace of it was sticking to her skin, painted down by the heavy rain they’d been caught in, and she grimaces at the sensation. 

When she steps into his bathroom she groans at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her carefully applied makeup had run down her face, and her once-curled hair now flat and stuck to her skin. She does her best to take off her make up without her usual products, and she’s just about finished drying most of the excess water out of her hair with a towel he’d passed her on her way in when she hears a gentle knock on the door. 

“I’ve left something for you to wear out here,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by the wood, “I was thinking of making some hot chocolate to warm us up.” 

She smiles, not feeling the need to hide it now she is alone, and she feels her cheeks warm up with affection for him, “That sounds nice,” she replies, “I wouldn’t be against you spiking it with something.” 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

The nickname makes a shiver run through her that has nothing to do with her damp clothes still sticking to her skin, her blood fizzing in her veins as she shakes her head at herself. She opens the bathroom door and grabs the clothes he’d left for her, smiling at the sight of a pair of grey sweatpants and an old, worn FBI t-shirt. She slips off her dress and the lingerie, hiding them under the damp black dress as she leaves them in the corner of his bathroom, leaving the thought of how she’d get them home until later, and she changes into his clothes. She rolls the waistband of the sweatpants so they fit a little better, and slips on his t-shirt, taking a moment to smell the material, the scent of him washing over her. 

She steps out of the bathroom and seeks him out, spotting his damp suit hanging over the back of a chair in the corner of his bedroom as she goes. She feels a spark in her belly when she finds him in his kitchen wearing a matching outfit to hers - the sweatpants and t-shirt more formfitting than the way they almost drowned her frame - and she clears her throat, taking some pride in the way he looks at her. An unmistakable flash of desire in his eyes that makes her feel powerful, and she can’t help but wonder how he’d look at her if he’d seen her in the lingerie hidden away in his bathroom. 

“You look nice,” he says, cursing himself for the way it sounds as he says it and he clears his throat, going back to his task of making the hot chocolates. She takes pity on him and walks over, wrapping her arms around his back and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“You too,” she says, kissing his shoulder through his shirt, “I like seeing you in casual clothes.” 

He places his hand over hers on his abdomen, squeezing their fingers together as he replies, “I like seeing you in my clothes.” 

She shifts so they are looking at each other and she sees everything she’s feeling, love, affection and a sense of finally, shining back at her when their eyes meet. She leans in and kisses him, smiling into it when he places his hand on her waist. “Come on,” she says, stamping a kiss against his lips again, “Let’s go drink our hot chocolates.” 

They settle on the couch, curled up together under a blanket he pulls over them. She snuggles as close to him as she can, ducking under the arm he wraps around her and seeking out the warmth that seems to flow off of him like a cologne. Another thing to draw her in towards him as if she needs another excuse. 

“How are you still so warm?” She grumbles jokingly, taking a sip from her hot chocolate, and the sweetness of it and the pleasant burn of the scotch he’d added makes her sigh contentedly. “It’s like you’re a human radiator.” 

“It’s all a tactic to make you sit as close to me as possible,” he says wryly, smiling at her as she rolls her eyes at him. 

“Well,” she says, resting her head on his chest, “Now I know why you conveniently forgot to check the weather.” 

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of her head, “Damn it, you’ve caught me out.” 

She laughs and takes another sip of her hot chocolate, happy and content as she lets herself get wrapped up in the warmth of him and the sweet drink. Once they’ve finished he takes her mug from her, unwrapping himself from around her as he leans forward to place them on the coffee table. As soon as he’s settled again she slips into his lap, her arms around his neck as she leans in to kiss him, chasing the last of the chocolate on his tongue. 

They lose themselves in each other. Soft sighs and touches that make her feel delicate, but not in a way that makes her feel weak, but strong. Like she’s made of the most precious strands of thread all tied together just for him to unravel. She moans when his hand slips beneath her shirt, his shirt, and she tightens her grip on him, her fingers digging into his hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp. She shifts so she’s straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips and his groan rumbles from his chest into hers, his hands more insistent on her back, the callouses of his fingers drawing shivers from her as he chases the goose pimples he’s created. 

It’s only when she rolls her hips against his, an instinctual thing she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to, when he stops her. His hand’s shifting to her hips, his touch gentle as he squeezes. 

“Em-”

“I’m sure,” she says, answering the question she knows is on the tip of his tongue, the one she can see in his eyes, “As long as you are.” 

He presses his forehead against hers, “Emily…I…” 

“If you’re not ready I understand,” she says, pulling back to look at him, running her fingers through his hair, hoping he can’t see the pre-emptive disappointment in her eyes. 

“It’s not that,” he swallows thickly, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he averts his gaze, “I just don’t want to disappoint you.” 

It makes her smile, his uncharacteristic shyness making something she knew she couldn’t bring herself to call love yet start to simmer in her gut, “That’s not possible,” she says, leaning forward to kiss him again, “You could never disappoint me.” 

He nods, pulling her closer, something about her, about the naked honesty in her eyes, that makes his nerves die down, “Bedroom.” 

She beams at him, leaning in to kiss him, firm and full of intent before she scrambles off his lap, her hand reaching out for his as he stands too, “Bedroom.” 

By the time they make it to his bedroom, his shyness is all but gone, the image of her in his clothes and the way she’s smiling at him enough to stoke out its flames. He turns her in his arms and holds her close as he leans down to kiss her, his hands on her cheeks as he encourages her backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed. He smiles as he pulls back, her hands on his wrists as he continues to cup her cheeks, their smiles soft as he leans back in, the kiss firmer this time but no less tender. She’s grateful that they’d discussed the practicalities a few weeks ago, his smile shy as it made him look impossibly young when he asked if he needed to buy supplies for when they were ready. She’d felt just as shy when she’d replied that she had it covered, the little packet of pills in her medicine cabinet proving their worth beyond just regulating her cycle. 

She drops her hands down to his waist, her fingers tangling in the thin material of his shirt, and she encourages it upwards, her touch soft as it grazes his sides. She feels him hesitate when her fingers graze a line of thicker skin and she pulls back, her eyes meeting his as she silently asks him if it’s okay to continue and he nods. She pulls his shirt off, helped along by him letting go of her just long enough to do so, and she doesn’t take her eyes off of him as she lets the t-shirt flutter to the floor. His scars are more healed than hers are, lines of silver painted across his skin, like cracks in a statute, only adding to his beauty as he looks him up and down. 

“I know they’re not-”

“No,” she says, cutting off his self-deprecation as she traces a finger over the one highest on his chest, smiling softly as he shivers at a sensation she knew all too well, “They’re made of you,” she says, smiling at him as she cups his cheek and drags him in for a kiss, “You’re beautiful.” 

He kisses her in response because that’s all he can do, all the words he wants to say caught in his chest because it somehow feels too early and too late to say any of them, love for her he’s hidden even from himself lingering just beneath the surface. They drop to the bed as one, and he’s careful to make sure he doesn’t crush her, one of his hands next to her as he settles over her, one of his knees wedged between hers. His nose bumps against hers as he tugs gently at the hem of her shirt, and she nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she closes her eyes. The cool air of the room makes her suck in a breath as she arches her back so he can pull the thin cotton away. She waits, her eyes still screwed closed as she waits for him to move, to do something as her scars tingle, a phantom pain that never quite went away. 

She gasps when he leans in to kiss the brand on her breast, his lips warm against the partially numb skin. It’s tender, soft and loving and the complete opposite of the moment of violence that had left it there. She feels like she’s burning again but instead of the smell of her flesh on the air or the feel of Ian’s breath on her neck, all she is aware of is Aaron. She gasps out his name, her hands looping around his neck as she holds him in place, wanting to feel like this for every moment of her life. 

“Beautiful,” he mutters, the word pressed against her skin as he shifts downwards, her eyes drifting open as he kisses the starburst of scar tissue beneath her rib cage, his lips and tongue tracing the constellations left behind. Her breath catches in her chest when he makes it to the waistband of his sweatpants and he groans, his forehead against her stomach before he looks up at her, “I really love seeing you in my clothes.” 

She chuckles breathlessly, reaching down to run her fingers through his hair, “You should see the lingerie I was wearing before we got soaked through in the rain. Much sexier.” she giggles when his eyes go wide, a sound that turns into a moan when he kisses her low on her belly, “Next time.” 

He nods, “Next time.” 

It makes her smile when he looks for confirmation that she’s okay to carry on, as if they weren’t half naked and lying together on his bed. She nods as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants she’s wearing. Her breath catches in her chest when he grazes his palms over her thighs before he leans back over her, his lips catching hers as she turns her head to chase his kiss, desperate to have him as close as possible. She gasps, her breath skipping across his face, when he drags his fingers through her, his thumb catching on her clit as she presses her forehead against his. 

“Please,” she gasps out, even though he hasn’t stopped, his touch soft and slightly hesitant as he chases her gasps and moans, paying close attention to what draws the sounds from her. He holds her close, his other than on her waist and his forehead still against hers as he watches her. His gaze unrelenting as she tips over the edge, her grip on his arm tight as she sucks in a breath, every one of her nerve endings on fire. She pulls him in for a kiss, her fingers tangled in his hair and she’s still gasping for breath when she pulls back, her chest heaving with it as she chokes out a half-demand, “Take off your pants.” 

When he stands up to do just that she’d bereft, the air around her cold as he takes the warmth with him for the few moments it takes him to take off his sweatpants. Then he’s back, settling between her thighs as she spreads them, and he��s lying over her, his hands reaching for hers, their fingers tangling as he rests them near her head. When he pushes forward they both groan at the stretch, his forehead dropping to her collarbone, his lips catching the skin nearby as he stills, giving her time to adjust. 

There was a time, years ago now, when she thought they’d give into this in entirely different circumstances, be it in anger or desperation, and that they’d have a quick fuck in his office or a hotel room in a nameless town. As time went on, she’d hoped for something like this, something soft and tender, no matter how naive it may have felt. A vulnerability that came with it that sex had lost for her long ago, if it had ever had it at all. It leaves her feeling stripped bare, more naked than her literal nakedness, and instead of it making her want to panic and run, she finds herself relaxing into it, into him, and she finds herself grateful that they’d waited all this time. None of it felt wasted anymore, every little step they’d taken towards this worth it if it meant she was right here, right now with him. 

She pushes her hips against his, his name and a series of words begging him to move stuck in her chest as he starts to do just that, a rhythm they find easily as if they’d been doing this for years. As if they were both coming home after the world's longest journey. She feels herself getting close again, something white hot and addictive unfurling low in her gut as she gasps his name, her hips pressed against his as she holds him tighter, her arms and legs wrapped around him. 

“Aaron…please,” she mutters, “Close.” 

He reaches between them and swipes at her clit, and she’s gone, pulling him over the edge with her, their twin moans of each other's names lost in a kiss she drags him into. They lay there, exchanging soft kisses, both of them swallowing down confessions they were sure the other wasn’t ready for yet, happy and content to sit in the afterglow. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she says eventually, smiling when he nods and slips from on top of her, handing her back the shirt she’d been wearing before as he stands up, “Thank you.” 

She goes to the toilet and cleans herself up, and as she slips his shirt back on over her head she looks at herself in the mirror just like she had earlier. Her hair was a mess, partially from air-drying, partially because of Aaron’s hands running through it, and she could see the edge of a hickey on her collarbone peeking out from under his shirt. 

Mostly, she looked happy. Something that, not all that long ago, she would have thought impossible. 

He kisses her as she walks out of the bathroom and he walks into it, a mutter that he’d meet her in bed pressed against her lips. She settles under the covers, sighing contentedly at the smell of him surrounding her, and she waits for him to join her. It takes a few minutes but then he’s walking back out, wearing only his sweatpants, before he settles into bed next to her, tugging her into his arms. 

“I hung up your dress over the side of the shower so it doesn’t crease too badly,” he says, running his fingers up and down her arm as she sinks into his side. She hides a smile against his throat, thinking that she could easily get used to him looking after her in the small ways she’d never had before. 

“Thanks,” she replies, kissing his neck, “Although, I’ll probably need to wash it anyway.” 

He hums and kisses her forehead, “You were right about the lingerie,” he says, smiling when her eyes go wide and she looks up at him, “It is very sexy.” 

She clears her throat, not sure why she feels embarrassed since she’d literally just had sex with him, but she swallows thickly, “Thanks,” she repeats, “I bought it especially.” 

He beams at her, “I’m not sure I’d say it’s sexier than you wearing my clothes though,” he says, smiling when she gasps in fake outrage, “I think you’d have to wear it for me so I could be sure.” 

She smiles and pulls him in for a kiss, her hand on his cheek as she holds him in place, “I’m sure that could be arranged, honey.” 

He leans in to kiss her, his hands on her back as he rolls them so she’s pressed between him and the mattress, and they forget about everything except the two of them. 

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: M6 making the MC breakfast in bed

Part 1 is here:

You had made your beloved breakfast in bed a few weeks before, and since then, they've taken it into their heads to do the same for you. How well does it go when they do?

Julian

Ever since he decided to return the favor, he's been caught up in the romantic aspect of it and is turning it into a grand gesture

This man never plans something unless he's forced to

So yeah, he scoured Vesuvia yesterday to find you the perfect bouquet, and he knows exactly how you like your morning caffeine

But he doesn't realize you're out of groceries until he's got 30 minutes until you wake up

He's finished decorating the tray and adding the sonnet he wrote you and now he's standing in front of the food cabinets, head empty, because he totally forgot about the breakfast part of breakfast in bed

Muffled cursing

Gathers what he can from the early vendors at the marketplace and breaks into Mazelinka's kitchen for the rest

You wake up to the sound of him crashing back into the kitchen, ordering Malak to keep you distracted by whatever means necessary

Rushing over, hair tousled and eyepatch slowly slipping, with a very unusual combination of street foods and kitchen ingredients

"Good morning, MC, light of my life, my dearest love, your dashing doctor has brought you breakfast in bed."

Your drink is cold, and you don't normally go for deep fried stuff first thing in the morning, and you have no idea what the random bowl of rosemary is for, but the flowers are beautiful and the sonnet is very sweet

You pull him down to sit next to you while you eat what you can and compliment what you can't

You take him grocery shopping with you later to restock the kitchen (and return Mazelinka's things)

Asra

They were planning to return the favor from the moment you had brought them their tray, but it's taken a couple weeks because they keep accidentally sleeping in

He finally enlists Faust's help by having her squeeze his arm and not stop until he makes it out of bed

He has already spent years collecting your favorites for you on his many travels, he knows what you like

Some of the food he's brought from outside (pumpkin bread!) and kept fresh with some useful spells

Some he endeavors to make himself

Except they also love experimenting

Maybe they got a little carried away with that one enchantment to enhance the flavor

Maybe they had to restart a few times

Maybe they employed a very mild sleeping spell to buy them a little extra time

When you do wake up, it's to Faust sliding around your shoulders and his smiling face over a steaming mug of your favorite morning drink

You do notice that about half the things on your tray seem ever so slightly ... off

You might also notice the hint of guilty mischief on their face

He's already admitting to his "adjustments" by the time you start to ask

Easily fixed though! They just snuggle up next to you in bed and take the first bite of everything as your official taste tester

Cue intense levels of sappiness as you take turns feeding each other and giggling

Nadia

Initially, she was planning on ordering breakfast for you the next morning, to be delivered to your chambers

But then she remembered how special it was that you had prepared it yourself

And you know how devoted she is to doing things properly down to the smallest detail

So she gets up half an hour before you do and walks down to the kitchen, thinking "how hard can it be?"

Famous last words

Turns out kitchen knives cannot be used with the same technique as swords

Turns out cooking pots get very hot when they sit on the stove

Turns out things burn quickly when you leave them unattended on said hot stove

Turns out fruit is difficult to cut into fancy little shapes, and even more difficult to peel

Portia receives an emergency message from Chandra and rushes over to find Nadia nursing a burned thumb, trying to wave away the smoke while the kitchen staff hide around the corner

Nadia's too proud to accept help from anyone else and the staff are too baffled to approach

Portia is deeply honored

Nadia appears a few minutes after you wake up with a bandaged hand and a simple but hearty breakfast

Portia helped, but Nadia still did the bulk of the work and makes sure you know that

She will shyly let you heal her, and is so satisfied with your praise that she decides to take a few cooking classes in the future

Muriel

Bold of you to assume he doesn't already cook breakfast for the two of you most mornings

But he was very deeply moved by your gesture, so he wants to do something special in return

Eggs

Except you've been slowly pulling him out of his "food is fuel that I am barely worthy of" mentality, so he steels himself and opens up the spice cabinet you've been gradually building

He's very careful, sniffing everything before he decides whether it should go in or not

The chili pepper makes him sneeze super loud and that wakes you up

It's too early, you roll over and go back to sleep while he's standing frozen in the middle of the hut, sweating

He also picked up your favorite pumpkin bread in town the day before

He had to ask Asra for help, but he did it, and Innana was so proud of him she howled the whole way back through the woods

He slices it up with the same precision he gives his carvings and toasts it so meticulously over the fire

He also carved you a tray since you had to use a slab of wood last time and he only gives you the best

He shakes you awake sooo gently and waits until you wake up all the way to put your tray down

Every positive comment you make turns him a little more red

After the amount of affection you show him for the rest of the day he decides to make you breakfast as often as possible

He carves "I love you" into the tray so that that's the first thing you see every morning

Portia

Queen of breakfast in bed

She's been taking notes for the last week on your food preferences, what pastries you like, what fruits make you smile, how you like your eggs, etc etc

Has all of the ingredients in her cabinets and prep work done the night before

She took you out to the rowdy raven the night before with Ilya and Mazelinka so she could put you to bed without you noticing her plans

And after the crazy dancing you did on the tables, she knows you'll be extra hungry in the morning

Everything goes to plan. The pastries bake perfectly, the eggs behave themselves, the fruit is just the right amount of ripe, her hard work pays off

You wake up to possibly the best breakfast you'll ever have

Except that in all the excitement Portia forgot to feed Pepi last night *and* this morning

Pepi is watching, waiting so very patiently for her breakfast, and she sees how much work Portia's doing in the kitchen so she's got her hopes up

And then all of that beautiful food goes onto your lap, and the longer the two of you talk and eat, the less food she sees on the tray and reality sinks in

She leaps up onto the bed, snatches the best pieces left, and streaks out of the cottage

Portia knocks her out of the tree outside with a broomstick

Lucio

It doesn't occur to him to return the favor until roughly two months have passed

He remembers during a bragging contest about how his lover is just the Best and lists the breakfast in bed as evidence

Person responds with "yeah, but could you do any of that?"

This is a challenge to prove his greatness, there is no way he's backing down now

He did not make any plans, he just started making breakfast foods (or trying to) at two o'clock in the afternoon

Quickly realized that the only food he's decent at making is what he learned as a mercenary, so he sets up camp in the palace gardens with a bonfire

Mercedes and Melchior are so impressed they keep trying to steal your food

Finally, covered in soot and reeking of smoke, he pops up at your shoulder and drags you to your bed by the wrist

"So just like, lie down there and go to sleep until I say so or something."

Mercedes and Melchior help out by lying on top of you until he reappears

"Wakey wakey, are you ready for the best breakfast of your life?!"

It's actually not that bad, you just don't know why you're having breakfast in bed while the sun is setting

He's peacocking about it for the rest of the week

[blushblyme]

One Admiral's Daughter (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader

Summary: Of all the people in the bar, Bradley's eyes decided to set themselves on a forbidden fruit.

Warnings: Light cursing, sexual innuendos (but nothing happens really), fluff, sexual tension

Words: 4,107

Author's Note: I whipped this out of my brain the last minute because I thought that it has been months since I wrote and this has been in my drafts for as long as I can remember. I hope you like it :')

Damn, it's bitter. You thought as the warm remains of the vodka scratched your throat. You shoved the glass away from you as you stared at it with so much hate.

"What did the glass do, dear?" Penny asks as she places a cold glass of beer in front of you. You groaned as you leaned away from the counter.

"I'm bored, Pen. Why can't I just work for you?"

Penny smiles, "You know I can't hire you, that's an order from your Dad."

You rolled your eyes and sighed. Your dad always loved to ruin everything for you. You never know how he always knew what you were doing despite him being really busy with his work. Sometimes, you'd even think he had been sending someone to spy on you when he was not around. "Fine, I guess I'll just sit here and try not to go mad with boredom."

Penny ruffled your hair as she chuckles. "Silly, why don't you just go to your office or the base to kill your time?"

You shook your head. "First, office hours are 'till 1 pm only, and second, Dad's office is too quiet for me. The Hard Deck is literally the only place that's keeping me sane, Pen."

"Well, what about you go dancing now since it's almost 7pm and customers are already flooding in? Maybe you could get yourself a dance partner or something."

You grimaced. "No, thanks. I'd rather stay here and keep myself company."

"See? You won't even lift your butt out of that chair," She shakes her head, "I'll go take some orders now. Ring me up when you need more." She adds as she tapped the side of your beer mug.

You smiled at Penny before drinking from your beer again. It's going to be a long night.

"Hey, Rooster. Check her out," Payback elbows Rooster on the stomach as Rooster looks at where he was pointing.

"I love me a woman in red." Payback adds as he continues to look respectfully at the girl on a red sundress by the bar counter.

Rooster shrugged. "What about it?"

"What do you mean what about it, man? She's hot."

"How do you know that? You haven't even seen her face." Rooster punches his friend's chest lightly before looking in the girl's direction again. This time, the girl was already facing their direction, talking to a stranger with a beautiful smile on display.

Rooster forgot to breathe for a second. "What about now?" Payback asks Rooster as if he'd sensed his friend's sudden change of heart.

"You wanna know what I think?"Rooster asks, eyes still on the girl, "Hold my beer." He shoves his beer mug onto Payback's chest as he made his way to the stage.

"Oh, come on, man! I don't like where this is going." Payback groans as he saw Rooster grab a microphone.

Rooster then made his way to the jukebox to type in a song. "Trust me, Payback, " He says as the song starts, tapping Payback's chest before making his way toward his target. "This is how you get a girl."

As you drank your second beer of the night, you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. "Excuse me, miss," You turned to see who it was and saw an unfamiliar man with a mustache who had a Hawaiian shirt on with a white tank top underneath.

Your brows furrowed in confusion when another man shoved him aside. "I'm sorry, miss. He's just drunk--" His words got cut off when the mustached-man shoved him aside as well.

"I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight, I've never seen you shine so bright," He sings, stepping much closer to you. You chuckled, looking around as you saw people gather around your space to watch him sing.

"I've never seen so many men ask you if you wanted to dance, They're looking for a little romance, given half a chance, and I have never seen that dress you're wearing or the highlights in your hair that catch your eyes, I have been blind;" He continues, as he points at you accompanied with his dramatic gestures as he sang.

You continued watching him sing since he had a wonderful voice to begin with and people started to sing with him. He then grabs a rose from a bouquet he saw at a random table, handing them to you before he concluded his song.

You gladly accepted the rose from him as he smiled in victory, mindlessly handing the microphone to his friend from earlier. "You've got a nice voice, do you sing like that to every woman you see?"

Rooster chuckles as he pulls a seat for himself. "Just the pretty ones."

"Well, how many were they?"

"Just one."

"Oh, so that makes me the second one?"

"No, the first one. I've never actually done this before," He laughs, grabbing a beer from the counter as he drank on it. "Y'know, It's crazy how I went through that just to get your name." He adds, making you giggle in response.

"You could've just asked," You shrugged, extending your hand toward him. "I'm (Y/N) Simpson."

You saw him wince at your response. "What's wrong?" You asked.

"Nothing, it's just...I've never thought of the chances of me dealing with another Simpson for today, you know?"

You tilted your head in curiosity. "Oh, you could tell me about it."

"Over beer?" He asks as he places an empty bottle on the counter. You grabbed him another cold one and placed it right in front of him. "Yup, over beer."

He muttered a small thanks as he drank before speaking. "Well, we have this superior officer at work who can be insufferable at times. Last time, he made us train 'till the wee hours of the night and uhm...I'd love to tell you more, but I think I've stressed out how much of a jerk he can be sometimes."

You leaned back against your chair and shook your head. "That sucks, like what are they? a god or something?"

"Of the Navy I suppose, he's an Admiral." He replies, making everything make sense to you.

"So, I take it that you're from the Navy." He nods. "So, you're a pilot?" You asked as he nods again, making you smile mischievously. You realized that he was actually talking about your Dad so you decided to get the whole gossip from him without him suspecting anything.

"You know what? Tell me more about this Admiral Simpson. Get it out of your chest." You encouraged him as you leaned closer to listen more carefully. He didn't seem to realize what you were doing so he continued to speak ill about your Dad the whole night.

There were times that you agreed with what he said since your dad was a bit annoying, and there were times that you'd laugh at their experiences during their training. Overall, the night became less boring when Bradley stepped in.

"So, this is it, huh? When can I see you again?" He asks as he leans his arm beside your waist, his height towering over your seated figure.

You tilted your head as you smiled at him. "I think we'll be seeing each other more often, Bradley. You can count on it." You winked at him before pushing him away gently by his chest, leaving the bar and leaving him wanting more.

The next day, you decided to spend the rest of your day at your dad's office since you just got off of work and The Hard Deck was still closed. "You could've just stayed home, (Y/N)." Your dad says as he busies himself with his paperwork.

You sat on his guest couch as you reached for the hidden stash of fashion magazines underneath his wooden center table. "It's too boring at home, dad. I promise to be on my best behavior here." You replied as you flipped the colorful pages of the magazines.

"You better be." He adds before he calls his assistant. "Yes, sir?"

"Call Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin to my office."

The assistant then leaves as you looked at your dad. "Are they gonna be here for long, dad?"

He looks up at you for a brief second before he flips the pages of his paperwork. "No, I just have to tell them something. I don't want to hear any word from you over there, am I clear?"

You rolled your eyes as you grinned wickedly, giving your dad a small salute. "Yes, sir."

As you scanned the pages of your magazine, you found an interesting read about bags, practically hiding half of your face with your magazine. You heard the door open as you saw two large figures enter the room through your peripheral vision.

"Well, gentlemen. I just want to tell you that you have done a good job on this mission," You heard your dad say as you continued to read, not minding their praise stories about some mission.

"And of course, there will be another special training detachment that both of you and the rest of the Dagger Team will execute. It will take place 3 weeks from now and I'll have Maverick relay the rest of the details of this mission. For now, I want both of you to lead the team in exercises."

"Yes, sir!" They replied in unison, making you look up at them in irritation.

Your irritation suddenly turned into fascination as you saw who it was. Bradley. He was standing upright and proper in front of your father on his flight suit. You grinned as you closed the magazine you were reading, propping your head on your hand as you crossed your legs in the process.

Oh, how you couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he notices you. As your father dismissed them, they turned in your direction to head to the door and Bradley stopped in his tracks when he spotted you.

You swiftly glanced at your dad who was currently busy signing his paperwork before turning your eyes toward him again as you waved at him and gave him a smile. A flash of realization washed over him as he walked out of the office with heavy footsteps.

Bradley looked like he had seen a ghost as he walked away from the Admiral's office. "Hey, Bradshaw. What's wrong with you?" Hangman asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Instead of answering, Bradley only shakes his head before he continues to walk away from Hangman. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe that he was talking shit about the Admiral to the person who turned out to be his superior officer's daughter.

He mentally punched himself as he headed to the ready room before slumping himself on the couch to sulk the whole afternoon. The last thing he wanted was to ruin his career by dallying with an Admiral's daughter.

You, on the other hand, asked permission from your Dad to go out and get some fresh air. You actually just wanted to roam the corridors and explore the whole base without your dad appointing someone to chaperone you all throughout your exploration.

You still grinned at Bradley's reaction when he saw you at your dad's office. Where could he be right now? You thought, peeking at every room you passed by, hoping to see him at least.

You saw a room in the corner with a half-opened door. You headed straight to it before peeking inside. Your lips curled up in a smile as you quietly pushed the door open upon realizing who was in the room.

"So, Lieutenant Bradshaw, huh?" You spoke as you closed the door behind you, making him get up from the couch as he looks at you in shock.

"What are you doing here?"

You placed a hand on your chest and acted as if you were offended by his question. "What am I doing here? Am I not allowed to visit a friend?" With your emphasis on friend, he cleared his throat before he stood from the couch.

"Look, last night was a mistake. I didn't mean all of that." He stutters as you make your way toward him slowly with your arms crossed on your chest.

"Even the part that you found me pretty?"You whined, making him sigh in return as you giggled at his reaction. "We both know that it wasn't a mistake, but don't worry. I won't tell on you," You added as you took some steps back to lean on the door to block the exit.

"Good. Because that won't happen again." He says as he walks in your direction. You stood your ground on the door as you continued to stare at his towering figure.

"You're leaving? So soon?" You knitted your eyebrows together as you looked up at him with an innocent doe-eyed look.

Bradley sighs in frustration as he ran his hand through his hair. "Please move away from the door, miss." He says, making you pout at the sudden honorifics.

You sighed as you trailed your hand up his chest, tracing your fingers on the patches of his fight suit as he looked at you with dark, brooding eyes. "Why don't you make me, Lieutenant?"

He closed his eyes as he clenched his jaw before grabbing your wandering hand on his chest. "It's best if you leave me alone, miss. It would be better for the both of us." He says before pushing you gently aside as he hurriedly exits the room.

It has been like that for months. Bradley ignoring you and you trying to get his attention. You would even show up in your dad's office in a sundress on a daily basis, the ones that your dad had claimed "had a shortage of fabric", but you didn't care. The moment Bradley saw you on it, you knew how it affected him since he couldn't take his eyes off you when you roamed around the base.

It was starting to frustrate you when you couldn't get him to look at you or even talk to you. Sometimes, you'd even follow him around just to coax a reaction from him or get him to talk, but he always acted like you weren't there.

One day, you've decided that you've had enough of his indifference and devised a plan to corner him.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, Admiral's office, now." Bradley heard the assistant say as he leaves the ready room to head to the Admiral's office. When he arrived, the door was wide open, and he proceeded to enter the room.

He sat on the chair in front of the Admiral's table. The Admiral wasn't there or in any corner of his office. His brows knitted in confusion before he heard the door close and the lock click. He turned back and saw you walking towards him with a sultry smile.

"The Admiral's not here. He's on sick leave, but I promised to take care of things that I can handle." You said, moving your dad's name plaque to the side before hopping to sit on the table as you crossed your legs, revealing an ample amount of skin in Bradley's view.

"Why did you call me here? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"He stands as he glanced at the door as if he was afraid of someone walking in on both of you.

"Relax, I locked it." You giggled. "Besides, what do you think I'm doing? I called you here to ask you about something," You tilted your head at him. "Unless you thought---" Bradley quickly cut your words off with his.

"I wasn't thinking that!" He retorted almost too quickly.

You sighed before waving your hand in front of his face to dismiss the unruly topic. "Enough of that. Why have you been ignoring me, Bradley? I've been talking to you for months now but you're always acting like I'm not there."

"I'm not obligated to talk to you, miss." He replies curtly, making you gasp.

"After all we've been through--"

"We've been through nothing, okay? Because we were never friends nor lovers. I don't know what you've planted in your mind to make you even think that we had something." He said. You hopped off the table as you took a step closer to him.

"You know what? You're such a jerk." You spat before leaving the room in a haste, heading home to drown yourself in tears and in vodka.

Bradley stood there as he composed himself, internally applauding himself for holding himself back and mentally punching himself for saying those things to you.

These past few months, Bradley had been trying to avoid you since he didn't want to spark an issue that he was interested in an Admiral's daughter. Even with your advances towards him, he was holding on to his patience for dear life not to drag you inside of a room and ravish you.

He just couldn't, he can't risk his career for this. Knowing Admiral Simpson's character, he personally wouldn't let it slide if he found out about Bradley's feelings for his daughter. Keeping that in mind gave him somewhat of a reason not to even touch a single strand of your hair.

Two weeks passed and Bradley's mind was a mess. You stopped coming over to your Dad's office and you weren't at the bar, too. He started to wonder where you might be. His wonders managed to get in the way of his training as well and it caught Maverick's attention.

He approached Bradley who was sitting on the couch with his head on both of his palms. "Hey, Brad. Talk to me. What's going on with you?" Maverick sits beside him as he places his hand on Bradley's back.

"I'm fine, Mav. Don't worry about it." He says, running both of his hands through his hair before burying his face in his palms again.

"I wouldn't be asking if you are. You've been distracted during training for a while now. Talk to me, what's going on?"

Bradley sighs. "I...I kind of got involved with someone."

Maverick's eyes widened. "You got someone pregnant?"

"No, I didn't. God, Mav." Bradley groans as Maverick sighs in relief. "Oh, thank god. Then who did you got involved with?"

"(Y/N)."

"Well, she seems to be a nice girl. What's the problem?"

"Well, the problem is, she's Admiral Simpson's daughter. I can't get involved with an Admiral's daughter."

To Bradley's surprise, Maverick burst out laughing. Bradley looked at him in confusion. "You know, you might not be my son, but you sure take after me, too."

"What does that mean?"

Maverick calms himself before speaking. "Well, back in my prime, I was involved with an Admiral's daughter, too. It didn't get me in any sort of trouble like what you currently have in mind, but it did appear on my record."

"Your point is?"

Maverick taps Bradley's shoulder. "The point is, you might be worrying for nothing. It's not like you have plans on hurting the Admiral's daughter, right?"

Bradley shakes his head in response. "I don't, but it can hurt my career, Mav."

"Well then, you pick. Pursue the girl with clean intentions and be happy with her or be a mess like this forever and be the one to hurt your career because you wouldn't be able to think straight anymore."

"Are you saying I should risk it?"

"Well, if you're fine with waiting for 30 years to take her dad out of the picture, then don't risk it."

Bradley chuckles. "30 years? Who the hell waits that long, Mav?"

Maverick shrugged. "I did." Bradley leans back in surprise. "You know who the Admiral's daughter is?"

"No way.."

"That's right, It's Penny Benjamin." Maverick smiles to himself as he looks at Bradley.

"There's no way I'm going to wait that long, Mav." Bradley stands from his seat as Maverick did, too. "Go for it, son." He tapped Bradley's shoulder before Bradley ran out of the ready room, thinking about the places you might be at the moment.

Good thing he knew just where to look.

You brushed your hair as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Was I not attractive enough? You thought. You didn't really know what to think at the moment. You did everything in your power to get him, but he didn't want to.

You sighed as you rolled your eyes and thought that it was his loss anyway. While you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a loud thump on your balcony as you were brushing your hair.

You quickly grabbed something random from your dresser as you stood up, making your way toward the curtained balcony. You gasped in horror when a tall, broad, hooded man pushed the curtains aside and made himself known before you.

You threw the thing you were holding toward him, which turned out to be a wooden hairbrush, that hit him on the head. "Ow, what was that for?" The mysterious man winced in pain.

Your brows creased in confusion. That voice, it's familiar.

"W-Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?!"You asked, grabbing your unplugged hair straightener as you pointed it at him. The man pushed his hoodie back and revealed who he was.

It was Bradley.

However, since you were still furious with him, you threw the thing you were holding at him anyway. This time, he was able to dodge it as he looked at you with a baffled expression. "What the hell are you doing in my room and how did you even get past the guards?"

Bradley shrugged. "I have my ways," He took a step closer as he sighed. "I'm here to talk to you."

"There's nothing to talk about, okay? You made it perfectly clear that I meant nothing to you---"

"Okay, I didn't mean it, okay? I didn't mean all of it. I just...I was scared that maybe you're just flirting with me and I didn't want to risk my career for nothing, but I really can't stop thinking about you. You keep messing with my head and--"

You crossed your arms, leaning beside the intercom in your room. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

Bradley sighed as he pointed at the balcony. "I think I've proven myself well enough, considering the fact that I could've died down there in the hands of your guards."

"It's not my fault you snuck in like a thief," You said as you pushed yourself away from the wall, making your way toward him. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?" You added, trailing your hand up his chest to his nape, making him look down at you.

"Well, I..uh..I want to ask you out on a date.." He mindlessly said as he drowned himself in your eyes. God, you were beautiful. He thought.

"That was the lamest thing I've ever heard." You giggled before pulling him in for a deep kiss. He pulled you in, gripping your waist for dear life.

The kiss was passionate and all that both of you didn't notice that the door suddenly opened, revealing your dad and his fuming disposition. You immediately broke the kiss and gently pushed Bradley away as both of you composed yourselves.

"What. is. the. meaning. of. this?!"

Your eyes widened at your dad's exasperated question as you looked at Bradley. "I must've accidentally pressed the intercom button earlier."

"It's okay, I'll talk to him." He gave you a small smile before you sighed and cursed yourself.

"You, young man. Out. You're going to explain yourself in detail how and why the hell are you in my house and why on earth would you even dare touch my daughter." Bradley nodded slightly as he walked towards the door.

"Dad--"

"You stay out of this, (Y/N). I'll talk to you later." Your dad said with finality in his voice, slamming your door shut.

You sighed as you bit your lip, remembering the kiss from earlier,

What an idiot, he could've just went straight to the entrance and talked to your dad. Instead, he settled with the thought of sneaking in the Admiral's home; worse, inside the Admiral's daughter's room and was caught red-handed.

You smiled at his idiotic ways and laid in your bed, thinking about what could happen to Bradley.

Surely, he wouldn't be subjected to any torture or any sorts of punishment.

This arrangement was bound to happen anyway whichever ways he could have done it.

[explorevenus]

hii venus!!! how r uuuu? i was wondering,, since in the first chapter of something permanent u wrote about how they had a conversation while she made his coffee — could u do a drabble of the interaction, i know it sounds silly but it’s been on my mind ^_^

yes!!!!! drabble under the cut so i don’t flood everyone’s dash ;w;

You were not built to work the opening shift. You liked many things about being a barista, and having to get up at the crack of dawn to serve coffee to people who weren’t awake enough yet to be decent wasn’t one of them.

On this particular day, you were one of the unfortunate souls selected to work the opening shift, and given the cafe you worked at was located in the heart of the business district and a mere 10 minutes from the airport, it was busy as all hell from the moment you unlocked the doors. Through a blur of dozens of customers, one approached the counter through the crowd and something about him made you look at him twice.

He was fit and well dressed and looked quite alert for a guy in a coffee shop at 5:30 in the morning. His eyes were a warm sapphire color and his dirty blonde hair fell in front of them in carefully styled wisps.

You smiled softly at him and took his order, a little surprised by what he’d asked for— a hot green tea with a splash of cream. You asked for his name, he said Leon.

He lingered by the counter while you brewed his tea— not uncommon in the afternoons, but you were used to people being in a rush in the mornings. In customer service brain, you chose to strike up a conversation with him.

“No coffee this morning?” You asked.

Leon shrugged, smiling softly. “I never really liked coffee that much.”

“Ah,” You nodded. “Maybe you’ve just never had a good cup of coffee. I bet I could change your mind,” You teased pridefully.

He smirked, drumming his fingers on the countertop coolly. “I’m sure you could. I might have to take you up on that.”

As you handed his drink to him, his fingertips brushed over yours and you couldn’t help the way you gave pause to the feeling. In the rush of people coming in and out of the cafe, he was gone before you had much of a chance to say anything else, and by the time you got home, he was practically forgotten in your mind.

…Until you saw him again weeks later, nearing the last hour of your usual closing shift.

You were alone in the cafe when he entered, idly reorganizing cupboards just to keep yourself busy. Your head turned at the sound of the bell, and you smiled as you recognized him.

“Hey! Leon, right?” You asked over your shoulder. You were stood on one of the countertops, elbow deep in a cupboard full of various syrups and ingredients.

“Yeah,” He grinned as he approached the counter, a bit smitten that you remembered his name. “You’d better be careful up there, sweetheart. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Your heart fluttered a little when he called you ‘sweetheart.’ Blushing, you hurried to a good stopping point and climbed down slowly from the countertop, thankfully unscathed.

“I’m fine, I have to do that all the time,” You laughed, moving over to the sink to wash your hands. “They didn’t build this place for short people.”

“Apparently,” He chuckled, watching you intently from where he stood. You looked so tired from a long day of work, you poor little thing…

“So what brings you in tonight?” You asked, approaching him at the counter. “Last time I saw you, the sun was barely up.”

Leon hummed, fidgeting with a stack of gift cards by the register. “I work some pretty unconventional hours,” He said. “But you said you’d make me like coffee, so I’m holding you to that.”

“Oh god, that’s a lot of pressure,” You laughed softly, already mulling over what you might make for him. “I did say that though, so I suppose I should stay true to my word, huh?”

Leon laughed with you, leaning against the counter as he watched you work. “I trust you. You seem as though you know what you’re doing,” He teased.

You made him something simple and pleasant, something that wasn’t too sweet or too bitter or too strong. When you handed it off to him you were a little nervous, but he seemed pleased enough.

He turned to leave, not before sneaking a $50 bill in your tip jar, and so began an occasional tradition— Leon would wander into the cafe while you were in there alone, just to chat you up and try a new coffee every time.

Coming from you, darling, it tasted so sweet.

[soapyghost]

Flicker

Firefighter Price x Fem! Reader

Hi hi! I know it's been a HOT minute since I have uploaded the story but my life has literally been insane. And i've been sick like constantly. Plz send help. Warnings: swearing, violence, obsessive behavior, we are developinggggg. Mutual pining??? Also brownie points to whomever can guess who will be introduced next chapter! WC: 1.5K Taglist: @330bpm-whiplash @blueoorchid @deadbranch @sofasoap @c0wb0yenthusiast @emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa @fruitymoonbeams-blog @averyyreads @lostmypopsicle @jxvipike @moonlighting87 @amatis-gray @nfg-miimochii @bangirl134 @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @elliestark13

The receipt burned a hole in your back pocket all shift. Every time you thought about it your entire face blushed crimson. The super hot firefighter who saved you from a burning building, while you were half naked, just wrote his number. For you. You felt like a school girl all over again, butterflies in your stomach and sweaty palms. When your shift finally ended it took everything in your power not to rush to the backroom and whip out the paper.

When you finally made it back to your locker and retrieved your phone you immediately input Price's number under "John *emoji*". What were you going to say? "Hey sorry I've basically stolen your jacket for the last week?" You groan out loud and rest your head back on the lockers. Your fingers hovered over the phone, dancing around the screen trying desperately to come up with something that doesn't make you sound desperate.

The loud slam of the backroom door jolted you out of your daydream and caused you to nearly jump out of your shoes. Your eyes flicked to the hallway door as you waited to see if whoever was that pissed was coming your way. Sure as shit, the heavy footsteps were coming your way and within seconds Shepherd's bulky frame was in the doorway.

"What the fuck was that Y/N?" he boomed, you had never seen such anger from him before. "I-i I'm not sure what you're-" you stuttered, "Acting like that in MY restaurant?!" He interrupted. The tone of his voice was nothing like the Shepherd you'd been so used to. "Sir?" you squeak, not sure how to handle this situation. You really hadn't done anything that you could think of.

And then it hit you, "You mean talking to the 141?" you questioned, finally meeting his eyes, which where black. His pupils were blown with pure anger. "Are you stupid?" he roared, "You left the rest of your tables to go and flirt with that group of degenerates!"

Degenerates? The 141? What in the world had happened between Shepard and the 141 that makes him hate them so? And flirt? "Sir, I wasn't flirting. I was just thanking them for saving me." you replied, still shocked at the sudden change in your manager. So this was the Shepherd everyone had warned you about.

Your brain finally snapped into flight mode. Your eyes snapped down to your phone which still had the text screen open to John, you closed your eyes and silently you thanked those stupid typing tests that you took in school where they covered the keyboard and began to type "help" from memory. You hit where you thought was the send key and prayed to whatever higher being was out there that it went out.

"Saved you? You think that disgusting group of nobodies SAVED you?" he barked. "Oh no no sweetheart, I saved you" Shepherd said, several octaves lower than he had been previously talking. "I gave you a job here when nobody else would" he began, "I let you take time off after that little fire in your apartment" he began getting closer to you effectively cutting off your only exit.

What was he talking about? Saved you? Your mind was spinning and you couldn't think straight. "It should be me you should be thanking" he growled, lowering his face to be inches away from yours. His breath fanned against your face, hot and foul. "Sheppard what are you doing?" you squeak trying desperately to find some way to get out of this situation.

But he didn't hear you, "But no, you go and thank that sorry excuse for a Captain. John" He spat out John's name like it was a curse. "Your entire existence in this town was thanks to me!" he yelled, slamming his fist into the locker next to your head. The thud of the metal caused you to jump.

"Shepherd please I didn't do anything" you pleaded with him, hoping this would calm him for just enough time for John to get here and save you. You heard the backroom slam open and the thudding of heavy feet running your way. Shepherd heard it too because he whipped around just in time to see John Price burst through the locker room.

"What the FUCK do you think you're doing Shepherd?" he roared, launching himself at Shepherd and shoving him harshly to the ground. He then stepped around him so that he was standing between you and the man on the ground. Shepherd groaned, clearly in pain "what the fuck are you doing here?" "What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

But before he let Shepherd respond he grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the lockers. He shoved his keys into your hand before looking into your eyes and whispering, "go. get in my car" before letting your hand go. He didn't need to tell you twice and you bolted to the front of the restaurant and out to the parking lot. You looked down at the keys in your hand, Chevy.

Your eyes scanned the parking lot before landing on the dark grey Chevrolet pickup truck parked haphazardly in 3 different parking spaces. Without thinking you click the unlock on the keys and throw yourself into the passenger side. You made sure to lock the doors 6 times over, not knowing who or what might come out of the restaurant.

You could feel your heart in your throat as you looked at the double doors waiting and hoping John would come out ok. The door swung open and there he was, cradling his right hand but, alive. He rounded to the drivers side door and pulled on the handle. The door didn't budge and it took you a second to realize you hadn't unlocked it for him yet. You shakily pushed the button and a soft click sound ran through the cabin of the truck before he opened the door and hopped in.

"You came" you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. Price's blue eyes met yours as he pulled you in for a hug, "always" he whispered back. You stayed there for a minute, just basking in the warmth and safety of his arms. You tried desperately not to cry as you pulled away slowly. You glance down to his right hand and see his knuckles are bloody.

"John your hand!" you gasp, grabbing it in your own. You hear John chuckle, "been through worse, luv." You look up at him again to see him smiling down at you. "Can I have my keys so I can take you home?" he asked, gesturing at his keys which were still in your hand. "Oh" you murmur, before handing them over to him so he can start the truck, but his hand never left yours.

"Are you alright?" he asked once the two of you were out of the restaurants parking lot. The question smashed the dam of tears you had been holding back, and they began to spill down your cheeks. "H-He was s-so mad at me" you whimpered. You clamped your eyes shut to hopefully avoid anymore tears from flowing. "I'm so sorry luv. He won't ever hurt you again" Prices voice was firm.

The rest of the drive back to your friends house was fairly quiet. It was mostly you giving John directions. When you arrived, you begged John to let you take a look at his hand before he left. "Oh alright, but you stay there." he groaned, but he was smiling. He turned off the car and hopped out. You sat there a bit confused before you realized he was coming around to open the door for you.

You began to open the door, but Price shut it. "I said stay there" he said through the door. You laughed and held up your hands in mock defeat. Price opened the door and offered his hand to help you down from the truck, pulling a giggle from you. "Such a gentlemen" you quip.

You lead John up to your friends place begging silently that she wouldn't be there. You unlocked the door and yelled, "Hello? April?" But the house was silent. You let out a sigh of relief. "Wait here let me grab some bandages" you told John before heading over to the bathroom. "This is really unnecessary Y/N" he replied.

When you returned with the bandages you motioned for him to take a seat at the kitchen table. You grabbed his hand and grabbed Neosporin. "I don't need all that" he complained, "I been through a lot worse with a lot less." You shot him a look to which he sighed and let you continue your work. Once you were finished he flexed his hand a few times, "good as new" he beamed, "thanks Y/N"

"It should be me thanking you John. What happened back there?" you ask, only slightly afraid of the answer. "Doesn't matter. All that does is that you're safe and you won't have to go back there" he stated. "John I have to!" you exclaim. How were you going to make money? "I don't have another job" you cried, feeling the tears well up again. "Oh luv no" John whispered, grabbing your face in his hands using his thumb to wipe away the stray tear that had fallen. "I think I know just the person to help you out" he smiled.

[sihaya74]

NEW The Lessons of Bryan Fuller's Hannibal S1: E6 -- HOPE IS THE THING WITH SURGICAL TROPHIES

Lessons of Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal

S1:E6 – HOPE IS THE THING WITH SURGICAL TROPHIES

Hello readers and #FannibalFamily! Yes, it’s been a hot minute since I have updated this blog. What can I say? Life has a tendency to intervene. A few real-life events knocked me out of my daily writing pattern and I am just now beginning to regain my balance. This blog is, however, something I am committed to finishing no matter how long it takes, and so, I am digging back into the scripts of Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal and prepared to create my next installment – an analysis of the theme, the message, the universal lesson in the happenings of Season 1, Episode 6: “Entrée.”

I must make an important note that at this point, I have rewatched the show some five or six times. But this is my first time delving into the scripts for all the episodes. I have to occasionally remind myself about scenes in these episodes or lines of dialogue that wound up being cut or moved to a different episode. But since I am approaching this project as an English major and analyzing both the show and the scripts as a TEXT – (my literary theory professor, Dr. Hogue, always said that everything in life is a TEXT and he was damn sure right about that) – then I see no issue with the fact that sometimes the words I am analyzing didn’t always make it to the screen in the exact form they started out in. Hannibal is a series that is a feast for all the senses – its visual beauty, its soundtrack and score and sound effects, the effort put in to rendering the most beautiful depictions of food on the screen and so perhaps the viewer can imagine their taste – (I have dreamed feverishly about those High Life Eggs more than once, I can tell you) – but all of it begins where good stories start – on the page. And so, it is to the page and the words that I remain loyal.

This episode of Hannibal, “Entrée,” had two authors. Kai Yu Wu conceived the story and Wu and Bryan wrote it together. The episode was directed by Michael Rymer.

In the order of our French dishes, by which each episode of the first season is named, at this point in the series, we have partaken of the following: a pre-dinner drink, a little bitty appetizer, a bowl of hearty soup, some eggs, and a chicken or fish dish baked in a sauce and served in a scallop shell or scallop-shaped dish. And so now, a viewer must ask, “What’s next?” That or: “I need to take a break because I’m full.” At which, Bryan Fuller points at the viewer’s plate and says, “You’ll clean your plate and you’ll like it. You’ll love it. You’ll beg me for another season when we’re done.” Just trust him. He’s the chef. You always trust the chef. They know what they’re doing.

In a classic French meal, the entrée is not necessarily the main dish and it is not always served – sometimes they skip courses. When it does appear, it is usually a meat dish, in a sauce (GOTTA HAVE A SAUCE), and with sides. In American cuisine, entrée has come to mean a MAIN COURSE always. And what an entrée is in American cuisine varies wildly by what is on the menu, who is eating it, and how many fried cheese sticks and jalapeno poppers the person had prior to the entrée arriving at their table. Still, the idea holds. When you say the word “entrée,” people expect a main course – something substantial, something that sticks to your ribs. And in this episode, there is definitely a lot of meat – meat that has been rubbed and aged over the last five episodes and is now sliced and steaming from the oven. This episode is mostly about advancing the MAIN storyline – that of the Chesapeake Ripper and the FBI’s and namely, Jack Crawford’s, attempts to catch the seasoned killer. (Seasoned… see what I did there? YOU GOT PUNNED!)

And on a thirsty side note: After viewing the scene in which Will Graham reenacts the murder of nurse Elizabeth Shell, the fact that the episode is named “Entrée,” makes complete sense. Hugh Dancy in that scene is an entire meal with ample meat for leftovers. (Seriously – JFC – if you haven’t seen it, or seen it lately, do yourself a favor and have some GOOD FOOD.)

We start the episode with our introduction to one of the series’ completely original characters, Dr. Abel Gideon, a former transplant surgeon, who after being convicted of the murders of his wife and her family, has been incarcerated in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, for the last two years. The character is portrayed with amazing skill, subtlety, and awesomeness, by Suzy Eddie Izzard. I have been a longtime fan of Izzard’s work and was insanely pleased to see the actor amongst the cast members.

I must point out the literary significance of the character’s name – Abel Gideon, a smorgasbord of Biblical allusion. The import of the Doctor’s first name is obvious – Abel, in the Biblical version of things, was the first murder VICTIM, slain by the hands of his jealous brother, Cain, who was angry that God liked Abel better and had a right fit about it. The character of Gideon is slightly more complex, but basically it goes as follows: Gideon was a prophet in the Old Testament. He destroyed the idols of Baal and others in his town’s temple because the townspeople were worshipping false gods. An angel told him to. Then, Gideon led the Israelites against other “heathen” tribes and won. They wanted to make him king, but he told them their only king was God. Still, he had them melt down the golden earrings of all their enemies who had fallen in battle and they wove the golden thread into an ephod, a priestly garment that is worn under the breastplate. Gideon put it in the temple and the people started worshipping it as an idol, because I guess, it was gold. Old Testament people always seem really impressed by gold. The Scripture is unclear, but it does say that the ephod was “a snare unto Gideon, and to his house” (Judges 8: 27).

You could say Gideon was a hypocrite, or more accurately, a terrible fool because he tried to stop the people from worshipping false idols and then he just led them into doing it again by creating something they would see as a sacred object. At best, Gideon was naïve. At worst, he was a fraud.

Dr. Abel Gideon’s name therefore could translate into something like: Dr. VICTIM FRAUD – or Dr. VICTIM FOOL. Despite his intelligence, he is lured directly into Dr. Chilton’s trap to believe and admit he is the Chesapeake Ripper solely because of Frederick’s needy ego – Frederick wants more feathers in his cap – he doesn’t have near enough and Hannibal Lecter’s are brighter and bespoke and where the fuck did he even find a custom featherer in Baltimore?

Then, later in the series, Gideon is led directly into the trap of the true Chesapeake Ripper and probably desperately wishes he had stayed in the BSHCI and eaten his stewed apricots and minded his own business.

Poor Abel is nothing but a puppet for two different egotistical psychiatrists. Unfortunately for him, one of them happens to be Hannibal Lecter.

And so, we begin the episode with the scene of Gideon passed out on the floor of his cell in the BSHCI and a team of prison guards approaching his limp form very cautiously and eventually shackling him, hand and foot, to a gurney, and wheeling him into the hospital infirmary, where he is treated by the aptly named Nurse Shell.

As evidenced by my previous discussion of Gideon’s name, I have come to realize the significance of character names in Bryan Fuller’s work. They are often allusions or tributes – homages to the work of other writers, directors, artists, scientists, and so on, that Bryan admires. For example, one has to assume that the surname of Bryan’s beloved Bedelia (another original character), Du Maurier, is a tribute to author Daphne du Maurier, author of many books and film adaptations of suspense – such as Rebecca, which Bryan and many of his horror colleagues discuss in the fabulous AMC/Shudder series Queer For Fear, on which Bryan was an executive producer and director. Basically, Mrs. Danvers was either literally or only metaphorically all up in Rebecca de Winter’s undergarments and when the woman died, Mrs. Danvers decided to make it everyone’s problem. The movie is awesome. Go watch it if you haven’t already. And then watch Queer For Fear. I believe they discuss Rebecca in both episodes two and four.

Anyway, Nurse Shell is correctly and tragically named because a shell of her former self is what she winds up as when the deluded Gideon is done with her.

As Nurse Shell turns her back, Gideon extricates the broken-off tine of a fork he has hidden in an incision in his palm. I believe this scene is an homage to the scene in The Silence of the Lambs when Dr. Lecter unearths a metal fragment from the back of his jaw, the inner workings of a ballpoint pen that has fallen into his hands. He uses this makeshift lockpick on his own handcuffs, much to the chagrin of Lieutenant Boyle and Sargeant Pembry. Classic scene.

Anyway, Gideon uses this tine to pick the lock on his handcuffs and when Nurse Shell turns around upon hearing the heart monitor hit a flatline, it’s lights out for the poor woman. We do not see Gideon kill her, but we see the results of his work soon.

Next, we see Jack Crawford and Will Graham vaulting up the front steps of the hospital, Jack explaining that based on the method of Nurse Shell’s murder, Freddie Lounds has run an unconfirmed story suggesting that Abel Gideon is the Chesapeake Ripper, which would explain the lull in murders for the last two years. Will is indignant that he is “fact-checking for Freddie Lounds,” but Jack coddles him with the statement, “You’re fact-checking for me” (Wu and Fuller 2).

There is heavy foreshadowing in the following exchange between Jack and Will before they enter the hospital:

WILL GRAHAM: I’m always a little nervous going into one of these places. Afraid they’ll never let me out again.

JACK CRAWFORD: Don’t worry. I’m not going to leave you here.

WILL GRAHAM: Not today                         (Wu and Fuller 3).

I really do recommend you watch the series more than once so this dramatic irony is not lost.

            Once Jack and Will enter the hospital, we see the first appearance of another of our main characters and one of the most important in the Hannibal canon: Dr. Frederick Chilton.

            In Fuller’s series, Chilton is rendered flawlessly by actor Raul Esparza, a deep daddy of mine (see ADA Rafael Barba of Law and Order: SVU fame). Esparza is another Fuller Favorite, having appeared in one of Bryan’s previous masterpiece shows, Pushing Daisies.

            There have been three actors who have portrayed the petty and obsequious Dr. Chilton, starting with Benjamin Hendrickson in 1986’s Manhunter. The second actor, and perhaps the most well-known portrayal, is that of Anthony Heald who took on the role in both 1991’s The Silence of the Lambs and reprised the role in 2002’s Red Dragon.

            Heald’s portrayal of Chilton is masterful – the Doctor is intelligent, but smarmy – officious and gladhanding – his pass at Clarice in the early moments of the film immediately puts the viewer off on him. Hannibal only seals the audience’s hatred of the Doctor by regaling Clarice with Chilton’s petty tortures of him, which are effectively contrasted by the treatment Hannibal receives from the ever-present orderly, Barney Matthews, played by awesome Frankie Faison, who treats Hannibal with a cautious respect, as a zookeeper might treat a venomous reptile. Barney never forgets what Hannibal is capable of. Chilton supposedly knows as evidenced by his relation of Hannibal’s biting attack on a nurse – he left only one of her eyes, ate her tongue without his pulse getting above 85 – but still, Chilton prods and humiliates Hannibal in unnecessary ways that LITERALLY come back to bite him in the end.

            Esparza’s Chilton is as intelligent as Heald’s, but slightly more savvy, ounces more petty, a bit more of a drama queen, and as opposed to Heald’s Chilton, who is ostensibly tortured and eaten by Hannibal at the end of The Silence of the Lambs, Esparza’s Chilton, in Fuller’s hands, is the favorite whipping post of killers and law enforcement alike – being practically disemboweled by one murderer, shot in the face by a traumatized Ripper victim, and later suffers the fate that Harris’ original Freddy Lounds suffers, a lip-ectomy and burning at the hands of Francis Dolarhyde. Freddy Lounds dies in both Manhunter/Red Dragon from this attack, but in Fuller’s Hannibal, no matter what, Frederick Chilton continues to survive, almost Fuller’s own version of the endlessly respawning Kenny of South Park fame.

            By my calculation, at the end of Season 3, Chilton is down 3 lives, so logic dictates that he has 6 left. If Fuller ever gets to make the full 7 seasons of Hannibal he imagines, if Chilton averages a death per season, he should survive the completed series with 2 lives left over, proving him to be the true winner of The Hannibal Games.

            But, once again, I digress…

            As Jack and Will sit in Chilton’s office, Chilton can barely seem to contain his curiosity about Will. Chilton’s open is clunky and obtuse; he says, “Doctor Bloom just called me about you, Mister Graham. Or should I call you Doctor Graham?” (Wu and Fuller 3). From his first line, Chilton seems to embody his later Season 2 remark, a gem from Harris’ canon, that attempting to analyze Will “makes [him] feel…like a freshman pulling at a panty girdle” (Fuller and Lightfoot 20). Chilton’s questions are telegraphed from a mile away – his overtures for more information are blunt and tasteless. Chilton’s questioning of Will, throughout the series, is contrasted with that of Hannibal – the difference is like watching a skilled surgeon with a scalpel as compared to a poorly trained medical student with a plastic spoon. Chilton can’t cut it, in any fashion. Will seems to understand this from the beginning – he sizes Chilton up correctly from their very first meeting.

            In their conversation, Chilton betrays himself a little, saying of Nurse Shell, “I can’t help feeling responsible for what happened. I had sessions with Gideon for years…I had no idea what he was hiding. And now one of our staff is dead” (Wu and Fuller 4). Of course, this is foreshadowing of Hannibal ascertaining later in the episode that Chilton is indeed COMPLETELY at fault. However, the most interesting thing about this exchange is Jack Crawford’s reaction. The script indicates that after Chilton’s remark here, it “strikes a chord with Jack…who can relate” (Wu and Fuller 4). Undoubtedly this “relation” is about Miriam Lass, Crawford’s lost trainee, who is first introduced in this episode.

            This is all important because of our lesson in this episode and because it highlights one of the driving motives of Jack’s character. In Episode 1, Jack and Alana agree that one of Will’s deepest motives is fear. If that is the case, then we can say that one of, perhaps the most, significant of Jack’s driving motivations is GUILT. Jack’s guilt is so present, so prevalent, so real, it is almost tangible. He feels guilt about Bella, about Miriam, later about Beverly, about Will, about Pazzi. His guilt is so weighty, so integral to his being, that often it overwhelms him, wobbles his sense of reason and the health of his psyche. Our lesson is not about guilt, but it is about an emotion Jack Crawford will not allow himself. In his position as Special Agent Jack Crawford, head of the FBI’s storied Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico, Jack does not allow himself much in the way of the easier emotions in life – laughter, joy, wonder – these are not things he can traffic in. Jack Crawford lives in a chapel of death. He is a chronicler of pain.

            As Chilton continues to prod Will for information, Jack finally states, “Graham isn’t here to be analyzed” (Wu and Fuller 5). It’s funny to me how people in the show, including Will, keep insisting that he’s NOT THE ONE to be analyzed, but since the very first moments of Episode 1, even the murders seem secondary to everyone else’s analysis of Will. It’s ironic, but I imagine purposefully so. Chilton retorts that “perhaps” Will “should be” analyzed; Chilton wants Will to speak to his colleagues in the hospital, but then he stops himself, saying, “no, no, not this trip. Dr. Bloom was very severe with me on that point” (Wu and Fuller 5). I also find it quite ironic how no one listens to Alana’s advice about handling Will. It speaks to the usual patriarchal pooh-poohing of women, even when they are extremely accomplished members of professional fields. Thankfully, Bryan saw to it that everyone who discounts Alana’s advice winds up paying for it.

            Just before escorting Jack and Will to the infirmary where Will can view the crime scene, Chilton says, “Next to a battle lost, the saddest thing is a battle won” (Wu and Fuller 6). This sentiment is attributed to the Duke of Wellington, and later to writer Robert Jordan, but to me the importance of it here is how it so perfectly illustrates the difference between Harris’ Chilton and Fuller’s Chilton. Every once in a while, especially in Season 3, Chilton seems to disinter these gems of wisdom from the muddy bottom of his intelligence. Often, lines like these, coming from Frederick are like an icepick of truth stabbed into the temple of the scene. A viewer who is familiar with all of the Hannibal canon can see – Fuller’s Chilton is smarter and more poetic than Harris’ Chilton, who is a slick, sad functionary who is both out of his depth with Hannibal Lecter and out of his league with Clarice Starling. Fuller’s Chilton is never in Hannibal’s league, but at times, real insight flashes up from the shallows of his brain, and it makes his character more sympathetic to the viewer. We feel sorry for Fuller’s Chilton. Harris’ Chilton never arouses such pity.

            When Will and Jack finally view the nurse’s body, it is described as follows:

She’s IMPALED on the BROKEN FRAMES of several PRIVACY CURTAINS that have been fashioned into SPEARS. They PROTRUDE from wounds over the entire canvas of her body. Additional shards of wood and metal prop her organs above her corpse, giving them the appearance of floating outside her body.                              

(Wu and Fuller 6)

The visual of this tableaux is important, as it will contrast with the Chesapeake Ripper’s actual rendering of the famous medieval Wound Man shown later in the episode in a flashback. Later, Will calls this murder “plagiarism.” The viewer, especially one who has watched the entire series at least once, can understand Will’s assessment easily. The Chesapeake Ripper is an artist – even when his tableaux are deconstructionist in nature, like Beverly Katz’s murder scene in Season 2, there is still a lingering sense of the whole that once was. The essence of the thing that has been taken apart is still suggested by the Ripper’s composition. Gideon’s attempt at mimicry is just that – a sad parody. He merely skewered organs like Nurse Kabob. He merely jabbed implements in her like Nurse Pincushion. There is no whole left to be had.             In Act One, we see the replaying of the gurney scene at the beginning of the episode, except this time with Will in Gideon’s place. This time, we see the attack on Nurse Shell; this time at the hands of Will, who is doing his mental recreation (pendulum swingy – this is my design-y) of the scene.

            Will’s recreation here is filed very lovingly by the #FannibalFamily under the title, “THINGS THAT HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING INSANELY HOT,” but Goddamn it… it is.

It’s not just Will’s torn open shirt – it’s not just the visible sweat on his muscled chest and furrowed brow (although those things REALLY HELP) – it’s the power and the confidence Will exudes when he is in the mental guise of the killer. In truth, every time Will does a mental recreation of a crime, he becomes inordinately hotter because he is not the unsure, confused, flinchy Will Graham of outside-his-mind – he is the take-charge, aggressive, Will Graham with some goddamned agency, that he only seems to be able to muster when he slips into the minds of other people – that is until the end of Season 1, anyway. Will’s agency gets a glow up in “Savoureux,” just wait.

            I will say that when Will gouges Nurse Shell’s eyes out with his thumbs, that’s a major ick for me. Eye stuff always deeply bothers me. I had two very invasive eye surgeries as a child and I think it makes me sensitive. The needle in the eye scene in Fire In the Sky is a trauma from which I will never recover.

            After Will’s recreation is finished, the viewer is then treated to a flashback three years earlier when the character of Miriam Lass enters the series. It is well known that Miriam Lass, played astonishingly by Anna Chlumsky, is Bryan’s substitute for/homage to the character of Clarice Starling, who, because of copyright issues, Bryan could not use in Hannibal. This, of course, is a damn shame, because Clarice is a god-level character and I would love, love, love to see what Bryan could do with her. (I would also like – if we ever get future seasons – to see Ardelia Mapp, Barney Matthews, and Multiple Miggs show up, but I digress…)

            Miriam and Clarice share similar backgrounds – they were both FBI Forensic Fellows – Clarice had the great distinction of studying under fingerprint examiner par excellence, Jimmy Price – but they both came through the same program there and at the FBI Academy. Their university degrees differ a little – Clarice is the daughter of a lawman, which Miriam does not seem to be – but both women are the same with regards to their stunning intellects, dogged determination, and their fascinations with and devotions to “the Guru,” Jack Crawford. It reminds me of a passage from The Silence of the Lambs. At the end of the chapter, (I tell you, Thomas Harris knows how to end a fucking chapter) – after Starling and Crawford return from the Potter Funeral Home in West Virginia, Harris writes, “She watched him walk away, a middle-aged man laden with cases and rumpled from flying, his cuffs muddy from the riverbank, going home to what he did at home. She would have killed for him then. That was one of Crawford’s great talents” (96).

            Jack tells Miriam that he has culled her from the herd of FBI hopefuls to work for him in the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program (VICAP) because she is at the top of her class, has impressive credentials, and wrote him a fan letter when she was accepted into the Academy. When Jack brings up the Ripper, he says, “The Ripper is very hot right now” (Wu and Fuller 10). Jack is, of course, indicating that the Ripper is on a spree, having taken “his last two victims in six days” (Wu and Fuller 10). But I can’t help but think of Zoolander every time I hear Jack make this remark. “Ooooh, that Ripper – he’s so hot right now…” And let’s be honest, if there’s anyone who could pull off a perfect “Blue Steel,” it’s Mads Mikkelsen.

Miriam impresses Jack with her assessment of the Ripper – not a “true sociopath,” but a killer with “some of the characteristics of what they call a sociopath,” but that in truth, “they don’t know what else to label him” (Wu and Fuller 10). Jack then begins briefing Miriam on the case and we are flashed back to the present and find ourselves sitting with Alana and Will in Frederick Chilton’s office.

Alana and Will are both there to interview Gideon – they will be conducting their interviews separately and then comparing notes. Chilton is “convinced” Gideon is the Ripper (when he knows damned well he’s not), Will is convinced Gideon is NOT the Ripper – Alana is unsure. Chilton informs Alana that even though she only had two sessions with Gideon when he was first admitted to the BSHCI, Gideon has “given [her] a lot of thought” since then (Wu and Fuller 12). It ups the creep factor and of course mirrors the novel Red Dragon, like much of this scene does, except that the inmate is Hannibal Lecter and the person he’s “given a lot of thought to” is Will Graham. Hannibal thinking a lot about Will is deep canon. Always has been. Always will be.

Alana goes into interview Gideon first – when she does, the script indicates, “The STEEL DOOR of the maximum security section closed behind Alana Bloom. She hears the bolt slide home” (Wu and Fuller 13).

I’m always deeply thrilled at how often the writers of Hannibal return to the “Forward to a Fatal Interview” from Harris’ Red Dragon and snatch little phrases from it they leave like glistening Easter eggs for fans to find. This is one such bejeweled egg – a Faberge of one, in fact. This forward is about how Thomas Harris came to create the characters of Will Graham, Clarice Starling, and most importantly, Hannibal Lecter. In the final paragraph, he says, “When in the winter of 1979 I entered the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and the great metal door crashed closed behind me, little did I know what waited at the end of the corridor; how seldom we recognize the sound when the bolt of our fate slides home” (XIII).

An adaptation is a beautiful thing when you have such beautiful source material to work with. I am forever fascinated by what different filmmakers and actors have done with the Hannibal canon, but we cannot, should not, ever forget the mind that created it and created such compelling characters that withstand the test of time and are enriched every time a new generation of writers and viewers return to them.

The interviews between Alana and Gideon and Will and Gideon are now intercut with each other, a wonderful technique that allows the viewers to compare and contrast for themselves, the differences and similarities between Alana and Will in their questioning, the differences between Gideon’s reactions to Alana and to Will. The most important fact that seems to arise from the interview is when Will says to Gideon about the death of Nurse Shell, “Brutalization of the body was done posthumously. The Chesapeake Ripper usually does that sort of thing during, not after” (Wu and Fuller 15). Will never buys Gideon as the Ripper. His other murders were spontaneous, not planned. Gideon is not an artist; he’s a plagiarist. What Will can’t figure out is why Gideon is copping to murders he didn’t commit.

We begin Act Two with Jack Crawford arriving unannounced at Hannibal’s office, just as the Doctor is about to leave for the day. Hannibal asks if Jack was just “in the neighborhood?” – Jack answers, “Something like that” (Wu and Fuller 16). This line is one of those TV/film chestnuts that you hear over and over and it never actually happens in real life. I have never in my life had someone show up at my door saying they were “just in the neighborhood.” Just like I have never had a cat suddenly jump on me from some unseen elevated position when I am in a darkened alleyway or corridor and things feel all spooky. It’s film logic. It’s kooky, but it works.

Bella is out of town and Jack has come to Hannibal to pry some sort of information out of him about Bella’s cancer – how she’s feeling, what she’s saying, what she thinks – all of which she is not telling Jack and all of which Hannibal cannot tell Jack due to doctor-patient confidentiality. Jack becomes angry. Their conversation is enlightening with regards to Hannibal’s character:

JACK CRAWFORD: You talk to me about Will Graham.

HANNIBAL: Will Graham isn’t officially my patient. We have conversations.

JACK CRAWFORD: What do you consider this?

HANNIBAL: Desperate coping.

                                                                                    (Wu and Fuller 17)

The line here – “desperate coping” – is such a wonderful illustration of how accurately Hannibal is portrayed as having some sociopathic tendencies or at least the tendencies of a narcissist. Throughout the series, Hannibal shows how he can go cold at a moment’s notice – how he can so easily shift from a seemingly caring, compassionate individual to a nightmare of stone-faced, murder-eyed calm. It’s terrifying. I was once very much in love with a man who could do this – he was not a murderer, but he could go dead-eyed and cold on you like this in seconds – and you never knew when it was coming. It scared the shit out of me.

            Some might say that Hannibal’s line here is compassionate, that he feels for Jack and his attempts to handle the imminent death of his wife – but I think the line is meant to cut Jack to the quick – he slices right into the meat of Jack’s pain here – as if to say, “Yeah, your wife’s dying. Pull it together, wimp.”

            It is canon that Hannibal prods people to cause pain – it is entirely for his own pleasure. A good example is from The Silence of the Lambs. When Hannibal meets with Senator Martin, supposedly to tell her the “real name” of Buffalo Bill (ha ha), he makes a cutting remark about the Senator breastfeeding her daughter when she was a baby. Then this happens: “When her pupils darkened, Dr. Lecter took a single sip of her pain and found it exquisite. That was enough for today” (201).

            The man drinks pain. What else is there to say?

            Then Hannibal immediately “salves” the wound he has created (“Salve” is the word used in the script directions) – saying “I’ll offer this one insight: she thinks she married the right guy” (Wu and Fuller 17). See Hannibal playing with Jack? Always playing.

            Jack then says, “I look at her side of the bed and wonder if she’s going to die there or where she’ll die and I feel myself going uncomfortably numb” (Wu and Fuller 18). I believe this to be a reference to Jack’s actual, canon death that Thomas Harris wrote for him in the novel, Hannibal. It is a death that I completely understand but hate like fire because I think a character like Jack deserved a lot better. I feel that Bryan was writing a better end for Jack.

            The end in question is as follows. Clarice Starling has already been drugged and hypnotized, pulled into a strange “relationship” with Hannibal – they live in Buenos Aires together under assumed names. Clarice finds out that Jack has died from the FBI website. Apparently, “after Crawford was home for a month from the hospital, the chest pains came again in the night. Instead of calling an ambulance and going through it all again, he chose simply to roll over to the solace of his late wife’s side of the bed” (483).

            I understand it, but dammit Jack deserves better. I believe Bryan was going to give him better. At least he gets to go to Italy and kick Hannibal’s ass. At least he gets another chance.

            Jack and Hannibal have a conversation about loss, which leads Hannibal to ask, “Who else couldn’t you save, Jack?” (Wu and Fuller 18). Once again, Hannibal pokes at the wound, tugs at the scab. We know full well that Hannibal has Miriam Lass hidden in a damp, darkened oubliette of a well in a secret farmhouse – all wet and cold with a missing arm in a dirty nightgown and in desperate need of some wet wipes and dry shampoo. We know this – which means all of this questioning about “the lost trainee” is just Hannibal enjoying himself, just Hannibal savoring Jack’s pain. I really do think he lets Miriam live because he likes her – (the same reason book/film Hannibal lets Clarice live – she’s a “deep roller”) – but I also think he lets Miriam live solely to give her back to Jack – just like he gives Bella back to Jack when he thwarts her suicide attempt. Just as he takes Abigail away from Will, then gives her back, then takes her away again – Lucy and the football. Hannibal is “curious” what will happen, but also because he loves the pain. Pain is so much more than hum-drum everyday life – and Hannibal doesn’t like mundane pain – like the worries and neurotic spoutings of Franklyn Froidveaux or Neal Frank, no. Hannibal wants Greek tragedy level pain – a boy who wants to be a killing monster, a girl who wants to kill the brother who has been raping her all her life, a man watching his wife die, a man torturing himself with guilt because he lost another girl, and Will Graham, whose pain is beautiful in its kaleidoscopic, ever-changing qualities – it is always the pain of the killer he is profiling, the victim he is investigating, and sometimes, Will’s own deeply buried pain, abandoned by mom, distant from dad, outcast at school, outcast among colleagues, always alone and beautiful, always alone and confused – in terms of pain, Will is 31 Flavors.

            At this point, Jack refuses to tell Hannibal about Miriam Lass – but later on he breaks. The breaking is always Hannibal’s favorite part.

            We are now flashed back again to three years earlier; we see Miriam and Jack surveying the Wound Man tableaux rendered by the authentic Chesapeake Ripper. The victim is lashed to his worktable, and all of his tools from the peg board on which they once hung are dug into the man’s body in varying places all over the corpse.

            This is not an unfamiliar moment. Jack with a whip-smart profiler assessing the carnage of a crime scene; he has also cleared the way for that profiler by sending all “the others” – the crime scene techs and photographers and forensic creatures -- away. Jack seems to understand that the brilliant ones need to be unfettered by noise and stimuli, even before Will Graham joins his pack. Miriam concludes several important things about both the murder and the murderer, namely that the victim was awake during the attack, and that the Ripper was selective about the organs he harvested. Miriam calls these organs “surgical trophies” – in this way, she is half right (Wu and Fuller 19). It is Will who will determine that the Ripper’s trophies are edible and et. The Ripper is a medical doctor, male, and – and I love this line – “exotic somehow” (Wu and Fuller 19). I believe the “exotic somehow” is meant to refer to the fact that Hannibal Lecter is European. I assume Europeans do not consider themselves “exotic,” but most Americans are flabbergasted by anyone with an accent different than theirs, so… If “exotic” is referring to the fact that the Ripper is being played by masterful and devastatingly beautiful actor Mads Mikkelsen, then yes, he's EXOTIC AS FUCK. Point is, he’s not your run-of-the-mill American. He owns a cravat – more than one probably. He probably has a bidet – he calls sedans “saloons” – and he buys all his table linens and china at Christofle. Miriam compliments Jack’s “peculiar cleverness” and we move out of the scene back into the morgue at the BAU, where Team Sassy Science is examining Nurse Shell’s body and Will is observing (Wu and Fuller 20).

            The team is discussing the similarities between Nurse Shell’s murder and the Wound Man murder. They are attempting to rule Abel Gideon IN or OUT. They are unsure how Gideon could have known about the wound patterns the Ripper inflicted on his victims because those details were kept away from the press. Will says, “I see the Ripper but I don’t… feel the Ripper. He’s an artist. This is… plagiarism” (Wu and Fuller 21). Will has his finger on Hannibal’s pulse from the very beginning of the show – whether it be Hannibal as the Copy Cat or Hannibal as the Ripper – when Will finally realizes the two are one and the same, it seems like something that has been on the tip of his tongue since the very beginning. And Will is also very correct in assessing that the real Chesapeake Ripper is not going to let Gideon take credit for his work.

            We end Act Two with Jack Crawford at home, asleep in his bed alone, his wife still out of town at a NATO summit. The phone rings. Jack shakes awake and picks up the phone. The clock reads 2:47 A.M. Clocks are an important motif in Hannibal, especially in Season 1. I will address what I think the motif means when I get deeper into Season 1, when Will’s encephalitis begins to worsen, but needless to say – clocks are humankind’s desperate attempt to not only measure but control time – and quite frankly, time rarely cooperates.

            When Jack answers the phone, he doesn’t recognize the voice at first – or perhaps he doesn’t believe what he is hearing. The words said by the caller are important because it is these words used to torment Jack for the rest of the episode:

MIRIAM LASS’S VOICE: Jack… Jack… Jack… It’s Miriam. I don’t know where I am. I can’t see anything. I was so wrong. I was so wrong. Please… Jack… I don’t want to die like this.                                                            (Wu and Fuller 20).

And then the line goes dead.

            We start Act Three back at the BAU. Beverly Katz has checked all the online databases for telecom systems and says she cannot find a trace of any call to Jack’s home at 2:47 AM. As Brian Zeller continues to question Jack’s skills of perception and memory (that maybe Jack dreamed it, that he doesn’t remember what Miriam sounds like), Jimmy Price points out, “whoever called could have tapped in from that little box outside your house. Or the junction in your neighborhood. There would be no trace signal to track” (Wu and Fuller 23). We, the viewer, know this is exactly what the Ripper – Hannibal Lecter – has done, solely because he is Hannibal Lecter, the James Bond/MacGyver of serial killers. He is a psychiatrist, a medical doctor and a surgeon; he speaks/reads/writes at least four languages that we know of. He is a world-class chef, butcher, snail cultivator, beer brewer – he can tie knots, sew, handle a variety of weapons. He can fist-fight – he can ballroom dance. He can give lectures on Dante in the medieval Italian. Obviously, he knows how to tap a phone line. I also feel very certain that Hannibal can fly a plane, hack into any computer (although he finds it distasteful), make his own soap (Fight Club style), and he knows at least one martial art, if not more.

            Incidentally, tapping into phone lines is also something Francis Dolarhyde can do – both later in Season 3 when he taps into the phone line at Hannibal’s office and calls Hannibal in the BSHCI with the call masked as Hannibal’s lawyer. But, according to Bryan, the Marlow murder in “Apéritif” is one of Francis’ early murders, and he had to tap into the Marlow phone line to record Mrs. Marlow’s call to the security company. It occurs to me that being a serial killer must create endless hobbies, solely based on things you have to learn, like phone tapping, lock picking, glass cutting, tree-climbing, and “this-is-my-designing.”

            Will points out that the 2:47 call obviously didn’t come from the BSHCI, and therefore, could not have been Abel Gideon. When Brian Zeller again suggests that perhaps Jack dreamed the call, Jack shouts at him, “I know when I’m awake” (Wu and Fuller 24). The script then indicates, “Will reacts to that, not always sure he knows the same” (Wu and Fuller 24). Poor Will’s encephalitis is worsening. It only serves to isolate him from others who might possibly help him. And the only person he thinks can help him is actively worsening his condition. I forgive him later, but from this point through the end of Season 1, I am mad as hell at Hannibal. My loyalty is to Will. Hannibal not only doesn’t help my poor baby, he purposely alienates Will from the people who could help him. Grrrrrrr…

            Next, we see Will in his classroom at Quantico. Soon, he hears the clacking of hooves on the floor of the corridor. When he looks up, he sees the Black Stag sidling toward him – then this vision morphs into the reality of the circumstance, Alana Bloom and Jack Crawford walking into the room. Jack floats the idea of baiting the Ripper with a well-placed story in the media, a story that will anger the Ripper because the reporter will heavily suggest that Abel Gideon is the REAL Chesapeake Ripper. Will thinks the scheme is dangerous. He says, “You might push the Ripper to kill again just to prove he isn’t in a hospital for the criminally insane;” to which Jack replies, “I have to push, Will” (Wu and Fuller 26). Jack’s statement is very telling – not just about his relentless pursuit of the Ripper, but of himself as a person. Jack does indeed “push.” He pushes everyone. He pushes Will so hard he practically has a nervous breakdown. He pushes him into the hands of the Ripper himself. He pushes Miriam so hard, he pushes her into that same man’s hands. He pushes his wife so hard, she flees to that same man for advice.

            Considering that Hannibal and Jack don’t officially meet until Episode 1, Hannibal is already WAAAY involved in Jack’s life and already deeply embedded in Jack’s head. It’s funny upon their first meeting in “Apéritif,” that Jack is meeting his nemesis and doesn’t know it. The man who took Miriam from him, who will take Will from him, who will take Beverly from him, who will almost take Jack’s own life. Talk about “a bolt of fate sliding home.”

            Will is disgusted with the idea that Jack is going to cahoot with Freddie Lounds, but you know how Jack has to push, so the next scene reveals Freddie Lounds entering a conference room at Quantico to meet with Jack, Will, and Alana. Jack and Alana are amiable and friendly to Freddie; Will is cold and bitchy (and insanely hot…) Jack tells Freddie he wants her to confirm her story about Gideon being the Ripper. Alana promises to talk to Chilton to get Freddie an interview with Gideon. In one of my favorite of Freddie’s lines, she says, “Not to snap bubblegum and crack wise, but what’s my angle? Is he the Chesapeake Ripper or you just want me to tell everybody he is” (Wu and Fuller 28). Jack suggests he could be because Gideon is a surgeon. The three then discuss the fabled list of professions which psychopaths most favor – journalists and law enforcement being two more. I often wonder if there is also a list of professions that psychos LEAST inhabit. Like, in the bowels of the BAU, a criminal profiler is saying, “Well, we know he’s not a pet psychic, a cupcake baker, or a crossword puzzle author, so we can rule those out! Thank God!”

            We are then transported to the high security sector of the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane and see stylishly dressed and coiffed Freddie Lounds entering the prison and introducing herself to Abel Gideon.

            When Freddie’s story is finished and published to Tattlecrime.com, we then see Hannibal at his desk with his little tablet reading it – his face as close to “bothered” as you ever see Hannibal come. This is the same face he makes when Franklyn leaves a soiled tissue on his end table, when Mason Verger stabs his chair. I like to call it Hannibal’s “I’m About To Cut a Bitch” face. This is one thing I will say for Mads Mikkelsen over and over again – he acts with every part of his body, including his beautiful face. Fannibals love to discuss Mads’ microexpressions – the little twitches at the corners of his eyes, the dead-eyed, yet sarcastic stares, the tears that appear from nowhere, the minute turnings of his lips into wry smiles – and the most prized being the MIKKELSNARL, the King of All Expressions. The look on his face when reading Freddie Lounds’ story makes you fear for her. Amazingly, she survives. It’s actually insane.

            We then see Dr. Chilton and Alana dining with Hannibal at his home. Hannibal says that the dish is a lamb tongue served with Duxelle sauce and mushrooms, created by famous French chef Auguste Escoffier. After some tongue wagging amongst the diners, Hannibal says to Chilton, “Don’t give me ideas. Your tongue is very feisty and as this evening has already proven, it’s nice to have an old friend for dinner” (Wu and Fuller 30). This line is, of course, a tribute to the ending scene of The Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal’s phone call to Clarice in which he implies he will be soon killing and eating the bumbling Dr. Chilton. As previously stated, Fuller’s Chilton stubbornly survives every season.

            Alana, Frederick, and Hannibal begin discussing Abel Gideon. Frederick proudly claims Gideon to be the Ripper. Alana begins questioning Frederick and asks, “Is it possible that you inadvertently planted the suggestion in Gideon’s mind that he was the Ripper?” (Wu and Fuller 31). Frederick replies, “Psychic driving is unethical” (Wu and Fuller 32).

            I have to admit that I NEVER heard the term “psychic driving” before Hannibal. Truly, it sounds like a Cronenberg video game for the Atari 2600. Hannibal says that psychic driving is allowable “in certain circumstances” and actually seems to arouse some gentle suspicion from both Alana and Frederick (Wu and Fuller 32). They don’t seem suspicious that Hannibal is the Ripper – we are a looooong way from that – but they both seem a little shocked that Hannibal might condone the practice, even in narrow cases. Hannibal so desperately wants to play, I think he actually overplays his hand here. He so rarely gives anything away and usually only does so on purpose – perhaps Hannibal’s admission is just to facilitate the conversation Hannibal has in the kitchen with Frederick, in which he states that he believes Frederick already has “psychically driven” Gideon, but it seems a little haphazard to me. Perhaps he’s still amped up because Freddie Lounds has landed a hit on him.

            Speaking of Gideon, we now see him in his cell at the BSHCI, this time being questioned by Jack, who states point blank to the prisoner, “You’re not the Chesapeake Ripper” (Wu and Fuller 33). Gideon tries to convince Jack, tries weakly to explain why he, supposedly as the Ripper, takes surgical trophies, why he didn’t display the bodies of his wife and her family, and so on. Gideon ascertains that Jack is not concerned with those prior crimes.

            DR. GIDEON: But you’re not here to talk about my wife or even the night nurse.

            JACK CRAWFORD: What am I here to talk about?

            DR. GIDEON: Your trainee. Miriam something.

                                                                                                (Wu and Fuller 34)

This minor detail, the fact that Gideon does not know Miriam’s last name, proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that Gideon is not, cannot be the Chesapeake Ripper. The real Ripper, Hannibal Lecter, has a meticulous memory palace built in his mind. Thomas Harris explains the grandiose proportions of the Doctor’s psychic estate in both Hannibal and Hannibal Rising. In Hannibal, Harris even treats us to a description of the palace’s interior. It has a “Great Hall of the Seasons… [a] hall of looms and textiles…[and a] Hall of Addresses,” just to name a few wings (252-254). Hannibal actually retrieves Clarice Starling’s address from this cognitive library, buried in a mental construction that Harris says, “is vast, even by medieval standards” (252).

            I know for a fact that Hannibal Lecter remembers the name of every victim he ever killed, how he killed them, what organs/limbs he took, what dish he made with them, and how they tasted. There is no way he forgets a victim’s name. With the exception of the incidental goons from the Questura in Season 3 or Mason Verger’s goons, Hannibal knows the name of every victim he chooses. No way he would forget Miriam’s last name. Gideon is an amateur.

            As their conversation continues, Jack’s phone rings. He walks out of Gideon’s cell block to answer the call as the caller ID announces the number as “HOME.” Jack misses the call and redials. He believes the caller to be his wife, having returned early from her trip. Whoever answers the phone (you know who), then plays the same haunting recorded message – Miriam Lass scared, alone, and begging Jack to help her.

            Immediately, we are in Jack Crawford’s bedroom, where Team Sassy Science is pulling and processing evidence from Jack’s bedroom carpet, bedside phone, and even his wife’s pillow. Will is once again observing. Jimmy Price pulls three sets of prints from the phone – the first two sets are identified as Jack’s and his wife’s. The third set is later identified as belonging to Miriam Lass. Beverly even finds a long blonde hair on Bella’s pillow. Will, of course, asks questions: “Did Miriam Lass know where you live?... Did you know you were sending her after [the Chesapeake Ripper?]…” and then states, “Whoever made that phone call thinks you were close to Miriam Lass and feel responsible for her death;” to which Jack replies, “She was my trainee. I am responsible for her death” (Wu and Fuller 36). Jimmy Price floats the idea that Miriam may be alive since her prints are on the phone. Jack cannot accept the idea.

            This new evidence spins Jack into another flashback – the circumstance of Jack’s last meeting with Miriam – the last time he saw her alive. They are back at Quantico – Miriam has skipped a class called “Exclusionary Rules of Search and Seizure” to ask Jack’s opinion about a report she left on his desk (Wu and Fuller 37). Jack seems needlessly cruel to Miriam in this scene. He tells her “go back to class” and “Frustrated, Lass? Better start forming a callus or frustration is going to wear you through” (Wu and Fuller 37).

            This is perhaps one of the reasons Jack feels so guilty about Miriam’s death, or what he believes to be, death. In their last conversation, he wasn’t very nice. This is one of the unfortunate things about life. The last time I saw my father, the night before he died, the last thing I said to him was, “Dad, don’t eat all that ice cream.” My father was a diabetic and my mother and we children fought him tooth and nail to eat better. Towards the end of his life, he merely circumvented us – he hid Snickers bars in the clothes hamper, peanut butter crackers in the visor in his truck – he finally just broke down and started buying all the sweets he wanted himself since my mother refused to buy them. He was unstoppable. The last time I saw him, he was digging into a half-gallon of Blue Bell chocolate ice cream, and so I told him not to eat it all. All he said to me was, “Bye.”

            If I had known that was the last time I would ever see him alive, I would have told him that I loved him. I would have told him that even though he was a shitty dad, abusive and obstreperous, that I still loved him, and I always would. I have to content myself with the idea that either my dad knew that I loved him or he just didn’t care.

            Miriam’s report makes a smart but dangerous suggestion in the hunt for the Chesapeake Ripper. She explains, “If the Chesapeake Ripper is a surgeon, we should look at medical records of all the known victims” (Wu and Fuller 38). Jack points out that this search would obviously be illegal – medical records fall under very tight privacy laws. Then, the following conversation proves yet another thing to the viewer about Jack’s character:

JACK CRAWFORD: It’s one thing for a trainee to go poking around private medical records without a warrant, very much another if “The Guru” did it…

MIRIAM LASS: Better for a trainee to ask for forgiveness than an FBI agent to ask for permission?

            JACK CRAWFORD: In my experience.

                                                                                                (Wu and Fuller 38).

There is something to be said of the fact that this is exactly the way that Jack “loses” people. This strategy is how he loses Will, how he loses Beverly – sending subordinates to do things he can’t do. I suppose it is a comment on larger patriarchal culture – how men in power get little people to do their dirty work for them – everything from cleaning their toilets to fighting their wars. It is not lost on me that two of the people that Jack “loses” this way are women. Strong, stubborn, beautiful women who went off doing things Jack couldn’t do because of “rules.” I love Jack Crawford with all my heart – but he should feel guilty. The loss of Miriam Lass IS very much his fault.

            After this conversation, Miriam wanders off to begin her search of the medical records and we are flashed back into the present where we see Alana Bloom again at the BSHCI, again interviewing Dr. Gideon. Two scenes here at the end of Act Four and the beginning of Act Five, one where Will has a conversation with Chilton, and one where there is a lockdown in the prison were cut from the final episode, so I shall skip them.

            The scene we alight upon is Jack, back in the present, walking down a hallway at the Academy, and once again his phone rings. Jack accepts the grim possibility that the call might once again be the Ripper taunting him and answers it. It brings us to one of the most interesting and important locales in the series, the abandoned observatory. The real location is the David Dunlap Observatory in Richmond Hill, Ontario, Canada. We see the observatory several times in the series – it is always a place of gruesome revelations.

            We see Will, Beverly, and Jack approaching the building – Beverly explaining that the last call Jack received from the Ripper “traced here. Or within a 100 feet of here” (Wu and Fuller 42). Jack then redials the last number the Ripper called from – one that wasn’t masked or anonymous. They hear a distant ringing coming from inside the observatory.

            They enter the building, and underneath a bunch of discarded equipment, at the base of the main telescope, they find a severed arm, the hand holding the ringing cell phone. A note on a card beneath the arm says, “What do you see?” (Wu and Fuller 43). The viewer understands that this is Miriam Lass’ arm – it explains the fingerprints on the phone in Jack’s bedroom.

            I must say, I do find the image kind of funny… Hannibal in his squeaky murder suit – which I affectionately call his “garment bag” because DAMMIT that’s what it looks like – a garment bag with sleeves turned sideways – in Jack’s bedroom, opening a plastic bag and tweezing out one of Miriam’s head hairs, laying it on Bella’s pillow – making the call from Jack’s bedside phone and then laying Miriam’s decapitated hand over the receiver – pressing the finger pads down with his own to make sure the prints stick. I always imagine Hannibal waving Miriam’s arm around with a dramatic flourish when he’s done – like some morbid maestro conducting an insane symphony all of his own composition.

            The episode ends with a flashback – Miriam Lass showing up at Hannibal’s office door to question him. The Wound Man victim was a “Jeremy Olmstead” Hannibal had treated for an arrow wound in his thigh the man received while bow hunting – when Hannibal worked in the emergency room, most likely at Maryland Misericordia Hospital in Baltimore. Hannibal says he doesn’t remember the man (he totally remembers) – but under the guise of going to retrieve his notes from the years he worked in the ER, he leaves the room, removes his shoes, and then in his stocking feet creeps up behind Miriam, just as she discovers Hannibal’s own Wound Man drawing and begins to realize the trouble she is in. Hannibal begins choking Miriam – this is the episode’s second installment of “THINGS THAT HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING INSANELY HOT.”

            The script describes the scene as follows:

Hannibal is like a column of marble, motionless as Miriam twists and throws, trying in vain to knock him off balance. She reaches behind her head, clawing at Hannibal but he presses his face almost sensually against the back of her neck to protect face and eyes from her slashing fingernails. Miriam’s eyes roll, defeated, tear-filled, knowing she’s going to die. She begins to go limp in Hannibal’s arms.

                                                                                    (Wu and Fuller 48).

This scene is an homage to the same scene in Red Dragon when Hannibal attacks Will from behind, just as Will spies a medical book on Hannibal’s bookshelves that contains the Wound Man drawing. Will’s gut is slashed by Hannibal in this attack – in Fuller’s Hannibal, Will’s gut is spared until the end of Season 2.

            This is why I adore Bryan’s Hannibal so much – it is not just an adaptation; it is a remix. Scenes are moved and laid in the hands of different characters. Conversations are shifted – things Hannibal said to Clarice, he says to Will – characters are gender-swapped or their fates are interchanged. Much of Bryan’s remix remains the same – like the tiger scene between Reba and Francis in Season 3 – but so much of it is recut, reimagined, broken down and put back together. Hannibal is an artist of deconstruction and reconstruction and so is Bryan. I still say and always will that Hannibal is the best show ever on television. Good God, it is that fucking good.

            But, you ask, “JESUS CHRIST! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET TO THE LESSON?” I shall now deliver.

            The lesson takes place in the scene just before Miriam’s attack. After having discovered Miriam’s decapitated arm, Jack is badly rattled and goes to see Hannibal at his office. When questioned by Hannibal as to what he believes the Ripper’s motives are for trying to convince him that Miriam is alive, Jack responds “Hope. The Ripper wanted to cloud my vision in the fog of hope;” Hannibal then says, “It can sometimes be brave to allow yourself hope” (Wu and Fuller 44).

            Hannibal then asks Jack when he gave up hope that Miriam would be found alive and then makes the leap from one woman in Jack’s life to another saying, “Don’t give up hope for your wife. Not yet” (Wu and Fuller 44). At the end of the scene, Hannibal coaxes Jack into telling him about Miriam, even asking what her name was. I have to say it, but making Jack tell him, as if he is absolutely unknowing of the details, about Miriam Lass and her disappearance seems almost masturbatory to me – Jack is talking dirty to Hannibal and doesn’t even know it. Hannibal sits there, absorbing every minutiae, every crease of pain in Jack’s face, every flutter of guilt in his eyes, enjoying every moment knowing exactly where Miriam is, and how she disappeared. Perhaps it is in this discussion with Jack that Hannibal decides to spare Miriam’s life. Perhaps that was always his plan. Hannibal couldn’t have known he would be called in to consult with Jack on his beautiful, but twitchy profiler, so who knows how long he was willing to wait, keeping Miriam alive, bleeding her for info that would bring him directly into Jack’s domain. All of it is devious and cruel.

            It is perhaps the cruelest of things for Hannibal to talk to Jack about hope. The viewer knows that Hannibal is the one who has given Jack this “false kind” of hope (Wu and Fuller 44). It is important to remember that on a first time viewing, an audience member is not aware that Miriam is still alive. Just as on a first time viewing, the audience does not know that Abigail Hobbs is still alive after her ear turns up in Will’s gullet and then his sink. This “give the desperate loved ones a piece of their missing people and taunt them with hope” like a sadistic kidnapper, but one with no asking price, is a pattern Hannibal uses twice in the series – both times to manipulate people he cares for – to spin them in circles and watch the motion – no doubt in this spinning, Hannibal searches for weak spots, but he also delights in their pain and confusion.

            It is interesting to think that the people Hannibal seems to care most about are the ones he plays with in this way. Will, Jack, Bedelia – he offers hope; he yanks it away. He lies and lies until suddenly, at the precise moment it will make the greatest impact, he tells the truth. A colossal tease is Hannibal Lecter. But he plays with these people because they interest him enough to invest time and effort into them, into both their pain and their pleasure.

            Hannibal pokes at Jack’s hope not just about Miriam, but about Bella. As a surgeon, Hannibal knows the hope for Bella is even more of a longshot than for Miriam. But he wants Jack to hope because without hope, there is nothing to lose. It is best that Jack, Will, Bedelia, Alana – that all of them have something to hope for, something to lose. They will all become truly dangerous to Hannibal if they don’t. Which is basically what happens with most of Season 2 to Will, and for Jack and Alana in Season 3 – vengeance arcs – when Hannibal has stripped them of hope.

            Our lesson resides in Hannibal’s line: “It can sometimes be brave to allow yourself hope” (Wu and Fuller 44). Leaving aside Hannibal’s qualifying statement of “sometimes,” the most important diction in this line is of “brave” and “allow.”

            Mostly, we allow hope for others. For a sick friend, a family down on their luck, a whole group, a whole country – a sports team or a heroic dog – we can give our hope to them. That makes sense. And it feels good.

            But often, hope is not a thing we are willing to give ourselves. It seems like something only for other people, like compliments or compassion or birthday cakes. Hannibal says it’s “brave” to allow ourselves hope because when our lives are in abject turmoil, hope is the last thing we want to give ourselves because… hope hurts. When things don’t turn out as we want – when we don’t get the promotion – we lose the contest – we fail the test – we screw up the date – or worse yet, our loved one dies – when we crash and burn, utterly crash and burn – we remember the hope we had beforehand and say, “You fool. You stupid fucking fool. How did you even dare to hope?”

            And so the lesson, dear reader, is this – as he often is – Hannibal is right (the bastard…)

            It is brave. Let yourself have it.

            ALLOW YOURSELF HOPE. BE BRAVE.

            I know it seems easy for me to say. It’s not. It’s hard for me too. Some days, I just can’t do it. But you and me… we’ve got to keep trying. I deserve hope. And so do you.

            It seems impossible is this world full of pain and death and smiling villains.

            But if Jack Crawford can muster hope from a decapitated arm and a dying wife who won’t talk to him, you and I can too.

            Here endeth the lesson…

References:

Fuller, Bryan and Steve Lightfoot. Writers. “Kaiseki.” Hannibal, season 2, episode 1, Chiswick Productions, 2014.

Harris, Thomas. “Foreword to a Fatal Interview.” Red Dragon, by Harris, Berkley, 2000, pp. IX-XIII).

Harris, Thomas. Hannibal. New York, Delacorte Press, 1999.

Harris, Thomas. The Silence of the Lambs. New York, St. Martin’s Press, 1990.

“Judges 8:27.” King James Bible Online, www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/

Judges-8-27.

Wu, Kai Yu and Bryan Fuller. Writers. “Entrée.” Hannibal, season 1, episode 6, Chiswick Productions, 2012.

[disastardly]

WIP Wednesday

Been a hot minute! Actually finished a WIP since the last time I did this (Magical Mysteries if you're so inclined), so the list is getting a bit of a shuffle. (original post + rules here)

Since they bear repeating, the rules:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write. (Make me write!)

Tagged by @eriquin, thank you!

File names!

0 - Tales of the Outer Planes

1 - Emergence

Steddie Witches AU

Til I Lose My Breath

Snippet below the cut!

From 1 - Emergence:

“Do minotaurs hibernate?” he asked into the void. “I think they should.” The newspaper felt unnecessarily heavy on his chest, like a weighted blanket of ink and expectation and whatever fresh hell was on the docket today. They’d just defeated a monster yesterday. Didn’t they get at least a day off? “She got out of bed on her own this morning,” Vida said, kneeling down close. “First time since…” “Yeah.” She didn’t need to say it. They all knew. His absence loomed larger than it should’ve for how little time they’d known each other, but it was unshakeable, that feeling that something was missing, and knowing who was missing, that didn’t make it easier. Maybe harder, actually. Sure felt harder.

If you see this, you're tagged!

[johnsbleu]

Wait omg could u write a little snippet it of like when reader was prego and she was having those hormone lash outs and john trying to be understanding but so confused one minute shes crying the next shes mad

ask and you shall receive.

under the cut is something i just whipped up real quick. might not be exactly what you wanted but i wrote it with the amount of time i had. if i had more time, i probably wouldn't have stopped until it was 10k lmao

This is not the current timeline. It's from when she was pregnant with Ronan. John's POV, 2.3k words

“Okay, you got your list?”

Y/N holds it up and smiles, tilting her head back, “Thank you for going.”

I look out the window and see the rain coming down in thick windy sheets, “No reason you need to get all wet.”

“I can think--” she puts her head down and laughs, “Never mind. I shouldn’t finish that sentence.”

“Well, I think you should.” I say, and she looks at me. I give her a quick kiss, “I’ll be back. I love you. Call me if you need anything.”

She nods her head and salutes, “You got it, Wick.”

I take one last look at her before I pull the hood up on my coat and run out to the car.

__

I got more than what she wanted, but with it raining so much, I know that neither of us will want to leave the house. It’s the perfect weather to just lounge around and watch movies, plus it’s a little on the cooler side, so there’s currently a crock-pot in the kitchen full of chili. We’re going to have a date night in and watch a movie and each some chili. I can’t wait. I love my wife’s chili recipe too.

“I’m back,” I say, looking up to see Y/N coming into the kitchen, “I got everything on your list, and then some. I got…the Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and whipped cream cheese.”

Y/N hums loudly and reaches for it as I watch her in curiosity, “I’ve been thinking about this lately. Baby girl wants some spicy food. I love Cheetos, so I thought it would be good to try this.”

I watch as she opens the cream cheese, which she specified had to be whipped, not regular, then she scoops some of it up with a Cheeto. She takes a bites and chews a few times before scooping up some more. She scrunches her face up and looks at me, still chewing.

“Well?”

“Um, not really that great. I mean, it’s good, but it’s not as great as I thought it would be.” she says, scooping up more, “I’ll still eat it though.”

I laugh as I reach in and get a few more things out that she wanted. I set the ice cream down on the counter and smile proudly, but her face falls which makes my stomach sink.

“This is the kind you always get, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she says in a soft and quiet voice, “But it’s not the…it’s fine.”

I furrow my brow when I see her tearing up, “Baby, talk to me.”

“It’s not the kind I wanted,” she says, absentmindedly playing with the wrapper, and I stand there staring for a moment in pure confusion.

She is absolutely not the type of person to cry over the wrong ice cream. She’s the type to eat it anyway since it was bought. This isn’t the first time I’ve accidentally bought the wrong thing, but she’s never made a fuss about it.

“It’s the chocolate and peanut butter kind that you like,” I say, walking over to stand next to her, “You just wrote ice cream, so I thought--”

“Oh, right, it’s my fault! You had one job and it was to get the ice cream I wanted!” she says, then she puts her head down and cries harder, “Sorry! I’m not mad! I’m just…I’m a little sad. I didn’t want this kind.”

I place my hand on her back, “I can go back and exchange it. That’s no big deal.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, despite the fact that she’s fully sobbing now.

She’s sobbing. Over ice cream. Surely there’s something else going on.

I don't know what to do so I just stand there like an idiot for a minute.

“I just really wanted that one brand we talked about, you know, the one that we tried.”

I furrow my brow as I look around, then it clicks, “Are you talking about when we went grocery shopping and they had samples?”

“Yeah!”

“Baby, that was over a month ago,” I say, but it just makes her cry harder. I immediately dig through the bag for the receipt and grab the carton of ice cream, “I’ll fix this. I’ll go get it for you right now.”

She shakes her head, “No, it’s okay. Really. I’m just being a baby.”

“No, you want what you want. I’ll be right back.” I kiss the top of her head and grab my keys off the table before quickly rushing back out to the car.

What my baby wants, she’s going to get.

I’m not even halfway down the street when I hear my phone ringing in my pocket. I dig it out and hold it to my ear.

“Everything okay?”

“You don’t have to go, John. It’s fine. I was just having a moment. I’m sorry.” she sniffles and laughs a little, “I’m sorry.”

I laugh, “It’s okay. I’m literally down the street from the grocery store. It’ll take me 10 minutes. I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll make sure to get the kind you want. What flavor?”

“Same flavor,” she says, and I start to laugh, “Just a different brand.”

“Okay, my love. I’ll be right back.”

I hear the smile in her voice when she says goodbye to me.

__

Despite the whole ice cream debacle a few days ago, things have been good. Y/N found a piece of fabric with a color she really liked for the baby’s room, so we ran into the hardware store to get it color matched. The problem was that they don’t do that at our tiny shop in Mill Neck. We were instructed to head to the big hardware store in Oyster Bay instead, which turned out to be good because I actually needed some new bolts for a few things. With a baby in the house soon, I want to make sure not a single thing falls off the walls. All of the furniture will be anchored to the wall in her room as well.

I’m not taking any chances.

“Excuse me,” a woman says, and I look over my shoulder at her, “Do you know where I can find water pumps?”

I shake my head, “No, I’m sorry. I’m not sure where that would be. I…I don’t work here.”

She laughs, touching my bicep, “I am so sorry. I just saw the dark blue shirt and assumed. I’m so sorry.”

“No problem,” I laugh, then I look up at the hanging signs above us that say what’s in each aisle, “If I had to guess, I would say bathroom stuff would be a few aisles down.”

“Okay, thank you.” she says, then she walks away.

I turn back to continue looking through the bolts, searching the size I need.

“What was that about?” Y/N asks, and I look over at her.

“Oh, she just wanted to know where water pumps would be.”

Y/N scoffs, “Water pumps. Sure.”

“Yeah, you know those pumps you put in your basement to get out water. I assume her basement flooded with all the rain we’ve had.”

“Yeah,” she says, then she scoffs again and looks at me, “I just knew this was going to happen.”

I furrow my brow and turn to face her, “What? They can’t do the paint here either? I guess we can go to Jimmy. I’m sure he knows someone who--”

“I just knew that once I got a belly and you would immediately not be interested in me anymore. I just knew you’d start to look at other women. You probably want a divorce."

I shake my head because I am confused. I’m standing here with boxes of bolts and screws in my hands, staring at my wife, so beyond confused. I just went on a 15 minute rant this morning about how beautiful she is, and I certainly didn’t go easy on her this morning when we were intimate. She’s sexy! She’s the sexiest she’s ever been, which is saying a lot because I’m fairly positive she’s the sexiest woman on this planet and that’s not a lie. I’m insanely attracted to her. I couldn’t keep my hands to myself before and I really can’t now.

“What are you talking about?” I tilt her chin up and look into her bloodshot eyes, “Honey, I am not looking at anyone but you.”

"Yeah, for now."

I tilt her chin up again, "You were there this morning. I know you know how crazy I am about you. I love you more than anything in this world, Y/N. You know this."

Y/N sniffles and closes her eyes as tears run down her cheeks, “I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” I say, bringing her into my arms, “You’re…”

She leans back and looks at me, narrowing her eyes, “I’m what?”

Her emotions have been all over the place. I’m not an idiot. I know what’s going on. Sure, when she freaked out about the ice cream the other day, I was confused at first, but then it all clicked into place. She’s hormonal and going through a lot right now. She cried over a laundry soap commercial on TV the other day, she got furious when they got our order wrong at lunch, which I will admit made me mad too since I reiterated many times that she didn’t want shrimp--she’s allergic and pregnant. She’s feeling everything on a much more intense level. I honestly feel bad. My wife always has such a cool demeanor and she’s always just relaxed and hanging out, but this past week has been rough!

“You’re feeling a lot of things right now and you’re not sure what to do with all those emotions.” I say as gently as I can since I don’t want to upset her, “Your body is going through a lot of changes right now.”

“I’m crazy, John.”

I laugh, “You’re not crazy, peach. You’re pregnant and feeling all of these emotions at once. It’s normal.”

I assume it’s normal. I don’t really know. I remember Tess was very emotional when she was pregnant.

Y/N stands back and exhales sharply, looking up at me, “I’m not gonna scare you away, am I?”

“Hell no,” I say, and she instantly smiles, “You could never scare me away. Not sure how thrilled you’ll be, but you’re stuck with me, peach. Forever.”

“Forever? Ugh, how horrid,” she jokes, then she wraps her arms around my waist, “I promise I’m getting better.”

I laugh, “You’re only six months pregnant. We have a few more months to go, so don’t make any promises.”

“Hey!” she playfully whacks my arm, “I’m trying! Give me a break. By the way, you did this to me!”

I laugh when she gestures to her belly, “Oh, I know. I actually like the little attitude you’ve been giving lately. Well, when it’s directed elsewhere. Not when it’s directed at me.”

“I’m trying not to direct it towards you, I hope you know that.”

Nodding my head, I smile, “I do.”

Y/N smiles, then it quickly fades, “I have to pee. Right this minute!”

I watch as she waddles a little and I grab the things I need before walking up to stand in line. I look around after a few minutes and see her coming back over to me with a huge smile on her face despite her red eyes. She links her arm around mine and tilts her head back to kiss me when I lean down. We walk up when it’s our turn, and the cashier glances at Y/N and furrows her brow a little when she sees her bloodshot eyes.

“Oh,” Y/N laughs, moving back a little to smooth her sweater over her growing belly, “Pregnancy hormones. I’m crying over everything. I cried over a laundry commercial the other day. The one with the little teddy bear. The little girl lost it but her dad found him, and he was all dirty, so he…took it and washed him and gave him…back.  I can’t even talk about it without getting choked up, oh my god!”

I look at her when she puts her head down, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder to pull her close. The cashier laughs and tells Y/N she’s not alone and that she was very emotional with her first baby too.

After I pay for our things, I take the bag and wrap my arm around Y/N’s shoulder as we walk out to the car. I smile when she watches me opening the car door for her, helping her in, then I rush back to the driver’s side.

“John, I’m serious,” she says, and I look at her, “I’m not always this crazy.”

“First of all,” I turn to her and take her hands, “You’re not crazy. Do you think that because you’re showing different emotions I’m going to think you’re crazy?”

She nods, “Yeah. I mean, I know that I’m pregnant but one minute I’m crying, then the next I’m mad about something like…you didn’t fold the towels right--which by the way, were folded right. I’m just--”

“Don’t say it!” I warn her, and she slouches. “Stop talking about my wife like that.”

“You’re not a mind reader and I need to realize that. I need to be more vocal with my wants and needs,” she says as I reach for her hand, “Especially during this time. I can’t get mad at you for not doing something when I didn’t even tell you in the first place. I really am sorry.”

I reach over and touch her chin, “I love you. I love all of your moods and emotions. I love seeing my sweet wife cry over a laundry soap commercial. I love this side of you.”

“It’s a freaking mess.” she says, laughing tearfully, “But thank you for loving me. It won’t last forever.”

“And even if it did, I would still love you anyway,” I cup her face and lean over to kiss her, “When I said I would love you forever, I meant that.”

She smiles as she rests her head back, “Forever is a really long time.”

“With you, it’s not long enough.”

I hold her gaze for a few moments before we both start to laugh. I absolutely meant it but I will admit it was a bit corny. She loved it though and she knows I meant it. I start the car and reach over to pat her thigh and she smiles at me, leaning over to kiss me.

“I kinda want some ice cream now.”

Looking over at her, I start to smile when I see the smirk on her face, “Tell me exactly what brand and flavor.”

[joannaliceevans-fanficblog]

You Will Find Me: Chapter 9.

Whoa it's been a hot minute since I wrote about these two! And sorry it's been a while! I had it in my drafts for long time, and I just wasn't happy with it...until now!

Also, this series almost coming to an end, with 4 more chapters left.

I know it's not one of biggest and popular series that I've written. But I love these two none the less, as it was one of my original OG fics.

Anyways, enough of me blabbing!

A big thanks to @hollybee8917 for betaing this!

Frank

It was late in the evening when Frank walked into the Inn. Beth was busy with the front desk, checking in the weekend guests. He looked around the lobby area, Sarah wasn’t anywhere in sight. Sighing, he headed to the restaurant and entered through the double doors. As he walked in, the whole place was in chaos due to the busy night. From there, he could see the bakery in full swing, and his beloved working. 

He noticed Sarah’s smile as she laughed with the bakers, helping them make some items. But it quickly disappeared when she looked up from piping whipped cream onto the fresh fruit cake, looking at him for a moment before returning to what she was doing.

Frank would have gone over to her, but he could tell she was still mad. So with one last sigh, he turned and left the Inn. As he gathered his luggage, a taxi came around, stopping to pick Frank up. As the taxi was driving out the driveway, for some reason, maybe hope, Frank turned around thinking that somehow Sarah had a change of heart and ran after him as in those romantic movies they would watch. Slowly though, the Inn was fading away from his sight as the driver continued on. Frank made one last attempt to call her but was sent straight to voicemail. He took a deep breath and left a voicemail.

“I hope we can figure things out and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. We have been through so much together to just let it all go. I will wait for you to come back to me.”

**

The following morning, Frank arrived at his family home, his parent’s driver, Mr. Davis, pulled into their driveway and opened the car door once he’d parked and shut the engine off. Frank got out to see his mother was standing there.

“Where’s Sarah?” Evelyn asked as Frank walked up to the front. He sighed and looked toward his mother.

“Back at the Inn,” he said and walked into the house.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Evelyn asked, knowing that something did indeed happen before her son came to see her.

Frank paused and turned around, “Nothing-“

“She’s starting to remember everything, am I correct?” Evelyn asked.

“Mother, I came here to help you, not to be interrogated” Frank said, changing the subject.

“I know that and I’m grateful, but you know, you can’t keep that a secret forever. From the beginning I’ve told you to be honest with her -“

“Mother, I can, I will keep it from her. I love her, and she’s-“

“But you’re being selfish. You know she belongs to someone else. You know that-“

“Cut it, mother!” Frank yelled and headed upstairs to his old bedroom.

“Franklin Adler, you can’t hide from this! The truth will eventually come out!” His mother yelled, as the door slammed shut.

**

Sarah

Beep

Beep

The annoying sound of her alarm clock blared in her ear. Moaning, Sarah rolled over, picked up her phone, and swiped the red button. Looking through one eye, the time read 3:30 am. Placing her phone down, Sarah kicked the sheets off and got up. The cold immediately hit her, and she grabbed her robe from the chair in front of her. She wrapped it around her, tying it nice and snug. Yawning once more, Sarah went to the bathroom to do her business.

As she got to the bottom of the stairs, Sarah headed to the bar to make her morning latte. She knew that she was still in her robe, in her nightgown and still looked like sleep had won the battle, but she didn’t care.

“You’re up early.” Sarah heard a familiar voice, causing her to turn around, Sarah smiled at Beth.

“Oh Beth, you know I’m always awake at this time.” Sarah said as she put the first two shots into her cup.

“That’s true, but honey, is everything okay? You seem upset.” Beth asked as she took a seat at the bar. Sarah thought for a moment, debating on if she should tell Betty.

“Frank and I argued last night,” Sarah said quietly. 

Beth looked at her, knowing that something else was going on, but at the same time knowing that Sarah wasn't ready to tell the rest. Before Sarah could respond, the front desk phone rang, and Beth left to answer it.

**

Nat

While Steve took advantage of the boat tours, Natasha was sitting down in the lobby working on research. The kind lady at the front desk told Steve that Frank was out for the rest of the week and that their tour guide would be Lewis.

As Nat stared at her computer screen, she looked out to see that the sun was out amid clear skies. Smiling, Nat closed her laptop, packed everything, and headed out. It was warm as Nat strolled, a familiar voice was heard. As she continued to walk, the voice sounded more like a cry. Nat wanted to ignore it but the more she walked, the louder it got. The moment she got closer, the more familiar it became.

The woman sat on the bench, wiping her eyes as she wrapped her arms around her tight hoping the pain would go away. Nat then took a seat on the bench next to her. Not wanting to intrude, Nat gave her time to collect herself.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Nat heard her say. Nat noticed that she was looking for a tissue when Nat grabbed a handkerchief in her purse and extended her hand to her. The woman tried to decline her offer, but Nat insisted.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to.” The woman said as she dabbed her eyes, and Nat smiled.

“It’s not a problem,” Nat said. The two sat in silence for a moment until Nat turned towards the woman.

“You seem to be alone; wanna join me for lunch?” Nat asked. The woman looked at her for a moment and smiled.

“I would like that, but I don’t even know who-“

“I’m Natasha. But my friends call me Nat.” The woman looked at her for a second.

“That’s a pretty name; I’m Sarah.” She said with a smile.

**

During the walk to the restaurant, Nat asked if she'd been there before, knowing she already knew the answer but needed to play dumb for a bit. Sarah told Nat she was the owner of the Inn. Nat gave a surprised look and apologized.

“Oh, don’t be sorry, Nat, I don’t expect people to know unless they see the website. But I do own this place with my fiancée.” Sarah said she led Nat inside. Nat then watched as she talked to the hostess, bringing them to the outside patio and looking over the beachside. It was a bit chilly, but luckily, the heater was on.

“I have to ask, but if it’s too personal, you don’t have-“

“How did I meet Frank? It’s fine, and I get that question a lot. But to answer your question, Frank saved me. I was involved in a serious car accident, he was driving by. My car was down in a ditch.” Sarah said quietly.

Nat looked at her in shock; then she noticed the scarring on her face. The more Nat looked at her, the more she knew that there was something more to this story. For her car to go down into the ditch? There had to be something that caused it to be that bad, not even Neal remembered what really happened.

“Anyways, enough sappiness; what are you in the mood for?” Sarah asked. Shaking her head, Nat smiled and picked up the menu.

“Well, last night, I had the Salmon Parcells. Oh, this looks good. The Spring Citrus Strawberry Salad.” Nat said. Sarah laughed as she too placed her menu down.

“My sous chef and I made that one. Do you like Feta Cheese?” Sarah asked, making Nat smiled.

“Of course, it reminds me of an old friend I had.” Nat said sadly, and Sarah looked at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Then-“

“No, it’s okay. She’s not gone. We just-she went missing, and I miss her dearly but I know she will come back.” Nat said, smiling through her pain.

**

Andy

Andy stepped out of the bathroom after a nice relaxing shower. He’d had a long night last night trying to find more information on his wife’s whereabouts. Even being a successful ADA, Andy couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was at a dead end. Everything was leading him in circles. As he changed, Andy saw the black box on his side of the bed. He knew what it was, he’d placed it there the night he returned to this house. Now and then, he would take it out, and her memories would come flooding his mind.

He sat on the bed, letting everything sink in. Andy looked at the ring and placed it onto his left hand without thinking it out. The moment he had it on, he felt an instant connection: her voice, scent, everything.

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” Andy said out loud.

Beep

Beep

His phone rang, disturbing his thoughts. He placed the box down and grabbed his phone from his side table. Steve was on his screen, and Andy picked up right away.

Steve, what’s up? Anything new?

Andy, I do have news. And you’re not going to believe what I found.”

[presidentbungus]

I don’t feel like writing something new but I don’t think I ever posted this on tumble so here’s the thanksgiving fic i wrote last year lol. pretend I just wrote it REALLY REALLY fast in the last 10 minutes, capiche? you got it

team fortress generic thanksgiving fanfiction. 1494 words

ao3

Thanksgiving here’s not really like it used to be back home. Dell used to help around with cooking, sure, but he never really found himself in front of the stove for three straight hours as he tried to pull together a feast from, relatively, scraps. One man here eats enough for nine, times nine because there’s eight other guys besides him, and Sniper and Scout are so skinny he’s not sure how they even fit that much food in their stomachs—

Agh. Timer. Engineer stops it and tugs the pan of candied pecans out of the oven—a Thanksgiving tradition that had to be abided by, naturally, even if it used up most of the sugar stores. Demo’s currently at the market in Teufort for more, anyway, plus bread for stuffing and eggs and packs of gravy and about a dozen more sticks of butter and Engineer told him not to but realistically he’s going to come back down with a few crates of beer too, which Dell has prepared for by having a few now since they’ll be very restocked later.

Scout comes over and tries to snatch a nut off the tray and he promptly drops it on the floor and complains about it being hot, to which Engineer says it just came out of the oven and what did I tell you you were supposed to be doing?

Um, Scout replies, sucking on the tip of his thumb. Mashing potatoes I think.

You think? Get on, it’s 4:00 already and we don’t even have the turkey out. Scout gets on. Earlier today he walked into the kitchen and did that little laugh-snort he does when he’s about to smartass up to ya, and he said Engie looked like a housewife in that dumb little apron of his, cookin’ along. And Dell turned around and said ain’t nothin’ wrong with housewives, me or my apron, boy, they’re all important things. And he’d been planning to rope Scout in anyway—important to give him responsibilities, he’s young enough that kinda thing’ll benefit his work ethic later (and also he didn’t want to have to finish the rest of this alone), so he waved at Scout and handed him the spatula and told him to stir up the cranberry sauce while he got to work on the green-bean casserole.

What else has to be made at this point? Cranberry sauce, potatoes, nuts, one bowl of stuffing while he waits on the rest of the bread to get here, that’s all done, and the sweet potato and green bean casseroles, respectively, are working out in the oven. Soldier’s out in the backyard smoking the turkey—smoking probably being a weak word for whatever he’s doing, but that’s why Engineer has another one prepared to go in the oven whenever he hears something explode outside, and Demo’s gonna make a cheesecake, and Heavy’s in the rec room waiting to take the place of Scout and make whatever he said he'd make; soup or something, probably. And Pyro’s also gonna make some kind of baked dessert too, come to think of it (at least given whatever they attempted to communicate to Engineer a few minutes ago)—and last year Medic brought some oddly-shaped pink thing that bled and squelched when you cut into it and nobody asked about that or, in extension, took a bite, so he’s probably not gonna be helping this year. 

Scout taps Engineer’s shoulder and says he’s done, and he goes to examine the bowl and it’s actually well-mashed, which is certainly a welcome surprise—Dell wonders if he’s done this before. He thanks Scout, says he doesn’t need anything else for now but keep an ear out, and Scout legitimately breaks out at a full sprint leaving the kitchen and almost throws the bowl onto the floor but Engineer barely manages to save it as Heavy falls in right after him.

Dell says hi. Heavy says hi. Heavy says: what is occasion?

Thanksgiving, I guess. Pilgrims or something. Dell takes off the glove on his gunslinger and dips a metal finger into the mashed potatoes and licks it off and runs it under water, muttering: It doesn’t really matter.

But there is feast?

Heavy asks this question every year, always sounding very worried. Yeah, Engineer always says. You wanted to make stew or something?

Yes. Recipe of family. Sisters say it is very delicious.

A glance at the egg timer by the stove—eleven minutes, around. Enough to get out of the heat and sit down and maybe catch a bit of the Macy’s parade if anyone bothered to record it. 

He steps back and rubs his face and smiles. Well, I’ll be back in about ten. The kitchen’s all yours before then.

————

Something about seein’ the spread all neat-like down the table—that’s when it clicks, that’s when it becomes worth it—the whole day and the sweltering heat and his disintegrating knees and all. Especially when Sniper and Spy come and sit down, after everyone else, but it still feels like such a victory when they otherwise wouldn’t come to investigate if the whole base went and burned to the ground.

The food isn’t great, which was mostly expected—what remains of the turkey is charred and nearly wholly inedible (though Soldier insists on pushing a big helping of it on everyone who doesn’t manage to snap up their plates in time), and everything else is mainly a fault of the dirt-cheap ingredients used in the making—Heavy’s soup is delicious as usual, however, and is the first thing to vanish from the table as everyone scrambles to get a few bowls of it before it’s gone.

Things calm down after that. Idle chatter, lots of beers being passed around (Engineer’s prediction about Demo’s grocery shopping habits was wholly correct); Demo disappears into the kitchen for a bit, along with Pyro, and twenty minutes they come out with a cheesecake and brownie tray respectively and everyone cheers. The cheesecake is unfortunately dropped on the floor in the resulting wrestling match between Heavy, Soldier, and Demo (Scout will later say he was a part of it and basically won, though everyone remembers him just kind of standing at the edge of the conflict and looking vaguely afraid), but thankfully Demo is able to guard it well enough that no one stomps on it and the five second rule exists for a reason and a slice is still divvied out to everyone who still has even the slightest trace of an appetite.

It’s just the photo after that—Engie insists, despite a slew of protests. Somethin’ to send home to their families (or hang on the fridge to embarrass everyone for years to come; same difference). Spy makes himself scarce but Soldier has the nose of a bloodhound and he comes back ten minutes later with Spy in tow, looking somewhat ashamed of himself. The whole room smells like sweat and meat and the slightest hint of chocolate, and everyone looks about ready to pass out—and is it really a holiday photo if that’s not the case? Corralling everyone together and getting them to sit still and hold some semblance of civility for at least like five seconds takes another twenty minutes since Demo and Soldier get in a wrestling match every ten seconds and Spy keeps trying to get out of things and Engineer puts Heavy in charge of watching him to make sure he doesn’t cloak and run and nobody ever sees him again. Medic and Sniper sit in the corner and talk quietly. Engineer brings them up as an example of what actual adults act like and then Scout says how he can still feel a bird flapping against his ribcage sometimes and the whole room goes silent and maybe it’s time to get the photo, come to think of it.

Scout is making a face and Soldier’s head is shoved into Demo’s armpit and Spy is gone and Sniper looks like he’s dozing off and Medic has got himself covered in blood again for some goddamn reason and there Engineer is, in the center of it all, grinning as a cyclone hurricane happens behind him. The photo’s terrible, there’s no real doubt about that, and he’s probably gonna have to retake another one at some point where everybody’s not already fed up with each other, but Engineer still finds himself smiling every time he looks at it regardless—this is miles more accurate than the stock preposed all smiles holiday card kinda picture will ever be, anyway. They're kooky idiots, they are, who are incapable of things they probably should be wholly capable of, but at the end of the day they're his kooky idiots and he can't help but feel pride for each and every one of them.

Yeah, not much like back home in the slightest. Engineer wouldn’t really have it any other way

[icaruseater]

Into the Wild West

I could say I drove out west for a few reasons. Maybe I went to fully envelop myself in the atmosphere of the story I wrote last semester in creative writing class. My professor told me I should try to get it published, but I haven't even looked at the most recent draft in months. Or maybe I drove out west to propagate. I haphazardly plucked the petals and dusty polleny seeds just that morning from the wilting tulips at my bedside table (even now, the left side of my bed reeks of dead flowers). I shoved the contents in the only pocket of my tote bag so I could throw them into some field and maybe see flowers one day. Or I could say that I went out west to finally have a cigarette in peace. All of these are at least partially true. But really, as corny as it is, I drove aimlessly out west to feel something.

I wanted to go to Marfa, a small desert town about 6 hours away, because it's where part of my story takes place. Unfortunately for me, it’s also a travel destination for hippy-dippy types over spring break, so basically every hotel in town was booked out the wazoo. I ditched Marfa for Comfort, a town that is closer to me but still out west. However, when my phone let me know that I had reached Comfort, I zipped right past the exit as every other car got off. I've only been driving for an hour and a half, I thought. I decided to let the open road guide me.

I did not yet know that it would be the last exit I saw for another 20 minutes. A pang of dread hit me, plus I nedeed to pee, but then i turned the corner and was met with a gorgeous view.

The west was not dry at all. In fact, it had the most green I’d seen since Hawaii. Massive open pastures, beautiful cows and horses lazily grazing. The sky was perfect. Whenever the sky is blue and spotless, it sounds silly but I get scared. It really makes me feel like I'm living on a movie set, like everything is fake and even the sky is a precisely ironed sheet layered carefully and deliberately by the production designer on set. This sky had the right blend of fluffy clouds and streaks of sunlight to feel real. I rolled down the window, but was immediately wacked with abrasive wind and quickly rolled it back up.

Just then, I passed a sign that read “FALLEN ROCKS“, which I incorrectly read as “FALLING ROCKS”. The highway grew narrower. Suddenly, I was surrounded on both sides by massive rock formations. They towered over me, and I anxiously glanced to my right and left the whole way through, somewhat anticipating a torrential downpour of massive boulders that would crush me.

The city I ended up in was Kerville. I got off hoping to find a restroom somewhere. I felt an intense urge to go to the Lowes because I had noticed it from the highway and it had seemed exceptionally large from there. When I finally found it and parked my car, I realized that was likely because it was on a hill, towering above the churches, elementary school, and an outlet mall.

By then, the sky had become completely gray. The weather really wasn’t nice at all. The large gusts of wind that felt like kisses and cradling under a hot sun suddenly became the gray cloud’s henchmen, assisting in the misery.

I walked into the Lowes. I looked around for a restroom, savored the smell of fresh cut wood, pretended to be interested in the light fixtures, and genuinely considered buying an aloe vera plant. I got out, having not found a restroom, now trying to see if the parking lot would be a decent place to smoke. It was not, I determined. Too many people walking around, loading things in their cars, and the weather was actually getting pretty nippy. I plopped back in my car, shit outta luck.

That’s when I saw it: the giant cross. I had seen multiple big wooden crosses on the drive up, but none quite as eye-catching as this. It sat at the very top of an even taller hill east of the Lowes. It looked so far off, but my phone told me it was a 5 minute journey. I made my way.

The drive up was steep and a little terrifying. After sloppily parking my car in the tight diagonal space, I still had to walk further up.

The view was gorgeous. Not of the cross, but of the town below. Suddenly, even the Lowes looked like a tiny store in a dollhouse. Again, so much green. The breeze was even stronger up here, so I stuffed my hands into the sleeves of my sweater as I looked around.

One thing that caught my eye was a statue that looked pretty suggestive from where I was standing (it's actually Jesus washing a saint's feet, which is debatably still suggestive). Behind it was another great view of the whole town (I imagine this is how God sees the world).

There were quite a few other people there, actually- plenty of families. The interactive part is when you get a “prayer rock”: a white rock in which you're supposed to write a message and then place it near the cross. It feels important to mention that they had to be white rocks, with several signs around the premises sternly instructing guests to not use brown rocks. Any brown rock would be removed.

I thought about what I should write on my prayer rock. Something clever, quippy, different, I told myself. The only thing I could come up with was “God is Dog”. In the end it didn't even matter because, while the rocks were provided, sharpies were not due to “COVID safety reasons”. My theory: they were getting stolen out the wazoo. I walked all the way to the back of the cross by the porta potties. The whole place was rocky and hilly, so when I inevitably stepped on an unsteady rock and fell down a small side of the hill, I yelped “Jesus Christ!”. I gasped and, before I could even process my fall, anxiously looked around to see if anyone had heard. Nope. There wasn’t even anyone in the general area. I'd fallen next to a big cart full of white rocks. I still wasn’t quite sure what made a rock a “prayer rock”, and why the brown ones couldn’t be. The idea hadn’t occurred to me at the time, but even now as it is almost midnight and all this happened several hours ago, I wish I’d stolen one.

Anyway, I thought I was just about done when I found a “secret passage” under the parking lot. It led to a very woodsy area. It had another great view of the town beyond the trees, and I passively thought of how it could be an ideal location for me to get murdered if it weren’t for God standing right over there. Would it be sacrilege to smoke here? I thought, searching for the pack of cigarettes in my tote. Instead, my eyes landed on the tulip petals and seeds I'd snatched earlier. Oh yeah, propagating. I wasn’t sure if it would work there. The patch of land in front of me was particularly dry, especially considering the greenery basically everywhere else, but I didn't feel like going further into the woods. I tossed the petals and seeds onto the rocky ground, figuring the wind would carry them where they could grow. We learned about propagating in 3rd grade science class, I'm pretty sure that's how that works.

I looked at my phone: 12:59. In one minute, I'll have been in Kerrville for exactly one hour. I put my phone down and closed my eyes.

The sound of kids laughing up by the cross. The distant faint chirp of birds in the sky. The gusts of wind causing my curly hair to whip across my face. The soft crunch of my own footsteps. I opened my eyes as I walked out of the passage and back up to the parking lot.

I was about to get in my car when I realized that the parking lot was right on the precipice of a dangerous, massive ledge. There was a wall made of stone to protect the people and cars, but it only went up to my hip. I sat on it and let my feet dangle over the edge. I still wasn’t over the perfect view of the town. I fought the hard wind as it stung my face, which by then I’d learned to tolerate. I realize now that it was actually protecting me, pushing me back to safety. I thought about jumping, then flying. Mostly, though, I thought about nothing.

On the drive back, the highway was completely clear of other cars. Surrounded by nothing but greenery and the gray sky, I sped up and turned the music up high (I ended up going a little over 100 mph). It must have been going on for multiple songs, but the one I remember playing is New Flesh by Current Joys. I saw the fallen rocks sign again, reading it correctly this time, to which I exclaimed to myself “OH! FALLEN ROCKS, NOT FALLING ROCKS!” I laughed loudly and took up both lanes because I could and rolled the window all the way down, embracing that chilly abrasive wind, and screamed in pure joy as I maneuvered between the narrow rocks, sailed down a series of tall hills, and practically flew by the pastures.

I stopped by my favorite burger joint on the way back, where I finally got to use the restroom. I ordered it to-go, stuffing the fries in my face as I traveled familiar roads back home. By the time I arrived, I had eaten all the fries. I didn't mind, of course. I popped open a beer and drank it with my burger- a double with cheese, bacon, and jalapenos. I felt like I was gorging myself- taking a guzzle of the black and tan beer like it was the last drink on earth and biting into the burger like it was the finest dining a girl could ask for- but I enjoyed every second of it. Even though I was already feeling slightly woozy, I topped off the bottle after finishing my burger. Being tipsy or drunk makes me feel more tired than anything, but I was able to make it to the shower before practically throwing myself on my bed. It felt like heaven. Maybe next time I'm in the wild west, if I remember to bring a sharpie, I'll write “God is in my bed”.

[hogan-torah]

Dear Penthouse, I Never Thought These Letters Were Real

Question: What was something that started out innocently but eventually turned out far from it?

I was 19 years old. It was the late 90’s. My father was in the hospital dying from a brain tumor. My Mom was there with him. It was a weekday. I had dropped out of junior college and was home alone engaged in one of my favorite activities, sleeping. When all of a sudden, the door bell rang. Normally I wouldn't have cared, but something deep inside me felt I should see who it was. The doorbell rang once more before I could put on enough clothes to properly answer it.

I opened the door to find a girl. She looked a few years older than me with long brown hair in a Rachel cut with a chunk of hair bleached because it was the 90’s, piercing blue eues, with freckles and a tan. Probably not what you'd call beautiful but sexy. Tall, a little too thin, slightly crooked teeth, but those legs. Long lean but the best part is always what’s between them. She said “Hi!” I said “Hi..” Then she starts with compliments segueing into questions. Things like “Nice house! How long have you been here? Seems like a nice neighborhood.”

Hot chicks don’t just knock on your door to talk about the weather, so after a few questions I interrupted her and said, “So… What are you selling? ” She blushed and asked how I knew she was selling something. “Asking questions about the things that I own that I am likely proud to have bought. But this is my parents place. Since you aren't carrying any product or even a purse and you don’t have it on you. I’d guess you were selling magazines. “

She was selling magazines door to door. I invite her in to show me what magazines she had. As I was looking over the list she asked about the stickers on the back windows of my Oldsmobile Bravada. I think I had a Jnco sticker and an Adidas sticker because it was the 90’s. It meant I wore big ugly weirdly cut jeans but when I wasn't wearing them I wore track pants. Break away track pants.

I bought 50 bucks worth of magazines off her and paid by check. She asked if I had any weed for sale. I did.

She comes upstairs with me. I put on some music, probably house music because 90’s. I pack her a fat bong load and she snaps it in one hit. As she exhales she lies back on my bed, resting on her elbows. As I lit the second bowl and I looked at her toned exposed midriff, the realization hit me. I could totally have sex with this chick. The magazine girl. “Dear Penthouse, I never thought these letters were real but the other day….”

I would describe the sex but it was 20 years ago, I was half awake, and stoned. I remembered it taking more time to find a condom than how long the sex lasted. Not that I didn't put in a good 20 minutes, it just took me a really long time to find a condom. And you had to wear a condom for any type of sex otherwise you would die of AIDS because 90’s.

She had no interest in cuddling after. So I gave her my number because she wanted to buy more weed than just the 20 bucks she purchased. She never called again. Which is fine because I put a stop payment on the check I wrote her. But one morning I woke up and there was a girl at the door and 15 minutes later we were having sex. It really does happen.