#malcom bright imagines

[multifandomfanfiction]

I'm Gonna Show You Crazy Part 2

TITLE: I’m Gonna Show You Crazy Part 2 PAIRING: [Malcom/Cassie Lector (OC)] RATING: T CHAPTER: 2/? SUMMARY: Malcom and Cassie have their date and it doesn't go that well.

[A/N - So this a sort-of sequel/continuation of "I'm Gonna Show You Crazy" that I wrote back in 2019. I had a whole series of fics I was gonna write, but of course I never wrote them down so I have no idea where I was going with it. So now we're gonna do something different with the same ending I was planning.]

For their date, Malcom came down to Baltimore. That had at least earned him some brownie points from Hannibal since he was apprehensive of letting Cassie travel all the way to New York City without him or Will.

Sometimes Hannibal’s over-protectiveness bothered Cassie, but she understood. She knew that she reminded him of his little sister Mischa, so naturally he worried about her.

Well that and he was a serial killer, so he knew what kind of things could happen to her. Even though he knew Cassie could fend for herself if needed.

Like she told Dr. Whitly, there had been some…unfortunately accidents. Accidents that Hannibal helped her cover up of course.

It wasn’t like she’d meant to murder people. She blacked out and it had just…happened. Even though she had taken people’s lives, she didn’t crave the blood and violence like she knew Hannibal did.

But every time she did, Hannibal would look at her with such pride. As if she was following in the family footsteps.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Malcom and Cassie met at a coffee shop (of Hannibal’s choosing) not far from the house.

She knew Hannibal would be watching, so she made sure to pick a seat where Malcom couldn’t possibly spot him.

Malcom came in wearing a denim button-up shirt, scarf, peacoat, and dark wash jeans. Cassie couldn’t deny that he was attractive.

She met him at the counter.

“Cassie, good to see you again.”

Cassie laughed. “There’s no need to be so formal, Malcom.”

Malcom smiled and looked down bashfully. “I’m sorry. Growing up…well you’ve met my father.”

 “Yeah. Seems a little OCD and wanting things to be just so. Hannibal is like that about some things.” His murders.

They stepped up to the counter and ordered their drinks.

“Do you have any other siblings?” Malcom asked.

Cassie shook her head. “It’s always just been Hannibal and I. What about you?”

“I have a sister, Ainsley. She’s a journalist.”

“Ah.”

They picked up their drinks sat down in some chairs by the window.

“So I did some research into your cousin,” Malcom said.

That statement made Cassie stop drinking her coffee. She should have felt offended by him snooping, but she had done the same thing. She knew what Dr. Whitly was accused of doing.

“He’s my brother. Not my cousin. We may be cousins by blood, but he is first and foremost my brother. I know my brother’s past and it was unfortunate what happened to him and his family. I don’t ask him about what happened and we don’t discuss it. It was a deeply traumatic experience, but he’s grown and moved past it. I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring it up again.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”

“Just…please don’t talk about it around Hannibal.”

That was a sure-fire way to get himself killed, which would in turn motivate Martin to retaliate and Cassie wasn’t interested in getting in the middle of two psychopaths.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

Cassie smiled and told Malcom of how she had been accepted into art school right out of high school.

“Your brother must be very attached to you to follow you across the country.”

Cassie narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not sure what you’re implying Mr. Bright.”

“He clearly needs you close to him which implies that there’s a level of unhealthy obsession.”

Cassie wanted to snap at Malcom, but she knew why Hannibal wanted her close to him. She was reminded of her first meeting with Will.

There have been many famous Cassandra’s in history, but none as famous as the daughter of Troy,” Hannibal said.

“Of Greek mythology?” Will asked.

“ She was admired by the God Apollo, however she refused his advances so he cursed her. Her prophecies would no longer be believed. She was written off as insane and a liar.”

“I think this meeting is over,” Cassie said. She stood up and stormed out of the coffee shop.

“Cassie! Wait!” Malcom called after her.

Cassie was heading for the alleyway where she knew Hannibal’s car was parked.

Malcom grabbed her arm as she stepped into the crosswalk.

“Let go of me! I’m not going to just sit and listen to you insult the only person who’s ever truly loved me!” Cassie yelled.

“Please. Just come back inside,” Malcom begged her.

“No!”

It happened so fast.

One moment they were arguing in the street, the next she was on her back with Malcom on top of her.

There was the loud honking of a car and the screeching of tires.

Malcom’s bright blue eyes stared into her dark ones. The adrenaline rushing through her body gave Cassie the bravery to do something.

She grabbed the back of Malcom’s neck and kissed him.

[writethrough]

Hi ;) I don't know if you're currently accepting requests, but if you do, may I request a Malcolm Bright x Reader fic please ? TW : Self-h*rm, anxiety, depression, ED, mental illness.

Reader and Malcolm are very close friends so they both lovingly care about each other. Reader hasn't been answering any of his calls and messages for a few days, which is unlike her 'cause she always picks up the phone when he calls her. He starts to grow more and more worried, especially because he knows about her mental health struggles. So naturally he decides to go check on her. When he arrives he finds her in a very bad state : depression, anxiety, ED and Self h*rm have been hitting her harder that usual. He stays in at her house for a few days to take care of her, which includes reassuring her when she gets panic attacks, telling her that he strongly cares about her and that nothing will make him leave her, laying beside her to help her sleep, hugging her etc. Eventually she starts to feel a bit better.

I know it's very emotionally charged, both with dark stuff and comfort/care stuff, so if you feel like you can't do it, it's totally okay, I understand. Do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable.

Please take care 🤍 Sending you hugs.

To Make It Through

(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Warnings: Insinuations of self-harm, ED, depression, anxiety, and mental illness.

Word Count: 1203

A/N: I wasn’t sure how to begin writing this. The most important goal for me was writing this with respect to those who suffer from self-harm, depression, mental illness, ED, and anxiety. I have never experienced the first four, but I’ve dealt with mild to moderate anxiety, I believe since I was young (I’d like to add, I’ve never been diagnosed by a doctor for anxiety). I have no idea what someone who lives with these struggles goes through. I wanted this to be a comforting story, one that hopefully brings a little light to everyone who reads it.

I didn't want to include too many details that could be triggering or potentially disrespectful to those who deal with the topics above.

And to anyone who is suffering and in need of help, below are different hotlines and resources.

National Eating Disorders Association

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

The Trevor Project

National Institute of Mental Health

Malcolm unlocked your front door with the extra key you gave him.

It’d been three days since he last heard from you—no responses to his texts. No calls or video chats, not even a dumbass meme. And he was worried.

You were religious in your response time to him. Honestly, he had no idea how you could send a text off so quickly.

First, he noticed the dishes on your counter. A few days' worth. Then, the blanket was on the floor instead of folded neatly over the couch. Your curtains were drawn tight, and the couple of plants you had were a little less lively than when he was here last week.

He slowly pushed your bedroom door open so as not to startle you.

It was difficult to see through the darkness, but from what he could tell, clothes were thrown around the room. And he could make out a thin layer of dust on your bookshelf.

He took in your curled state under your comforter. Only the top of your head peeked out.

He didn’t need to ask you what was wrong. You’d known each other long enough for him to recognize the signs.

After slipping his shoes and coat off, he gently lowered himself beside you. He didn’t move the covers or speak, only placed a hand close enough to your back so you could feel him while not being touched. 

He didn’t know if you were awake, but that didn’t matter. He’d wait however long it took until you were ready to acknowledge him.

He wondered when you last ate—those dishes were probably older than he thought. He tried to recall if there were any warning signs he should’ve picked up on when he was here last time. But you seemed fine.

You were also very good at hiding it.

About an hour later, you shifted to face him, still beneath the blankets.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He whispered your name. You didn’t move.

He tried again. “Can I do anything for you?”

You sniffled, and his heart nearly broke.

“Can I move the blanket, honey?” he asked.

The top of your head moved slowly in a nod.

He hooked a finger and pulled down carefully, revealing water-lined eyes with bags under them.

He thought as much. When things worsened, you never slept well.

“What do you need?” he whispered as gently as he could.

You didn’t look at him as your hand emerged to clutch your pillowcase.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

He nodded. He couldn’t let you stay like this.

“Then, could you do something for me? I know you won’t want to, but you can come right back. I promise.”

You glanced at him, then looked away. As much of an acknowledgment as he would get.

“Go take a shower. Take as long as you need,” he said.

You didn’t fight him, didn’t argue, and he took that as more of a bad sign than anything.

Once your bathroom door closed, he stripped the bed and threw everything in the washer. After replacing the sheets, he put the discarded clothes in your hamper and tossed any trash he spotted. He kept the blinds closed. Baby steps.

He was finishing putting the dishes away when you walked out in a towel and back into your room to change.

You didn’t ask what he was doing or tell him he didn’t have to do it. You almost ignored him.

You had already returned to bed when he entered. This time, you were against the headboard, staring off into space.

He sat beside you.

Your hands rested above the covers, wrists on display, and his shoulders relaxed.

It hadn’t gotten that bad.

He let you have your silence. Sometimes it was what you needed.

“Why are you friends with me?”

Sometimes it wasn’t.

“Because I need you,” he said.

It was all he thought to say. Superficial compliments wouldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. Hopefully, you’d believe him.

You shook your head. “You deserve better.”

He wanted to shield you from your own words. 

“(Y/N), I need you to look at me,” he said. And when you didn’t, he repeated himself. “Please?”

You glanced at him, rubbing the hem of your shirt between your fingers.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked gently.

You shook your head slowly, hunching your shoulders.

“I will always always tell you the truth,” he said. “You’re my best friend. That’s never going to change, okay?” He carefully pulled your hand between his. “I care about you so much, (Y/N). You’re never going to get rid of me.”

You sniffled, glancing at him through your lashes.

Tears lined his own eyes, threatening to spill forth.

You were his best friend. He’d be lost without you, and he needed you to know that he’d never go anywhere, that he belonged by your side. You made him feel seen. You made him feel sane.

Whatever you needed from him, he would give.

“Can you…Can you hold me?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

He answered by laying on his back, waiting for you to settle on his chest, hands still connected.

“Get some rest,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

Malcolm stayed with you for the next few days. He even called Gil and said he had to take a personal day, much to Gil’s surprise and pleasure. Thankfully, Gil didn’t ask any questions. Malcolm never would’ve broken your trust like that.

Today was the first day you had gotten dressed. Malcolm considered that a massive sign you were starting to feel more like yourself.

“How’re you feeling?” He took in every feature of your face, searching for the most minute twitch.

“I’m…I’m better.” You nodded slowly. “I’m not okay. I know that, but I’m better than I was. Not everything’s as…dark.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a sympathetic smile. His fingers found yours, holding them lightly.

“All healing takes time. And I’ll be right here whenever you need me.” His eyes stayed locked with yours, nothing but sincerity in them.

You swallowed. “Thank you.”

He shook his head slightly. “You never need to thank me for doing something I want to do.”

It brought tears to your eyes—how kind he was. Malcolm was the only person you could trust with everything. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own mind, to hate so many parts of yourself that you want to rip out.

And each time you were on the verge of relapsing, he’d pull you away from the edge. As you’d done for him.

“Why don’t we take a walk? See how many squirrels we can feed,” he said, offering you his arm.

Your face lifted, not a smile, but not so melancholy as it had been.

“Okay.”

Grasping the crook of his elbow, you interlocked your fingers there and let him lead you outside.

The sun's warmth sunk into your skin as Malcolm launched into what his mother was trying to rope him into. And when the first chuckle in a week passed your lips, the darkness didn’t feel so encompassing anymore.

Taglist: @phenomenal-bird

If anyone would like to be added to my taglist, please comment or message me and tell me which character you'd like to receive updates on.

[7s3ven]

MY LOVE. luke (pjo)

( master list )

IN WHICH… the half-blood campers live in a world where everybody is granted a soulmate. Everybody but the favoured child of Aphrodite, who was always destined to live a life without true love.

“My love is mine, all mine. I love mine, mine, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me.”

( inaccurate details )

Warnings : Slight angst, not proofread (grammar mistakes)

A/N : late Valentines special… oops

—

Depending on what type of person you were, the concept of soulmates were either a blessing or a curse. To Y/N L/N, it was neither because she was never given a partner. The unseeable red string tied around her left ring finger never led to anybody else. Her skin never replicated the wounds of another person. Her world was always a scope covered in bright colours instead of depressing grey hues.

To others, her lack of a soulmate was great. She was free to love whomever she wanted without having to worry about a so-called soulmate. To her, it was hell. While it was true that she could like any person she chose, she would never be their first option. She was smart and beautiful and charming but their ideal pick would always be their soulmate.

It was sad, honestly. Especially when she knew boys would like her if soulmates didn’t exist.

Even when Y/N arrived at Camp Half-Blood, she was an exception. No soulmate meant no love life in other people’s eyes so it shocked everyone when Y/N was claimed by the very person who created the idea of fated partners. Aphrodite.

Y/N was awoken by loud giggles. She cracked an eye open, staring at her siblings across from her. “Why are you all up so early?” She almost groaned. It was seven in the morning and she knew her siblings always valued their beauty sleep. “Is Elvis Presley here or something?”

“No.” Silena grinned at Y/N, her cheeks flushing a pale pink colour, “Even better. A new boy just arrived last night and rumour has it that he’s cute. Cuter than Malcom.”

Malcom was an Ares kid. Ares and Aphrodite children always got along for some reason and because their parents had a complicated love relationship, so did they.

“Malcom isn’t that good-looking. What about Ben?” Y/N retorted, kicking her blankets off.

“I think Nigel is better.” Another sibling piped up, causing the whole cabin to burst into muffled laughter.

“That’s because you’re gay, Andrew!” They all exclaimed in unison, trying not to wake the other cabins.

Y/N leaned her head against her fluffed up pillow, gazing at Silena. “So, what’s this cutie’s name?”

“Luke.” Silena immediately answered, proud of herself for remembering the new camper’s name. “He came with Grover and a little girl.”

“Annabeth.” Andrew added. Y/N quietly hummed.

“Don’t be too loud.” She muttered, “I still want to sleep.”

As the commotion amongst her siblings died down, they too went back to bed. Y/N watched as Silena traced her soulmate tattoo before lying down, gently smiling. Y/N glanced at her own wrist, imagining her own mark inked onto her skin. What was it like knowing you were destined to love someone and they were destined to love you?

It must be reassuring.

Y/N didn’t remember when she drifted off, but she did and when she opened her eyes again, the sun was seeping through the light pink curtains.

Y/N lightly sighed as she sat up, running a hand through her perfect hair. That was a peek of having Aphrodite as her mother.

“Oh, you’re finally up. We thought you were sad. Too bad you aren’t.” Drew Tanaka was as cruel as ever. She was sitting at the vanity, applying a layer of pressed powder onto her face.

“Even if I did die, Drew, Silena would be the next cabin counsellor.” Y/N nonchalantly uttered as she stood up, stretching. Drew quietly scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“At least I have a soulmate.” She grumbled.

When Drew Tanaka hit hard, Y/N L/N always made sure to hit back harder.

“Yeah? Well, at least my ‘soulmate’ doesn’t hate me because of a rumour about me sleeping with his best friend. Which, by the way, was true.” Y/N quickly snapped back, leaving Drew speechless. Y/N was never one to act out but when someone asked for it, she delivered a killing blow.

Like any normal Aphrodite daughter, Y/N took her sweet time in doing her makeup. She could feel Drew’s glare on her as she swiped a red tint across her lips.

Y/N arrived at breakfast a little late, just in time to see the new kids stumble into the pavilion. Girls turned to whisper to each other, subtly pointing at the boy and blushing.

“That’s Luke and Annabeth, right?” Y/N questioned as she took a big gulp from her golden chalice. Silena quickly nodded, glancing at Luke.

“See, I told you he was cute.”

Y/N shrugged but Silena did have a point. Luke, with his perfect side profile, sharp jawline, and pretty curled hair, was a pleasant sight for sore eyes.

Y/N was caught off-guard when Luke sat down at the Hermes table and immediately lifted his head, his gaze settling on her without hesitation. Y/N quickly looked away, glancing at her wrist like she always did in hopes a tattoo would appear by some miracle.

Drew saw her moment of weakness and instantly commented on it. “Still no soulmate, Y/N?” Silena sent her half-sister a disapproving stare.

“Yeah. I’ll just fuck yours, I guess.”

Drew’s face sank for the second time. “Stay away from Sulan.” She hissed, glancing at the Demeter boy who wanted nothing to do with Drew.

Fate always drew people together so it was no surprise that everybody in Camp Half-Blood had their soulmates in the same place. There were multiple ways you could find your soulmate, depending on your mark.

Silena had her matching tattoo. Drew had that damned red string that only she could see. And Andrew could only sed the world in black and gray until his soulmate arrived, which they hadn’t yet.

Across the pavilion, Luke lightly nudged a teen named Chris. “Who’s that?” He asked, pointing at the H/C-hIred girl who was sitting with a group of unnaturally attractive kids.

Chris laughed for a short moment. “Y/N L/N. She will eat you alive, boy.”

“Has she found her soulmate yet?”

Demigods weren’t much better than their parents. They played around until they found their soulmate and that’s when they settled down. At least, for most. Some still had flings here and there, proving that they were just like the gods.

Luke’s question causes Chris to pause. He lightly chewed the inside of his mouth before stabbing his fork into a piece of bacon. “She doesn’t have a soulmate.” He murmured.

“How come?”

“We don’t know. She’s wondering the exact same question.” Chris shrugged before going back to his breakfast, “You can talk to her if you want but she’s a little mean so be careful of that.”

Luke quietly hummed, circling his finger around the rim of his cup.

The first time Luke talked to Y/N was when he and Annabeth were separated to go on different tours. Luke ended up with Y/N, who beamed at him and crinkled her eyes.

“Hi.” She effortlessly greeted him, waving.

“Sup.” Luke choked out, his voice accidentally going up a pitch higher. He cleared his throat. “I’m Luke.”

“So I’ve heard. Y/N.”

They walked side by side in a comfortable silence until Y/N spoke again. “Where’s your third person?” She questioned. “And I’m not talking about Grover.”

Chiron had tried to keep Thalia a secret but the gossip still managed to reach Y/N’s ears.

Slowly, Luke pointed at the tree that had mysteriously appeared this morning. It guarded the barrier between the camp and the mortal world.

“He turned her into a tree.” Luke grumbled, clearly displeased.

Y/N didn’t have to question who he was. Zeus, the king of the gods and ruler of the sky, had decided to turn his only daughter into a tree.

“Yes. The gods have always been a little… questionable. Shall we continue with the tour?” Y/N guided Luke forward. She did most of the talking while he listened, or at least tried to. It was hard when an absolutely stunning girl was standing in front of him.

“And last but not least, the strawberry field. Pretty, isn’t it?” Y/N smiled as she stared at the fresh strawberries. Luke let out a small ‘yeah’ but he was still staring at her. Y/N clapped her hands together, finally bringing Luke back to reality. “That marks the end of our tour. Any questions?”

Luke shook his head.

“Great. Oh, and if you’re worried about your soulmate, they’ll show up at some point. All the new kids freak out over it. If you’re a demigod, it’s almost guaranteed that so is your soulmate.” Y/N smiled again, making Luke’s knees weak.

Where was a matching tattoo when he needed one?

“So, uh… your soulmate… what are they like?” Luke knew he was most likely overstepping a boundary when he asked that. But Y/N, used to the shame and embarrassment of not having one, merely shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know. For some reason, my mother wants me to spend my life alone.” Y/N laughed but Luke could see the pain that flashed through her eyes. The same exact agony that Luke had been experiencing after all his peers found their soulmates expect him.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t have one either.” Luke piped up. “I guess we can be lonely together.”

Y/N carefully gazed up at him. She felt a glimmer of hope spark inside her chest but she shoved it down. She refused to get her hopes up. “Everybody has one, Luke. You do too. Maybe my mom just wanted me to play the role of Cupid.”

Y/N walked off before Luke could say anything else. Annabeth instantly replaced her. “What did you say to make her leave?” For a young kid, she sure had a sharp tongue.

“Don’t even, Annabeth.” Luke’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment. He never had a problem with getting girls to like him because of his good looks, but they never stayed. And Annabeth took every chance she could to remind him of their awkward moments.

“What did you say, though? Did you mention your pet crocodile again?”

“First of all,” Luke retorted, “It was a spider. It was not a crocodile. And someone set him free! I really liked him too. And, I only asked her about her soulmate.”

“You’re an idiot.” Annabeth deadpanned, “Why would you ask that? Can’t you see that it’s a sore topic for her?”

“Not everybody is blessed with your wits, kid.” Luke playfully ruffled Annabeth’s hair while she huffed in frustration.

She quickly swatted his hands away. “What’s if she’s your soulmate?” Annabeth blurted out. “She doesn’t have a soulmate. You don’t have one. At least, you don’t have the common signs. What if that’s your soulmate bond?”

Luke chuckled. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“Maybe not… but either way, she’s still staring at you.”

Luke had never turned his head so fast. Y/N was perched on her cabin porch, leaning against the pretty wooden railing. And just as Annabeth had said, she was looking at him.

“Soulmate bond.” Annabeth repeated in that annoying singsong voice of hers.

Even as Luke walked back to the Hermes building, he couldn’t shake Annabeth’s words. Was Y/N really his soulmate? The person he had spent his entire life searching for?

Maybe. Standing next to her just felt so… right. He knew the moment he saw Y/N step out of her cabin that she’d have his unwavering attention.

Months passed by like seconds and years passed like days. Luke found himself becoming an expert at wielding a sword and not even Clarisse could disarm him. Y/N never bothered to try, always wanting to keep her appearance pristine under the hot sun.

“Do you ever get bored just lying around?” Luke questioned as he stood in front of Y/N. She was lying down under a large tree, enjoying the cool shade.

“No.” Y/N answered, closing her eyes. “I just don’t find it fun swinging around a sword in the hot sun.” The heat from the large star was unbearable during summer. Y/N hated the feeling of her clothes sticking to her skin so she was commonly found under trees during the hottest season.

“Why not try swinging around a sword at night? It’s cooler at that time.”

“I’m good.” Y/N truely was a daughter of Aphrodite, caring about her appearance above all else.

“I heard Silena found her soulmate.” Luke uttered as he sat down, keeping his distance in case Y/N didn’t appreciate his company. But she said nothing so he assumed it was fine.

“Yeah. At least he’s nice. I’d hate for her to have an annoying soulmate.” Y/N laughed yet that familiar look of envy and sadness flashed across her eyes. Y/N did well in concealing her facial expressions but her gaze never lied.

Luke and Y/N were seventeen now, almost eighteen. They had known each other for years and Luke had managed to notice some of Y/N’s subtle habits.

He also knew her opinion on soulmates. She craved for one and found the courage to despise her mother for her lack love. She prayed for one when offering a sacrifice. She dreamed of finding her other half and every time she woke up, she was disappointed that it wasn’t a reality.

Y/N knew there was more to life than relationships but why didn’t she have a soulmate? That was a query only Aphrodite herself could answer.

“Still no soulmate for you I suppose?” Y/N asked, glancing at Luke who shook his head.

“The main reason I was looking for you was because I had some sort of… theory.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, suddenly curious. She gestured for Luke to continue.

“I don’t have a soulmate mark. You don’t have one either. What if, in a way, our lack of soulmate marks is our bond? If that makes sense.” Luke almost stumbled over his own words, suddenly feeling far too nervous.

“You think… I’m your soulmate?” Those words felt foreign as they slipped past Y/N’s lips. She was staring at Luke in slightly disbelief. “I don’t know, Luke. Maybe we just don’t have soulmates.” Y/N chuckled at the end of her sentence.

Luke’s breath nervously shuddered. “Okay… so if we don’t have soulmates then I can like anybody I want?”

“Technically, yeah.” Y/N aimlessly shrugged.

“Then I chose you.”

Y/N stared at him with her eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why me?”

“Because why not? I’m not taking pity on you, Y/N. I genuinely like you. As more than just a friend. The moment I saw you, I knew that if I had a soulmate, I would want it to be you. We can take it slow if you want. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.”

Y/N could only muster up a nod, still in shock.

She didn’t know what she was expecting to happen after her indirect acceptation to his confession but finding a small bouquet of roses on her bed was not what she had in mind.

“Oh, those are pretty. Who are those from?” Silena was at Y/N’s side in an instance, curious to see the flowers.

“Luke.” Y/N muttered as she flipped over the card, staring at the messy handwriting that was undeniably Luke’s.

“So my manifestation did work!” Silena exclaimed, happily clapping her hands together. “I’ve been shipping you guys since, like, forever! And I knew you wouldn’t make a move so I manifested Luke to.” Silena proudly beamed as she rocked back in forth on her heels, “I’m so happy for you two!”

Drew, on the other hand, was not.

“Cute pity bouquet, Y/N.” The ravenette said as she waltzed into the cabin.

“I will slap you with the thorns.” Y/N fired back.

At dinner, Y/N ended up sandwiched between Silena and Drew. For two girls who seemingly hated each other, Y/N and Drew sure spent a lot of time together.

“Here comes your lover boy.” Silena teased as she watched Luke guide a new camper towards the Hermes table. Y/N wasn’t sure if she should stare or look away but Luke was already locking eyes with her, smiling so widely that you’d think his deepest wish just came true.

“He’s not your soulmate.” Drew uttered.

“I know. We don’t all have to follow the rules of soulmates, do we? You should know that better than anyone else.”

Drew scoffed, angrily stabbing her fork into a piece of meat.

Y/N didn’t eat much. Her stomach felt too queasy whenever Luke so much as glanced at her. Was she nervous? Her leg was continuously bouncing up and down so she must be.

She left the pavilion early, expecting Luke to follow after her and feeling proud of her guess when he did. “Did you like the flowers?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Of course.” Y/N answered.

“I really like you, Y/N. Please, just give me a chance. Who cares about soulmates? You may as well be mine.” Luke engulfed Y/N into a tight hug, his hands resting at her waist and refusing to let go.

“I don’t know, Luke.” She whispered. She had spent so much time alone in the dark that she forgot what love even felt like. Was it the butterflies in her stomach? Or perhaps the loud pounding of her heart? Or maybe her cheeks that were flushed a bright pink hue under the moonlight?

All her worries seemed to effortlessly melt away as Luke suddenly kissed her. He stepped back just as quickly but Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her again.

She wasn’t sure what was happening but she could feel small beads of tears roll down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying, pretty?” Luke asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concern. Y/N swiftly wiped her tears away. As stupid and it sounded, that was her first kiss. And it was the first time someone showed a genuine interest in her, someone without a soulmate.

“If we do this, Luke… you have to promise not to leave me too quickly.” Y/N whispered so that only he could hear her voice.

“I don’t want my soulmate, if they even exist, Y/N. I want you.”

Those words echoed in Y/N’s head. I want you. Those three simple words set off fireworks in Y/N’s stomach. She felt her heart skip a beat.

She really shouldn’t have indulged in her own feelings when Luke might have a soulmate of his own but she couldn’t resist him when he was looking at her with those puppy dog eyes.

After that fated night, Luke rarely left Y/N’s side. He seemed to be attached at her hip and even when Clarisse laughed at him, he ignored her. Y/N was happy for a while.

It was the new girl that caused her fragile relationship with Luke to shatter into pieces. She really should have seen all this coming. She always noticed the bruises that lingered on Luke’s skin. Bruises that weren’t his but ones he simply brushed off as small injuries from all his hard training.

Y/N was the first to walk out of her cabin and, by default, that meant she would be showing the new camper around.

She had arrived early in the morning and while she was supposed to be resting in the infirmary, Y/N found her under the tree she usually sat at.

“You should be resting.” Y/N uttered. She could only see one side of the girl’s face but nevertheless, she was still pretty. Dyed blonde hair with heavy bangs framing her delicate and pale face and light grey eyes that nervously shifted from the ground to Y/N.

“They kept pestering me about my scar.” She mumbled, refusing to show Y/N her full face. “It’s my soulmate mark but they kept saying it wasn’t. Apparently… my soulmate has already found someone.”

She finally turned her head to reveal the scar. It was a jagged line, perfectly mimicking Luke’s. Y/N stiffened as the dread began to set in. She felt like she was going to collapse. Luke always preached about choosing Y/N over fate but would he do so now that his soulmate was here?

“Right.” Y/N choked out. “Well, let me show you around first.” It took all her energy to hide her true feelings. She didn’t want this girl to know that she was slowly but surely cracking under the pressure.

“I’m Lila, by the way.” The blonde muttered, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Y/N.”

As usual, she saved the strawberry fields for last. Lila seemed impressed by the big, red berries that the Demeter kids had grown. “One last stop.” Y/N said as she led Lila to a certain cabin. She knew she would come to regret this but the matching scars weren’t exactly subtle.

Y/N knocked on the door and just as she hoped, yet dreaded, Luke answered. “Hey.” He grinned widely at her as he leaned against the door frame.

“Someone’s here for you.” Y/N stepped aside to reveal Lila. Luke paused before he chuckled.

“This is a joke, right? Y/N?”

But she was already walking, more like jogging, away.

Y/N watched from afar as Luke conversed with the girl who had the identical scar to his. It trailed over the same eye too and it wouldn’t take a genius to realize what that meant. Luke had finally met his soulmate.

And Y/N was alone. Again.

The favourite child of Aphrodite. The golden star. The beautiful role model.

She was always destined to spend her life alone and perhaps she should have fully accepted that instead of falling in love with Luke, someone she couldn’t have no matter how hard she tried.

She ended up skipping breakfast and merely sitting in front of the vanity mirror, soullessly staring at her reflection. She wanted nothing more than for an ugly scar to taint her pretty face just so she could claim Luke as her soulmate.

She traced a faint line over her eye with light brown eyebrow and imagined that it matched with Luke’s. That, in another life, she could finally call someone hers.

The cabin door opened. Y/N didn’t have enough time to wipe the eyeshadow scar off before Drew walked in. The black-haired girl made an immediate beeline for her half-sister. Y/N thought Drew was going to taunt her as usual but she was shocked when the cruel girl hugged her instead.

“Soulmate or not,” Drew whispered, “He should choose you.”

PJO TAG LIST (FULL) : @lostinhisworld @julielightwood @jennapancake @evrybodydies1 @kkrenae @s0ulsniper @justanotherkpopstanlol @simpforeveyone @papichulo120627 @corpsebridenightamare @lilacspider @urmomsbananabread @ur-lacol-dsylexic @hottiewifeyyyy @kamiliora @be-bap @finnickodaddy @th0tblckgrl @shoyofroyoyoyo @syraxesrevenge @ahh-chickens @dracoslovergirl @midnightstar-90 @liv1104 @krkiiz @arialikestea @lizziesliz @maryclx01 @lukecastellandefender @yuminako @coryoskywalker @crybabysbakery @jsbabyyy @liviessun @p3pperm1nttea @angie-esc @purplerose291 @prettylilsimp @10ava01 @happy-jj @czennieszn @gisellesprettylies @loveyava @kamiliora @jamesmackreideswife @2hiigh2cry @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @randomgurl2326 @niktwazny303 @luvvfromme @y0urm0m12 @mochi-lover26 @annispamz

[occasional-pyrrhon]

pyrrhon thoughts?

GUAH ok well here's a big post I made abt my biggest headcanons for him and on main @swadloom I tag him on posts and occasionally go on divine madness rants under the #guy tag but aaaaaah here's some more just for you 🤲

He 100% believes all the stuff about justice and heroism that he goes on about and all the crazyass stuff he pulls is justified in his mind for reaching that goal of becoming the most powerful protector of humanity

His eyes glow solid bright green if he's angry or out of it / distressed

I think he would do that thing tiktok boys do where they shush you and wag their finger and trace their jawline but instead of it being a flex on his looks maxing he's trying to channel physical damage to whoever he does it to

I wish him and Pit were a funny friend duo sooooo badly its unreal. Like the idea of him respecting this punching bag angel more than the gods is SUCH AN INSANE CHARACTER REVELATION that could inform SO MUCH about him then two second later he fucked up in space 4ever. Sad! Whatever imagine if chapter 17 opened up with Pit making his way through a big gauntlet of aurum ships then coming out the other end, meeting paths with Pyrrhon and hi-fiving midair. Then he zooms off and only a minute later it's all thrown away for power. Think aboutd it.

Because it's my current biggest fixation: Playing d&d with him would either be heaven or hell. He will come up with some shit the ppl making the rules never prepared for. He will take a random street beggar under his wing and give them a volatile ancient artifact. He will hype the shit out of anything anyone does. He will put his soul in a kua-toa and create a new whole ass god that he puts his soul in AGAIN so he can go party with Primus. He will poke the trap.

Part of an attempted fic I've been working on coming out in 2 million year. But I think he has mild weird psychic abilities that other gods don't have. One bit in there is him trying to learn how to gift prophetic powers but as goodwill apollo its weird and fucked up so that touching his gem just kinda traps you in his adhd mindhellscape for a bit and he doesn't fucking know how to turn it off 💔. Holding together the prophecies with sticks and stones like the spongebob puppet TV thing you know the one. Do I sound insane right now

Sometimes his use of third person upticks if he's trying to reassure himself or if he's less grounded. Which is. Most of the time really but it turns down in straightforward conversation and the like and could be every sentence if he's really out of it

That being said he would use the same dramatic mannerisms that he uses in the heat of battle for like. fortnite vc

He thinks spongebob is bad ass as hell. Chicken little too. And probably Bill and Ted and rainbow dash. And freddie benson. Just the most random ass guys that activate his godly protection complex. You won't be left to toil in the middle any more malcom .

Okay one fucked up one. uhh if/when he returns and gets tentatively accepted back into skyworld, he's paranoid and convinced that people are going to try to send him back to the aurum since he became one with them and in his own eyes can't go back to being who he was. He swings between desperation to return to them and desperation to never leave earth again. He keeps pretending to be confident and unbothered to at least hold on to that part of him, but when he messes up again, and proves he's just as worthless and idiotic as he used to be, he gets that feeling of the path he went down repeating until all that's left for him to do is break down and plead not to go back there, that he knows he deserves it but he'll do anything to make up for it and stay here on earth. Meanwhile none of the others would have a reason to do this, and they have no idea where this is all coming from... though maybe some of them have been there as well.

Gyuhh. Anyways. Once everyone becomes aware of the Problems ppl pitch in more than he expects, and Viridi begrudgingly creates some lil fireproof immortal friendguys, a cat and snake specifically, to be therapy animals for him. This serpentine creature is coiling around pyrrhons arm with nothing but a freak tube body and its force of will!!! And it's sticking its little tongue out awwwwww. I'm split between them having Egyptian deity names or like being the longest most insane gacha 7 star fusion type names that shorten down to like. tabby

I think he would really love insane shitty movies like the channel awesome movies or our drawings or ESPECIALLY the amazing bulk. I HATE DUST I DON'T WANT IT BUILDING UP IN MY HOME was a verbal stim for him at least at some point

His response to asking about his gender is like being a beacon of light concentrated into a form of sun flare and meteor fire all to serve justice through the realms. And like you'll have to roll with that because it's not like you can ask him what's in his pants. Because. I mean

[noforkingclue]

By Any Means Chapter 13 (Malcolm Bright x reader)

Warnings: descriptions of violence

Prodigal Son tag list: @queenoffandom08, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You put your head in your hands and let out a groan. You had never seen so much blood in all your life. You rubbed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. You jumped when you realised that someone had sat down beside you.

“Sorry,” said Malcolm, “That was a lot for you to take in.”

“I think I should be the one apologising,” you said, “Threw up on your crime scene.”

“Technically it was outside it.”

“Can’t imagine Gil was too happy about that.”

“He was more understanding than you think. Besides,” Malcom sighed, “At least this shows that you’re still human.”

You raised your head a looked at Malcolm. He gave you a pitying look and put a hand on your shoulder. He gave it a comforting grip and you realised that you were still wearing his jacket. You made a move to take it off and Malcolm put his hand over yours.

“I think you need that more than me.” He said

“I always give back what I take.”

“You didn’t take this. I gave it to you.”

“Right,” you felt your cheek get hot again and your hands curled in the lapels of the jacket. You’d never admit it to him, but Malcolm’s jacket did give you a certain level of comfort. You could still smell his aftershave and you resisted the urge to snuggle into it. You looked up sharply and said,

“John the Baptist.”

“Huh?” Malcolm frowned, “What does he have to do with this?”

“Y’know, beheaded and his head on a silver platter? Several artists have done paintings of it. Caravaggio was always my favourite though.

“Of course,” Malcolm jumped to his feet, “Why didn’t I see that earlier?”

“Because the decapitated head was a bit of a distraction.”

“No, well, yes but I’ve seen worse.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“How?”

“I was being sarcastic,” you said, “So many creative homicidal maniacs running about New York. Who goes round beheading people? Surely there are easier ways to kill people that doesn’t involve you getting splattered in blood?”

Malcolm froze. He looked over at you and stood up slowly.

“What did you say?” he said

“Surely there are easier ways to kill people.”

“No, no, no,” Malcolm shook his head, “Before that.”

“Who goes round beheading people?”

“Exactly,” Malcolm started pacing, “what do both of these things have in common.”

“Murder.”

“Besides from that.”

“Both are based on paintings.”

“Which are of.”

Realisation dawned and you stood up. You ran your hands over the back of your head and said,

“Beheadings.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Well, yes,” Malcolm waved a hand, “but executions.”

“These people are being executed for having fakes.” You said with an amused smiled and raised eyebrows

“I’ve had weirder reasons for people killing others.”

“Such as?”

“No reason at all.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Malcolm slowly approached, “Killing just for the sake of killing? No reason at all other than the sheer joy of it.”

“But then there is a reason, isn’t there?”

“Oh?”

“Pleasure,” by now Malcolm was directly in front of you, “For the sheer joy of it.”

“And you think that’s why these crimes are committed?”

“You tell me. You’re the profiler.”

“They believe what they’re doing is a necessity,” Malcolm said, “that they need to rid the world of this… this…”

“Evil?”

“A little melodramatic.” Said Malcolm with a smirk

“And we’re dealing with a serial killer who beheads people.”

“Technically he’s not a serial killer yet.”

“Key word- yet.”

“Although,” a frown crossed Malcolm’s face and he became suddenly serious, “That raises a very important point.”

“Which is?”

“If this person views these people as evil, how would he view the people providing the art?”

“Being a little melodramatic don’t you think?”

[shelsgovroomvroom]

Okay I’m not the one that asked if they could send Malcolm stuff, but I was wondering if you could write some sub!malcolm headcannons?

Oh lord i have so many feelings about sub!malcom that boy is a massive sub. Please send me more stuff about this!!!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy 🖤🖤

—————————

- best sub ever. Never disobeys you.

- his biggest kink is probably his praise kink so he just loves to serve you.

- he doesn’t like rope restrains but he really likes shibari? So stuff like rope harnesses and just decorative bondage that still lets him have control of his hands is amazing.

- over time he’ll begin to ask for you restrain him more and more and eventually bondage becomes one of his favorite kinks. But only with you.

- really loves non sexual scenes.

- really likes kneeling in front of you. Sometimes if you can see that he’s struggling you’ll tell him to kneel at your feet while you read and it always calms him.

- has a collar that he likes to wear around the house

- doesn’t like impact play but loves sensory play? So he doesn’t like hitting but fucking loves when you just trail a whip down his back.

- is a massive slut for pegging

- always requires aftercare. It just makes him feel so nice and safe.

- send me more sub!malcom guys

[darling-i-read-it]

Coming With

Malcolm Bright x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: spoilers for the newest prodigal son episode but not really?

Author’s Note: I really loved writing this one I have so much fun writing Malcolm. This show is iconic I love it. Thank you for requesting and being so NICE!

Requested: by @topstory21 ,Hello first of all I really enjoy your stories especially Psychic Lover with Malcolm Bright it's one of my favorites! Anyway I was wondering if I could request a Malcolm Bright x Reader where the reader is a detective and goes to the prison hospital Martin is living at to interview a different prisoner or maybe even him alone and the hospital goes into lockdown and Malcolm freaks out cause there's no way to get into contact. So kind of like episode 7

Summary: the request!!

Genre: FLUFF

(not my gif)

You had promised yourself that you would do this stupid interview. You promised Gil you would come to the hospital in a prison to get one interview out so that Malcolm wouldn’t volutneer to do it before anyone else.

You drove up to the side of the building and sighed, grabbing a notepad. You should have asked someone else to come down with you so that you could have some company in that grimy place.

When you walked in you let your gun go at the door, along with other sharp objects you may have brought in and mostly anything to protect yourself. The guard at the door reassured you that there was guards there already that would protect you but you weren’t to worried about that. You just needed to be in and then out.

You walked down the long hallway, your shoes and your guard escort the only noise you could hear. You weren’t there to interview Martin Whitly but you thought about him as you walked.

You and Malcolm had gotten really close since he had joined the force with you and the team. Your relationship had been stricly work right now but you had been edging toward other things during steakouts and coffee research nights. That was the real reason you had been here. You were trying to keep Martin away from his son as best you could. You could see Malcolms deteriorating mental state and thought it was best.

Still you wish he had been here. It would have made the interview easier.

The guard didn’t leave the room and the prisoner was strapped to the wall when you began asking the questions. It was easier than you thought it would be. It was going smoothly, answers were throuough even if you had to pry a little to get them out.

Until the lockdown. It all happended so quickly, doors staying shut when you tried to open them.

“What do you mean we can’t get-” Your voice was cut off by your phone ringing. You paused, wondering if it was Gil to check on you or something but wasn’t surprised to find Malcolms face light up your phone.

He had changed his name in your phone to ‘Mal’ because you when you joked around thats what you called him. Even in the crappy situation, it made you crack a smile.

“Hey Malcolm,” you spoke tiredly. His voice on the other end was rushed and panicked

“Are you here?” he asked. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Where?” He groaned.

“Are you at the hospital Y/N,” he asked. You walked back to the door and looked out the inforced window.

“Malcolm are you?”

“You’re here. Oh God you’re here. Are you okay? What room are you in?” There were voices speaking behind him that were muffled. You couldn’t make anything out. You were just surprised he was here in the first place. You had come here so he didn’t have to.

“Mal I’m fine are you okay? Are you in your dad's cell? Malcolm take a deep breath.” He paused and did as he was told. You could hear him inhale and then exhale.

“Yes. I’m in my dad’s cell on the thirs floor. Where are you?” You turned to the guard who was standing at arms length of the prisoner.

“What floor are we on?” you asked and the guard held up 3 fingers. “I’m on the third floor two. Do you know what’s going on?”

“Someone escaped, killed a guard I-“ His voice cut. “Shit my phones dying.” It cut out again.

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“Be,” static, “eful I’ll co,” static, “et you!” Then he was gone. You sighed frustrated.

“Dammit!” You turned to the guard. “How far away is Martin Whitly’s cell?”

“Down the hall just a little. Why? He didn’t break out did he?” You shook your head and put your hands on the door, feeling around it for a weak spot. You weren’t surprised when you didn’t find one.

“Let me out.” The guard looked skeptical.

“I can’t do that.” You looked annoyed.

“You don’t understand my boyf- my friend is out there and he doesn’t go well under this kind of pressure. He’s in the Whitly cell. Let me go to him.” The guard still looked apprehensive.

“For all we know the guy that broke out is Whitly.” You thought over your options. You had to get to Malcolm. The guard was right it could have been Whitly who caused the alarm and that would be worse for Malcolm. You took to long steps to the guard.

“I will knock you out and take your key card.” The guard heard the seriousness in your voice and let you take it off him. You walked back to the door. “It’ll lock behind me,” was all you said before leaving the room.

The hallway was dark except for some red lights flashing at the end, illuminating your vision for a few seconds at a time. You wished you had your gun. You walked forward and attempted to remember where Martins cell was. As you turned the corner a man fell before you with a thud. You screamed and all defense went out the window. You were going to run when the camera in front of you dropped and your vision focused. A patient was on the floor and Malcolm stood in front of you.

He dropped the camera and let out a sigh of relief. You fell into each other’s arms and you heard him sniff like he had been crying. You cradled his head and he buried his face in your neck.

“I thought you were gone, I thought he might have gotten you, oh Y/N I thought-“

“Shhh,” you shushed him. His voice died down and you held each other for a second.

“I love you.”

You could barely hear it over his sniffles and your heavy breathing but you heard it. You smiled but he couldn’t see it.

“I love you too.” You let him go slowly and he grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes. You smiled softly.

“I know this might be to soon but my dad’s back there and my sister and her boyfriend who’s slowly dying if you wanna join us,” he told you nonchalantly. Your eyes widened.

“Yeah okay let's go.”

You were glad Malcolm was here. You should have asked him to come with you at the start though, would’ve saved some time.

[thatesqcrush]

In Another Time, Ch. 5

Bryan Kneef x Reader. CW: language, recollection of prior smut. WC: 2.1K

Last time on In Another Time...

When Bryan woke up the following morning, he called for you before fully opening his eyes. When you didn’t respond, he sat up and looked around. He was somewhere else entirely different. He was acutely aware of the sound of a monitor beeping in the background. He looked down and realized he was in a hospital gown and that was when he noticed the plastic bracelet wrapped around his wrist with his identifying information.

Bryan wasn’t even aware you were in the corner, your arms crossed, along with your legs. When you spoke, he turned to where you were. His eyes grew wide with realization.

“Welcome back to the real world asshole. Shame you didn’t die.”

**

“What - what’s going on?” Bryan asked confusedly. He pushed off the thick white hospital blanket with his legs and sat straighter. He looked at his hands - there was no thick wedding band before looking over at you, trying to get a glimpse of your hand.

“Marissa told me about your recent fall. And I had to see it for myself.” You replied, standing.

Bryan took in your full appearance. You were in jeans and a tank top, with a loose sweater. You looked worn, with dark circles under your eyes.

“I almost didn’t believe Marissa until I arrived here.” You began to pace the length of the room. “The great Bryan Kneef and not a single visitor who cared enough to visit or send a card.”

Bryan looked around - you were right. There were no flowers, no get-well cards, no balloons, no anything. The room was entirely void of anything, except for a pitcher of water on the over bed table.

“When I got here, the nurse told me that I was the only one who had bothered to visit.” You laughed in derision. “So sad.”

You stood and began to pace the room. “Why should anyone be surprised though? You’re an asshole. You lack complete empathy for anyone but yourself.”

Bryan watched you quietly as you continued with your verbal lashing. He thought about his coma dream… journey of his future… whatever you wanted to call it. Shame and guilt filled him as you called him out for every wrong he had committed.

“You don’t see us as people - you saw us as cogs in a machine. Heaven forbid if you showed even an ounce of gratitude! Do you know how much I gave up - the staff gave up in order to do your bidding? Don’t get me wrong, I understand working for a big corporate firm means long hours but Jesus Christ, we’re on a rotation because no one can stand working for you for extended periods of time!”

Bryan swallowed hard, his stomach knotting. “So fucking inconsiderate!” You ranted. When you turned to Bryan, your eyes were flashing with fury. Your face was red, your eyes watery with unshed tears.

“And then, it’s not enough to fire me,” you continued. “You had to humiliate me in front of my friends! My colleagues! Did that make you feel good? Is that what gets you off?”

You stopped pacing and stood in front of him with your hands on your hips.

Bryan waited a beat before speaking. He pointed his finger at you and then at himself. “Are you done?”

You scoffed in reaction. “That’s what you’re taking away? You can’t even muster a fucking apology? Even if you don’t mean it?”

Bryan held a hand up. “That’s not what I meant. If you could just sit and let me—“

You marched over to the chair and grabbed your purse. “No. I am done here. You really are an asshole.”

Bryan wracked his brain to say something - anything - to keep you from leaving. The normally loquacious litigator was at a loss for words and watched as you left.

**

Weeks had passed and Bryan Kneef was the furthest thing in your mind. You collected unemployment while trying to find work, while also filling out applications for law school. Though Chicago was home, you realized this was a rare opportunity to pick up and leave - the world was your oyster. You chose schools all over the country - no school was off limits in your mind.

You were knee deep in application hell when you realized you needed letters of recommendation. You gathered some from other attorneys but it was Marissa who encouraged you to reach out to Bryan.

“Look, it’s the least he could do for you given everything.” Marissa advised, as she picked at her lunch.

“I don’t know Marissa. I can’t take being humiliated again.”

Marissa shook her head. “I doubt he’d do that after you gave him a piece of your mind.”

You thought carefully as you chewed your lunch. “What would I even say?”

“Give me your phone. I’ll write the email.” Marissa replied, extending her hand. When you hesitated, she closed and opened her fist repeatedly. “Give me!”

You let out an irritated sigh as you reluctantly handed over your phone. “I get to see what you wrote before you hit send.”

Marissa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, give it to me.”

Dear Mr. Kneef,

I hope you are well! I am in the process of submitting law school applications. Part of the application process requires a letter of recommendation from someone who can effectively elaborate on my work habits, skills and achievements. Based on our history, I am sure you can help provide an effective, honest, and detailed letter on my behalf.

Thank you for your time and efforts on my behalf.

Sincerely, Y/N

“Done!” Marissa announced.

“Let me see.” You replied, reaching out for your phone.

“Oops, sleight of hand. Already hit send.” Marissa shrugged as she sipped her drink.

“Marissa!” You shrieked in disbelief. “How could you?”

“It’ll be fine. Just you wait.” Marissa replied, with a roll of her eyes.

**

Bryan returned to work, no big hoorahs at him being in the office again. There were a few welcome back emails and mentions in passing, but he wasn’t fawned on as he might have thought he would have been previously.

He was surprised when he saw the email that came from you. He read it - and then re-read it. And then he read it two more times. He debated instantly replying and actually hit reply but then he deleted his response. He wanted to ruminate on his reply.

He flagged the email as important and then resumed reviewing the brief in front of him.

**

The email reply came a week later. Bryan had agreed under one condition - which you thought was pretty ballsy, all things considered - to meet with you face to face. You acquiesced the request under your condition that it was in a neutral place - somewhere public.

It surprised you when Bryan picked a coffee house not far from your apartment. A time was agreed upon. Both you and Bryan faced many sleepless nights until the day had arrived.

It was another rainy day in Chicago. You dashed across the street, against the light. A car honked at you, but you ignored them, your rain boots splashing in the puddles as you darted past.

When you pushed open the door of the coffee house, with rustic, yet, chic vibes, you were relieved that Bryan wasn’t there. You chose a table by a window and then ordered a cup of tea for yourself. You couldn’t help but watch every passerby, wondering when Bryan would show.

When he did finally show, he looked around, his eyes darting towards the back, looking for you. He shrugged off his jacket and made way to the counter. You watched Bryan talk with the barista for a bit. While he waited for his drink, Bryan turned around and his eyes met yours. Seeing those eyes settle on your face, your heart began to thump hard in your chest and your pulse quickened. Your mouth suddenly felt dry and your hands began to feel clammy. He straightened up and walked over to you.

Bryan began to walk over, but his name was called so he turned to grab his drink. He almost half-expected to find you gone once he turned around. He was relieved when he saw you still there. You were no longer focused on him, instead turning your focus on your phone.

He walked over to you, his legs feeling like he was trudging through molasses.

“Good morning - thanks for meeting with me.” Bryan replied, as he pulled his chair to sit across from you.

“Whatever you have to say, just spit it out.” You replied, as you turned over your phone.

Bryan furrowed his brow. The little speech he had practiced on the way over seemed trite and inauthentic.

With a sigh, he began. “I’m sorry." Now he'd said that, it seemed easier to go on. He looked into your eyes, brazening out your hostile, expectant gaze. The apology hadn't softened you at all. You were just waiting for more. He sighed once more. "I'm sorry I fired you, that wasn't fair, your work has always been excellent."

You raised your eyebrows and he realized you wanted more than a professional assessment. "I'm sorry for everything. I just wanted the machine to run efficiently…"

"So we are just cogs to you?" You looked incredulous. He shook his head, trying to find the right words.

"No. I don't mean that. It's not a machine and you - none of you - are just cogs. Especially not you. I shouldn't have treated you like shit. I was having a bad day and I just lost my temper."

"And that's it? You lost your cool and I'm supposed to get over it? Sure, if it was a one time thing - but it wasn’t. You have treated us like shit for years.”

Bryan looked frustrated. "I don't know what you expect from me. I apologized. I've told you you're a valued employee."

"Is this what HR told you to say?" For all his words, Bryan didn't really look sorry. He looked surprised to find himself with anything to apologize for. "Well, thank you for valuing me, Mr. Kneef."

"I thought of it myself, and it's a genuine apology. Take it or leave it." His jaw set firm. Stubborn. "But I do mean it."

“Whatever.” You muttered as you reached over to your bag. You pulled out a hodgepodge of colored folders. “This. Is what I need from you.”

You thrusted the stack towards Bryan, who immediately began to go through them. “You are applying to schools all over I see.”

“Yup.” You replied, your lips punctuating the ‘p.’ “Getting the fuck out of here.”

Bryan furrowed his brow. “You do have an application though to Northwestern.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, well I wanted to keep my options open in case I changed my mind.”

You reached for your tea, your hand wrapped around the mug. Your nails were painted a delicate color and the image of your hand wrapped around his cock went through Bryan’s mind. He sucked in a breath and blinked rapidly, trying to regain focus.

“I’ll email when I am done with them.” Bryan replied. You looked at Bryan with a pointed look. He took a large gulp of his coffee while nodding. “You have my word. I won’t write anything that is less than supportive.”

“Then we’re done here.” You replied. You stood and grabbed your things. “Give my regards to everyone at the office.”

Bryan watched as you left the shop, your figure growing smaller and smaller until you rounded the corner and were gone. He rubbed his face tiredly before grabbing the files and leaving as well.

**

It took Bryan longer than he cared to admit to finish all of the recommendations you had asked for. He’d begin to write and then delete everything half way through and then start over again. Eventually they were all done and there was a tremendous weight lifted off of him.

He hadn’t expected to hear from you after all was said and done. Months went by without a word from you. But it was a random dreary Tuesday afternoon when an email from you popped into his inbox. Bryan was in the middle of a call when it showed up.

“I’ll have to call you back.” Bryan stated quickly before hanging up the phone. He swallowed hard; the email evoked feelings of consternation.

I got in. -Y/N

Bryan replied to your email quickly, offering congratulations as well as asking which school/s and if you had decided where you were going.

You never replied back. To say Bryan was disappointed, was the understatement of the year.

TBC.

Tag list: @mgarner1227, @madpanda75, @tropes-and-tales, @dreamlover31, @beardedmccoy, @youreverycolor, @sass-and-suspenders, @beccabarba, @neely1177, @witches-unruly-heart, @ottosuricato, @mrsrafaelbarba, @skittle479,@mommakat32, @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo, @dreila03, @garturbo, @sweetsummertime99, @imjustreallynosy, @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo,@garturbo, @dreila03, @whyissvuruiningmylovelife, @annabelleb49, @redlipstickandplaid, @redlipstickandblacktea, @zoeykaytesmom, @differentshadesofgray, @misssirenlove, @bananas-pajamas, @esparza-army, @storiesofsvu, @pieceofshittytitty, @ktiz90, @evee87, @detective-giggles, @itsjustmyfantasyroom, @rampantmuses, @jazzyjoi, @rachelxwayne, @i-justreally-like-cats-okay, @prurientpuddlejumper, @lv7867, @permanentlydizzy, @bisexual-dreamer02, @madamsnape921, @averyhotchner, @teamsladsandgents, @qvid-pro-qvo, @alwaysachorusgirl, @metachorism, @catnip987, @law-nerd105, @tintinxtintin, @wanniiieeee, @amelia-song-pond

[broadwaybuttermilk]

malcom calls gil jj bittenbinder to tease him. he watched john mulaney’s radio city special one night because he’s sad and John brings joy and he was like “haha police shit, we do that” and then the next day gil was lecturing him on being an idiotTM and malcom was like “okay bittenbinder” and gil has never been more confused in his life. dani and jt on the other hand were very impressed and then started calling gil jj bittenbinder as a joke sometimes. in this essay i will-

[athiare]

She knew this would have happened, she had tried to warn him for so long, that his father never cared about him and that sooner of later he would have become one of his victims. She tells him that, whispering “Bright” here and there, to remind him who he really is, while she presses her hand on the open wound on his chest.

Malcom tries to say something but she wouldn’t want him to, she expects him to mention his mother or to tell her something she’s not ready to hear, to finally give a name to those feelings he has so poorly tried to hide.

But nothing of the kind comes out of his mouth, instead he breathes out “Ainsley killed Endicott... and I help her cover it.”

If he has to die, God help him he wants to lighten up his soul as much as possible.

“What?” Dani asks, shocked, but he has already closed his eyes.

[multifandomfanfiction]

I’m Gonna Show You Crazy

TITLE: I’m Gonna Show You Crazy PAIRING: [Malcom/Cassie Lector (OC)] RATING: T CHAPTER: One-shot SUMMARY: One of Dr. Whitly’s many colleagues visits him while in prison.

[A/N - This may be the beginning of a mini-fic, but I haven’t decided yet.]

The door opened and two people entered Dr. Whitly’s cell.

He turned and smiled. “Hannibal! My dear friend. It’s been years”, Martin said.

“I was in the neighborhood. I don’t make it up here very often”.

“Working with the FBI?”

“Purely as a consultant”.

Martin looked at the girl who entered with Hannibal. “And who might this lovely creature be?”

“Martin, this is my sister Cassandra. She assists the FBI as well from time to time”.

“Please call me Cassie. I’m a fan of your work”, Cassie told him.

Martin gave her an uneasy smile.

“Your medical work”, she clarified.

“Oh, thank you my dear”.

She walked over to his bookshelf and pulled one of his journals off. “My brother may be a psychologist, but I see a lot of you in his work”, she said, glancing over the medical sketches.

“And what of you, my dear?”

Cassie snapped the journal shut. “There have been…unfortunate accidents”.

“How do you help the FBI?”

“Amateur profiler. I’m really just there to help Hannibal with Will”.

“Have you by chance met my son? He worked for the FBI for a time as a profiler”.

Cassie shrugged. “I only come in contact with Will and Jack Crawford. Besides, it’s hard to meet a man with a brother like Hannibal”.

“Protective?”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “You have no idea”.

Martin shared a look with Hannibal. “Oh, speaking of my son, here he comes”.

The door opened.

“I didn’t realize that you already had visitors, Dr. Whitly”, the man said.

Cassie was struck by how utterly beautiful he was. He had a tortured soul she could tell, much like Will. Maybe she had a type after all.

“Malcom, this is one of my colleagues, Dr. Hannibal Lector”, Martin introduced.

Malcom nodded at Hannibal.

Cassie could tell that Hannibal didn’t appreciate Malcom not offering his hand to shake.

“And this is Cassie, Hannibal’s sister. She assists the FBI with profiling”, Martin said, hoping Malcom would take the bait.

Cassie was a good looking young woman.

“You’re not his sister”, Malcom said, “Definitely a close relative, but not his sister”.

“Are you profiling me?” she asked him, “My brother is a psychiatrist and my best friend is a profiler. I don’t think you wanna psychoanalyze me. You’re an insomniac, but when you do sleep you experience night terrors going by the slight bruising on your wrists”.

Malcom raised his eyebrow at her. “Malcom Bright”.

Bright? Obviously he wasn’t fond of his father and wanted to distance himself from him based on the fact that he gave her a fake last name and the way he addressed his father as “Dr. Whitly”.

“Cassandra Lector”, she said, “It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Bright, Dr. Whitly”.

Hannibal placed a hand on her lower back and led her from the room.

“Who was he really?” Malcom asked his father.

“I resent your implication, Malcom. In my time as a medical professional, I have come into contact with Dr. Lector at many conferences. He and his sister were in the area and decided to pay me a visit. Is that so wrong?”

“How did they get on your visitors list?”

“Did you like Cassie? Maybe you should go after her and ask her for coffee or something. I think you two would get on very well”, Martin said, changing the subject.

Dr. Whitly was hiding something and he was going to find out what it was.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few days later, Hannibal and Cassie were back in Baltimore.

Cassie was attempting to help her brother cook, but there was a pair of blue eyes that she couldn’t get out of her head.

“Cassandra”, Hannibal said.

“Shit!” Cassie cursed as she turned down the heat on the stove, “Sorry”.

“You’re thinking about Malcom Bright again. We’ve talked about this Cassandra”.

Cassie sighed. “I know it’s dangerous, but would going out for coffee or something be so bad? How different is it than dating Will?” Cassie knew that Martin Whitly was trying to manipulate her and Malcom into a relationship with the hope she could tempt Malcom into slipping down the rabbit hole with her.

Hannibal opened his mouth to reason with her again when her phone rang.

Cassie didn’t recognize the number, but picked up anyway. “Hello?”

A man cleared his throat and said, “Is this Cassandra Lector?”

“Mr. Bright”, Cassandra said, turning to Hannibal with a smile.

Hannibal looked at her, a knife firmly held in his hand.

“How can I help you?” she asked him.

“I was wondering if we could meet for a drink. As friends”.

“I think I could manage that”, she said, ignoring the glare on Hannibal’s face, “And if we’re going to consider ourselves friends, I suppose you could call me Cassie”. She heard a soft chuckle.

“Then I look forward to seeing you again, Cassie”.

“Goodbye Malcom”, she said and hung up.

“You know you’re playing straight into his hands”, Hannibal said.

Cassie smirked as she picked up her glass of wine. “Oh, I know. The question is, who will break first?”

Hannibal returned her smirk as he picked up his own glass. “Let the games begin then”.

With a clink of their glasses, a chess match begun.

[midnight-moonlight-and-mars]

I will be changing my tag in a few days

It will most likely be @marsandmoonlight

If I tag you, it is because I think you should know for tagging me in fics, I tag you in fics, you visit my dash or like posts frequently, or just an fyi

@xxwritemeastoryxx @caplanbuckybarnes @socksonat3am @lovelydivs @woodworthti666 @vampiregirl1797 @audioshoes @qveenmikaelson

If youre not listed I apologize, I cant get everyone and some tags didnt work.

Please signal boost this!

Ps: I posted a new Supernatural AU abd will update Windowpane this week. I havent been posting because of the lack of reblogs and or comments. I appreciate those who like them, but likes aren't very motivating and leaves my work where you found it. At this point idc if you read it, but reblog if you see it.

Thx for reading!! -K💘

[some-writer]

drinking a few drinks, thinking about writing for Malcom Bright from Prodigal Son- but all I can think about is his eyes. how are they so pretty oh my gosh

[bright-the-insight]

I M A G I N E

Bright and you walk to work together every morning. Lately, he’s been acting a little different around you. You can solve murder cases, but you can’t seem to solve this tension between you and Bright. Today, he’s early and waiting downstairs as you’re still upstairs getting dressed. A few minutes later, you come down in a more formal outfit than usual and this is Bright’s reaction as he says: 

Good morning 

---

I will never get good at writing imagine, but these little thoughts are just on my mind haha 

[oxydiane]

Harry is eight and spending the time he isn’t locked up in his cupboard, or doing house chores, or running away from Dudley and his gang, at the nearby park. He sits on the swing and idly watches the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

His name is Malcom, his hair is light brown and his eyes are the prettiest blue Harry’s ever seen.

But— but boys aren’t supposed to be pretty. Boys aren’t supposed to think other boys are pretty, so he makes himself smaller in his worn out jumper and never approaches him again.

Harry is eleven when his life turns upside down and a gangly freckled kid sits next to him on the Hogwarts Express. He looks into his blue eyes and marvels at the bright red of his hair. He wants to reach out and clean the bit of dirt off his nose, but that would be getting too close to another boy, and he couldn’t afford that, could he?

Not when he could imagine tracing all the freckles scattered across his cheeks.

Harry is fourteen when Cedric Diggory falls from the sky and offers him help getting up after using his first Portkey. His hand is big and as calloused as he’d expect a Quidditch player’s to be. He doesn’t like dwelling on the thought of how nice he’d found it.

He asks Cho Chang to the Yule Ball and she rejects him because Cedric Diggory had been quicker. He ends up spending the night on a chair intently looking at the way Cedric’s hand curls around Cho’s waist. He was jealous of him, right?

He tells Sirius about the Yule Ball and he raises an eyebrow at the way Harry describes Cedric’s robes and styled hair but can barely remember the colour of Cho’s dress.

Harry is fifteen when Cho Chang finally agrees to go on a date with him. It happens after they kiss and Harry is eager, he should be, right? The kiss had felt wet and not particularly pleasant and his chest felt a lot warmer as he watched the way Ron laughed when he described it than it had felt when his lips had collided with Cho’s.

The date doesn’t go well, maybe Harry just doesn’t get women.

Sirius says it’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t miss the odd look he and Remus give each other.

Harry is sixteen when he dreams of red hair and freckled skin and in order to escape it he decides to stay up at night and stare at Draco Malfoy’s dot on the Marauder’s Map.

It doesn’t do him good.

He decides the bright red infesting his dreams must be Ginny’s, because he doesn’t know any other red-haired girl. Even though she wears it long and when he dreams it’s short and spiky. And the freckles on her cheeks are not as numerous as the ones he marvels at after falling asleep.

He decides it has to be Ginny, and the thought of it can occupy his mind long enough to make him forget the weird pang and slight sick in his stomach each time he catches Ron snogging Lavender.

When Ginny runs up to him after winning the Quidditch up, he kisses her, because that’s what he’d been dreaming about, right? Hands tangled in red hair and freckled cheeks centimetres from his face, but it feels all wrong.

Ron nods at him and it all feels wrong.

Sirius is not here anymore for Harry to consult, so instead he takes Ginny outside their common room and, on the Hogwarts grounds, opens his heart to her.

She understands.

Harry is seventeen when he has to die and he still hasn’t made sense of the feelings in his chest or why, no matter how much he tried, girls felt so wrong.

It’s not at the forefront of his mind, it’s not even close because the only thing he can think about is the warm bodies laying lifeless in the Great Hall.

But, as he approaches his death, he does spare a thought for the uneasiness he had felt when Hermione kissed Ron, and the discomfort every kiss he’d given before had provided him. He hadn’t lived in full, not even close.

A flash of green light approaches and he finds it silly, how his last thought is of red hair and freckles.

Harry is eighteen when he attends his first Weasley family dinner after the war. The grief is heavy and Fred’s chair is empty but Percy is back home and it does bring at least a shard of comfort to Mrs Weasley. He isn’t alone, Oliver Wood hangs from his arm.

He is eighteen and Percy Weasley introduces Oliver Wood as his boyfriend.

Harry blinks at them and something in his head just clicks.

Harry is twenty when he finally musters the courage to walk into a Gay Bar. He had to Confund the door keeper because he didn’t own an ID, the Dursleys had never bothered giving it to him, given he even had one.

It’s a Muggle place and he feels like the odd one out, terribly dressed down and completely clueless.

He ends up ordering a beer and sitting by the bar.

It’s not until his third visit that a stranger approaches him. He has red hair but his pupils are a soft hazel and his skin isn’t freckled at all. Harry thinks that if he shuts his eyes close, maybe, he could pretend.

His name is Lucas, his lips taste vaguely like strawberries and the kiss doesn’t make Harry want to turn his insides inside out. He smiles and the rush of adrenaline in his veins as Lucas nibs on his bottom lip feels both terrifying and terribly right.

Harry is twenty-three when the cat gets out of the bag.

It’s not because he wanted it, really, but sharing a flat with his best mates could be inconvenient, at times.

He flushed and urges his date to get dressed as he tries to avoid Ron and Hermione’s shocked looks. Their hands are clasped together and Harry has learnt to live with the uncomfortable twist of his stomach by now.

They come off it quickly, though. Ron laughs and pats Harry on the back, says everything is much more clear now.

Harry is twenty-five when he makes his best-man speech at Ron and Hermione’s wedding.

He chokes on his words both because he was never that good at public speaking and because each time he looked at the way Ron’s arm curled around Hermione’s shoulder his throat went a bit drier.

He drinks his glass of champagne in one go and relishes in the burn before fetching Gabriel, his date for the night.

Gabriel stood out like a sour note next to his exes: his hair were a dusty blonde. Harry had thought there would be way too many redheads at the wedding anyways.

Harry is thirty-one when Ron jokes he will never settle down if he keeps on changing men at the same rate he changes his pants, but Harry doesn’t care.

Ron looks thoroughly annoyed and Hermione coughs, worried and almost resigned eyes looking up at her husband.

Harry is thirty-three when Ron shows up at his place with a suitcase and bashfully tells him Hermione wants to file for a divorce.

He just nods and lets Ron in.

Harry is thirty-five when Ron brings back a bottle of expensive Firewhisky and decides they should celebrate the Cannons’ new victory streak on their own.

He hadn’t heard of the Cannons winning anything, recently, but he shrugs it off because it’s not really his thing anyways, Ron would know.

He is thirty-five and Ron, red-haired, freckled and now face flushed sits way too close for comport and traces his lips with a pinky.

He stands up abruptly and loudly declares it’s time for bed. Ron looks quite annoyed, but it will pass.

It must have been his imagination.

Harry is thirty-seven when his best mate breaks down crying in front of him and confesses his feelings through agonising sobs.

He keeps apologising and a tug at his hand breaks Harry out of his stupor. He was sure it must have been a dream, but Ron was real and crying and trembling.

He leans down wordlessly and, finally— sparks.

He is thirty-seven and this is the first time he’s ever felt so alive.

Harry is forty-two when Hagrid walks him down the aisle.

It’s clumsy and messy because they’re both trying not to cry, Harry being much better at it than the half-giant.

He catches a glimpse of Hermione, beaming at him from the front with a knowing smile.

He is forty-two and he is in front of Ron, in white robes. The voices around them nothing but white noise and then Ron leans down and all he can see is— red. Red hair and freckles.

[shelsgovroomvroom]

DUDE. BAKING WITH MALCOLM. OH MY GOODNESS.

THIS IS ADORABLE THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SUGGESTING THIS.

Also, imma start a ‘happy!malcolm’ tag on my blog and you guys can suggest fluffy things like this where that boi is actaully happy cause lord knows he deserves it.

First it needs to be said that baking with Malcolm is entirely different to cooking with Malcolm. Baking with Malcolm is fun and giggly while cooking with Malcolm is quite possibly the most chaotic thing you could ever do.

It’s not something that Malcolm plans to take part in, rather he arrives at your apartment when you’re about to start making brownies. He questions why you’d be making them, but the honest answer is just that they’re brownies. You don’t need a reason to make them.

Malcolm is at best, useless in the kitchen and at worse, a danger to himself and others.

Which is why you tell him to sit down, look pretty and avoid touching anything. The only problem with this is that he’s Malcolm and you should have known that he wouldn’t listen to you.

He really does want to be helpful. Offering to whatever you’d like him to because he genuinely wants to partake and help you.

So you decide that there’s no harm in letting in spray the cooking spray on the tray. It turns out, there is much harm in this.

So, two screams, one dented tray and ten minutes spent trying to wash cook ‘n spray out of Malcolm’s eyes later.... you decide maybe it would be better if he just poured in the flour as you mixed it in.

Once the dough has been made and Malcolm somehow has flour in his hair (you didn’t know how or why and you knew far better than to ask), you begin the job of putting the brownie mixture in the pan.

It is after this is done that you discover Malcolm has never eaten raw batter out of the bowl or off the spoon. You discover this because he looks all confused when you hand him the bowl and tell him he can eat it.

In hindsight, of course he’s never done that. It’s not like his parents spent much time baking with him as a kid. The very thought of Malcolm never having experienced this makes your heart break. Malcolm is the kindest, sweetest and most genuinely chaotic human being you have ever known.

So yeah, you let him eat the rest of the batter. And also the brownies when they come out and they’re still too hot.

He deserves it.

(HOW THE EVERLOVING FUCK DID I MAKE A FIC ABOUT BAKING ANGSTY)