#and before Abel kills me
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Blood of the Hero Ch 14 (Link's Parents Play BotW)
Summary: The Soul of the Hero will always be there to save Hyrule. But when Calamity Ganon is nearly victorious in killing him, it's those that bear the Blood of the Hero who will prevail. Ten years after the Great Calamity, the Shrine of Resurrection is damaged and Link's parents fight to save their son and Hyrule along with him.
(AO3 link)
Ch 14: Fallen Knight - Carnage
Abel hadn’t slept. The night crawled agonizingly along, leaving the former knight tossing and turning. Tilieth rested peacefully in the grass beside him, the tattered, half rotted wooden stall protected them from the mild drizzle. He stared between wood planks, eyes tracing the etches of jagged edges, noticing scorch marks from when the place burned.
When it was destroyed. In the Calamity.
It was stupid, really, how much it was sinking in lately. It wasn’t like Abel hadn’t been a firsthand witness to it. But lately… everything seemed to be wrong, and it drilled into his head. Perhaps it was the thought of separating from Tilieth, the idea that once they reached the Gerudo Desert he would continue on without his family in search of solutions. The anxiety and dread of it made him sick to his stomach.
You had promised, all those years ago, to protect your family. You swore in your knighting that you would protect Hyrule.
Yet here he was, lying in dirt, shivering in the chilly night, protected by the bones of what used to be one of the most vibrant stables in the country. Here he was, with his wife starving and shivering beside him, broken and terrified and alone. Here he was, his daughter dead, his son near to it, the latter’s state being entirely his fault.
He’d separated from the boy. He’d told him to take the princess to Fort Hateno. He’d promised to be there.
He’d been unable to protect the king. Link was the only one who managed to keep the princess safe when Abel was unable to do so.
His daughter was dead.
Abel’s entire life was flashing before his eyes. His mother died of grief over the loss of his father (why wasn’t I good enough? Why weren’t my sisters and I good enough for her to stay?). His younger sister never listened to him, had said he wasn’t their father, had accused him of pretending to know more than he did (she was right). His twin sister had settled in Castle Town, had been there when it had burned (I never even looked for a body, did I? Goddess, I didn’t even look for a body—) He had been given the highest honor by becoming a knight in the royal guard, had served as the captain, a trusted protector of the king and yet he’d been unable to do his duty (the ceiling had collapsed, I tried to protect him, I tried!). He’d sworn to take care of his family, to be there as a father, and—
Abel sat up, filled with energy, chest aching, blood racing. He stood, walking to the river, wanting to run, to fight something, to scream.
He stared up at the sky, breaths rapid and shallow, and asked, Farore, why did you make me? Why did you make me??
What was he even here for, if not to repeatedly screw everything up?! Even when Link had been given a fighting chance, Abel’s stupidity had ruined it - if it hadn’t been for him disturbing that hinox, this wouldn’t even be an issue! Link would still be safe in the Shrine of Resurrection, and—
Why did you make me?! What was the purpose?! I do nothing but cause problems, I can’t get it right, I can never get it right!
It was sacrilegious to even contemplate what thought came next, but Abel already knew he was a worthless, faithless fool anyway.
You made a mistake when you made me.
The drizzle continued to fall, slowly soaking him to his core. It was a splash of reality as he shivered and fell to his knees, a cold consolation in an empty world.
Wallowing in self pity won’t help them, he reminded himself. Slowly, he dragged himself back to the stall, trying to push the intrusive thoughts out, trying to ignore the berating. He was so damn tired.
The next day brought a heavy rainfall, and though the couple would have preferred to wait it out, anxieties drove them both forward. They didn’t dare bathe in the river – it was far too close to Central Hyrule for either of their liking. Instead, they barely ate breakfast, woke Link to drink some broth, and hastily made their way back to Kakariko.
As they passed through the half-barren marsh, the tower for Lanayru teased them with its proximity. Tilieth glanced at Abel with a shrug. “It’s practically on the way. We might as well activate it; maybe it could give us some helpful information.”
Abel doubted that was the case, but he didn’t argue; he himself had suggested going to the tower as a distraction yesterday. The pair cantered across the marsh, signs of life catching Abel’s eye as they went along. The marsh was slowly coming back, the rain bringing life as puddles formed amidst the mud and debris. Pieces of guardians were slowly washed away, and much more had probably already been removed over the last decade. He tried to take comfort in that.
When the pair reached the beach, Abel saw that the tower was on the other side, which was mildly problematic. This was becoming more involved than he wished it to be, but they were too far invested in it to turn back now.
Tilieth offered to cross, but Abel didn’t trust that the other side would be safe. He’d already surveyed the beach they were on and didn’t see any threats, so he asked her to stay behind instead, taking the slate and utilizing its runes to get across with little effort on his part. Meanwhile, Tilieth bathed herself and Link.
Abel hadn’t expected to find a person on the other side of the beach.
They both stood there in the sand for a moment, frozen in time. Abel felt his body stiffen, electricity firing through his muscles. The Hylian looked equally on edge, skin and bones, dark circles under his eyes, clothes ill fitting and half rotted off him. He jerked his body, reaching for something in an instant.
Abel grabbed his bow and arrow and shot true.
The Hylian grunted as the arrow sank into his chest, his sword that had been half drawn collapsing into the sand beside him. Abel remained motionless for a moment, his mind catching up to what his body had just done. The Hylian let out a gurgling breath and then grew still.
Abel released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and slowly lowered his arms.
The world was silent, save for water lapping on the shore. Abel couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything.
Swallowing, the former knight hesitantly walked towards the fallen Hylian. When he saw lifeless eyes staring off at nothing, he finally put his bow away.
The world came crashing back down on him an instant.
You just killed a man.
Well, he was clearly going to attack first!
You’re a knight. Your job is to defend the people of Hyrule. And you just killed one.
This wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone. It was ridiculous to let it bother him. Besides, he wasn’t a knight anymore.
At least check him for supplies.
Abel recoiled at the thought. He wasn’t going to defile the dead like that. He refused.
Taking a shaky step away, he started to head towards the Sheikah tower as if nothing had happened.
A gasp sounded, and Abel whirled, reaching for his bow and arrows yet again. He readied himself, but caught sight of a woman, a young Zora female who was watching him in horror.
“P-please!” She hastily said as she raised her hands. “I’m not even a warrior, I don’t mean any harm! I—I just came down here to find some fish, I—I promise I’m n-not a threat!”
Abel took in the sight of the Zora, memories flooding his mind of his time he’d spent in the Domain with Link. He recalled their princess, and his chest ached at the loss. The girl had been sweet and a strong warrior. She had also been the best healer in the kingdom.
Nevertheless, he didn’t lower his bow.
“P-please,” the Zora begged, beginning to cry. “I—you c-can even have my catch of the m-morning. I b-bet you’re hungry, right? You look it. Just—just please don’t hurt me.”
Abel’s gaze flicked across the river. He could vaguely see Tilieth and Link from here. If the Zora turned around and caught sight of them…
Abel. Stop. She even said she wasn’t a fighter.
Abel took another shaky breath, the adrenaline still fresh from his previous kill, paranoia heightened by the threat, blood rushing through his ears, deafening him to the rest of the world, silencing the woman’s whimpers. What difference did that make? The world had ended. Everyone was a fighter now.
“I-I’m—I’m just g-gonna put the fish down now, okay?” The Zora said shakily, hiccuping through her words, hands still held in the air. She carefully moved to reach for a net she’d been carrying, easing it to the ground.
Abel took a threatening step closer, arrow still fixed on her head, but he didn’t release it. The Zora practically scampered into the water, hands held high again as she told him over and over she wasn’t a threat, that she wasn’t going to hurt him. When she was half submerged into the water, he narrowed his eyes, motioning upstream with his head. The woman caught his meaning and quickly fled.
As he lowered his bow, Abel grew dizzy. He stumbled forward, picking up the net of fish, and slung it over his shoulder. The balance and the way the world spun made him nearly collapse into the sand, his stomach churning. He blinked once, twice, thrice to clear his head, shaking it so he could actually hear the world again, but it was still just his heart pounding.
A chirp caught his attention next, nearly making him draw his sword, when he realized it was the slate.
A shrine was nearby?
Focusing, Abel shook his head one last time, following the slate’s guidance until he neared the entrance to the Zora trail that led to the Domain. It was blocked by fallen rocks, a piece of half decayed guardian machinery squashed underneath. The shrine was just off to the left, uphill a ways.
How could he possibly bring Link over here after what had just happened? He needed to get back, to check on Tilieth! He’d just wandered off, they were out of sight now!
But the tower was right there too. He could see everything from the tower, including threats.
The area was clearly too dangerous, though. But he’d ensured there were no monsters on the other side before leaving his family.
But the threats over here hadn’t been monsters. What if there were Zora near his family?
Abel took another shaky breath, rushing back to the beach. He could still see Tilieth, who waved cheerily at him, clearly having completely missed everything that had transpired. She looked to be dressed now, sitting on the shore with Link.
Abel heard the water lapping. He heard the flapping of bird wings, the trickle as the rain settled into a lazy sprinkling. The world came back, and he tried to take a full breath.
The tower. Just get to the tower.
Thankfully it wasn’t hard to actually reach the tower. He had to rush across the bridge and scale the cliffside, but there were very few monsters around. He picked off a few lizalfos, a moblin, and a handful of bokoblins before reaching the top.
From the top of the tower, once activated, Abel could see a good portion of the region. Zora’s Domain was just beyond his range of vision, hidden in sparkling mountains laden with luminous stones. He remembered the festivals, the nights where those cliffs would practically glow. He remembered the giggles of children as Link played with his friends.
Looking away, Abel pushed at his pant legs, which had ridden up a little since they’d shortened in length from fraying over the years, and tucked them back into his boots. He squinted at the river, catching sight of Tilieth and Link, who were still relaxing on the beach. He couldn’t see any other shrines aside from the one he’d found. He wasn’t sure if that should make him feel better or worse.
Sighing, Abel grabbed the paraglider, took a deep breath, and jumped. He wondered, for the instant before his feet left the tower, if he was beginning to overcome his fear of heights. As soon as the sensation of weightlessness hit, as soon as he was in the air, he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as an unpleasant reminder that was not, in fact, the case. The adrenaline still lingering in his system, paired with the vertigo he felt at gliding through the air this high up, nearly made him let go of the paraglider entirely. Abel squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, and then shifted his weight, tilting the glider to aim for the beach across the water. Dully, he grumbled internally that he hadn’t always been this afraid of heights, and that it was a terrible time for it to manifest so badly.
Despite not wanting to look down, Abel managed to make it across the river, but his knees gave out the instant his feet touched the sand, and he face planted. He heard Tilieth call out to him and rush over, and he slowly pushed himself up, spitting out sand.
“Are you okay?” his wife asked, dropping down beside him.
Abel swallowed, not entirely capable of speaking, and nodded with a grunt. He sat on his legs for a moment, catching his breath, and then managed to say hoarsely, “There’s a shrine over there.”
“Oh! Really? Let me see.” Tilieth reached forward, taking the slate off Abel’s hip and glancing at it. The new information provided by the tower allowed her to survey the area, and she quickly found the shrine that was marked on it. “Oh, that’s not far at all! We can cross right here—”
“No,” Abel interrupted, remembering the body. He probably should have done something with it. Buried it? He should bury it, right? Show respect for the dead?
They didn’t have time for that.
“We’ll cross further upstream,” he finally muttered.
“Upstream…” Tilieth repeated as she peered at the map before gasping. “We’re close to the Zora!”
Abel spat out some more sand, rubbing his face. “Yes. And?”
“Sheik had said something about the Zora being hostile,” Tilieth said uncertainly, lowering the slate. “Why, though? They were allies to Hyrule. And… after all the effort you and that delegation put in…and the… the princess…”
Hostile? That woman he’d encountered hadn’t been. But what if she’d told her people, and they were coming here now?
After all the effort you and that delegation put in…
Abel bit back the bitterness of yet another failure, the pain and loss of the sweet princess who had been such dear friends with his son.
The point was that apparently the Zora were enemies now.
“We need to move quickly,” he surmised, finally standing and heading towards Link. “Start working on the pillars, please.”
Tilieth nodded, walking towards the water. The family made their way across as quickly as was feasible before Abel directed them towards the shrine.
However, once they entered, they did not receive the usual greeting.
“In the name of the Goddess Hylia, I offer this combat trial.”
“A combat trial?” Tilieth repeated worriedly.
Abel smiled, remembering the tutorial trial in Kakariko. Honestly, he was a little eager to get some energy out. He carefully lowered Link to the ground and headed into the large room. He figured he would test out the guardian weapon he’d taken from the last combat trial, alongside the Sheikah shield.
The tiny guardian was surprisingly easy to defeat. It telegraphed its moves so easily it was almost laughable. Abel was again, bitterly, reminded that these things had be designed to aid the people of Hyrule and its Hero. This little machine was here to train Link.
Instead, his boy was covered in wounds from its larger counterparts, near comatose and helpless.
Abel shook his head, finishing off the little guardian and trying to focus. He’d been far too morose lately. He had a mission to complete.
Goddess, he’d kill for some sleep, though.
The expression hitched in his mind, and he shook his head again. He turned and waved to Tilieth, signaling the all clear, before belatedly remembering he should go back to carry Link. Til, however, tried to carry the boy herself, dragging her feet into the arena while huffing and puffing a little.
Abel took pity on his wife, heart warmed at her attempt, and walked over to her. “Let me carry him, love.”
“No, I’ve got this,” Tilieth argued through a strained voice. “I have to be able to do this.”
I have to be able to do this if you’re going to leave me, was the unspoken sentiment. Abel felt his stomach crawl. He followed his wife silently, worries eating him alive. The couple retrieved a knight’s bow (how long had this been down here? Why was it designed similarly to their bows from ten years ago? Wasn’t this shrine ancient? Who else had accessed it, anyway? Why were there so many modern trinkets hidden down here?) and Link received the spirit orb, and they were transported outside.
Naturally, it was pouring. Abel shivered and quickly took Link in his arms to give Tilieth a break. He noticed the boy had little braids in his hair now, along the sides, before it was pulled back into the usual ponytail he wore. He supposed Tilieth had been enjoying herself on the beach. Link scrunched his face against the rain, clearly uncomfortable with the cold, and Abel looked around quickly to ascertain if it was wise to use the shrine for shelter until the rain let up.
Tilieth took the opportunity to look at the map. “I guess the best way to get to the desert would be going back through Kakariko? We could get one last respite in before the journey begins.”
Technically, the best path would be taking the road to the Riverside Stable, but that required going into Central Hyrule, which was out of the question. Not to mention the bridge leading there from the Wetlands Stable was destroyed, anyway.
No, Tilieth was right. The surest path was back through Kakariko.
“Let’s go,” he said quietly, carefully sliding down slick stone with Link in his arms. He didn’t want to linger.
When they reached the water, Tilieth hastened forward, grabbing Abel by the arm and shushing him. Abel looked at her, alarmed, wondering what she’d seen, watching as she crept forward. When he followed her line of sight, though, he saw some ducks waddling ahead on the shore.
“Really?” he whispered. “Right now? We’re about to go back into town, we don’t need to hunt.”
“Oh, I’m not hunting them, I just want to watch them,” Tilieth said lightly, a sweet smile pulling at her lips.
Abel bit back an exasperated reply. He’d already snapped at her yesterday. He wasn’t going to do it again. But they needed to move. He kept his mouth shut, watching his wife creep forward before talking briefly to the ducks, who quacked in response, eliciting giggles from Til. He tried to enjoy watching it. He really did.
“Til,” he finally said, unable to bear it any longer. “Link’s going to get cold.”
This snapped her out of her distraction, and Tilieth apologized worriedly as she started to create ice pillars. Abel let her place the harness on him before he positioned Link and strapped him in. The couple slid across the river, occasionally nearly toppling over with as slippery as it was, but they managed to make it to the beach and their horses. Abel thought they were finally in the clear when something else seemed to catch Tilieth’s eye (after she’d already snagged some dragonflies), and she pulled Epona in circles. Abel let Ama slow to a halt, watching his wife aimlessly ride in a dizzying pattern. At least the rain had stopped, but…
“What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered.
“There’s—there’s this—oh, I almost had it!” Tilieth huffed, pushing Epona to move faster and reaching down until she was halfway off the saddle. His wife was a good rider, so he wasn’t particularly concerned, but her behavior still made no sense. Link sneezed, distracting Abel, who tried to remember if they’d fed the boy or not (they did, right? They had to, right?), and he jostled the teenager and coaxed him to drink some broth while Tilieth still rode in a circle.
“Til—”
“I know, I’ll be quick!”
“Til, this is ridiculous, what are you even doing?”
“There’s a light!”
“There’s literally nothing.”
Til huffed, jumping off Epona entirely, making Abel tense up, and she pounced on something. “Got you!”
Abel stared as his wife, breathless, laughed giddily and reached out her hand and said thank you and then rose, looking triumphant.
Scrunching his nose, he surmised, “This is another one of those koroks, isn’t it?”
Tilieth nodded, cheeks flushed with cheer. Abel had to smile at her in reply, even though he felt that familiar helplessness. Not that he cared about collecting seeds, but it seemed in this avenue he was fairly useless. What if these magical creatures could help them somehow, and he was making himself a liability by not being able to see them? Why could Tilieth see them?
Sighing, Abel nudged Ama with his legs. “All finished?”
“Yes,” Tilieth said, satisfied, as she climbed back into Epona’s saddle. “Let’s get to the village. We should be able to get there by midafternoon, right?”
“Correct.”
At least, that would have been the plan, except Tilieth wanted to pick some herbs, and the slate started chirping that another shrine was nearby, leading them to a little sandbar with a shrine innocently sitting at its center. Abel stared, bemused, wondering if they’d somehow missed this one, as they had to have passed it, right?
No matter. Another shrine was another shrine. At least this one was close to the village.
“Ah, the soil is so fertile here,” Tilieth noted, and Abel had to agree as he nearly sank ankle deep into the earth. A few chus led to enough damage to the guardian blade that the ancient relic shattered, and Abel irritably switched weapons, grumbling about faulty Sheikah tech as he did so.
The shrine was fairly straightforward, leaping across driftwood to make it to the other side. The final part involved destroying bomb barrels at the right time to eliminate a wall (Abel did have to wonder at the efficacy of such a thing as the bombs were floating in the water, but he supposed they would find out). Tilieth found great pleasure in retrieving every treasure chest she could find, though, according to her, none could beat the one that contained the headband Abel wore.
“It’s too bad there aren’t more clothes,” she commented as Abel aimed at the barrels with a fire arrow. “Or at least materials to make some. Your clothes are a little tattered.”
Abel paused, glancing down at his attire. He wore what his wife had managed to patch together from fabric and clothes they’d found on the plateau, fashioning a warm doublet. The trousers he wore used to nearly fit him perfectly, but time and use had made them threadbare, riding up to nearly midway up his calf. His wife, on the other hand, wore an oversized green tunic that was practically a dress that went to her knees with a white undershirt, and the trousers she wore were made from the tattered remains of her dress she’d been wearing the day of the Calamity. Honestly, they both could use some new clothes, Abel supposed. He was at least grateful Tilieth had made some for Link. The boy was warmer and more protected in the Hylian tunic she’d fashioned. If only they could get the boy some shoes…
Tilieth built ice columns for them to stand on so Abel could aim better, but after three tries of missing lifting the barrels out of the water at the right time, his wife was clearly growing frustrated.
“Here,” Abel suggested gently, holding out his hand. “You’re a decent shot. I’ll make the column, you fire the arrow.”
Tilieth bit her lip uncertainly and then nodded. When Abel successfully timed the ice column, leaving the bomb barrel innocently waiting at its peak, Tilieth fired true with a fire arrow.
Link flinched at the ensuing explosion, sniffling, blinking his eyes open, but he settled back to sleep quickly.
“How did you get it?” Tilieth asked, obviously a little annoyed.
Abel smiled. “Because I’m more patient than you.”
His wife rolled her eyes exasperatedly, and the pair acquired the spirit orb. As they exited, Abel saw a familiar sight – the Riverside Stable, its framework splintering up towards the sky. That was definitely the stable he’d seen on their way to the Dueling Peaks. They’d… gotten a little off track with this other shrine.
“Which way back to Kakariko?” Tilieth questioned a little confusedly before gasping. “Abel, there’s another shrine over there!”
Abel glanced up at the sky. The sun was still high. They had time. “Let’s go.”
Surprisingly, Eagus Bridge was somehow still intact, though most of the protective siding was gone. But Abel realized something, almost too late, horribly, and he immediately blocked Tilieth’s path as they neared the next bridge.
“What?” Tilieth asked.
“This leads to Central Hyrule. The Riverside Stable is in Central Hyrule.” Abel emphasized. “We’re not going there.”
Tilieth looked torn, but also very clearly petrified.
Abel motioned with his head. “We need to get to the village.”
He was not risking his family for this. He would come later, without them, to ensure it was safe. Not that he was going to tell Tilieth that.
The smell of smoke scorched his nostrils, burned his lungs—
Abel shook his head, ridding himself of the memory, the sensation. He guided Epona and Ama ahead, holding Link more tightly.
The couple moved in silence, interrupted only by the rhythmic clomping of their steeds’ hooves. Thankfully it was an uneventful trek back to Kakariko. Their arrival caught everyone's attention, and Lady Impa moved towards them quickly.
“Any luck with the shrines?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” Tilieth assured her with a smile. “We just need to pass through again to head for the—”
“Next destination,” Abel interrupted. He… didn’t want anyone to know where they were going. Not even the princess’ royal advisor. “We’ll stay here tonight. If that’s fine with you.”
“Of course,” Lady Impa acknowledged, her tone implying that it was obvious. Abel felt a little guilty at it, at her hesitancy and uncertainty as she looked at him. He’d never interacted with the woman much in the past, but a little voice in his mind did whisper that they were all on the same side. It sounded annoyingly like Tilieth.
Abel gently lowered Link from Ama, letting Tilieth take him and hobble over to a nearby cooking pot. He glanced towards the mountain pass once more.
He’d wait until nightfall to explore. The less fuss, the better.
Tilieth’s off-tune humming filled the air, making the former knight smile. His wife rocked back and forth where she sat, taking Link with her as he was settled on her lap. Abel took comfort in the gentle, warm cheer, watching as Tilieth started to chat aimlessly with the Sheikah chief.
“Where’s Sheik?” Tilieth asked. “I saw nearly everyone else. Oh, and how’s the little one and her mother? Mellie and Jummo, right?”
“They’re both doing great,” Lady Impa answered happily. “The plum trees we planted seem to be surviving too. This rain is certainly helping. As for Sheik, she left around the same time you two did.”
“Where did she go?”
“She’s… on a pilgrimage. She’s visiting all the sacred springs that Princess Zelda visited.”
Abel tuned out the rest of the conversation, simply watching Tilieth and Link. He sat on the stairs to the inn, leaning against a crate and feeling himself nod off. He supposed not sleeping was catching up to him. He shook his head to try and stay awake – he had to investigate Central Hyrule tonight, after all.
“Honey? You okay?”
Abel blinked again, and—when had the sun set so much? When had Tilieth moved to stand in front of him?
“Oh, Abel,” Tilieth said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. He reached up, letting his hand rest over hers to reassure her, eyes searching for Link as he confusedly tried to piece together what had just happened. “Honey, why don’t you get some sleep?”
Sleep? No, not yet. He’d just slept a little anyway, right? Time had passed.
“’m alright,” he slurred, not sounding convincing in the slightest. Damn it.
Tilieth’s eyes grew glassy with worry and unshed tears, and Abel felt even worse for it. Damn it.
Reaching forward, he pulled her close, letting her sit on his lap a moment as they held each other, and he kissed her just under her eyes, catching the tears as they fell. “I’m okay, love. I promise.”
Tilieth trembled in his arms, sniffling. “Abel, I just… it’s okay. Please, just rest. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, holding her more tightly, willing all of his love and assurance into it. Please don’t worry. She had enough to worry about. He’d caused his wife enough problems lately. “I promise I’ll sleep later tonight, okay? I just… want to pray at the statue before bed.”
Tilieth perked up, and her expression was hard to read. His wife was naturally far more trusting than him, so he hoped the lie would work (and oh how he despised having to lie to her, but she’d never let him go if he said what he was planning on doing). However, Tilieth was not a fool – she knew Abel didn’t really pray anymore. Perhaps, once in a while, in the middle of the night, in desperation or loneliness, Abel would wander to the Temple of Time before this new journey had begun, but it had been rare.
It was hard to believe in the love of goddesses who would allow this to happen, after all.
His wife watched him silently, her brown eyes piercing into him in a way that reminded him of Link, searching for answers unspoken. Abel broke the spell, though, by leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, brushing curls away from her face.
That night, he ate in silence. He didn’t dare speak, he didn’t dare try to reassure her any more, he didn’t wish to lie any further. Tilieth seemed to gain some of her earlier cheer back as she woke Link to feed him, as she cleaned him and tucked him in. Abel watched the pair, heart heavy, wondering if this was a mistake.
What if… what if he failed again? What if he got himself killed out there, in that goddess forsaken land? What if there were guardians out there as there had been ten years ago?
What would he find? What if he didn’t return?
What would happen to his family?
You’re being paranoid. There was no way Central Hyrule was that dangerous, or Lady Impa would have warned them about it. Right? Besides, Blatchery Plain was riddled with guardians and they were all harmless. So it had to be fine. Right?
Right?
There was a shrine there, though. He had to try.
For Link.
Abel watched Tilieth settle into the bed beside Link, leaving space for him to join her. He went outside, heading for the goddess statue.
Hylia smiled serenely at him. Abel stared darkly back.
He didn’t pray. He couldn’t. Even if he recognized the gift that Epona was, the miracle that Link was actually improving, he couldn’t pray. How could he, after what he’d done today?
How could he, after all his failures? He blamed Hylia for the destruction of Hyrule, but he hadn’t done any better to protect it.
He’d killed a man today.
Could he have avoided it?
It didn’t matter. Whether he could’ve avoided it or not, it didn’t matter. That person would never be a threat again.
But what if he was just scared? What if you could’ve talked him down, as you had with those siblings at Proxim Bridge?
Am I a murderer?
He supposed he didn’t deserve to pray. He wasn’t a knight; he wasn’t even a good man anymore. He was just a survivor. And he would do anything to protect his family.
Besides, that Hylian had clearly been starving. He’d likely been desperate and would’ve been willing to do anything too. He’d been a threat.
Abel still didn’t think he was a good man anymore, though. He wasn’t sure he’d been one since the Calamity.
He didn’t need to be a good man. Just a good fighter.
Hylia smiled serenely at him. Abel turned away.
He paused as he passed the inn. Almost went inside to see his wife and his son. But then he kept going. He didn’t want to risk catching Tilieth’s attention. Quietly, he guided Ama out of the village before mounting her and riding into the night.
A keese or two tried to interfere as he rode, but he eliminated them easily.
Eagus Bridge seemed infinitely more foreboding as he crossed it now. Horwell Bridge even more so.
Ama’s hoofs tapped rhythmically, a familiar, comforting cadence to the pounding in his heart. His skin felt cold, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Was he being watched? He didn’t hear the sound of the earth tearing under clawed metal feet, he didn’t hear the claps of thunder that followed the firing of lasers, he didn’t hear the ticking as the mechanical monsters prepared to destroy whatever was in their path.
His heart raced even faster. Ama nickered nervously, picking up on his energy, pausing at the edge of the bridge.
Central Hyrule stood before him.
It was hard to really see it with as dark as it was. The moon was crescent tonight, barely spilling any of its blessed light. Abel’s eyes were wide, desperate to take in every piece of information he possibly could. The wind blew innocently, bringing the scent of soil and water.
No flowers. No leaves. No trees. Dirt was carried in the breeze, loose, eroding, barren.
It was all barren.
Abel carefully bade Ama forward, and as her hooves crunched into the soil, he felt his body tense further.
What little light was available from the moon vanished, hidden behind clouds heavy laden with rain. Ama’s black hair made her practically disappear into the darkness, and thunder rumbled not too far away.
Abel urged his steed ahead, slowly and carefully. Thunder rumbled again.
Thunder. Thunder.
The sky burned.
The bells in the temple rang repeatedly, a warning and a petition, a prayer and a guide. It punctuated the screams, it harmonized the ticking of lasers as they charged and fired, shooting through the air with such intensity that it created miniature claps of thunder as the heat separated the air harshly before it returned together with a snap.
Abel’s breath caught in his throat.
The world around him was deafening.
There was so much noise, and his ears were ringing so much, he honestly couldn't tell what sound came from what source anymore. Was it a scream? Was it a guardian? Was that a child wailing or a gear grinding? Was that his heart pounding in his ears or was it a thunderclap from another beam firing?
Ama whinnied, moving in place anxiously.
Abel stared ahead, watching troops march together, some limping, others helping their comrades. Many had wagons and horses to help them.
He heard whirring. He heard gears. He heard claws, and ticking, and thunder.
Thunder rumbled again. The earth shook. Ama neighed, growing skittish, jostling him in his saddle, it was raining, when had it started raining, something was moving, something was moving—
Abel heard horse hooves galloping, he heard a battle cry, he saw mud splashing in the barren wasteland around him—
Bokoblin!
Abel gasped, coming to reality, spurring Ama into motion, and she ran ahead. He drew his sword, catching sight of the enemy, recognizing faintly the familiar motion of aiming a bow and arrow. He jerked his horse to the side as an arrow flew by his ear, and he redirected her to charge once more, stabbing the bokoblin. His blood was racing, his body soaked, his hands trembling—
His horse whinnied with panic as flames spread too close, licking at its hooves and his heels. He steered the mare around the flames as she almost bucked him off, and then the flames were abruptly disrupted by a clawed foot tearing into the earth and squelching them.
In the haze and smoke, Abel recognized the pink mechanical eye transfixed on him. He sucked in a sharp inhale, coughing harshly on the smoke in his lungs, and urged his mount to move.
Metal glinted. Lightning flashed, reflecting on a blank eye, a mirror to a past of fire and smoke.
Abel froze in his saddle. Ama ran harder, petrified, out of control.
The guardian was hot on his heels, charging its laser as he once again pushed the horse to run faster. His steed neighed in protest, her stamina draining out of her faster than it could replenish, and the guardian fired.
Go! Go, run!!!!
Abel pulled on the reins hard, making Ama neigh in protest as she tried to obey, as her hooves slipped, she lost her balance in such a sharp turn, and both horse and rider fell into the mud.
Thunder rumbled.
Thunder clapped as lasers fired.
It was pouring.
The sky was aflame as people screamed.
It was deafening it was deafening.
Movement stirred nearby, screams—screams of civilians—thunder thunder guardian fire, they were everywhere—
Abel whirled, sword at the ready, a snarl at his lips as Ama tried to right herself. His hilt made contact, slamming something, and he looked around with crazed, terrified eyes.
Where was it where was it—
Ama finally stood. Thunder rumbled again. Lightning flashed.
Lightning flashed. Shining a light. A light. On the barren wasteland. There was—there were—what was—
Blonde curls, stained with red. A figure, lying still in the mud. Green tunic smattered in brown, the only green as far as the eye could see—
Abel felt his heart stop.
This wasn’t—this wasn’t real this wasn’t real nononononono—
Abel ran, heart racing once more. The world shook as lighting struck again. The figure remained still on the ground.
“TILIETH!”
He collapsed into the mud, shaking her shaking her begging, pleading, goddess no please no—
The still fingers. The still feet. The still body. The paleness, the redness, the black and blue and—
“NO!”
Thunder roared. The rain was deafening. But nothing could outweigh the sobs, nothing could cover the screams, nothing could stave the panic as the former knight shook his wife over and over and over and over and over.
#I am so sorry guys#I AM SO SORRY TIL AND ABEL#I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED OK#THE THOUGHT CAME TO ME AND IT JUST TOOK OFF AND#AJTEIWOAJFEIWOAJFKSLAJFIOEWA#ABEL IS NOT OK#writing#blood of the hero#abel#tilieth#tis but a scratch#eheheh#heh#I'm gonna go bury myself under a rock now#out of shame#and before Abel kills me#breath of the wild#legend of zelda#breath of the wild link#botw link#ABEL YOU MORON I--#GET SOME DAMN SLEEP AND--#*SCREAMING*#*flees*#NEVER LET ME LISTEN TO FINAL HOURS EVER AGAIN#my skin is crawling after writing this oh my gosh#NOBODY IS DEAD I PROMISE
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omg ur tags but also sza should've won w sos 😭😭😭
If they've never given AOTY to Beyonce they were never going to give it to SZA. I knew they were just a board of petty sycophants when The Weeknd's After Hours wasn't even nominated. Do they really expect us to take the AOTY category seriously anymore? LMAO.
#btw i just went to your page; thank you for reminding me i have to edit Park Celine Dion Sungjin#anyways he is sometimes a sus person but Abel 100% deserved AOTY for After Hours#i think you only win when you play by their rules#this goes for every major clique and inner circle#this is just real life tho like i can't even be mad i'm just resigned#Kill Bill has longevity tbh#the album still sounds fresh#i never want to listen to anything on Midnights except Anti Hero#which is self deprecation in a Music Theatre Kid kind of way#it works for her though#but I think she has written far far better material before
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I'm a big fan of Dimitri and Miklan and now you're posting about Jarod too? Help, I think we're related!
oh my god
see back in the DAY (like before three houses came out) i used to post the odd thing about characters nobody even cared about
so this ain't my first jarod rodeo (never been to a rodeo but i been to a jarod rodeo, you know???) BUT I WILL BE HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT THIS FUCKER
also damn another miklan fan, we a rare breed 😔👌 all that's left is to use our power of being related to bring more people to our cause
#Jarod is so fckn funny even when he's killing ppl AND I FEEL BAD BC LIKE#HE MURDERS INNOCENT PPL BUT LIKE... HE'S SHOUTING THE FUNNIEST ONE-LINERS WHILE DOING IT#like you have Lekain who just... he's a shitty dude and he ain't even FUNNY about it#he's just scum of the earth and I have Naesala kill him in like every single run lmao#dimitri ain't the only one on the path of revenge naesala has his duties to his people too#but JAROD he can stab someone and make it funny and make u question everything#please y'all if ya ever wanna talk about other FE games or characters I'd love to!#since Hopes just came out recently that's most of my posts#and I was away from Tumblr shortly after Houses dropped so I never rly discussed it here#but generally I didn't have many ppl who knew about the older games before Awakening or later following me!#BEOFRE that I was basically mostly FE4 and some Tellius and rarely Wolf/Cain/Abel#so I'm always up for big conversations/discussions about older game characters!#also I don't mind if y'all wanna send asks or drop me a message#if you can't message me on this blog (not sure if that's possible since it's a sideblog) you can just drop one on my personal#either way is fine with me if y'all wanna talk about other games/characters!#DCE Ask
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somehow this blog has become populated with a dozen characters whose relationships to their siblings roughly boils down to "that's not just my family, that is my limb, and to remove them from me would be unthinkable."
and then there's manny and the demon constantine, with a hacksaw and a dream.
#OOC.#it's hilarious i didn't think i'd put so many characters on here with such INTENSE familial hang-ups#cheryl & john constantine speak for themselves: she's literally haunting him bc he can't let her go#beatrice & hero are cousins technically but bea has gotten benedick to try & kill his bestie on hero's behalf before & she Would do it agai#nat would rip someone's spine out with her teeth if her little sister asked her to. jack vincennes probably Has already.#hell the kuntilliokans are Literally designed to be two halves of a whole being. they're so lost on their own#jalla is reacting by going batshit and deciding to rip the world open to reach anima again#and anima has gone the Slightly saner route and hopped down to earth to hunt jalla down and kill them both#thus removing them from this stunted reality and back to their own plane of existence. whole and together again. but also Stabbed#and when jalla argues with her about leaving the world when they can just bring the world to them it hurts both their feelings REAL bad#so that's. ya know. a bit more literal on the limb side of things#and then on the complete other side of the coin there's fuckin demon constantine. they're not Technically siblings but again: halves#except john's gone and made himself whole again and constantwo is absolutely STEAMED about it he wants to murder#and then there's manny who thinks that severing the limb that is emmanuel is the purest show of devotion possible#but he Keeps. Hesitating. and hates that about himself. cain and abel type beat but cain actually thinks about it for a minute#ANYWAY as an older sibling myself i am giggling. save me tragic fictional families#they're all fine and normal and well-adjusted people i assure you. come closer they won't bite. no soap operas raging here nooo#sched.
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Helloooo! I saw that your requests were open for Hazbin- how about a reader who's a seraphim? Kind of Lucifer's protégé/child way before the creation of Eden, Adam, and Lilith.
And he just kind of left them up there alone and neglected because of her association/kind of Dad!Lucifer. So, it's kind of angsty seeing as how Lucifer was a better Dad to Charlie and the reader grew with envy and fell into that ring along with her brother (I've been seeing hc/rumor a lot) Cain.
What would happen their first meeting again? If this is too much I don't really mind so no worries! Have a nice day and thanks for reading!!
A/N: I’m sorry but I go by biblical too so this might be different but same concept and storyish
Like father like daughter
Lucifer x daughter Reader
Synopsis: Your dad left you young now you left him
How it started
You are my Sunshine My only sunshine
You make me happy When skies are grey
Little you giggles at your father’s little song for you and only you. You were an angel whose mother was long gone leaving just you and your father. You made grabby hands towards him making his heart melt before lift you up.
“Boop” you cutely said as you boop his nose making him chuckle. “Boop” he said back making you giggle this time.
“Okay baby it’s time for me to go to work so Uncle Castiel is gonna watch you okay baby?” He asked you making you nod happily before rushing to your uncles arms.
You never knew that was the last time you would see him and with that you cried and cried for your dad until Sera and the other Angels showed you he forgot about you, he had a wife and daughter….
You watched as he singed the same lyrics he sang to you to her. You were only 5 and parentless watching your father abandon you but staying for another that his. That’s when you grew up odd with another angel. You were evil or as they say a bad apple.
You were Cain’s secret friend encouraging him to kill his brother Abel. That when you were sent down in hell where your dad is but you never cared to look for him finding some friends of your own.
You were older and more mature then her but she was the youngest, and you were the oldest. Does that mean you had to made the sacrifice to be left?
Even so it hurts and your growing hate towards your father and sister grew stronger by the centuries.
With Lucifer though he was trying everywhere to find you, You were no where to seen in heaven and no where on earth so you must be in hell. But even then he couldn’t find you.
You grew close to Cain when he came to hell after being full of pride and thinking he could live without God and with his punishment. You saw him as a brother the only family you considered. You were never gonna be ready to let your other family in your life and you meant that.
When you were both getting ice cream You heard something. “___!” you turned around to see lucifer huffing and puffing finally catching up to you.
“My Sunshine! Woah have you grown into a-” you punched him in the face. You the eldest of Lucifer punched him in the face and my god it felt great to do. Your unbelievable smile widen as you saw his pain. Call it fucked up as you will but you almost laugh on how pathetic he was and to believe you looked up you him.
“Don’t… Don’t call me that. I thought we both grew out of that nickname a long time ago” You mumbled before turning away from him having nothing else to say.
“___ I was trying to protect you! Don’t you understand I was going to come back for you. I-“COME BACK TO ME? NOW THATS BULLSHIT “DAD” BECAUSE SPENDING TIME WITH YOUR OTHER BORN WAS NOT LOOKING FOR ME” You interrupted him turning into your full demon form Lucifer looked at you in shocked and stunned.
“I was 5 waiting for my own father to come home” You stated calmly as Lucifer looked at you with tears in his eyes.
“Please give me another chance, I love you too much to let you go” He pleaded taking you hand but you yanked it straight away.
“You gonna know how it feels to let go of the person you” You growled before walking away from him.
“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please…. Don’t take my sunshine away” He prayed as tears slipped down his eyes reaching out to you knowing your already far from him. knowing he lost his firstborn hurt
“Daddy! teach me how to dance!” A little you say as Lucifer looked up as a little you held your hand towards him he tried to reached but then you just faded. That little girl was long gone the moment he didn’t take you with him.
#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer x reader#lucifer x you#lucifer imagine#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel x you
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Come Inside
Part 2/2
A/N: The heavily requested part two.
“Well you fucking did it,” (Name) announced, storming into the living room where Adam was watching TV. “Did what,” he asked, mouth full of the ribs he was eating. (Name) threw something at him.
“Hey!” he yelped, the small object bouncing off his shoulder. He picked it up and the world stopped for a moment. It was a pregnancy test. And it was positive.
“Are you fucking with me?” Adam asked after a moment. “Does that look like I am fucking with you?” She had a point. (Name) was watching him anxiously. Adam looked back at her. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I… I don’t know. How do you feel?” “Like I made good on a promise,” Adam smirked. (Name) threw a pillow at his head. “This is serious!” “I am serious!” Adam protested. “I said I’d put a baby in you and I did. You had no fuckin’ objections when we were doing it.”
(Name) groaned, flopping onto the couch next to him. “You’re telling me that you are ready to be a dad?” Adam placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You say that like it’s an insane notion. I knew the risks, I knew this was a possibility. I wouldn’t have taken the chance if I wasn’t ready for it.”
(Name) teared up.
“Oh, shit, do you not want this?”
(Name) shook her head. “No, it’s just the hormones and the fact you actually want to have a baby with me.”
Adam laughed, pulling her into his lap. “Of course I want to have a baby with you. I wouldn’t have a baby with anyone else. Well, Eve, but I never raised Cain and Abel. In fact I was a completely absent dad–” “Babe.” Adam laughed, thinking about it. “I don’t know if that’s funny,” (Name) said.
Adam cleared his throat. “Point is, you make me want to be a father so long as you’re the mother.”
“You’re not gonna leave me and the baby like you left Cain and Abel?”
“Babe, Eve had Cain and Abel like right before she cheated on me. I wasn’t fuckin’ sticking around. Those kids are a mess too–” he laughed. “One killed the other!”
(Name) rolled her eyes, punching his shoulder. “The things you find funny are so fucked.” “Yeah but you love me,” Adam cooed, licking her cheek. (Name) squealed. “I hate when you do that! Just kiss me like a normal person, asshole!” Adam cackled.
The first trimester, it still hadn’t become a permanent thought in Adam’s head that he was going to be a father.
The second trimester, it became much more real and they started considering baby names and preparing a nursery.
The third trimster, was really bad for (Name). She was constantly exhausted, sore, hungry but sick to her stomach. The baby really did a number on her. By the time nine months rolls around, (Name) is more than ready to get this child out of her.
“GET IT OUT OF ME!” She screamed after pushing once. “Push again!” the midwife encouraged. (Name) screamed as she did.
Adam watched on in horror. He wasn’t there to witness Cain and Abel’s births, so he had no idea how brutal and scary childbirth was. He stroked back hair off her sweaty forehead, letting her squeeze the life out of his other hand.
Every time she screamed, Adam lost his shit a little bit.
“And push!” With one final push and a pained yell, (Name) delivered their baby.
It was a baby girl.
Adam had been reconsidering his eligibility for fatherhood. But when the nurse cleaned their baby off and placed her on (Name)’s chest, Adam was determined not to ruin a good thing. He may not be looking forward to the responsibilities of a father, but he would take them on for her sake.
In the following weeks, he really tries to help with the baby equally, but he’s pretty bad at it. He’d offered to take a few night shifts but would sleep straight through the baby’s crying, leaving (Name) to go soothe her. But he learned how to prepare a bottle of milk, and he learned how to change dirty diapers.
To his surprise, he actually didn’t find it all that difficult to bond with his child. (Name) even caught him baby talking once, which he fervently denies.
Months go by, and their daughter surprises them with her very first word… “Fuck!”
(Name) is appalled, Adam thinks it’s hilarious. She berates Adam for setting a bad example for the baby, when she shocks them with her second word. “Bitch.” Clear as day. Adam picks their daughter up and praises her. (Name) hits Adam’s arm.
Adam does his best to be a good husband and father, and while he’s not great at it, he is a present father and a loving husband.
#hazbin adam#adam x reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin angel dust#hazbin charlie#hazbin husk#hazbin vaggie#hazbin vox#hazbin hotel#hazbin lute#x reader#oneshot#oneshots#hazbin valentino#hazbin lucifer#hazbin sir pentious#hazbin niffty
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cerebral
matt sturniolo x fem reader
this isn’t proof read 😛😛
suggestive ???
i knew this would happen. it happened with the last guy i went on a date with, and the guy before that. they just werent him. it was such a horrible feeling to sit across from someone in a restaurant searching their face for a more familiar one, one that had memories etched into his smile lines, one that had a piece of you with him. but the feeling of having him, but not being abel to have him, wasnt much better.
it was hard, finding the middle ground between my ex and my best friend. we both promised that if we ever broke up nothing would change between us. but it did. i was more cautious of him. i picked my words carefully when they left my mouth. i studied his body language whenever i was close to him. he was like a ticking time bomb. he could be set off at any minute.
lazy footsteps could be heard before i saw matt pad his way into my living room before he plopped himself down next to me. he let himself in. of course he did. he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees before turning to look at me with a sad smile on his face.
"you okay?" his voice was hushed. like if he spoke too loud i might shatter. i just nodded with a gloomy smile on my face.
"so why do you look so sad y/n?" he knew me so well and i hated it. i couldnt differentiate wether he knew me so well because he was my bestfriend for so long, or if because he was the love of my life at one point.
"just the date. i dont think you wanna hear about it" i let out a sad laugh as i spoke. his eyebrows furrowed for a second before he replied.
"youre still my bestfriend y/n. just because youre my ex too doesn’t mean you cant tell me about the new guys" he sounded genuine. like he didnt care about the new guys. like he wasnt mad about them. but he should be. i wish he was. i wish he was repulsed at the thought of me ever being able to move on from him. but he wasnt. i kept my eyes trained to the ground. there was a heavy silence as he searched my face. i could feel his wandering eyes burning holes into me. like he could see straight into my brain.
"he called me cerebral matt" i paused, eyes still boring holes into the carpet beneath me. "i didnt even know what it meant" i raised my eyebrows and let out a huff of air through my nose. "would it have killed him to call me pretty instead?" i finally looked up at matt to see his eyes still on me. a look on his face that i couldnt decipher. i hated that he could see my walls crumbling.
"you are pretty y/n" he cooed, his voice so sickly sweet. matts hand moved onto my leg. rubbing slow circles with his thumb. i hated this. i hated that he could sit there and tell me this and not be mine. how could he promise to soften every edge and hold the world to its best when he was killing me.
"you cant say thing like this matt" i pushed his hand off my leg and just like that the walls were built back up again. his eyes dropped to his hand that was now slumped onto the sofa then back up to my face. he knew this was coming.
"why not?" he knew why. he just wanted to hear me say it. i paused momentarily. weighing up my options. deciding wether to say the real reason or to just leave it hanging in the air and say something that we both know is a lie. i didnt know where i stood with matt. he would treat me like in still his girlfriend in some ways, caring for me, being a shoulder for me to cry on and always being there to hold my hand when i needed him to, but he would drop it after a few seconds, leaving cold, heart shaped scars in his wake.
"because im still in love with you" tears were threatening to spill as i spoke. his face didnt move a fraction. he didnt even blink, just staring at me like he was deep in thought. this was old news for him and he probably could have beat me to it but atleast he was kind enough to let me say it. matt didnt even speak. he just kept staring at me as he brought a gantle hand up to the side of my face.
before i could even pull his hand off my face his lips were on mine. i didnt have the type of self control to pull away. i leaned into him, craving the closeness, luckily he got the hint and pulled me into his lap so i was straddling him and the kiss grew heavy, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, his wandering hands grabbing and groping whatever skin he could. he moved his mouth off mine and began trailing wet kisses down my neck and jawline making my breath hitch and my eyes close.
he began sucking and biting the skin on the side of my neck making me while. my hands found home in his hair, tugging softly, earning a satisfied hum from matt before he spoke against me.
"lets just get back together mh?" i was so lost in the way his lips felt on my skin i didnt even register what he had said until a few seconds later. i immediately pulled his head away from me and stared at him with wide eyes.
"what?" surprise evident in the sound of my voice.
"i dont see what the problem is, we both still love each other and i hate seeing you go on dates with shitty guys so why not?" i couldnt even reply to him. i just stared at him with my wouth hung open. what the fuck.
"if you dont want to, ill stop, but if you do, just say the words and ill give you whatever you want." he sounded so sure.
"yes" that was all he needed before he smirked and brought his lips to mine again, kissing me, hot and heavy.
the kiss was sloppy and desperate, both of us urgent for a touch we craved so badly. he ground his hips up, pressing his hard on into my heat making me whine into his mouth. i felt him smile against my lips before he kissed down my chin and throat before licking a stripe up it, pulling a moan from me, causing my hips to stutter against his involuntarily.
make up sex is good for the soul.
pt 2 coming soon an it’s spicy 🤓
taglist: @christinarowie332 @biimpanicking @soursturniolo @freshlovehacker @urmyslxt @kitaysworld @kvtie444 @chrisenthusiast @flowerxbunnie @mattsd0ll @itsjennarose @hearttshapedkisses @lovingsturniolo
#mango talks#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#smut#sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo blurb#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo oneshot#christopher owen sturniolo#sturniolo edit#my stuff#boyfriend texts#s#Spotify
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Being Adam's Daughter (both in life and in heaven)
I've run out of ideas someone please send something to my inbox + I need to keep this blog at least semi active somehow. I spent too long researching to write this please clap
-you were the only daughter to Adam and Eve. You were born into sin via Eve. You spent your entire childhood wishing you could visit the garden of Eden and see what was so bad about it that your mother had to eat the fruit of knowledge after God specifically told her not to.
-you were also very suspicious of your brother, Cain. Though you didn't know it, he showed wrath, envy and gluttony towards your brother, Abel. You, being born a woman, were raised to never question a man, especially not one older than you, so you never got in between their fights.
-then the day came that Cain killed Abel, the brother you were closer to. You witnessed the murder but your parents did not; you did as you were raised to do and didn't speak a word of what you saw. Cain threatened your life if you told them he had killed Abel, so you kept your mouth shut.
-as you lived your life you grew closer to God, closer even than Adam. You spent your days worshiping him, thanking him for every meal you ate, preaching to your parents about how good he was. Adam would always respond with something along the lines of, "hell yeah he's good, he made me!" and Eve would just smile.
-it was late one night when you saw your mother fall victim to the worst sin of all-debauchery with Lucifer himself. You caught her and Lucifer together, doing things you could never describe as the sweet little girl you were. You didn't understand the severity of it at the time but you ran back home and told your father that his wife and your mother was, in your words, "making friends" with the fallen angel who stole Adam's first wife, though you'd yet to have been told the story about Lilith yet.
-Adam stormed out and took you with him, you pointing him in the direction of Lucifer and Eve. He told you to wait behind a bush and he confronted Eve for sleeping with Lucifer. She wouldn't admit how many times she had done so. You were innocent and didn't understand the concept of "sleeping together", you were unsure why your father was so mad. He told Eve she was no better than Lilith, who you'd never heard of before and you suddenly had a lot of questions. Adam bid Eve his final goodbye and told her that if she ever came to him again he would kill her. You were stunned to hear this but seeing how you were raised, you didn't question it. It terrified you however.
-following your father home you asked him who Lilith was. Adam briefly explained that Lilith was his first wife, who refused to submit to him, and she fell in love with Lucifer and resided in Hell. In a rare moment of kindness he knelt to your level and placed his hands on your shoulders. "[Y/N], you're my only daughter and the only woman left in my life. Promise me, you'll never fall into the follies of sin," he spoke in a wavering voice. You understood how serious this was and nodded your head in agreement. He took you back to his hut, his hand in yours.
-you spent the remainder of Adam's life comforting him over the loss of Abel and Eve. You told him about how you saw Cain kill Abel and Adam sentenced Cain to live alone somewhere else, leaving only you and him. Throughout Adam's life on earth he always told you how much he loved you and how he expected to see you in Heaven when your time came.
-as time went by you never had any children, leaving that to other women God created. After learning the harsh reality of what your mother did you never wanted to risk falling in love with the wrong person, so you kept to yourself and became a traveling healer, helping those who were sick and hurt through God's will. You did this until you were around your middle ages, and God called you to Heaven. It was time for you to be with Adam.
-you were met by Sera, the high Seraphim. She told you your time had come, and you had been good enough to come to Heaven. You had done what your mother and brother failed to do, you lived a good and justified life and worked in God's mysterious ways. She brought your soul to Heaven.
-once you arrived in Heaven you saw how much of a dick Adam had become. He was proud, he was gluttonous and he was a jerk. He was always flaunting to the women in Heaven about how he was the first human soul to arrive there, likely to get them in bed with him. You were disgusted by it.
-when Sera brought Adam to the side and introduced you, his daughter, to him he was so stoked. "[Y/N]! You made it at last! That's daddy's little girl!" He rubbed your hair with his first and hugged you. He encouraged you to tell him what earned you a place in Heaven and you were proud to tell him of your years as a traveling healer and of how close you became to God. He was smiling the entire time.
-fast forward a little while, and the ranks of Hell were growing. Adam kept the extermination a secret from you, knowing it would break your sensitive heart to hear that countless souls who could have very well been your mother or brother, were being killed. His little secret was that he killed them both in the first extermination.
-as time went by you remained oblivious to the extermination, Adam never wanting you to know. But that fateful day came, when Adam told you he had to "take care of business", and promised you he'd be back later. He left with Lute, who you considered your true mother, and that was the last time you saw him.
-when Lute arrived back in heaven you rushed to her with glee in your eyes, asking where your father was. You were so excited to know what his business had been and if he'd carried out God's will. Your smile faltered when you noticed Lute clutching Adam's halo in her hand, her other arm missing entirely. Whatever had happened, had been serious. You begged her to let you heal her the best you could but she refused.
-with shame in her eyes she told you Adam died fighting and the last word he spoke was your name. She told you in detail about how she saw the light die in his eyes, his smile slowly falling as he bled out. She admitted to you about the yearly extermination and how he had made the decision to go back twice as fast to stop the hotel, which you had only heard whispers of.
-before Lute left to confront Lilith, she hugged you with her remaining arm and promised to take care of you the way Adam would have wanted her to, and that even though she could never replace him, she would do everything in her power to make you feel loved, wanted and accepted no matter what. She finished by telling you she had an errand to run, but when she was back she would give you Adam's halo to remember him by.
-you were in tears, clutching her remaining arm by the time she had finished speaking. All you could do is nod your head, too choked on tears to give a real response. You couldn't believe your father was dead and gone for good. Sniffling, all you could say at the end was, "thank you mom". Lute kissed your forehead and promised she would be back very shortly to give you his halo.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel adam x reader#hazbin hotel adam x daughter reader#hazbin hotel adam x child reader#hazbin hotel x child reader#hazbin hotel x daughter reader
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Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 2
Propaganda under the cut:
Liam/Noel:
The incest rumours used to be common for good reason <3
those two have kissed and groped each other too many times
They are really weird about each other, they have kissed a few times, made incest jokes many times, wrote songs about each other (I could be your lover/you could be all mine) and had a break up so messy they haven't been on speaking terms for +10 years
The song that goes like "I'm your brother/ you're my lover" there are many such cases
"Liam's gotten all religious. It's quite disturbing. He thinks he's Abel for some weird reason. He wrote a new song called "Guess God Thinks I'm Abel." And I thought, "Right, so you think you're Abel. That must make me Cain. Doesn't Cain kill Abel?" But then the first line of that song is "You could be my lover." I'm not too sure about that. That's illegal, innit? It's kind of illegal for two brothers to make love. It's certainly frowned upon."
Sam/Dean:
I'm sorry but they have it all. children of metaphorical incest just continuing the cycle in any way they can. they are brothers and mother + son and wives and each other's scorned lovers and life partners they've had multiple infidelity arcs they are sexually psychopathic together they have forsook life and morality and the earth itself for each other and just love each other so much . They are literally in a heaven of their own making together for eternity, incestuously. Come on!!! Blueprint!!!!! It's not gay if he's your brother!!!!!
dean did stuff to sam's dead body in ahbl. i just know it
Messed-up, isolated sibs with all the daddy and abandonment issues. Their lives are so claustrophobic with the brothers no more than five feet apart in the car, a motel room, or standing next to civilians (face it, they are frigging magnets). Can't leave out that they are always touching each other to check for wounds which is a huge PLUS for any shipper.
Sam and Dean ARE literally the blowjob brothers. They walk into a situation and everyone goes well well well if it isn't the blowjob brothers....... And they say. Yep. That's us. And then they fix the situation with their epic love story
THE classic, iconic, show shopping, never done before etc. etc. incest ship. It changed fandom and it changed the world
#liam/noel gallagher#gallaghercest#oasis#samdean#wincest#spn#supernatural#tw incest#round 2#tumblr polls#tournament polls#incest poll
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Theory: Carmilla would be Eve?
Among so many crazy theories (and I love it!) after this season, I'm going to bring my (crazy) theory. As the title already reveals, what if Carmilla Carmine was our missing Eve? Before you throw hate, here are some points:
-In some versions of the myth of the creation of Adam and Eve, Eve was condemned to hell (while Adam went to heaven). If the series goes down this path, the character wouldn't be in heaven;
-Carmilla's name: Originated from Hebrew culture. Carmila/Carmela/Carmilla/Carmile means garden, orchard. Well... I don't think it would be too much of a coincidence for the name to mean that (garden... Garden of Eden...).
-Eve was created from Adam's rib. Here I come up with the theory that the exorcist angels guided by Adam (including Vaggie) were created from his ribs (like Eve). This would explain the similarity in appearance of Vaggie, Lute and Carmilla.
--Carmilla's personality: she is super protective! The super mom of the series (so far). It is to be expected that Adam's second wife, mother of humanity, would be maternal./ "but she was presented as the mother of only two characters" man, she still seemed super worried about the day of extermination (she called a meeting with the Overlords precisely to think of ways to stop this), after all, the sinners were their descendants! (I'm not going to talk here about Adam's relationship with sinners, that would be worth another post) And, the same time, the exorcists would be like her sisters who she was reluctant to kill. I would also like to add here, I think Zestial could be Cain (one of his main sons and, precisely, the first sinner, as he killed his other brother Abel), this would explain the affection that Carmilla has for Zestial and for them both being the oldest Overlords! (Cain died before Eve in many versions of the myth) /Sure, they might just be good friends, but to me it made a lot of sense, my bad
-Her appearance: I've already commented on her resemblance to Vaggie (the two even duet two songs, expressing similar feelings), but now let's compare her appearance with her hair down with Eve's silhouette in the first episode (just look at the image I posted here) , it's identical! And of course, the second wife would have to be beautiful, and Carmilla is said to be beautiful.
--"ok but it is much more likely that she was one of the exorcist angels, taking into account her appearance and knowledge, why would Eve have an appearance similar to these angels?" Precisely because they came/were born from the same place, Adam's ribs! When Eve died, her demonic form still assumed that of a beautiful woman with large hands (representing her need to be able to hold, care for and hug everyone). Maybe Adam knew or didn't know how Eve was doing, and made his female army similar to his ex-wife (For me, this part would have several possibilities, like, him purposely making the appearance of the exorcists or it would just be because they were all born from the same place)
-In the final episode, when the news reports about what happened at the Hotel, the reactions of several characters appear, and there was one (emphasis?) in Carmilla's reaction to Adam's death (I imagine that, because she was against the extermination of sinners (her descendants) while her ex-husband, who lived in heaven, led this extermination, she should not have good feelings towards him).
Final note: Even if she is not Eve, probably she was one of the exorcist angels (as many already theorize), as she knew about the angelic weapons, knew of Vaggie's identity and her appearance.
(Sorry if there are a lot of grammatical errors, English is not my native language)
#hazbin theory#hazbin spoilers#hazin hotel#hazbin#hazbin hotel theory#vivziepop#hazbin eve#hazbin hotel eve#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin adam#hazbin hotel carmilla#hazbin carmilla#eve#adam hazbin hotel#eve hazbin hotel#carmilla carmine#zestial morde#carmilla#carmilla is eve#eve is carmilla#hazbin analysis#hazbin thoughts#hazbin exterminators#hazbin exorcists
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Adams Past Thoughts
(English isn't my first language so sorry if I make mistakes)
After finishing HH I got to thinking, was Adam always the way that we see him in the show.
Because he, Lilith and Eve were created without original sin. So it wouldn't make sense for him to be a complete idiot from the beginning.
Here's what I think could be a possibility on what happened (after all we don't know how biased Lilith's book is):
First he and Lilith are created
Maybe he didn't really boss her around and it was more like a situation of a sibling telling the other sibling what to do (I know they where married but it's the only example I could think of)
"Just because you're older doesn't mean you can tell me what to do" kinda way (since Adam probably was made first)
But it was not supposed to be an order from Adam more like a suggestion
So Lilith walks of and meets Lucifer
Heaven realises Lilith won't work as a wife and they create Eve from Adam
Eve is a lot more naive than Lilith
Adam is explicitly told to look after her and make sure she is alright
He does just that and they both are happy together
Lucifer and Lilith create the fruit
And in a rare moment where Eve isn't with Adam she finds the tree
Eve eats the fruit
She gives it to Adam
He eats it too because he loves Eve and doesn't want her to endure the punishment alone
Everything goes downhill from here
I believe they were not really capable of feeling negative emotions before they ate the fruit
Eve being the first to eat it develops a lot of doubts towards Adam
Why wasn't he looking after me? That's what he was supposed to do now we are stuck in a world filled with danger and death
Adam ,who before the fruit didn't care about Lilith leaving him, was now starting to yearn for the woman he never had. She was supposed to be his and now she is with the most hated being of all creation.
They never really expressed the thoughts they had after eating the fruit with eachother
Resentment started building up without them really noticing
They still held love for eachother and tried to survive in a world full of danger
It went alright in the beginning
They had two kids
Everything seemed to look up
But of course Cane kills Abel
And that was the last nail in the coffin
Adam and Eve could not cope with the loss of both their sons (let's pretend Seth never becomes a person in this story)
They still tried to stay together
But the resentment grows bigger
Love turns into hate and a lot of hurtful things are said between them
They separate and go there different ways
And lets pretend Eve really did have something with Lucifer
As soon as Adam hears about that his hate for Lucifer and Eve just grows bigger
What is wrong with these women? What is it about this Lucifer?
He develops a lot of doubts about himself in his living life. Which causes him to develop the fear of being left by anyone who he lets into his life.
After he died he hears all about how great he is being the first man and all
And over the years he starts believing that he can do no wrong and it was only his wife's and Lucifers fault that everything went to shit
And even though deep down he wants a meaningful relationship he opted to just go for hook ups in fear of losing someone again
And after a few thousand years those things develop into the kind of person we see in the show
But this is just one possibility
I hope it is understandable what I'm trying to convey
Please share your thoughts with me.
What do you think happened all these years ago?
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel lilith#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin hotel eve#hazbin hotel theory#adam and eve#adam x reader
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Honestly if we get Adam as a Sinner, I can see him being redeemed because of one detail: “he was the first human soul in Heaven”. Because Adam was not the first human to die: that was Abel, his son, killed by his brother Cain, who was then cursed with immortality, all because of Eve being infected with Evil by Lilith and Lucifer. To note that in spite of his attitude, Adam has some legitimate beef, and seeing him reunite with his son in Hell might be enough.
Adam and Eve were created mortals. Their bodies are susceptible to natural death. They can die. Before the fall, Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden did not possess the “living forever” attached to the tree of life; hence they were mortal beings.
Adam becoming a sinner can be possible because sinning causes the downfall of mortals.
“Thus, human death is a result of sin.” And I have one solid proof of Adam sinning in the series…
“You all should be worshiping me,”
Adam, in the series, have stated something that can be deemed “sinning” because it goes against the first commandment; “Do not worship no other gods before Me.”
I don’t think heaven will like hearing that. Adam may have been a dick all throughout and said a lot of out-of-the-pocket shit but THIS? This may have went too far🤣
BUT ANYWAYS IDK IT’S JUST A STUPID THEORY ANYWAYS BDJFOFWHFKJWLFJGLJDK
Let me know your thoughts, I love brainstorming and looking deeper into details about hazbin💞 Inbox are always open xoxo
#hazbin hotel#adam hazbin hotel#eve hazbin hotel#eden#tree of life#bible#theory#alastor#radio demon#lucifer morningstar#charlie morningstar#hazbin hotel vox#eve#hazbin hotel roo#hazbin hotel lilith#vaggie#angel#hell#husk#angel dust#niffty#spoilers#spoiler alert#episode 8
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Imagine being Chibs’ old lady
As ruthless as he can be, he is an absolutely softie just for you
Kisses your fingers one-by-one; your hands; your thighs; your calves; your stomach
Rubs your feet after a long day without you asking; he just slides your legs over his and works out all the tension
Tells you how pretty you are alllll the time: “My beautiful lass” & “Prettiest girl I’ve ever laid me eyes on” & “How d’ye manage lookin’ better everyday?” & “Sorry for starin’ at ya, love, I just cannae believe how goddamn gorgeous you are”
Would literally drop to his knees and worship you happily if you asked, of course you’d never, but he’d do it without a moment’s thought
Talks about you as if you’re a goddess, an angel walking the earth, and not giving a damn if the guys make fun of him for it (though they never would, they think so, too)
If you find a spider in the house
and you ask him to take it outside instead of killing it, he’ll look at you like this…
… and then take it outside. Same goes for any little task you ask for his help on, even if it’s just because you want to see his biceps flex when he lifts something heavy, or his belly peak out from his shirt when he reaches for something high. He pretends to be annoyed by your constant asking, but he loves taking care of you so damn much. He’d do anything you asked with a smile on his face.
Him calling you when the club needs your help
Medical, serving beers, hosting other charters, whatever they need. He’d call you and say:
“Hey baby”
“Hiya, love. Need yer help at the clubhouse. Tigger got bit by a damn doped-up Doberman or some shite. Hell if I know”
“Jesus Christ. Alright, keep him stable. I’ll be there as soon as I can, love”
“Wha’ would we do without ya, my angel?”
“Crash and burn, probably”
“Damn right. Love you, M'annsachd (my blessing)”
“Love you back, my Scotsman”
The club counts on your for so much, and you’re happy to help. That means you get to spend more time with your man and see him in his element. The other guys love you, too, and respect the hell out of you, knowing Chibs wouldn’t think think before chopping their dick off if they ever made a move on you. They tell you how much they appreciate you every chance they get.
THE ENDLESS PET NAMES
Lassie, sweetheart, hen, angel, darling, love; bonnie lass, baby, girlie, lover, sugar
Bonus: Scots Gaelic pet names
M'annsachd (my blessing), mo ghràdh (my love), mo chridhe (my heart), mo leannan (my darling/sweetheart)
After the explosion, you’re by his side every minute
When he comes to here and there during the first few hours, the only thing he mumbles is your name, like he’s desperately searching for your face in an unfamiliar crowd. You squeeze his hands and tell him you’re there, even if he slips back under just after, he knows you’re there. Even when the recovery is hard on him, you’re there to support him in every way you can. The club knows you won’t leave his side and helps fill in the gaps you usually occupy without a second thought. He credits you with his recovery, even though he did it all: “Yer my savior, mo chridhe. Cannae imagine my life wi’out you here, takin’ care o’ me, bringin’ me back ta life. You’ve given me everything. I owe you everything, my angel.”
He is the absolute sweetest with kids, your own or other members’
After Donna, Opie went off the rails and no one else had the means and patience to take care of Ellie and Kenny, so you two took them in.
He would try his best to explain to them where their mom is and that they’ll never be alone.
“Tha’s right, yer ma is heaven, in God’s golden castle, dancin’ ‘n’ singin’ wi’ the angels. You can weep, mo leannan, s’alright. Jus’ means you’ve plenty o’ love left ta give. You’ve a home wi’ us, yer da, yer granddaddy always, loves, ya understand?”
When Abel and Thomas come along, you’re always first to volunteer to watch them. You love seeing your man with the small children, always eager to play silly little games or offer a strong, warm embrace when they take a tumble on the playground.
If you have your own kids together, god, the way he loves them so fiercely but so gently just melts you. He loves to wake up with them in the night, just so he can spend a moment with them in his arms, those big brown eyes staring up at him. You’d give him 10 babies just to see that sparkle in his eye when he holds your child.
The PDA
He’s never shy to show the world how much he loves you.
Kisses on your temple as he passes by, smack on your ass while you stand at the bar, an arm snaking around your waist as you talk to some crow eaters, whistling at you as you walk towards him in the clubhouse (and you put on a little show for him, of course). He’s always finding new ways to show you how much he loves you and your body.
You become a mother figure for the girls
Crow eaters are all there with the hopes of becoming an old lady some day, and they could look at your marriage with Chibs with jealousy, but instead, they admire you. They see the way you have the freedom to do whatever you please and be exactly who you are, while still having a man who worships you just as much as you worship him, and they want that.
You tell them:
“I just got lucky, baby. I couldn’t stop loving him if I tried. You’ll find yours, too, don’t you worry.”
When it comes to the crow eaters, you’ve always known that what happens on the road stays on the road, but Chibs doesn’t even take a second look at any of the girls. He’s loyal to you in every way, even when you’ve told him it’s okay to satisfy his needs with a blowjob here or a handy there. He’d never touch anyone else that way, not without you involved, anyway. 😏
T H E S E X
This man knows how to give you everything you need and more. So much more.
You’ve been together long enough that jealousy or feelings of not being good enough have long gone out the window. You both just want to make each other feel mind-blowing, brain-fogging pleasure. Whether that is with just your two bodies, toys, bringing in thirds (or fourths, fifths…), experimenting with new kinks and locations, Chibs is willing to try anything once as long as you are into it. He’s given you pleasure like you’ve never known and you send him just as high above the earth when it’s your turn to return the favor.
You’re his comfort and his peace
After a long day with the MC, sometimes he just needs you in his arms to remember who he is and why he does it all. He tells you everything you need to know, and you’re smart enough to fill in the gaps. You know he’s done some things that he thinks are irredeemable, but you’re there to remind him he’s a good man. That’s why you love him so much.
Check out My Dove for a sweet, smutty night when he needs some comfort from you (minors please DNI).
Overall, Chibby is just the best partner you could have ever ended up with and he spends every minute of his life reminding you just how loved you are
#chibs telford#chibs telford x reader#soa imagine#kdogreads#chibs imagine#chibs smut#chibs x reader#soa fanfiction#sons of anarchy imagine#chibs sons of anarchy#soa chibs#sons of anarchy headcanon#sons of anarchy
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Oh, I wanna take a guess at Abel's sis name too.
So I'll admit I haven't read all of the lore you posted so the only bits of info I'm going with is his sis wanting to kill him.
So quick googling said to me that Abel is a name from the Bible, a son from Adam and Eve who was later killed by his brother out jeaulosy.
I think you said before, that you're not Christian, (tbf I'm not religious at all) but my only guess is that her name is Cain, or something like that, aka the name of the brother who killed Abel.
im not christian or religious in general but i like symbolism and religious imagery in fiction, esp for dark or vampire stuff lol
youre correct!!! (not that it was hard, considering her brother is named abel and the nature of the game) her name is not cain but a similar sounding variation
its "kaia"
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this broken design, ch16
pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader
summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.
Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.
Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.
Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.
read from the beginning here.
ao3 version | Spotify playlist
some of this chapter is born out of me realizing, as i read The Red Dragon, that i essentially limited Alana’s presence in this fic to that one rather tumultuous interaction, instead of expanding on her potential as both a strong, intelligent side character and a friend to the reader. Hopefully this makes up for that a little bit. Alana’s pretty cool. I sort of lost sight of that.
warnings: negative self talk, suicidal ideation/thoughts, panic attack, hyperventilation, derealization, canon-typical blood, violence, & gore
The darkness swirling around you is relentless in its writhing, distorting and jerking you around in its shadowed grasp. For a while, you’re content to let the shadows take control. You float in an endless abyss. Memories flit before your eyes, just long enough for you to reach out to try to grab them. They never stay long enough, flickering and disintegrating before you get the chance to grasp them and dissect every miniscule detail.
Stay awake, says a whisper itching at your skin.
You take a deep breath. The next time you blink, you find yourself standing in a far too familiar place. Hannibal’s kitchen is quiet—eerily so, you think as your footsteps echo against the floors. There is hardly a sign of life on these countertops, hardly a stain or sprinkling of powder to assure you this place has ever been used. There is a single light boring down on the back of your head: a spotlight. You swallow hard and step to the side in an attempt to escape the light, only to find Hannibal’s rolodex sitting in the middle of the brightness. Your business card sits on top, displaying your name, phone number, email address, office location at headquarters, birthplace, height, weight, eye color, age, and any other demographic information you could possibly imagine. The font is tiny, yet you can read it with ease. Feeling a sudden urge to touch, you grab the business card and let it lie flat in your palm. There’s a tear in the corner, you realize. Frowning, you move to touch it, only for the tear to extend further down the flimsy material. Crimson dots appear on the white background, swirling and twisting until there’s blood collecting on your fingertips. You look down, only to realize that the dark red stains have permeated the fabric of your shirt. Puddles are gathering at your feet, marking your footsteps with every movement you make. The card melts into the blood gathered in your hands, and you’re left holding the tattered remains of your identity.
Stay awake.
You blink again. Abel Gideon is peering at you from behind the bars of his interrogation cell. “You have Lecter on a leash, don’t you?” Gideon remarks with a laugh. You huff a laugh under your breath. The thought amuses you, for reasons you cannot quite discern at the moment. “A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.” Your hands tremble at your sides and you restlessly shift your balance from one foot to the other. Gideon’s gaze is knowing and it pins you to the ground.
Stay alive.
A blink. You’re standing in the doorway of your office at headquarters. Everything is as you left it, save for your chair, which has an inhabitant. Franklyn Froideveaux stares at you with empty eye sockets and a gaping maw. Blood slips down his gaunt frame, leaving murky red-brown streaks down his cheeks and around the cavity of his chest. You blink and his skin turns a murky yellowish green from decay.
“See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs croons from over your shoulder. You can feel the smile on his face, feel his breath hitting your neck and provoking a deep nausea in your gut.
Another blink. Blood slips hotly down your fingers as you stand in a dimly lit hallway. Your skin feels lit with flames and the knife in your hand gleams a sickening crimson. You want to release the weapon from your grip, but your fingers are locked around the blade with unshakeable force. The smell of death and decay wafting through the enclosed space makes your stomach turn. None of these sensations are powerful enough to rip your attention away from the corpse at your feet.
“Killing must feel good to God, too,” Hannibal remarks with a hum, hands behind his back as he regards Abel Gideon’s form. There is a mildly intrigued expression on his face as he studies the body, before looking back to you with eerily crimson eyes. As he pivots, bloodstained antlers stretch from his perfectly coiffed hair. They disappear in a moment—a trick of the light. His voice is dark and airy all at once. “And are we not created in his image?” You swallow past the nausea building in your chest. Time stretches on with terrible slowness. His gaze is flaying you apart. “Don’t you want God To want you?” He asks softly.1
“See?” Stay awake. Stay alive.
Darkness, then light. “To the Ripper, understanding is love,” Hannibal says, a flicker of a smile settling on his lips. His hands are folded and he leans forward. Your chairs are close enough to force you to knock knees with him, but Hannibal doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect. “You are the first person to see through his façade, through the layers of his mask.” His skin looks strangely patterned, as if it's made of ceramic. You reach out to grasp his face, to yank off his mask, only for Hannibal to catch your wrist and hold it in a tight grip. Suddenly, your chair is tipping backwards precariously, lurching further into the abyss. You try to reach out and grab onto something, but Hannibal’s hold is the only thing that keeps you tethered. The void crawls up your skin mockingly, waiting to drag you into its umbra. Your momentum is slipping backwards and you’re filled with an unsettling anticipation. Contrary to your expectations, Hannibal’s grip remains strong. You look at him. The Ripper looks back, a bloodstained smile on his lips. You feel his fingers trace the edges of your skin with a mocking gentleness, before you’re falling backward into the darkness again.
You slip out of the darkness and bolt up, only to find yourself in a painfully bright room. You can’t quite stop the gasp that comes from your lips, nor can you suppress the urge to look around frantically, searching for the signs that this is a dream. The incessant pain in your abdomen is a harsh reality check. You look down at the area, only to find meticulously wrapped bandages covering your lower torso. Your upper forearm stings from the IV burrowing under your skin.
“Hey,” a voice says. You squint in the bright light, waiting for the blurred figure in front of you to sharpen. It’s a nurse—the same one who helped you the last time you were wounded. She holds her hands out in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You were just dreaming.” Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern, a sentiment you feel you don’t deserve.
You bite back your questions—knowing the answers are clinging to the blinding white walls around you. The nurse asks you several questions about your symptoms and your pain level, before departing with the promise that she will return soon.
The events that transpired in Hannibal’s office cling to your skin with fervency. Your abdomen burns, especially when you remember that Hannibal inflicted the wound. You shouldn’t feel betrayed. You shouldn’t be afforded the privilege of being betrayed, not when you knew Hannibal Lecter’s nature since that night you sleepwalked out into the middle of the street.
Even so… you enjoyed being in Hannibal’s presence. You enjoyed the song and dance you had gotten so accustomed to playing. You spent so long spectating the game that you forgot your role in it. You were a pawn, and nothing more. The thought displeases you. With each passing second, the ugly feeling in your chest grows and swells within the confines of your rib cage. It’s getting to be too much.
There is no one to sit at your bedside this time. When she returns, the nurse pointedly does not mention your husband. You don’t have the heart to tell her that your “husband” was the same person who stabbed you, or that your husband was never really your husband in the first place. She seems to understand anyway. Pity is hidden beneath the kind smile on her face. You stop making eye contact with her.
Lying in this hospital bed is a lonely existence, dominated by a constant state of pain (at worst) or mild discomfort (at best). The only interaction you get is from the nurse herself. You get the feeling she’d be a good listener, but your tongue feels ironed to the roof of mouth and your conversations quickly morph into anecdotes about her life. You’re grateful for the small kindness—for the prospect of being treated like a human being, despite it all. These small moments of humanity push you to keep going, even amidst the several voices crooning in your ears about your cruelty.
You don’t expect any visitors. Indeed, your first visitor is entirely unexpected. When you’re first told that someone wishes to speak to you, you think of Beverly, Jack Crawford… hell, even Freddie Lounds. You certainly don’t foresee Alana Bloom walking through the door, a gentle, reserved expression on her face. Seeing her brightens your day, and her presence reminds you that you’re not entirely alone. You welcome the thought.
“Alana,” you greet her, your voice rather raspy. You cough to clear your throat. “How are you?” You ask.
“I should be asking you that,” she responds with a wry smile. She stands at the end of your bed, before walking to the side. Alana regards the lonely chair at your bedside, before placing her hands on the back. She looks well—albeit a little tired. “I’m good. And you?”
“I’ve been better,” you decide to respond honestly. There’s no point in lying to Alana—she used to be your psychiatrist, your girlfriend. She would be able to see through your dishonesty anyway. Sure enough, Alana seems to appreciate your honesty, because her eyes momentarily widen before she moves to sit down. Seeing her sit in that chair makes your stomach turn. When you blink, you see Hannibal sitting there—lithe frame effortlessly arranged, tupperware in hand. You rub your eyes roughly, dispelling the image to the recesses of your memory. Alana was courteous enough to visit you—the least you can do is acknowledge her presence, instead of imagining her as someone else.
For a moment, you stare at Alana. A mundane sense of envy strikes you, but it’s fleeting. You don’t deserve to be envious of her good health and safe wellbeing. Your own hubris is the reason why you’re currently confined to this cot. You look at her for a moment longer, before letting your eyes rest on the plain walls around you. You can feel Alana staring at you with concern. Instead of acknowledging that sentiment, you let the first question on your mind pass through your lips. “Where’s Jack?”
Alana is silent for a few seconds. Is it a difficult question? You don’t think so, yet Alana almost seems to falter. Eventually, she must manage to find the words. “Busy, as I’m sure you can imagine,” she evidently settles for saying. Upon closer examination, her hands are clasped in her lap—whitened knuckles betraying her otherwise tranquil image. Alana’s next words are quiet yet firm. “He’s tracking Hannibal—the Chesapeake Ripper.”
You inhale slowly. Somehow, hearing her say that cements the reality of it all. Everyone knows Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. It’s not just you anymore. You bring up an arm slowly, before tilting your head down and pinching the bridge of your nose. Somehow, it is this statement that reminds you of the pounding sensation behind your eyes and the aching clustered around your temple.
“Are you alright?” Alana asks, lips twitching into a slight frown.
“Yes,” you respond flatly. Your answer sounds devoid of emotion and purpose.
“Are you sure?” Alana persists. You don’t have the heart to lie to her twice in a row.
“...No.” You acquiesce. You rub a hand over your face, feeling rather small in this hospital bed. The sheets are slightly scratchy and the weight of them feels constricting, rather than comforting. You’ve never felt so small.
“I’m sorry,” Alana sighs. She seems entirely sincere and it almost makes you want to scream. You don’t deserve her sympathy. “I know you two were close. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” That statement is incredibly reassuring, despite the frenzy you had worked yourself into surrounding Alana. When you reflect on the events of the past months, you realize that you have few allies and even fewer true friends. One of those true friends is sitting right next to you.
“Thank you,” you nod. Guilt stirs in your chest as you stare at your old psychiatrist and ex-girlfriend. Every time you’ve seen her since she kissed you, you’ve purposefully cut conversation short. Somehow, the thought feels silly to you now. Perhaps almost dying a second time does that to a person. You stare at Alana for a moment. She looks well put together, as always. “Alana?”
“Yes?” She questions patiently. That’s another thing you envy about her—her unwavering compassion, her unflinching patience. You could stand to learn a few things from her, you think.
“I’m sorry,” you remark. The sentiment has been dancing on the tip of your tongue for the past several weeks, yet you never got the chance to verbalize it. Life has been a whirlwind lately. You’ve been so caught up in everything swirling around in your mind that you never paused to think about those around you, or how they were affected by the recent turn of events. “For…” You break off, unable to articulate it. You settle for a vague hand gesture. Alana seems to understand anyways, as her eyes momentarily widen before comprehension passes over her face.
“Don’t apologize,” Alana is quick to say, nothing but sincerity written in the lines of her shoulders. Her eyes look slightly glassy for the briefest of moments, before she shakes her head and looks at you once more. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry for kissing you without warning.”
You nod in acknowledgement. Silence descends upon the brisk air, leaving the two of you to your thoughts. You’re not content to let this overbearing tension rule over your conversation. You clench your fists slightly, filled with renewed resolve. You stare at Alana for a few seconds, until she notices your gaze and returns it. “Friends?” You ask, extending a hand towards her.
“Friends,” Alana responds with a smile, rising from her chair to meet your outstretched hand. Your handshake is short but reassuring. It’s enough to convince you that there are no hard feelings between the two of you. Alana fills you in on some of what’s happened since your admittance to the hospital; mostly, though, the two of you talk about the small things. You know Alana is trying to give you some semblance of normalcy. You appreciate the effort, you really do… but you’re not sure you’re capable of pretending everything’s okay. Furthermore, the small things seem inconsequential—now that you’re entrenched in the middle of everything. Even so, you make sure to thank her before she leaves. You don’t know how you would have coped without seeing a familiar face. Alana smiles and promises to be back soon.
As you expect, Alana doesn’t turn up the next day. You certainly don’t expect her to stop by, since you know she’s always rather busy. Ultimately, you come to the conclusion that you want nothing more than to be out of this hospital. Even worse… apparently, the stunt you pulled with Beverly during your past hospital visit did not go over well. You’re firmly reminded to avoid any attempts at an early release. You’re too tired and embarrassed to argue. You don’t have anything better to do than rot in this hospital room, anyway. Besides, you’re certain you’ll be met with some unpleasant reminders of Hannibal as you get home. You think you have a few cardigans in your closet that you meant to give back to him. The thought sends a bolt of nervous excitement through you, and you have to actively talk yourself down that precarious ledge.
Alana does visit the day after. Beverly turns up the day after that and gives you several hugs. After that, at least one of your friends—Alana or Beverly— visits every day, which you’re extremely grateful for. You’re certain you’d go absolutely stir crazy in this hospital bed if you didn’t have anyone for company. Your conversations are typically fun and refreshing, like light breezes of summer air. Sometimes, though, you’re bogged down by your memories. Sometimes, you’re forced to remember the corpses you left in your wake.
Even with Alana and Beverly visiting, you’re given more than enough alone time to contemplate everything. You have ample time to pick apart Hannibal’s actions and discern his true motivations. So, when Jack Crawford finally visits, his shoulders drawn tight with stress, you’re prepared to recount that night to him. Jack is insistent on the fact that you don’t have to speak about anything you don’t want to, but you know the offer is more for pretense than anything else. He needs this information, needs to understand the Ripper’s past actions and how they govern his future. With that in mind, you wave off his concern and tell him about your late night meeting with Hannibal.
Jack is silent throughout, never once interrupting you or reacting in a manner other than an affirmative nod. It’s very characteristic of your boss; you think that you would have been unsettled if he responded with heightened or dramatic emotions. Jack’s cool composure is an anchor that you quickly latch on to.
“He wanted you alive,” Jack states, once you’re finished explaining everything. He says this with frightening assuredness. His utter conviction surprises you, prompting you to ask how he knows that.
Of course, you certainly considered that same possibility yourself, but it feels more real when you hear it from Jack. “The stab wound wasn’t fatal,” he points out. His gaze falls to the edge of your abdomen. The bandages feel extremely constricting. You wonder if they need to be changed soon. “It easily could’ve been. The Ripper is a skilled killer—he wouldn’t have missed unless he wanted to.” You take a shuddering breath in.
“He’s toying with us,” you manage to agree. Your hands fidget restlessly along the rough blanket thrown over your form. You feel restless once more.
“He’s toying with you,” Jack supplies. There is no room for argument in his voice. He doesn’t look restless, afraid, or frustrated. Not for the first time, you wish you had Jack’s control and constitution. However, you know Jack well enough to see the signs of tension in his clenched fist and drawn lips. “Taunting you, and the rest of us, by proxy.” That statement in particular sets everything in stone. Your theories are no longer just theories—they are unobjectionable facts.
“Jack.” you remark, trying to push the words past the dread settling on your tongue.
“Yes?” Jack asks, patient and restless all at once. You’re choking on the words. It’s such a simple sentence, yet so dangerous of an admission. If you told the truth—confided in Jack about how you suspected Hannibal the moment you met him, and grew to realize that he is the Ripper—you would certainly lose your job, not to mention all of Jack’s trust.
Selfish, your victims croon. Your psyche nods in agreement. It’s truly selfish of you not to provide Jack with your utmost honesty. You’re doing a disservice to every person Hannibal has ever killed, every waking moment the team spent hunting for the Chesapeake Ripper. You wasted so much time, so much space.
“I-” You try to continue. I knew. I knew and I did nothing. I am complicit in his crimes. Tears are slipping down your cheeks. You’re a rotten excuse for a human being. You don’t deserve to be alive. Why hadn’t Hannibal just finished the job? It’s cruel, almost. He allowed his other victims the mercy of death, yet he left you alive. You will forever be scarred—both by Hannibal’s knife and by the bone-deep knowledge that your silence made you an accomplice to his crimes.
Breathing is suddenly a far more arduous task. Your lungs burn and your throat feels as if it’s closing in on you. Your vision is extremely sharp and your shaking hands are drawn with harsh lines and even harsher edges. The world around you is suddenly rendered immensely inconsequential. The beeping of the machines at your bedside, Jack’s steady breaths, the traces of conversation slipping in from the hallway… It all fails in comparison to the chimes of the grandfather clock in your mind. You dig your fingernails into your skin, desperate for unspoken confirmation that you aren’t dreaming.
At this point, you’re panting. Drool falls from the sides of your mouth and hits the scratchy blanket. Every nerve in your body feels as if it’s on fire. You’re a puppet cut loose from the puppeteer’s careful hand, yet you’re still strung together with wooden bones and durable string. You bring your hand to your chest and try to breathe, but the more you try, the harsher and more rushed your attempts become.
“Agent.” There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s enough pressure to make you feel as if you’re melding with the thin mattress below you, sinking into the floor and the shadows. For a moment, you can see Hannibal looking down at you in your mind’s eye, a contentious expression on his face as he lets you fall to the darkness below. “Breathe.” Jack grabs your hand and brings it to the inside of his wrist. His pulse beats steadily beneath your fingertips and you latch onto the rhythm. Jack begins counting, prompting you to breathe in time with him. You’re not sure how long it takes you to clear your airways—you just know that, at some point, Jack migrated from where he stood at the end of your bed to the side of the bed.
“Jack,” you try again. Your lips part but nothing slips out. It’s such a simple confession—a mere few words, yet you can’t utter them.
“Agent,” Jack interjects, before you can choke on the words you don’t want to say. His expression has returned to a combination of rigidity and anticipation. You know what Jack will say before he says it. “Can I trust you to handle this case? Do I need to remove you from this case? ” He doesn’t say that last part, but you hear it anyway. You take a deep breath and rub a hand over your face. Your eyes burn from all the tears you shed.
“I can handle it,” you assure him.
“You’re close to all this,” Jack remarks. He gets up from where he had been sitting and walks back to stand behind the edge of the bed. His gaze meets yours, but you know he isn’t really looking at you. That expression on his face means Jack is looking through his options, puzzling out the future in his head. You wait for him to refocus. “You know I don’t typically assign agents with personal investments in cases… But, you’ve been on this case for a long time. You know the Ripper better than anyone else does, whether you want to admit it or not.”
You stare at Jack silently, daring him to take you off the case. You know that your words will fail you here, so you hope your conviction shows through in your eyes. Jack stares back and, for a long moment, you’re both trapped in silence. Eventually, Jack seems to ascertain that you think yourself capable. He takes a deep breath.
“In terms of the Ripper, we currently have a unit determining his whereabouts,” Jack begins. “The Ripper—Lecter—covered his tracks very well. The last time he was seen was…”
“When he stabbed me,” you say for him.
“Yes,” Jack confirms. “As you know, Lecter is proficient at leaving behind very little—if any—evidence.” You nod, thinking back to all the crime scenes he created. There was hardly any evidence left behind. Hannibal was always meticulous and careful in his crimes.
“He only leaves clues when he wants to,” you continue. “He is not so kind hearted as to leave us clues for the hell of it, or because he slipped up. He doesn’t make mistakes.”
“We found very little in his office,” Jack concedes with a sharp nod. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Stress seems to tighten the line of his shoulders. “We did manage to find several concealed weapons, upon closer examination.”
“He stabbed me with a knife that was disguised as an antler on a deer sculpture,” you recall flatly. The thought makes your side flare up with pain again. “I shouldn’t have gone to his office. I should’ve come to you first. I knew, and yet…”
“Frankly, Agent, that is not my concern,” Jack states matter of factly. “The past is the past. If I were to dissect every minute mistake we’ve made along the course of this investigation, we’d never be able to proceed.”
“True,” you answer. You still don’t think Jack has truly comprehended the implications of what you just said. You knew Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper long before that night. After all, you didn’t explicitly state when you first discovered the identity of the Ripper. Of course, you suppose it is also likely that Jack was able to intuit that from your response. If that were the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t kicked you off this case or fired you.
You know it’s best for you to drop this particular line of questioning, so you do. For the duration of Jack’s visit, he debriefs you on what the team has deduced so far—both in terms of his current location and where he’ll go next. After an hour passes, however, your luck runs out. Your nurse enters the room and promptly shoos Jack out, claiming that you need time to rest. She is entirely impervious to his objections, even when he tries to pull rank on her. You’re rather impressed. Jack manages to get a last remark in, before the nurse can guide him out of the room.
“Lecter will turn up soon enough,” your boss states. With that, Jack departs. His cryptic remark leaves you with a lot to think about. You spend the rest of your hospital stay grappling with the implications of that statement, with the implications of Hannibal deciding not to kill you. You’re released from the hospital a week later with a troubled conscience and another scar to add to your collection.
Somehow, news of your battle with Hannibal has reached the press, Jack tells you as he drives you home in the dead of night. Ultimately, Jack decided it would be best to get you home during a time when most people are sleeping. You’re grateful for his foresight, because when you return home, there are no flashing cameras or microphones shoved in your face. You thank Jack for the ride and he nods, sending you one final unreadable look before driving away.
When you unlock your front door and swing the door open, you’re surprised to find that your house appears the same as when you left it. You close the door behind you and take in everything before you. Dust is beginning to collect on the shelves and surfaces—the space desperately needs a dedicated cleaning, but you know you don’t have the energy just yet. Right now, you’re content to cautiously walk to your closet and grab clothes. Despite the fact that Jack brought you a pair of old trainee clothes to change into when he arrived, you know you need a good shower to feel clean. The lukewarm water sliding down your skin is rejuvenating, but it doesn’t wipe away the dirt of your sins. You step out of the shower with clean skin and a muddy conscience. Drying off and putting on your clothes is an annoying affair, but you manage.
After your shower, it’s safe to say that you’re entirely lost. You don’t know what to do next. You need to eat, you remember. Unfortunately, your fridge is pretty much empty. You sigh and survey the space that you call home. It doesn’t feel familiar, despite the knowledge that it’s been yours for several years. These are all your belongings, yet it feels as if you’re standing in a stranger’s shoes. You look around the room, pausing when your eye catches on a scrap of newspaper. The TattleCrime article from before rests innocuously on the kitchen counter. You walk towards it immediately, as if possessed.
Criminally Insane. You stare at the photos featured in the article. The second photo—the one of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane—led you to realize that Frederick Chilton had been kidnapped. The first picture… It unsettles you. There are hints of the dark circles under your eyes that you now possess, but there’s also an unspoken confidence in your posture in the photo. You choke on a laugh, running your fingers along the rough newspaper.
It’s a miracle you’re still alive. Well, it certainly feels that way… but you know your survival can’t be put down to mere fate. Inexplicably, Hannibal did not aim to kill you. You contemplate what would’ve happened if he had aimed that way. You would have died in that office, certainly. Would you be free of this terrifying helplessness, this aching despair?
You manage to tear your eyes away from the article. After a moment of thought, you stuff it in a drawer—hoping you will never need to look at it again. Unsurprisingly, you still feel incredibly restless. You begin pacing slowly around the room, desperate for something to do. Perhaps this urge to do something is indicative of a deeper sentiment.
The cicadas buzz from the trees outside. You’re suddenly struck with a perplexing urge to step outside. You follow that urge and walk mechanically to your front door. Maybe someone is on your porch. You peek through the peephole, unsurprised to find no one there. After a second’s contemplation, you step out onto your porch, letting your arms rest against the railing.
The brisk night air doesn’t help your worsening mental state. You still feel numb, empty. Nothing feels real anymore. As you look out at your driveway, at the other houses lining your street, you’re hit with an immense sonder.2 How did you end up in this situation? How did you end up here, staring out at the suburbia around you and wishing you could take on the life of another person—someone who isn’t desensitized to blood, gore, violence, and murder?
You don’t know where to go from here. Your feelings are a dizzying combination of remorse, regret, and contempt—combined with an unhealthy amount of wishful thinking. You raise your arms and put your head in your hands for a moment. Succumbing to darkness has never felt so comforting and terrifying at the same time.
“Lecter will return soon enough.” Jack had said. There was a certainty in his voice in that moment—a sincerity that was surely unfounded. He was making a prediction and nothing more. Yet… the conviction in his tone made it seem as if he knew the Ripper’s next move. Surely, Hannibal hasn’t grown so predictable. Surely, he will continue to elude capture for as long as he wishes.
A car’s headlights reach your vision, and you watch as it slowly cruises down your street. There is a certain nonchalance to the way it slowly rises on the horizon. You frown, wondering what this person is doing driving down your street at such a late hour. Perhaps it’s a neighbor. You continue to watch warily. For a moment, you swear it seems as if the car’s slowing as it approaches. Surely that can’t be the case. It’s too dark to make out the details of the car—let alone the driver. You settle for staring in silence as it moves along. Within the blink of an eye, the vehicle moves past your driveway and into the dark expanse enveloping the space past your street. You exhale in relief, just realizing that your breath had hitched during the car’s brief stint in front of your house.
Why were you nervous? What were you expecting? You don’t want to acknowledge the answers to those questions—those solutions will only bring more problems. You shake your head. Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, and everyone knows. There should be nothing to be afraid of, except for a single thought that never seems to leave you. He will return for you, a voice whispers against the wind. He wants to finish the job.
You’ve never gotten so close to a case before. You almost wish you could travel back in time, to the first time you locked eyes with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. In that moment, you hadn’t been able to rationalize the intense foreboding and trepidation that seemed to crawl up your skin as he stared back at you. You had no true grasp of the danger you would soon experience, the lives you would soon take. When did you stop trusting your instincts? Your intuition is part of the reason why you’re such a successful criminal profiler, yet you were more than willing to entirely ignore it.
A chill hits your skin, but it’s not from the brisk breeze of night air that gently rustles your clothes. The unsettling feeling comes from the car in your driveway, the bright headlights illuminating the woody forest behind your house. Were you so lost in thought that you neglected to notice someone approaching your driveway? You squint and take a step closer to the driveway, wavering on the edge of your porch. The car looks familiar, and that realization nearly pitches you off the porch and careening to the ground below. The driver turns the car off and swings the door open with taunting slowness. A roaring sound fills your ears.
“Hannibal,” you remark. The driver closes the door and takes a step forward, close enough to the porch that the light hits their face and reveals familiar angled features. His lip is bleeding and there are droplets of blood scattered about his face. His clothing is ever so slightly rumpled. Other than that, Hannibal appears at ease. The Ripper looks at you, and utters your name in response.
You don’t know what to do, what to say. Your hands clutch the railing in front of you with enough force to send bolts of pain through your fingers. It feels as if your heart is racing faster than humanly possible. You’re reminded of the pain in your abdomen, the scar slicing dangerously close to your eye. You clench a fist at your side and walk down the steps of your porch, before turning and moving to stand at a strategic distance from Hannibal: close enough to see his face, far enough to have an illusion of control and safety.
The night is still. If it weren’t for your unexpected visitor, you might take solace in the tranquility of the midnight sky. Now, the stars seem to wink at you in warning. When Hannibal speaks, you nearly convince yourself that you imagine it. “I have evaded capture for long enough.” An ugly, foolish sort of hope settles in your chest. You try to push it away.
“You’re… surrendering,” you remark cautiously, waiting for him to dispel that notion. The Ripper does nothing of the sort. Instead, Hannibal stares at you, making strangely heated eye contact with you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. The moonlight briefly hits the metal, causing it to glimmer mockingly. Your stomach turns. The moon’s warm glow reveals more than just a shimmer—there are murky brown stains on the blade. You recognize the splatters as dried blood and your skin crawls. Hannibal is holding the very same knife he stabbed you with. He maneuvers it expertly, holding the blade and extending the handle towards you. Everything about this moment feels like a trap, but you willingly reach out and take the proffered knife, fastening it at your belt.
After a stretch of time in which neither of you elect to say anything, you decide that Hannibal must be telling the truth. Eyes locked on the man, you fumble around in your pocket for your phone and pull it out, dialing the only number you have memorized. Your intended recipient answers before two seconds pass. “Jack,” you say, your gaze still firmly fixed on the Ripper.
“Agent,” Jack responds. Hannibal is staring at you with intense scrutiny, evidently attempting to decipher what Jack is saying to you. That recognition causes you to pause for a moment. At your hesitation, Jack’s voice takes on a concerned yet impatient tone. “What is it?”
“I have him,” you say, vaguely satisfied that your voice sounds clear and composed despite the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been subjected to. “The Ripper. He’s in my driveway.”
Jack’s end of the line is quiet. You know it must be nearly impossible to believe. You look at Hannibal and then look back at the phone, realizing what you need to do. Taking a deep breath, you bring a shaky hand up and press the speaker button. Despite every instinct in your body screaming at you, you take a small step forward—and another—until Hannibal is close enough to the phone. For a moment, he stares down at the device pensively. Then, in the blink of an eye, he grabs your wrist and tugs you closer—evidently to get to the phone. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Hello, Jack,” Hannibal remarks, voice laced with amusement as he grasps your hand— the phone, you tell yourself—with unshakeable strength. Despite the severity of the situation, you can’t do anything but roll your eyes at his chosen greeting. It seems Hannibal’s dramatics know no bounds. Even when his very freedom is threatened, he will continue to wear his carved mask of politeness and elegance. You try to listen for Jack’s response. There’s still silence on the other end—Jack is probably dispatching a unit as you speak. You’re sure Jack himself will be on his way before long.
Indeed, Jack confirms that a team is on the way. He hangs up and your phone screen fades to black. Despite the call’s termination, Hannibal is still holding your wrist. “Can I have my hand back?” You ask wryly. You try to shake his grip off and pull away, but he doesn’t budge. Your heart is racing as you try to find an escape. Hannibal doesn’t seem keen to let go, instead looking at you with mild amusement written all over his face. It doesn’t take you long to come up with an idea. You attempt to shake off his grip once more, knowing it will not work. The moment you try to pull your wrist back, you take advantage of the momentum and aim a harsh kick just above his knee. Per your expectations, he doesn’t anticipate the attack and is forced to fall down to a kneeling position to avoid falling over. You lock eyes with him and tear his grip off.
Hannibal looks up at you on bended knee, entirely silent. You begin to realize just what you’ve done—you just disrespected him. You were the epitome of the rudeness Hannibal abhors. You swallow. If you weren’t dead before, you’re certainly dead now. The Ripper is still silent, before tilting his head down to hide his face. Fuck, you’ve really done it this time. You feel yourself taking an instinctual half step backwards, and you’re moments away from turning on your heel and running when you hear an odd sound.
Hannibal is laughing, you realize. It’s a far cry from the typical gesture of joy you’d associate with laughter, but his amusement is still evident. He brings his head up once more and regards you with interest. “You never fail to surprise me,” he remarks amiably, getting to his feet and pushing the dust from his pant leg with a quick swiping motion. Hannibal doesn’t give your threat any consideration, instead simply regarding you with that same eerie look you’ve grown to associate with his full attention.
Your hand twitches to grab the bloodstained knife at your side. You imagine yourself plunging the blade into Hannibal’s side, watching his smirk falter and his victorious expression crumple. The vindictive thought thrills you for a second, before you come back to yourself and feel immense revulsion and disgust. Hannibal almost seems to sense the mental gymnastics you're going through, as an intrigued expression flickers across his face before it’s gone in a flash.
Truthfully, you don’t know how long you stand there—across from Hannibal, staring him down as he stares you down, prey regarding predator—until Jack arrives. It feels like an eternity. Time seems to entirely stop during those moments. Somehow, the quiet is more informative than a conversation ever could be. You don’t need words—not when you can see the tight line drawn across Hannibal’s shoulders, the persistence in his gaze.
Even eternity must come to an end, though. Police sirens blink in the distance, drawing you away from your thoughts. You watch as several police cars find their way to your driveway. Jack sits in the passenger seat of the car at the front, and he’s quick to step out of the car. S.W.A.T. officers swarm out of the cars, weapons pointed at Hannibal. There is a horrible tension settling in the air, thick enough to make your breaths occur just a little faster.
Despite the exorbitant amount of fully-armed S.W.A.T officers, you’re still afraid. Hannibal is closest to you. If he wanted to, he could kill you—even with so many people present. You don’t doubt his strength or agility. These recognitions leave your heart drumming in your chest at an incessantly quick rhythm. You glance over at Jack and he nods, holding a hand up to the officers and walking towards you.
“Doctor Lecter,” Jack remarks. Even now, he is incredibly composed. You latch onto his composure and try to emulate it, though you know it won’t look convincing enough. The headlights from the cars are blinding and you turn your head, giving your burning eyes a brief reprieve.
“Jack,” Hannibal responds, his hands raised in the air in surrender. The Ripper is indeed powerless, yet the gesture looks mocking. A few officers step closer and surround Hannibal, who kneels down with his arms still raised high. “You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper.” His hands move to rest behind his head.
Jack stares at the killer with an indecipherable expression. “You surrendered.”
“I want you to know exactly where I am,” Hannibal responds to Jack. After that remark, his head turns and dread rises in your chest as you realize he’s looking towards you. His eyes are glittering in the moonlight. “And where you can always find me.” You’re frozen, limbs locked as his crimson eyes pierce through you.
Vaguely, you hear Jack order for Hannibal to be placed in his car. The officers pull Hannibal up from his knees and escort him to the police car. The Ripper’s gaze is locked on you until he enters the vehicle. Jack remains where he stands, sending you a look. You incline your head slightly, to wordlessly encourage him to leave you. Jack seems hesitant to do so, but his sense of responsibility must win out, because he walks back towards the car. You still feel as if you’re being watched, and you get the feeling Hannibal is staring at you from behind the dark tinted glass. The police car slowly reverses out of your driveway, before heading down your street and eventually out of sight.
You purse your lips, before walking back up the steps to your porch. Everything seemed to have happened far too fast. In the blink of an eye, you’re left to stand alone, with nothing but your conflicting feelings of grief, anger, and remorse for company. Memories burrow their way under your skin. Each breath is a testament to your own cruelty.
Inexplicably, you reach up to touch the jagged scar cutting down your face. Your fingertips brush against the marred skin and you jolt. Your abdomen burns in remembrance. Hannibal Lecter has given you the quiet evenings, the comfortable silence settling in the air, and the thrill of an attentive, burning gaze that sends warm embers dancing up your skin.
But he has taken so much more from you in return.
Gone is the gentle caress of a hand on your cheek and the comfort of having unquestionable support. Gone is the hard-won feeling of being truly seen for who you are. Gone is the excitement, the anticipation of knowing that your companion can never truly be predicted. All of it is gone.
You look up at the moon glimmering in the dark night sky. You idly wonder if Hannibal sees it too. It’s a foolish thought. His cell likely won’t have windows. He has probably been confined to four walls of cement, a metal toilet, and a thin, dingy mattress on a cold metal frame. There is no hope for someone like Hannibal—he will earn several life sentences and spend his entire life in that cage. You have to wonder: why? Why would he surrender?
It was a tactical surrender—that much you know for certain. Hannibal could easily have spent the rest of his life moving from place to place, taking on new identity after new identity. He could have spent however long he wanted, camouflaged but free.
Freedom. Maybe that’s the answer. After all, that kind of aggressive mimicry is not necessarily freedom. Hannibal Lecter values being an enigma. The mystery that surrounds him, in part, relies on his reputation. Life spent in hiding isn’t really life at all. Even someone like Hannibal—someone with arguably everything to lose—would understand that sentiment.
You exhale slowly, watching as your puff of breath fades into the air. You suppose Hannibal’s statement may have carried some truth. You will always know where to find him; you won’t be able to bury the memory of him next to the other skeletons in your closet and leave him to rot. Whenever your psyche falters, Hannibal will be there—imprisoned within your mind palace, gathering strength and lying in wait.
Your phone rings in your pocket. You pull it out, momentarily surprised by the time displayed. It’s getting late. You hadn’t realized how long you spent lost in thought. When you answer, your voice sounds unfamiliar to your ears.
“Crawford,” Jack clarifies, cutting right to the chase, “We got him.” There is no further explanation needed.
“We got him, Jack,” you echo. The recognition sounds hollow, empty. Your gaze is pulled towards your driveway once more. Jack’s voice reaches your ears, but you can’t discern what he’s saying over the ringing in your ears.
Hannibal Lecter is behind bars now, yet you’re the one who feels trapped. You’re a prisoner—trapped in a cage of your own broken design.
1. Dracula by Bram Stoker
2. Sonder refers to the feeling of realization that everyone, including strangers and passersby, have lives just as complex and vivid as your own.
Sorry if the intro parts were confusing. I wanted to *try* to write it in a way that showed how weird and unusual dreams can really be, especially after traumatic events.The mind is infinitely powerful, able to conjure up a new reality at a moment’s notice. I liked the idea of the reader drowning in a whirlpool of their own mind’s creation—as they fight to get back to reality. (also, I found the word “umbra,” which is apparently used to describe the shadow created by an eclipse. I think that’s cool as hell, so I included it.) Dream logic never quite makes sense and can be extremely convoluted, which is why the intro is a messy assortment of memories with no clear beginning or end.
Y’all seemed to like my rationalization for the previous chapter, so I’ll include some similar notes for this chapter if you’re interested:
Hannibal’s surrender in this chapter is very much calculated. He realizes that he’s no longer free—since the FBI are onto him. There is a sort of cruelty in the life he would have to lead, as his “freedom” would include lots of mental effort, relocating, and subterfuge. Hannibal likely weighs his options, and decides between a life of constant stealth and relocation, and a life behind bars. It’s reasonable to assume that he also would have realized that his status as the Chesapeake Ripper would grant him special privileges as a prisoner—he’s aware of how much the Ripper has dominated the cultural zeitgeist and knows he will be able to use that notoriety to his advantage in captivity.
Of course, Hannibal also knows how to best dominate your thoughts: by remaining in one place. As he mentions, you will always know where he is and where to find him. You will not have to track him down by following the calculated clues he leaves behind—rather, you will constantly have to live with the underlying knowledge that Hannibal is accessible at any and every moment. In this case, Hannibal’s surrender is quite a tactical and manipulative move. He truly chooses to go to prison.
It would be unsettling to know that the Ripper was on the loose, yes. But, the Ripper has been on the loose and free for several years already. On the other hand, it would be downright disturbing to know that Hannibal’s presence in prison is a willful choice—one that can be taken back at any moment. That can easily manifest a constant lingering fear in the back of the reader’s mind, in addition to an eternal desire to pin down exactly why Hannibal is remaining captive, chained. The chessmaster is willingly surrendering, but the game is far from over.
And now… Act 1 of this story is complete!
Never fear, Hannibal will return in Act 2! As for the other characters… Well, you’ll have to wait and see. ;) I will say that Act Two embraces some elements of The Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs. Don’t worry, though—you don’t need to have read either of them. :3
Here’s a scrap for your efforts! (*throws you this unused dialogue like a scruffy middle-aged man with grey hair and a scratchy quarter-zip throws a piece of raw beef to the wolves outside his cabin*) This was one of the MANY options I had considered (but never used) for the big reveal:
“How long have you known?” Hannibal asks.
“From the moment you invited me into your home,” you answer.
There’s silence for a dreadful moment. “And you stayed.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I like talking to you, I enjoy your company.… Does one really need a reason to keep the company of another?” You finish.
A beat of quiet. “... I suppose not,” Hannibal acquiesces.
Act 2 will be posted as the second part of this series. Here's the link to the AO3 series: these jagged scars. I'll also post it over here on Tumblr. :)
Thank you so so so much for all the support! Your likes, comments, and reblogs keep me going! <33333
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#male reader#x male reader#hannibal nbc#hannibal Lecter x reader#hannibal x reader#Hannibal x gn reader#hannibal x male reader#Hannibal Lecter x male reader#Hannibal Lecter x gn reader#yall get the idea#transmasc reader#I CAN'T BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS FIC#LITERALLY ALMOST CRIED HAPPY ACCOMPLISHED TEARS LAST NIGHT
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Daily update post:
Another independent Palestinian terrorist attack happened today, wounding two Palestinians who happened to drive by the terrorists, who intended to shoot at Israeli soldiers. The IDF neutralized them, while one soldier's life was saved thanks to his gear (I found the report on the shooting terrorist attack in both Hebrew and English, I only found the info on the two wounded Palestinians in Hebrew).
During the International Court of Justice's decision regarding provisional measures against Israel, only the majority opinion was read out loud. The minority opinion was published separately. The short of it is that the judge from Uganda found that South Africa didn't have a right to make this case at all, and therefore decided against every single provisional measure SA asked for, while the Israeli judge had the same conclusion, and a few words to add, as a child survivor of the Holocaust. He wrote, among other things, "Genocide is not just a word to me" (a sentiment that should be shared by everyone, not just survivors of genocide, IMO) and that essentially, the ICJ became a stage to put Able on trial for having been murdered by Cain, or in Barak's words, by focusing on Israel instead of on Hamas, South Africa "wrongly sought to impute the crime of Cain to Abel."
This footage aired a few days ago, but since I couldn't find it anywhere in English, I ended up editing it out of an article in Hebrew. What you can see here are two things... First, you'll see the Israeli Air Force following a Hamas squad, where the terrorists are carrying RPGs and going into a building. The IAF then strikes from the air that building, and what really stands out is the secondary explosions after the initial hit, indicating that the building was full of explosives. Second, you'll see Gazans evacuating to safety. As they do, they chant against Hamas. But what really got to me is how they're moving slowly next to Israeli tanks. If they were scared that the Israeli army would shoot at them indiscrimintaely as part of some attempted genocide, they would be rushing it out of there, and likely they wouldn't have even stepped anywhere near the tanks. They can walk slowly next to the IDF, because they're sure that the Israeli soldiers are NOT going to fire at them.
In the last couple of days, we've had repeated reports of Israelis being injured by Hezbollah fire into northern Israel (after civilian communities were continuously targeted, and people got killed by this Iran-funded terrorist group), and that IDF units which have concluded their fighting in Gaza, are now starting to train for a possible war in the north. Let's hope it won't come to that, but the only thing that might stop that option is a diplomatic agreement leading to Hezbollah leaving Israel's border, and there are no signs of those efforts succeeding for the time being.
The final warning before a subponea that the House committee investigating antisemitism had to issue Harvard, because the university hasn't produced the documents it was asked to, sure does make it sound like Haravard has nothing to hide...
Today, 4 months and a day after the Hamas massacre, they started removing the ruins of houses in kibbutz Be'eri, where over 100 members of the small, agricultural community had been slaughtered on Oct 7. This is a first step in re-building the kibbutz.
And this is one of the kibbutz members, Meni Goddard.
In continuation of yesterday's info on the number of Israelis already murdered by Hamas, and their bodies held hostage, today it was confirmed that Meni was murdered on Oct 7, and his body was kidnapped to Gaza. It was already known that his wife Ayelet was also murdered during the massacre. Kibbutz Be'eri currently has 11 members who are known to have been kidnapped to Gaza, of which 6 are bodies held hostage, depriving the dead of their right for decent burial, and their families and community of closure. May his memory be a blessing.
(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)
#israel#antisemitism#israeli#israel news#israel under attack#israel under fire#terrorism#anti terrorism#hamas#antisemitic#antisemites#jews#jew#judaism#jumblr#frumblr#jewish#israelunderattack
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