#antler defiance
Text
(yes i wrote something about fir and antler because they are my skrunkle guys. yeah. also i thought that ferric looked similar to ant. so here we go.)
The soft light dappled the forest floor as the fox trotted across the leaves. He ignored the screech of some various animal being snuffed out behind him. Maybe by that weird mouse. It seemed to like him. But whatever, he had a mission. He needed to find his friend, the bat. He never really knew where the little creature went, but they were closer than he’d like to admit. He had found the thing in the hellscape plain, trembling and developing heat stroke. It was even snappy back then.
He sniffed. The notable stench of blood hit his nose, and he recoiled. But there was a.. familiar scent coming with it. He noticed the smell of those Fire corporals. He actually respected them. A canine and a flying creature? He could relate. They had actually had some meaningful conversations as well. Ranger respected him, at least a little. He heard wingbeats, and looked up. The damned bat was hanging off the tree, still righting themself.
“Little fucker. Get down here, Fir.” The fox growled.
The bat chuckled, then flitted down and perched on his shoulder. “Cheer up, Antler.”
“You know I can smell the corpse. Who is it?” He went for the calm approach- his go-to. But he made sure to add a hint of aggression to get the point across.
Fir hesitated, then went with “I can’t tell you directly. You’ll have to see.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Antler murmured, but entered the small area in which the scent of rot was strongest.
Instantly, he had to take a step back. The stench was coming from a horrifyingly familiar fox, clearly dead, organs ripped out and all.
“...Ferric?”
The single word was uttered before Ant could stop himself. His calm demeanor melted away in the fearful panic beating through his heart and the little prickles through his skin. His cousin. His only relative in Defiance.
“Holy shit.” Fir let out a shocked little chuckle. “I didn’t.. I thought she would be less brutally killed than that, but it is the murder cult.”
“Fir, this is no time for jokes. Please.” Antler’s voice was strained.
“..I know. I’m really so sorry. I heard that she tried to desert.” Fir sounded resigned.
“..Fir, you’re a good friend. I hope you know that. My closest friend, in fact. But I need to be left alone.” Antler gently shut Ferric’s eerie, blank eyes with a claw.
“Okay.” And with the simple word, Fir flew away. It hesitated in the air, turning back to look at the fox, then flew off.
Silence was in the clearing for a while. Antler was burying the body for what seemed like hours. As he finished the mound, he sat down. “...Ferric. I hope you find a soft place to rest.” Of course he didn’t say much. But he had to let her go somehow. He shook his head softly. “Goodbye.” And with that, he turned away.
“What did you overhear?” He asked his companion softly.
Fir chuckled. “From the combination of it? There’s a shit ton- well, not a shit ton, but a notable amount of cats living in that hellscape desert or whatever you call it. They somehow have been surviving, for a while.”
“So what you’ve heard Rainhaze mumbling is true?” Antler responded, tilting his head.
“Oh, yeah.” It chuckled, “Being small has its perks. I don’t think he even knew I was listening.”
“Everyone should have a little bat buddy.” Ant commented, letting out a small laugh. “To spy on animals who shouldn’t be spied on. Like Deepdark. Or the corporals.”
“Aw, fuck you. You keep me around for much more than that.” Fir flitted away, then returned soon after.
“Did Ferric try to desert?” Antler asked suddenly, suddenly a bit more subdued.
“Yeah. I asked Hacksaw. She confirmed it, she did attempt deserting. She also said that she didn’t care that the body had been buried. Hacksaw’s honestly really fucking cool.” Fir responded.
“Absolutely. But anyways. It’s always a bad decision to desert. She could have told me. I could have tried to help her.” He whispered, sitting down.
Fir made sure to flit around the area, checking for any prying ears, then whispered back: “You could have gotten caught, though. They wouldn’t kill you, yeah, but the punishments…” It huffed, making a frustrated face.
“It’s fine. I didn’t, so we don’t have to think of the consequences.” Antler said, tapping his tail twice on the ground. “Should we check the hellscape? Maybe we could catch a glimpse of those weird cats.”
Fir’s eyes widened and it grinned maniacally. “Oh fuck yeah.”
It was always so hot in the hellscape plain. Heatstroke was a looming threat, as the sun scorched the earth so indefinitely you never know when rain will quench the thirst of the water-starved ground. He had only seen it rain once, passing through. He had the satisfaction of killing a skinny, starved little weasel thing back then. Now, of course, Fir flitted along with him.
“Fuckin’ hate this place. Too hot, bad memories.” Fir sniffed, fanning itself with its wings. It went from flying to perched on Antler’s head, right between their ears. It was a move it had seen Ranger and Hacksaw do, and proceeded to copy. Of course, the coyote and the hawk didn’t mind Fir being a copycat. Everyone loved the little fucking murder air mammal. Including Antler, though he would never admit it.
“Have you ever encountered a little blue cat out here?” Antler asked, tilting their head, trotting across the plain. A day’s travel to the edge of the territory where, depending on where you were standing, you could see the blue cat, from Antler’s experience of checking the area.
“Once, actually! A little blue cat, like Rainhaze talked about, with some white scruff on the chest, and yellow eyes. I mean, that’s what I remember. He was stalking a field mouse or something, and you bet I swooped down and took that little guy. I flew up pretty high, and dropped the mouse, right in front of him. I swear he went ‘A bat?!’ and then I yelled ‘You're welcome! Guaranteed free food, bitch!’ and flew off.”
“Yeah, I kind of assumed you’d do something like that.” Ant chuckled softly. “When I’m out here, I observe the territory and watch any predator animal I see. Sometimes I see the little blue cat, and he almost always notices me…” He trailed off, thinking.
“Observant pointy animal.” Fir chuckled, then paused. “Wait. Movement over there. I hear something.”
Antler squinted, creeping forward. In the distance, near a small patch of some sort of plant. There was some movement, but the shape was blurry from the heat striking off the ground.
Fir huffed. “Can’t see the bitch from here. I’m goin’ over.” It shot off Antler’s head, leaving the fox making a cross face, a slight pull to the lip. He saw the little shape flit over the bigger shape, then return.
“Sure as hell is a little blue cat. He’ll probably come over. Good thing our settlement is close to the hellscape plain.” It chuckled, flitting around and then landing between Ant’s shoulders.
“We are really inspecting this cat. He is like a little bug to us. You know those isopods? The little rolly guys?” He sniffed, watching the little shape, which was moving towards them warily.
“Of course I do. You literally collect them. I wake up and there are like thirty of them scattered around sometimes. I’ve seen them fully cover the floor of the den sometimes. The den is big. How are you even fucking achieving that.” The bat chuckled. It flapped its wings a couple of times, as if shaking the bugs off of it.
“I get help. Some of the deeplings and a surprising number of general Defiance members like them and want to collect them with me.” Ant said, watching the shape come close enough to properly see the color. “That’s definitely a blue cat. You weren’t lying.”
“..You’re saying that Defiance members, animals part of the murder cult, like little bugs enough to fill a den with them?” Fir murmured.
But, of course, the cat was creeping over to them, so Antler ignored the bat, and gently moved towards the cat. He stared in fear at the fox, who stared back, emotionless. Fir flew around the cat, watching, silent for once. The two had a moment, then Antler broke the tense atmosphere by taking a little isopod from his neck fur and gently setting it down in front of the cat.
“HOW MANY OF THOSE DO YOU FUCKING HAVE?!” Fir yelled from their overhead flying.
Antler didn’t respond, and instead beckoned Fir down, and turned away, leaving the cat prodding confusedly at the little bug.
-
afterthoughts: literally love that i made defiance like little bugs. my 1 crowning achievement.
also plot twist fir eats them sometimes out of spite
the doc is called "live antler reaction" and i think that's funny. thanks me from 4 days ago or wheneever i wrote it
(@barrenclan for the @)
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi jason! sorry if youve answered this before, but what does aaoc stand for? i love the posts that you tag as such so im curious :]
its my tag for posts that remind me of my wip fic(s) !! i havent 100% settled on what to name the series yet but pretty early on in development i stumbled upon that passage by julian k jarboe (from the book everyone on the moon is essential personnel) that goes
Why does God create grapes and wheat, but not wine and bread? God does this because God wants us to share in the act of creation. To be how you made me, to become how God made me, though you, I can remake myself. You and I: we are already only whole, and shifting towards the divine.
and the author also has a tweet relating this concept to transsexuality and youve probably already seen one or both of these floating around on tumblr already but whatever i just wanted to center my t4t hannigram fic around these quotes cause theyre just. so good.
so yeah it stands for "an act of creation" except it should probably be "#taoc" if i wanted it to match the original quote but i cba to go and change it now which is probably not how placeholder tags are meant to work !! oh well . fic playlist <3
#sorry idk if u were asking me abt the tag in general or just the acronym but whatever . infodump time#i have not answered this ask before <3 i rarely get asks and even more rarely answer them 💀#ask#aaoc#i dont even know how much religious themes to include in the fic bc im like the worst person to attempt to write that (<- raised atheist)#but character wise it would only make sense and it would literally make the narrative so much more layered#anyways . some things that go in the tag:#autocannibalism + transsexuality as violence + transsexuality as cannibalism which is like . thesis statement#rural american towns/houses#wolf/dog symbolism + deer & antler symbolism + especially the two combined#literally any pictures of knives but especially those ones made of canine teeth or deer bones. or ones that just have swag gender vibes#knives r gonna be a big thing for young will and theyre basically his symbolic wolf teeth. but maybe fashioned out of whats left of the doe#and of course literally anything else that has to do with/reminds me of trans hannibal or trans will or t4t hannigram or dark!will#ditto with the characters' youths at any point in time since im writing backstories for both of em as well as a florence hannigram arc#and idk sometimes i just go by vibes. sometimes a post is hannigram but ever so slightly different so it must go in the tag#i seriously cant wait til school is over and i can finally go thru my tag and write scenes/notes of what every single post reminds me of#my thought process for the most recent one was just. gore goes on the hanniblog by default + androgyny = defiance of gender norms = aaoc#then it made me think of our convo abt hannibals relationship with japanese culture and also what would body horror be for young hannibal?#so yeah basically just things for my brain to chew on for inspiration#sorry abt the tag wall im normal abt this au (lying) and also just wanted to write down a list of things to tag for personal reference
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Issue #28: Viscera, Shiny In the Light of Day"
CW: depiction of a semi-graphic animal heart on page 8
This absolute monster of an issue is one I've been incredibly excited to get to for months now. Deepdark is a very important character, as the primary antagonist, and he's finally gotten a real spotlight on him. At this point I'm really just writing original xenofiction too, which is fun. Yeah, this a Warrior cats story, you're getting a deer murder cult and you'll be happy with it.
One thing that I think it important to make clear is that Longest-Claws was not the "leader of Defiance before Deepdark". He was the leader of a group that Deepdark took inspiration from and poached several of its members, but Defiance is entirely Deepdark's creation.
Also, it's nice to finally reveal that Lingonberry is just Deepdark's original name! He took on 'Deepdark' after he killed Longest-Claws. Although they are not separate characters, I'll be tagging posts that refer to Deepdark's past with just 'Lingonberry' so as to not spoil any future readers who may be looking through the tag.
The animals featured in the big panels on page 2 and page 9 are cameos from the PATFW Discord, many of which are Defiance fan-characters. All of the characters and their respective creators will be tagged under the cut.
Previous < > Next
PAGE 2 (left to right, top to bottom):
Nyx - thegreatmaddu
Old Man, Cynthia - geckotree59
Monomon de Vinne - sundialle
Butchershop, Icepick - SammiSafetypin
Ramses - ichors-stuff
Mesa, Oleander - walter1white
Kane - gloomforrest
Clay - Gizzard
Becks - thecatspasta
Lyze - geckotree59
Junebug, Ti - UndeadDuudling
A common grackle - PanCakeCake
Redpaw - memoryofmurder
Sorez - kafkaesque
X - clawcakes
Robin - Arystarrea
Plaguepaw - luminaried
Duck - Poppythroat
Gladiolusflare - arachnits
Shrapnel - Lapis_Zap
Saltburn - nanistar
Lark - archostemata
Rosestar - boypaw-s
Asher - bullypinscherart
Otter - sm0lcatfish
Hemlock - H4ZARDOUSCH3MICALS
Scorch - TheLuckOfTheClaws
Bottlenose, Burr - Poppythroat
Fir, Antler - undercover_roomba
Bouvar - fritzcastaway
Vega, Goblin, Alliee - Vega
Carmine, Chiron - sp1resong
Amira - yugiryou
Scorpion - riveracheron
Mable - larkmouse
Laxo - gloomforrest
Alight - beansprout
PAGE 9 (left to right, top to bottom):
Antelopestride - Splintered_rain
Sasha, Poppy - alumin
Starlit - rotdogz
Bubo, Worm - egg-on-a-legg
Toe Biter - H4ZARDOUSCH3MICALS
Snap - falling_featherss
Buddleia - Lilaniloxi
#issue#issue 28#patfw#pinepaw and the forgotten world#rainhaze#cupid#hyssop#ferric#sulfur#chlorine#deepdark#lingonberry#prowl#spike#fang#ranger#hacksaw#longest-claws#juniper#dustfeather#webcomic#comic#barrenclan#warriors#warrior cats#warriors oc#gore#cw gore
751 notes
·
View notes
Text
we're in love - m. murdock
a/n: hi guys not dead just played a LOT of baldurs gate over break and now im back ay college with matt murdock brainrot this ones been floating around the old noggin a while. sorry.
likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3
warnings: DEAD DOVE with a happy ending, hard of hearing reader, cannon typical marvel violence, probably badly written violence, matt being upset, once again im tired and sleepy and bad at doing warnings, reader gets kidnapped TWICE, reader has superpowers, reader is TECHNICALLY a hybrid but literally just in the way that she has small antlers and deer like abilities (strength, jump height), fucked up experiments, ANGST ANGST ANGST, memory loss trope but like... the one from the hunger games. matt is hopelessly in love with reader, reader wants to kill matt, kissing, implied sexual ideas, cursing. SHAMELESS USE OF REAL OR NOT REAL FROM THG, reader having anxiety, and allusions of sex.
word count: 7.1k
summary: when your past finally catches up to you, matt truly learns what 'in sickness and in health' means.
pairing: matt murdock x hoh!wife!reader
now playing: we're in love - boygenius
"will you still love me if it turns out I'm insane?/i know what you'll say/but it helps to hear you say it anyway."
Falling in love with Matt Murdock was the easy part.
Falling back in love with him was the tough bit.
You had spent the years leading up to meeting him as a boxer turned vigilante— Your dad had taught you how to fight young, which led to a lot of trouble at school until he eventually started helping you enter teenage fights against your mom’s wishes.
It’s how you paid for college.
And then, after your college experience, you lose control. It was never supposed to happen the way it did. You had lost a fight and stole the guy’s motorcycle in defiance. But the roads were wet from an early snow and people of New York never knew how to drive.
Just like that, the nerves in your hands were shot. The accident got your hearing too since you got sick from the cold after your accident. The infection got so bad that it took the hearing from your left ear—And half from your right.
For months, you thought you’d never gain control of your hands again, snapping from a promising young fighter to a deaf and shaky temp. You were miserable. Fighting was your everything for so long.
And then The Doctor found you.
No, not the alien from the British television show, but a man who promised you your old life back. He found you while you were at your lowest and realized that you would do anything for your old life back.
He said in exchange for your old life, all you would have to do would be a test subject for a harmless new drug he was testing out.
You were so enamored by the idea of your old life that you had decided to take him up on his offer, so you were whisked away upstate with a group of other people desperate enough to try this experiment out.
Every morning you were given a shot of blue liquid into your arm, and then, you were to preform a series of tasks to record your progress. After three weeks you grew frustrated that you had seen no progress. You spent most of your time asking people to talk into your right ear and becoming mad at The Doctor.
About a month in, you started growing antlers.
At first, you freaked out. Like, truly, screamed and yelled, wanting an explanation. The Doctor celebrated, telling you this was great news—And to prove it, he had you pick up a pen and write a sentence out. Your hands didn’t shake and did everything you told them to do.
On top of the antlers and the newfound control of your nerves, you were strong—Fast, too. You could jump twelve-foot walls. The Doctor was obsessed with you. While other patients died off from whatever drugs you were being given, you were thriving.
At the end of your three-month stay, you were excited to leave and head back to your life. You’d just have to wear beanies everywhere to hide your antlers, you told yourself. A small price to pay.
But The Doctor wouldn’t let you leave.
How could he, he asked you, when you were his best test subject?
Being a prisoner was a lot worse than you thought it would be. Day in and day out, you were trained to be a soldier, you think. Fighting various guards, doing different athletic tests. The serum hadn’t fixed your hearing, but it had given you all of these gifts.
Until The Doctor became cruel.
He gave the guards these batons that had shock currents at the end of them, instructing them to use it whenever you talked back or underperformed. For months you struggled through days of electric shocks and experiments.
One night, a guard slipped into your cell, expecting you to be an easy target. You quickly showed him differently, knocking him out and stealing his weapons. And then, you ran. You ran until your feet bled—No shoes.
An old woman who had retired upstate welcomed you into her small cabin and fed you, never asking about the small antlers growing out of your head. She simply gave you a warm knit cap and a pair of boots for the cold.
You remember eating chili with her as she told you about her deceased husband. You changed your last name to theirs, knowing The Doctor would find you if you kept going by your name. You stayed with her for a weekend, coming back from gathering firewood to The Doctor’s men there, having killed the kind old woman and on the hunt for you. You stole her car and never looked back.
The next few weeks after that had been full of killing various soldiers and armies that The Doctor had sent after you, until you eventually pushed The Doctor off a building, believing to have killed him for good.
And that was that.
You went on with your life as usual, finding a permanent job as a secretary. In a law office.
Which, of course, is where you met Matt.
With Matt, you never felt the need to hide who you were. Of course, it was a lot easier to tell him that some mad scientist had infected you with a drug that turned you into a deer hybrid when he told you that he was Daredevil.
And with time, some of the effects of the serum began to fizzle out. Strength, Agility, Antlers—Those stayed. The control over your hands didn’t. But you made peace with that. Physical Therapy twice a week and hearing aids helped.
Especially because early Sunday mornings were filled with Matt running his fingers through your hair, running his pointer finger along the curves of your antlers. He takes your hands and kisses your fingertips as they shake, hushing you softly when you start crying as he does.
He spars with you and spends nights running around New York City with you, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.
He tells you about Elektra, Stick, his dad, and Fisk.
One day, when you feel safe enough, wrapped up in his arms and a layer of blankets as snow falls against the windows, you tell him about The Doctor. You explain to him your nightmares, and why they will never go away.
He kisses away your tears and promises he’ll never let anything happen to you.
When he asks you to marry him, you don’t hesitate to say yes. There’s not a moment where you regret that decision. You insist to get married in the summer, during the short month where your antlers shed before they grow back. He agrees happily, just wanting you to be happy.
You’ve been married for about five months when you start to think about kids. You’ve been married six when you realize the worst possible scenario is your reality—When vials of blue serum show up at your front door with a note scribbled out—
‘My Best Test Subject,
I cannot wait to catch up with you soon.
-The Doctor’
You call Matt in a panic, begging him to come home and be with you. He obliges and holds you as you calm down. He promised to love you in sickness and in health, and that is what he fully intends to do.
This is the story of the greatest challenge that your marriage would face.
• • •
After the note you had received, you almost exclusively traveled with Matt. Even for just a casual stroll, a walk to the deli or home from work, He was there with you. He knew you could handle yourself, but you felt safer with him close by.
But Matt’s senses were never as focused when it rained, especially on nights like today. The rain pours, it almost stings against his skin. And it’s loud. You don’t have your hearing aids in, so they catch you both by surprise.
It all happens too fast—
In an instant, Matt is being pulled off your arm and slammed against the closest brick alley, and when he hears the click of a gun behind him, he realizes what’s happening. He tries to fight, but before he can make any process, someone is swinging that gun against his head, and when he wakes up, he’s all alone.
He calls out to you and gets no response other than thunder rumbling from miles away. He is filled with nothing but a rage, a determination to find you.
He scrambles for his phone and uses it to call Karen.
“I need you to get Frank.” He tells her, “Please. I.. I don’t know what happened, but.. He took her, I need.. Karen, I need to find her.” He tells her.
Frank is on his way to New York within the hour.
• • •
When you wake up, your arms are strapped behind your back in some sort of metal contraption. You can feel the ache in your hands, indicating that you had fought against whoever brought you here. The room is quiet. A small cot in one corner, but the rest of the room is barren.
You’re wearing white pants and a gray muscle tee, with no shoes. You’re suddenly thankful you left your wedding ring at home, so that it might not end up in his hands.
You wait a while, and then the door opens. The Doctor, flanked by two men in heavy armor, holding those batons you’re all too acquainted with, steps into the room. You simply stare, but The Doctor looks like a child on Christmas morning.
But there’s something else to his appearance. His left eye is this bright yellow, and his pupil is a different shape. Green scales travel up his neck and coat the bottom right half of his face, and down his arms, reaching his fingertips. He looks like a monster, but you quickly realize what has happened.
Whatever serum gave you your abilities, was given to him. Only, his was made from that of snakes, not deer.
“My beautiful creation!” He gasps and takes your face in his hand, planting a kiss to your head, right between your antlers. “It’s been too long, you know.” His ‘s’ sounds are elongated, and his teeth are sharper. He has become destroyed by his own mad endeavors. When you don’t respond to his greeting, he continues to speak. “It’s been an eventful few years for you, huh?” When this doesn’t get a response from you, he stands up straight and backs up just a foot. “New job, new name… New husband.” Your head snaps up at that. “What? You think I haven’t been keeping tabs on you and the boy? What do you call him, then? Matthew or Daredevil?”
Your eyes grow wide, unsure how he knows about your husband’s secret hobby.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spit, your gaze hardening into a glare.
“Don’t I? You make quite the couple. The little deaf doe and her crime fighting blind husband.” He laughs, “And they say I like a project.”
“You won’t touch him or I swear to god—”
“Little doe, you misunderstand. I want nothing to do with your husband. I just want you to be the good subject I know you can be.” He tells you. “You and I are the only of our kind. I want to study you, replicate you.”
“You’re going to kidnap more people.”
“You weren’t kidnapped, you volunteered.”
“I won’t do whatever it is you want me to do.” You tell him. “I don’t care, I will escape, I will kill you.”
He shakes his head, taking one of the batons from the guards, before hitting you across the face with it. You groan in pain, turning your head back to glare at him. He sighs.
“I didn’t want to have to do this. But I did anticipate that Husband of yours interrupting things.” He hands the baton back to the guard before telling him. “Take her down the hall and get her ready, alright?”
You struggle your way down the hall, refusing to do whatever is coming to you without a fight. When the guards uncuff you to strap you to this big dentist looking chair, you manage to get out of the grasp of the guard, swinging a punch on him but this newfound advantage is short lived, as the other guard quickly grabs your arms and pushes you against the chair. You’re yelling and thrashing but they manage to get your arms and legs strapped down to the chair.
Your heartbeat is racing, and quietly, only in your mind, you beg. But not for mercy. Not from The Doctor. You beg Matt to come find you. Because you know that you do not stand a chance on your own, but maybe he could find you. He had to find you.
The Doctor sits in a chair next to you and holds up a small purple vial.
“This is hallucinogenic snake venom, mixed with a duller version of the serum we gave you. What this will do is allow me to go into your memories and alter them.” He explains as if you’re getting a simple procedure done. Tears fill your eyes.
“You’re going to make me forget him?” You ask, your voice breaking.
The Doctor hushes you softly, wiping your tears softly.
“Oh, no, little doe. I’m going to change what you do remember about him to make you hate him.”
• • •
Six months is a long time to be without your wife. For anyone, no matter who it is.
For Matt Murdock, it’s absolute torture. He spends all day half paying attention to his work while trying to research who The Doctor is. He spends all night trying to find you.
Frank lives, breathes, eats and sleeps to find you. He’s still technically a wanted man, so he pretty much stays under the radar as he looks for you. You remind him of a lot of guys he knew in the army, of himself.
Karen busies herself with research, looking through cases of old files at The Bulletin to try and see if there are any tips or stories that could maybe be connected to where you are. She gets about as little sleep as Matt.
And Foggy has the most important job of all.
Making sure Matt doesn’t kill himself in the process of trying to find you. Because for the first two months Matt didn’t sleep, hardly ate. And as he deteriorated, Foggy reminded him that to find you, he’d need to stay alive. He needs to shower, he needs to keep going to church, he needs to keep eating. The thought of hearing your heartbeat again keeps him going.
It’s as they’re packing up to go home one night that Frank comes into the office with blood-stained hands. They all know he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have something, so Karen asks first.
“What? What is it?”
“Buddy of mine found a file. Some private medicinal corporation funding a project for some sort of doctor doing cancer research, upstate.”
The location peaks Matt’s interest, because one of the few things he knows of your first experience is that the lab was in upstate New York.
“Okay, but—” Karen starts, but Frank hands her the file.
“Report shows the guy had scales.” He told her. “And I don’t know what you guys make of that but sounds to me like a side effect similar to the serum that was given to her.”
“Where?” Matt asks.
“Red, just—”
“Give me a god damn address, Frank.” He demands.
“I’ll drive you. Come on, things are probably gonna get wild and I don’t want you going alone.” He told him. Matt agrees, but only because he knows he can’t drive and would wind up walking to you.
“Then let’s go.” Before Frank can argue, Matt is walking out the door and going to get suited up for the journey ahead.
• • •
Daredevil is my enemy.
Matt Murdock hates me.
I hate him.
We were never really in love with each other.
These are the thoughts that echo through your mind as you wait for your next round of testing. The six-month mark is pivotal, The Doctor tells you time and time again.
Overall, you’ve made tremendous progress. He tells you that within weeks, other serums will be ready to test on new subjects. Maybe then, he tells you, he’ll promote you from just being a soldier.
Maybe.
You almost don’t hear the alarm going off somewhere in the distance. Of course, you don’t. The serum has never helped your hearing.
The way you remember it, Daredevil, a man who once claimed to love you, fought you to the point that he destroyed the nerves in your hands, destroyed your hearing. It’s fuzzy now, but you know this: The Doctor helped you. He put you back together.
But you do hear the alarm, eventually. It concerns you; it means someone has broken into the building. Your thoughts linger on the masked vigilante that haunts your nightmare. You’re getting stronger to defeat him, The Doctor says.
It’s a cool summer night when whoever it is broke in, breaks down your door. You immediately stand, quickly identifying Frank Castle, a grin breaking across your face. Closely behind, you identify a man in red.
Your heartbeat races, but you just stare at the pair.
Matt strips off his helmet and approaches you, wanting to make sure this was real. That you were real. His hands find your cheeks, and tears fill his eyes. He says your name gently.
“I found you, I’ve got you…”
You blink, unsure of what sort of cruel teasing that was.
Because in an instant, your glare hardens and you’re pushing him against a wall, starting to throw punches at him. He’s too far in shock to react, but Frank is pulling you off of him, and you’re struggling against him.
“Let me go! I need to kill him! He’s evil, he needs to die!” You cry, and Matt is just saying your name softly, in absolute disarray. What had they done to you, his sweet girl?
Frank pins you down to the ground, unsure of why you, a woman he had perceived to be so in love with the man behind him, are so adamant that he dies.
“Enough, Enough!” He barks, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at Matt. “That is your husband, girl. Stop acting like he’s torturing you when he is not the one whose been experimenting on you for six months!”
“Let me go, I need him gone! He’s cruel, He’s a monster!” You cry, and Matt has started crying. Putting you both out of your misery, Frank hits you in a way that knocks you right out. Matt goes over to your now unconscious form and pets your hair.
“Why was she—”
“I don’t know.. I just don’t know, red. Let’s get her out of here to figure it out, okay?” Matt just nods and grabs his helmet, slipping it on so Frank can’t see him crying anymore.
• • •
If you had a nickel for every time you woke up tied to a chair, you’d have more nickels than you had fingers.
Today is no different.
You’re surrounded by people you don’t recognize. And one you do. Your angry glare stays on him, and he looks upset by it.
You’re unsure why. You’re so sure he just wanted you dead.
The blonde woman in front of you says your name softly. When your gaze shifts to her, you notice her soft eyes.
“How do you know my name?” You ask.
She frowns.
“It—Because we’re good friends.”
“I don’t know you.”
“You don’t… My name is Karen.” She says softly. She goes over to a nearby shelf, pulling out a picture frame and showing it to you. “Here, that’s you and me. At your wedding.”
“My wedding? The one that he set up just to hurt me?”
Matt remembers you telling him that you had never been happier than when you were getting ready for your wedding.
There’s two other men, one held you down while you were meant to kill Matt, but the other one.. You vaguely remember him standing next to Matt when you got married.
He speaks next.
“Matt and Frank, they found these vials in one of the labs. We think the man that took you used it to... to alter your memories.”
“Why would The Doctor do that? He helped me.” You tell them, unsure what to make of this whole situation. Matt is growing extremely frustrated because he knows just how scared you were of that monster.
“Untie her.” Matt tells Frank, and everyone looks at him like he’s crazy. Including you because you know that you’ll just try and kill him. “Do it,” he tells him again and very hesitantly, Frank does untie you. When you’re free from the rope, you step forward to go towards Matt, but Frank grabs your arm.
“Don’t,” he says. But then, Matt reaches for Frank’s gun on the nearby table and hands it to you. Odd choice for a man you want to kill.
“Go ahead.” He tells you, facing you now. “Shoot me, kill me if that’s what you really want to do.” He says. You stare at the gun in your hand for a second, before holding it properly and aiming it at Matt. Everyone waits with bated breath to see what you’ll do.
Pull the trigger, you tell yourself, The Doctor’s voice echoing around your head. He hurt you, the voice says. He needs to die.
And yet, you just stare at the man on the other end of the gun, trying to build up the courage to kill him. To kill the man that for months you have been taught needs to die. That you have memories of hurting you, of maiming you.
Your hand tremors as tears fill your eyes, until you eventually drop your arm, so the gun isn’t pointing at him anymore.
“Look at the photo of you and Karen,” Matt tells you, “You have hearing aids in the photo. I didn’t do that to you, you got into a bad accident, you got sick and that’s how you lost your hearing. I had nothing to do with that. You even had your powers before me, you didn’t just get them in the past six months. The Doctor is an evil man who just wanted to torture people and turn them into science experiments.” He tells you, and you want to tell him to stop, that it’s not true. But something in you tells you not to. “I love you,” he says gently, and you flinch away from him when he says this.
It breaks his heart into a million pieces. Absolutely shatters it.
“I don’t know you.” You tell him.
Sensing that Matt doesn’t know what to say to that, Frank steps forward.
“Hey. I’m Frank, you remember me?”
“You pinned me down when you found me.” He sighs softly.
“Yeah, well.. You have memories of when the two of you got married, right? So those are real memories… What about the ones of him hurting you? Do they look any different?”
You take a moment to close your eyes and really focus on the memory you have so closely attached to the man in red. They’re.. Filmy. Like they have a filter on them or like glass shimmering in the sun.
Tears fall from your eyes as you open them, your hand quickly coming up to wipe your tears.
“I think we did enough for now.. She needs to rest.” The man whose name you don’t know, but he has this shaggy blonde hair. Then this question comes up in everyone’s mind—Where will you stay?
“I’ll take the couch,” Matt says, “You take the bed.” You don’t know how comfortable you are with being alone with Matt in this apartment, even if the memories are fake. They feel pretty real.
“I don’t know if—” Karen starts.
“I.. It’s fine..” you say softly, and that fills Matt with a fraction of hope. “It’s just over night.”
Frank sighs softly, taking his gun off the table and glancing at Matt.
“We’re only a phone call away, alright?” Karen tells him.
It feels sort of awkward that they only talk to him as if you can’t hear them. Well, you can’t hear them very well, but you can hear.
“There’s clothes for you in the bedroom,” Matt tells you, “Go take a shower and I’ll walk them to the door.” Very reluctant to turn your back on Matt, you make your way to the bedroom to gather your clothes and go to shower.
You really haven’t had a good shower in six months, so it’s nice to wash the dirt off your skin and from beneath your fingernails. You spend a long time under the hot shower, letting it burn your skin. Your whole life has been turned upside down because you’re slowly coming to terms with the fact that Matt Murdock isn’t your sworn enemy, and that maybe.. he just.. does like you..
Meanwhile, Matt walks the others out, or at least to the door, hesitant to go too far from you.
Foggy glances back to him before he leaves, curiously.
“How did you know she wouldn’t shoot you?”
He hesitates.
“I didn’t.” he says softly. “I just trusted that somewhere within her, my wife still loves me.”
• • •
Later that night, you stare out the window of his apartment at that bright billboard. You gaze at it curiously, and hear Matt call your name gently behind you. In his hands, he holds your hearing aids.
You put them on, and just look at him for a few minutes.
“You kept them?”
“I never stopped looking for you..” He told you. “I prayed every night hoping to hear your heartbeat again.” He tells you, and you don’t know what to make of it. He seems so devoted to you, yet you have these memories of him beating you until you’re close to death.
“I’m sorry I can’t be in love with you the way you want me to be.”
He shrugs gently.
“In sickness and in health, right?”
“And in torture and memory alteration.”
“Same thing.”
For the first time in six months, you smile.
Maybe your husband isn’t such a bad guy.
You can only hope he’ll love you long enough for you to get your shit together and not want to kill him anymore.
• • •
Memories are a tricky thing.
You decide to spend your days with Frank, hunting down various people who worked with The Doctor. You talk a lot about your memories with him. And no matter what, at the end of the day, you have dinner with Matt.
One night, he brings home Thai Food.
“We had this for our first date,” he recalls. “You got pad Thai, your favorite.” You try to recall the memory.
“You wore a nice blue button up, right?” You say softly. He smiles gently and nods.
“Yeah. I did.” He says gently.
“Can..” You hesitate. “Can you tell me more about it? Our life together? I can’t.. discern between what’s real and fabricated.” You’re making new memories, sure, but you know he misses the life the two of you had together.
But he’s caught off guard by your request. For the past few weeks, you’ve been hesitant to indulge in any memories you think might be real.
“You used to work for me.” He tells you. “Not in a weird way, but our office is small. We fell in love over Thai food and opening statements.”
“Why did you want to marry me?”
He hesitates for a second, not wanting to scare you off.
“Because I love you.” He tells you. “Because when you were with me, it was the closest thing I’d ever knew to peace.” He confesses.
“Oh..”
“Yeah.” He takes another bite of his food. “You know if you have a memory and you don’t know if it’s real, you can always ask.”
You smile softly.
“Thanks.” There’s a soft silence that fills the room before you ask, “I have this memory of us in bed, with you running your hand through my hair.. Your fingers tracing these antlers I have.. Is that real?”
“Yeah, it is..” He promised. “I have a thing about textures and your hair is soft.”
“I’m glad.” You smile. This is nice. This gentleness that’s between you. It’s a softness you aren’t used to, one that you don’t know if you’d ever quite get used to.
Later that night, when you were meant to be fast asleep, you wake up with a startling gasp in bed. You look around panicked. You don’t quite know who you’re looking for..
Until Matt comes into the room, a concerned look on his face.
“Are you okay?” He asks, and this calmness washes over you.
“Yeah..”
“Okay. Okay, good, I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” He says softly. He’s been so good to you, sleeping on the couch for so many weeks. He goes to leave, but you call out to him. He turns back to you.
“Can you stay with me?” You ask.
“Yeah, of course.” He says softly, climbing into bed with you. You think for a second, before shifting a bit, resting your head against his chest. You listen to the gentle thud of his heartbeat, as his hand finds your back, gently rubbing up and down. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He isn’t dumb—He knows you have nightmares. And that on the nights that you do, you’re quieter and more avoidant of him. It’s a bad habit, one you want to break. Because you recognize that your dreams aren’t real.
Matt has never done anything to you, and you’re sure of this.. For the most part. Sometimes when you wake up, you must reorient yourself and remind yourself that Matt has no malicious intent towards you and no reason to hurt you.
But it takes you a few minutes to accomplish this. On those mornings, you tend to keep your distance from him, and because Matt wants nothing but your happiness, he stays away from you. But tea is always placed in front of you, and he never strays far from you.
“Not really.” You finally answer. There’s another beat of silence. “We went as the couple from The Princess Bride for our first Halloween together.. Real or not real?”
“Real.” He confirms.
“You broke my nose once during an argument. Real or not real?”
“Not real.” He tells you. “I would never hurt you. Even when we used to fight at the gym, it was always for practice, never to do actual damage. And when we would spar, it would always end with us going home and taking a hot bath.”
You close your eyes, trying to recall that particular memory. When you find it, your face flushes with this unfamiliar heat.
“You’re still trying to protect me even though I wanted you dead... Real or not real?”
“Real.” He doesn’t even hesitate. He’s not sure if you’ve realized it yet, but he’d rather die than put you anywhere close to being in danger. His hand continues to trace patterns into your skin, as you think about his response.
You fall asleep like this, close to the man who you’re realizing has never intended to hurt you a day in your life.
• • •
The day you realize you’re in love with your husband is horrifying.
Which seems like a crazy accusation to make, and yet, you feel nothing but horror when you realize that you are desperate for him. Which is insane, because you’ve been living with him for two months when you realize you are desperate to kiss him like you’re drowning and need air.
It happens at the office. You decided to cook, because you remember really liking it, and to say thank you for all he’s done for you, you want to bring lunch to Matt at work. So you make this really delicious chicken pesto pasta, and you pick up sodas to go along with it. Matt gets the following text:
‘Your favorite soda is Dr. Pepper. Real or not real?’
Five minutes later, you get a response.
‘Real. Yours is sprite.’
You pick up a bottle of each and head over to his office. You’ve been there a few times before, but mostly it was because Frank needed to talk to Karen about something, but lately you’ve found yourself wanting to go to the office just to see Matt.
Matt is surprised when he hears the familiar beat of your heart on the other side of the door. He can also hear the slight buzz of your hearing aids.
“Sweetheart, you can come in.” He calls, but you hesitate even further. Not because you’re confused as to why he knows it’s you, but because your brain sort of short circuits when he calls you the pet name. But after a few minutes, you walk into the room and place lunch on his desk, as well with your drinks.
“Do you like pesto?”
“We had pesto pasta at our wedding.” Oh.
“So you do?”
“Yeah, I do. Especially the way you make it.”
“Oh, good.” You smile and sit at the chair on the other side of the desk. “Because I made chicken pesto pasta for lunch and figured you might want some.”
“Well, thank you for thinking of me.”
There’s a quiet calm between the two of you.
“This is a pretty killer first date, huh?” This makes Matt laugh, because in his mind, your first date was eating Thai food and listening to music. But this isn’t bad either.
“Well, Chivalry must be dead then, because I didn’t even buy you flowers.” He hums, and you tilt your head.
“I don’t remember you ever buying me flowers.” He frowns at this.
“Well, I’m going to have to fix that.”
And that’s how the afternoon goes. You sit with Matt in his office, eating a homemade chicken pasta and falling in love with him. As you go to leave, he asks you what you have planned for the day.
“I have some errands to run, but I should be home to make dinner.” And for a moment, Matt forgets all that’s happened, and he lets himself believe that you have all your memories of him perfectly intact and no one’s ever made you think otherwise.
You get back to the apartment a few hours later, and just as you’re unpacking your groceries, there’s a knock at the door. When you open it, a delivery man stands with a bouquet of flowers. Your face is warm as you sign off on them.
As you put them in their vase, you notice a note attached to it. You catch yourself grinning as you read his little note, that reads ‘I’ll buy you flowers until I’m old and wrinkly. Real.’
The urge to run back to the office and kiss him overwhelms you.
So you call Frank.
This leads to the pair of you, sitting at a booth in a diner, nursing coffees and toast.
“I hope you didn’t call me here just to complain about married life.” He tells you, making a joke out of the thing that terrifies you.
“No, I just wanted you to sit here talking to a chick with antlers so you can look like more of a freak than you already are.” You tease.
It gets you both laughing. These moments, in between all the nightmares and all of the filmy memories, fill you with a light you can’t quite describe.
“So, why’d you really call me to meet up?” He asks. “I have to assume you don’t just want to chitchat.”
“I think I’m in love with Matt.” You tell him. He raises an eyebrow.
“What? Why does that sound like you think it’s a problem?” He asks.
“I don’t know.” You confess. “It’s like I don’t want to love him, like a part of me still believes he’s the bad guy. I know he does.. Besides, I was so awful to him for so long. I pointed a gun at him and he still comforts me every night. What if I don’t deserve this?” You ask. “What if I don’t deserve him?”
Frank actually laughs—Okay, not like a giggle or a belly laugh, but it gets a good chuckle out of him.
“You and Red with that shit—Questioning if you’ve done enough for something good to happen to you. With the ‘Do I deserve this?’ and the ‘Am I worthy of this?” He shakes his head. “All that shit is irrelevant. Do you want it? Do you want to be with him?”
Tears fill your eyes as you realize what that means.
“You and him, you love each other like breathing, and I know you don’t quite get that yet, but it’s the same reason you didn’t shoot him that day. Something in you knows that you love him and deserve his love.” Frank is speaking from experience, because he knows that no matter what he’s done, he knows he deserves one more kiss from his wife.
But he’ll never get that chance.
He hopes Matt does.
• • •
It takes you a long time to make your way back to the apartment. When you get there, Matt immediately stands from his place on the couch and has this look of concern etched across his face.
“Is everything okay?” he asks gently, “Your heart is racing, I just want to make sure you’re safe and—"
“I’m fine.” You smile gently. “Really, I… Thank you for the flowers.” You tell him. His face softens.
“You like them?”
“I love them, Matt.” You confess. “I’ve spent.. So long trying to rationalize everything, sort out the real things from the things that aren’t..” You’re not too sure what you’re trying to say. “I just.. I want.. I want to try. I want to try and be with you, I’m ready for that. I’m ready to be happy with you..”
He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t want you, but he is worried that you’re only saying these things because you feel like you might owe him. You don’t. You don’t owe him anything other than what you want to give him, and he is desperate for you to know that.
“Sweetheart, You don’t.. I don’t need.. I don’t need you to pretend like you want me just because I’ve taken care of you. It’s more than enough to just—”
Matt is cut off by his first kiss from you in eight months. Your hands rest on the sides of his cheeks, and his arms are quickly around your torso. The kiss is passionate but soft at first—Until you push deeper, desperate to be as close as you can to him. Your hand even comes up to pull off his glasses to see his eyes.
Without thinking, you pull away from him only for your hand to come down to the hem of his shirt, going to pull it off.
“Off, off, off, off—” You softly request, and he just laughs, taking your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it.
“Stop. Wait.” He says gently. “I just.. I want to make sure you actually want this.. That you really want me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’ve been reserved for the past two months, rightfully so, but now you want to sleep with me.. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. Or something you do just because you feel lonely or bad that I—” You cut him off with another kiss, breaking it shortly after.
“I want you. I want to rebuild my life with you. I want to create new, untainted memories.. It won’t be easy, but I want to be with you.” You confess. “I want countless summer nights, I want you to be there for all the nightmares, I.. I want to give you the same peace you’ve been trying to give me.”
You’re both crying and you don’t quite know why. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gold band. He slips it onto your fingers and kisses you again. He holds the hand with your wedding ring on it as he leads you into the bedroom. Into your life together. Into your arms. Where you were meant to be.
The next morning, you lay in the quiet of your apartment, the silk sheets tickling your skin. You focus on Matt’s breathing. He traces patterns into your skin.
“What are you thinking about?” You ask, and he takes a moment to answer.
“You.” He says gently. “You’re all I’ve been thinking about for three years.” He says gently. Then, when you don’t say anything, “Our anniversary was two months ago..” You know he misses the life you could have had together.
The life that he had planned out for the pair of you in his head. The life that oh so quietly, he longs for. The one without nightmares, supplemented by the laughter of any potential children you might have.
“I could get used to thinking about you, too, you know.” And it makes him laugh, as you lean up and bite his shoulder gently, before placing a kiss to that same patch of skin. He swats your arm gently before the pair of you break down into giggles.
“In the future, if you ever.. don’t want to do that, you don’t have to.”
“I know.” You tell him.
A comfortable silence fills the air again.
“I’m so happy you came back to me.” He says gently. “I was.. I spent so long worried that.. that we’d spend years just trying to find our footing again. That you wouldn’t get better..” For the second time tonight, you cut off his overthinking with a kiss.
“I love you.” You tell him when you’re finally ready to pull away. The morning light shines into the apartment, giving Matt this glowing effect. He practically shimmers in the golden light, and you just take a moment to commit the look of him to memory.
You try and take your time, studying him. He’s so beautiful this time of day.
“Real or not real?” He asks you softly, as one hand snakes up to your hair, his fingers gently running through it.
You lean forward and place a soft kiss to his lips.
“Real.”
#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x y/n#matt murdock x you#daredevil fic#daredevil#matt murdock fic#matt murdock angst#matt murdock fluff#matt murdock hurt/comfort#matt murdock love of my life#frank castle#karen page#foggy nelson#marvel fic#mcu fanfic#marvel comics#hard of hearing!reader#hoh!reader#deaf!reader
217 notes
·
View notes
Text
Imaginary: Reimagined (Alastor-Fem!Reader) - Chapter 2
A Multi-Chapter Story
Previous Chapters: Intro / Chapter 1
Chapter 2: The Introduction
Chapter Rating: Mature
Chapter Warnings: Reader experiences intense feelings of anxiety, discomfort, fear, and unwanted attention from a certain Radio demon.
Startled by the unexpected greeting, you pivoted swiftly in search of the elusive voice. Given the distinct static overlay accompanying the speaker, you initially anticipated seeing an antiquated television or vintage radio. However, to your astonishment, the origin was far more ominous.
The towering, gaunt figure before you exuded a distressing aura, his malevolence etched into every line of his sinister visage. As you examined him further, a labyrinth of unique features unfolded like a tapestry of the macabre, each detail more entrancingly unsettling than the last.
His penetrating leer felt like it could scorch the very depths of your soul, his eyes smoldering with an otherworldly crimson fire. The blood-red sclera lent an eerie depth, complemented by cinober irises that glowed with a supernatural intensity. Thin black pupils, sharp and unwavering, bore mercilessly into whosoever dared to meet his gaze. A burgundy oval-shaped monocle rimmed with sleek black adorned his right eye, adding an air of sophistication to his countenance.
A mischievous, broad smile unfurled across his face, a wicked crescent that exposed a set of teeth colored like sulfurous flames—sharp, pointed, and reminiscent of shards of amber. Each tooth, a gleaming weapon, hinted at a predator's cunning, a testament to the calculated danger that lurked behind the veneer of his baleful grin.
Crowning his head, peculiarity manifested in an unconventional hairstyle—an unruly cascade of fiery strawberry-red, meticulously cropped with a rebellious flair. The tips, dipped in the deepest black, created a striking contrast. Two audacious tufts of hair, tipped in the same jet black, extended defiantly from the apex, creating a distinctive silhouette, adding an almost devilish semblance.
Perched atop this vibrant display were two small, elegant black antlers—a subtle yet distinctive touch that further emphasized his unearthly presence. Together, the hairstyle and the antlers wove a tale of defiance and mystique, marking him as a character who embraced the havoc within, turning it into a crown of eccentricity.
His attire, further validating his enigmatic persona, consisted of a carmine pinstripe coat and dark cherry lapels lined with stark white; the garment exuded an air of both elegance and decay. Torn and ragged along the hem, it hinted at a history filled with battles and untold challenges. Beneath the coat, a bright red dress shirt with a bold ebony cross on the chest hinted at more profound symbolism. A black knotted bowtie with a ruby center adorned his neck, giving the apparel a subtle touch of formality.
His hands, sheathed in sable gloves, each fingertip adorned with a flash of dramatic scarlet, adding a touch of theatrical flair to his gestures as though every movement was part of an elaborate performance. Completing the ensemble, obsidian pointed-toe boots at his feet, their tips dipped in a fiery red, as if the ground itself ignited in his presence.
Maintaining a poised stance with impeccable posture, he stood with shoulders pulled back and chin elevated in a decorous and dignified pose. One arm rested gracefully behind his back, enhancing the implication of formality. At the same time, the other gripped a staff crowned by what looked to be an unusual microphone fixture, hinting at a strange fusion of worlds in his grasp.
This ambiguous figure stood as a walking paradox, a haunting blend of elegance and menace, sophistication and chaos.
Sensing your trepidation, his grin widened even further into a wicked expression that seemed to relish in your stunned reaction as well as the element of surprise. “Tongue-tied already?”
Apologizing nervously, you stumbled over your words and cleared your throat before mustering a hesitant greeting, "Um... hello."
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, sweetheart!" he exclaimed, extending his hand to clasp yours forcefully. The unexpected strength in his grip caught you off guard, smoothly drawing you closer—a bold move that sent a tingling sensation through you as you struggled to reclaim your composure. "Alastor, at your service. An absolute pleasure, I must say!"
A subtle crackle in the air marked a palpable shift, signaling a sudden transformation in his demeanor. In the blink of an eye, his welcoming host facade vanished. In its place emerged the persona of a beguiling gentleman, his intentions now veering towards the less honorable. Undeterred, he continued his greeting; his charismatic glamor, now laced with an undeniable allure, hinted at lurking danger beneath the surface. "And you, my enchanting mystery, what should I call you?" With a subtle yet commanding touch, he pressed a refined and tender kiss to the back of your hand, each second stretching into eternity as his intense gaze remained fixed on yours.
Despite your desire to reclaim your hand, it remained ensnared in his firm grip, rendering your haphazard attempts futile. Staring back at him, completely captivated, you failed to muster even the most straightforward responses, such as your own name. His aura derailed you far more than the demons you had encountered when you first arrived, surpassing even the ones who posed more direct threats.
Incoherent and nonsensical words stumbled out of your mouth, the quiver in your voice reflecting the unease that enveloped you in the magnetic field of his presence.
Growing impatient, the demon interjected, "Surely, you possess a name of your own. Come now, don't be a canceled stamp. What moniker belongs to such a captivating individual as yourself?"
As he continued speaking, you noticed his language unmistakably belonged to a bygone era. The vintage phrases and rapid-fire delivery echoed the dialogue of old black-and-white movies you had encountered over the years, particularly those with brisk and lively commentary.
His manner of speech carried a peculiar mix of disconcerting enticement, seamlessly melded with his overall style and disposition. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, contemplating whether it was a carefully crafted act or if he could indeed be a relic from the 1930s. In your current setting, where boundaries between eras blurred, the possibility of him being a genuine product of the past could be as likely as any other extraordinary occurrence in Hell.
Drawing a deep breath to steady your nerves, you eventually yielded, surrendering your name to the demon. Alastor, as you now knew him, flashed his ever-present grin, the twisted mirth dancing in his eyes as if he had just secured a coveted prize. The lobby's light seemed to flicker in tandem with the sinister satisfaction on his face.
"Why, that's absolutely delightful," he declared, testing the sound of your name on his lips. "It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? Splendid! Now, forgive my curiosity, but you don't strike me as a local." It was challenging to focus on his words as Alastor's eyes bore into yours, like embers dancing in the shadows. His impeccable manners and theatrical gestures were a stark contrast to the ominous air that surrounded him.
Collecting yourself, you felt your pulse quicken as you stammered, "W-what gives you that impression?" It was a feeble attempt to challenge his assumptions, but even as the words left your lips, a moment of realization struck, making you feel somewhat foolish. The truth was painfully obvious – you were undeniably human, not a demon. The air around you seemed to tighten with an awkward silence, a palpable acknowledgment of the absurdity that hung in the space between you and Alastor.
"Well, my dear," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes, "first and foremost, you're alive. There hasn't been a living soul down here in… well, ever, to my knowledge. Your heartbeat practically sings in this abyss of torment!" His tone carried a mix of mischief and genuine fascination as if he had stumbled upon a rare and captivating treasure. "Quite the twist, isn't it?"
Another chill crept up your spine, the realization settling in that Alastor's interest extended far beyond mere pleasantries. Each syllable he uttered bore the weight of a concealed agenda, leaving you to navigate the labyrinth of his enchantment cautiously.
"Secondly," he continued, visibly unfazed by your gawking stare, "You're quite noticeably average. Hell is brimming with anthropomorphic beings. I regret to inform you that you stick out rather drastically. If your intention was to be discreet, it appears you're off your trolley!"
Perplexed, you furrowed your brow. His attempts at communication through outdated terminology failed to resonate and left you even more bewildered. "Sorry, what?"
He laughed heartily in response to your evident confusion, delighting in the disorientation you were experiencing as he playfully tapped the microphone on the top of his staff. "Hello! Is this thing on? Can you read me loud and clear?"
Battered by the relentless onslaught of mayhem and Alastor's nonsensical banter, you felt your sanity teetering on the brink of collapse. The unyielding pandemonium you had continuously endured was reaching its limit, and the existential panic lingering in your mind was now threatening to surface. You felt the unraveling of your composure, desperate for a moment of peace.
Sensing the strain on your waning mental stability, Alastor abruptly ceased his heckling. A sudden stillness replaced the dastardly mirth as he offered assistance, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Forgive me, I've been a bit uncouth. I reckon you've had quite the day with all these novel experiences! What might I fetch for you to aid in a moment of repose? Some giggle water? A gasper, perhaps?"
Once again, the unfamiliar jargon failed to resonate, intensifying your confusion. The unexpected, yet supposedly sincere, offer of abetment from the intimidating demon further disoriented you. The interaction alluded to a hidden layer of complexity within him, contributing to the overall intrigue surrounding his character.
Despite your efforts to remain composed, a heavy sigh escaped you, vocalizing the frustration that had taken place within. Your hands found solace in cradling your head, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that enveloped your thoughts.
"Look, it's Alastor, right?" His nod of confirmation prompted you to proceed as you dropped your hands to a less manic stance. "Okay, Alastor. I'm sensing a disconnect here. I'm not sure if this—" you gestured toward him, observing the quizzical tilt of his head before continuing, "... old-timey persona is your 'shtick' or whatever… But, honestly, I can't deal with this right now. While I appreciate your hospitality, up until earlier today, everything in my life was perfectly normal. Now, I'm trapped in some bizarre cartoon universe filled with humanoid monsters who apparently want me dead, and I'm having a hard time coping. So, could you give me a minute? Please?" The pain in your voice was evident, a desperate request for a moment of calm amidst the surreal madness that had become your reality.
A profound silence settled between you. Alastor's piercing gaze carefully scrutinized you while he pondered your words. While his perpetual smile never faltered, a subtle nuance in how he regarded you conveyed a hint of disappointment. It was as if he feared he had inadvertently damaged his newfound source of entertainment before fully indulging in its potential.
"Dear, I was only–"
"You heard her! Back off!"
You and Alastor swiftly redirected your focus as a commanding voice resonated across the lobby. Emerging from the distance was a feminine figure resembling a moth adorned with long white hair elegantly secured by a vibrant cherry bow. A prominent X marked her left eye, accentuating her distinctive appearance.
As the figure drew closer, you noticed the disapproving scowl etched across her face, which looked pointedly fixed on Alastor. The tension in the air heightened as the unexpected ally intervened, her presence signaling a shift in the unfolding dynamic.
"Vagatha," Alastor greeted with cool nonchalance, an almost dismissive nod accompanying his words. "Right on cue."
"That's not my name," The moth-like woman mumbled under her breath, her narrowed eyes betraying a lingering suspicion. Yet, when her attention turned to you, her demeanor transformed. A warm smile replaced the scowl, and she placed her hands protectively on your shoulders, instantly creating a sense of comfort.
"I'm Vaggie," she introduced herself amicably. "Don't let this guy scare you off. Somehow, he wormed his way into becoming the hotel's Facility Manager, but that's on a probationary period. He's already on thin ice." Vaggie's gaze shot back to Alastor, a glare loaded with unspoken challenges. Alastor, however, seemed to relish in the confrontation, his eyes crinkling in mischievous glee.
"Charlie got held up on an important phone call, so she sent me to help get you settled until she can meet up with us. Come on, we've got a room ready for you upstairs." The promise of sanctuary in the form of a bedroom thrilled you, a welcome reprieve from the brewing storm in the lobby.
"Thank you, that sounds great," you agreed, your response punctuated by a nervous swallow. You were still attempting to stifle any apprehension triggered by Vaggie and Alastor's unique features. Turning back to Alastor, you offered a polite farewell. "It was nice to meet you, Alastor. I guess I'll see you around."
To your astonishment, you recoiled as his teeth seemed to sharpen even further, the unwavering smile on his face widening at your acknowledgment. "Oh, yes, dearest. Sooner than you think," he purred, his words dripping with a subtle menace that left a trail of anticipation in their wake. The air thickened as Alastor's gaze lingered on you, a predator watching its prey, as you turned to follow Vaggie towards the large, creaking staircase.
As you climbed the grand staircase, the glare of the lobby gave way to the soft glow of sconces that adorned the walls, casting flickering shadows along the ornate patterns of the carpet. The plush and intricate designs felt as though they absorbed the echo of your footsteps, creating an atmosphere of subtle refinement.
Vaggie led you through the upper landing, the ambience changing as you ascended. A faint scent of aged wood lingered, intermingled with the distant wails of Hell's tormented souls. It was a disturbing reminder of the realm you found yourself in.
"Your room is just down there," she said, her tone easing into a more casual cadence as she gestured ahead. The subtle tension of the encounter with Alastor seemed to dissipate with each step. "Sorry about that weird thing with Alastor. He's... unique. But don't worry, you're in good hands now."
The hallway unfolded as a corridor of opulence, with ambient lighting casting a vermillion gleam upon the dark, polished wood of the ornate doors that lined either side. Vaggie halted before a particularly imposing door, turning to you with a small, apologetic smile. "This is it. Your new home, at least for the time being." The door's intricate carvings and richly hued finish hinted at the luxury within, offering a glimpse into the mysterious haven that awaited you.
Entering the room, you were met with a surprisingly cozy atmosphere. The large bed dominated the space, adorned in rich crimson and gold bedding. Four beams stood proudly on each corner, supporting a black canopy that added an air of elegance. With their shears drawn, the two giant windows along the wall hinted at consideration for your well-being, shielding you from whatever horrors lurked below. Despite the obscured view, the city's lights cast a warm and inviting glow into the room.
A large, regal dresser stood proudly between the windows, a vast mirror attached on top reflecting the refined atmosphere of the room. Against the opposite wall, an armoire added a touch of vintage charm, and in the corner, a matching vanity whispered of bygone elegance. A door beckoned on the opposite end of the room, leading to your private en-suite bathroom.
Vaggie, her posture casual yet observant, leaned against the wall, her eyes following your every move. "It's not exactly the Ritz, but it's got its own flair."
You turned to face her, the weight of the day's events still etched on your features. "Flair might be an understatement, Vaggie. This place is..." You searched for the right word as you regarded the room. "Impressive."
She chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the quiet space. "Hell has a way of blending horror with splendor, doesn't it? Anyway, make yourself at home." Stepping back to survey the space again, you marveled at how it had met your needs and exceeded them.
Captivated by the allure of your new living space, you nearly missed Charlie's spirited entrance. Bursting through the doorway, her radiant expression illuminated the room like a burst of sunlight, and she greeted you with unbridled enthusiasm. "Welcome!" she exclaimed, extending her arms to accentuate her elation. "I hope that this space will suffice. If you need any other accommodations, I'm sure our gracious Facility Manager will happily assist!"
A derisive snort from Vaggie redirected your attention, her skepticism evident as she shot Charlie a sidelong glance. "Yeah, our 'gracious' Facility Manager has a knack for overstepping boundaries and could learn a thing or two about minding his own damn business. You're better off coming to me or Charlie for anything you need."
Charlie, undeterred by Vaggie's cynicism, chimed in with an eager smile. "Oh, we'd be thrilled to help with whatever you need!" Her eyes sparkled with genuine sincerity as she moved closer to Vaggie, intertwining their fingers as if grounding herself in their shared strength. As she took Vaggie's hand in hers, Charlie's gaze lingered with adoration. "Vaggie has done so much to help get this place up and running. She's not just my right hand; she's my better half."
Vaggie smiled sheepishly, trying to conceal her blush. Charlie planted a delicate kiss on Vaggie's cheek before turning her attention back to you, adopting a more serious tone. "Listen, I know this must all be pretty terrifying, and you must be so scared, but we've got you, I promise."
"Try to keep a low profile," Vaggie encouraged, placing a hand on her hip as she stood confidently. "Keep to yourself, avoid any potentially dangerous situations, and most importantly, stay away from the Shitlord. If you can do that, you should be fine until we can figure out how to get you home."
You blinked, puzzled by the peculiar term. "I'm sorry, the 'Shitlord'?"
"Alastor," she grumbled, ignoring Charlie's subtle scowl. "Our not-so-friendly neighborhood Radio Demon."
"Why should I avoid him?" you inquired, your interest piqued, especially after your earlier encounter. "If he's here helping to redeem sinners, he can't be that bad, right?"
The conflicting responses from Charlie and Vaggie painted a vivid picture of the polarizing figure that was Alastor. Charlie's eyes lit up with loyalty, defending the demon's actions, while Vaggie's glare spoke volumes about her mistrust.
"He's an ass," Vaggie stated bluntly, not mincing her words. It was clear she had little patience for the potentially problematic Radio Demon.
"He's not!" Charlie interjected, her tone almost pleading. "He… has a certain reputation, is all. I can't just assume that every demon that walks through our doors has bad intentions. We've got to give him a chance. He's been nothing but helpful since he's arrived."
Quirking your brow, you glanced back and forth between them as Vaggie rolled her eyes. "Charlie is endearingly optimistic."
As you observed the dynamic between Charlie and Vaggie, you noticed the subtle interplay of emotions – Charlie's infectious optimism and Vaggie's more cautious demeanor. The room's atmosphere shifted, transitioning from the initial excitement to a more serious undertone. The warmth of the welcome clashed with the ominous warning about the unpredictable Radio Demon.
Vaggie's gaze hardened as she met your eyes, a stern expression on her face. "Seriously, it's for your own safety. Alastor might come off as charming, but there's a reason other demons keep their distance. He's one of Hell's most feared Overlords. He's unpredictable, and you never know what he's up to. Just steer clear of him, okay?"
Charlie tried to diffuse the tension with a comforting smile. "We're just looking out for you. The Hotel can be hectic, and we want you to feel at home." Her words carried a gentle reassurance, attempting to balance Vaggie's wariness and her own hopefulness.
Vaggie sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Just trust me on this one. He isn't just a happy face; he's a creep we've reluctantly allowed to help us. And the last thing we need is an innocent, unsuspecting soul falling under his influence."
A momentary flicker of doubt passed over Charlie's expressive eyes, but she swiftly regained her composure. "Alright, let's not dwell on this too much tonight. You must be exhausted," she said, her concern palpable. "We'll talk more tomorrow. If you need anything else, Vaggie and I are just down the hall, last door on the left."
"Got it," you affirmed, inclining your head in gratitude.
"Oh! And don't be alarmed if you cross paths with some of the other hotel staff," Charlie resumed, her enthusiasm returning. "Niffty is our diligent housekeeper, and Husk is our skilled bartender."
"At the moment, we only have two other guests," Vaggie chimed in, her tone more pragmatic. "Sir Pentious is usually occupied with his little minions and shouldn't be too much of a nuisance. Angel Dust is another story. If he bothers you, just ignore him. Or strangle him. Either one works."
"Will do," you chuckled, her attempt at humor injecting a welcome lightness into the atmosphere. "Thank you so much. I don't know what else to say. I'd probably be dead by now if you hadn't found me. It means a lot that you'd go through so much trouble for someone you don't know."
"Happy to help," Charlie replied, her sympathetic smile providing tender reassurance. "Get some rest!"
With those words, the two exited the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Eager for a distraction, you sauntered to the windows, drawing back the curtain and peering through the grimy glass.
Hell unfolded its macabre grandeur before your eyes. The twisted, decrepit structures that lined the streets challenged the laws of architecture. Each building, crooked and battered, exuded an eerie magnetism that hinted at the horrors within. The air was tinged with a paranormal quality, a discordant symphony of colors and shadows playing on the blood-splattered streets.
As you contemplated the surreal spectacle, a question involuntarily danced through your mind—what form would encapsulate your essence in this infernal realm? Would you morph into a whimsical creature, an embodiment of the anarchy that defined Hell, or perhaps manifest as an object reflecting the remnants of your earthly existence? The sheer absurdity of the thought evoked a quiet laughter that bubbled up from deep within, a coping mechanism against the overwhelming horror surrounding you.
"Remarkable, isn't it?"
The unexpected voice, a sinister melody that sliced through the eerie silence, prompted an involuntary yelp. You spun around with a start, almost stumbling over yourself, only to find Alastor standing in your bedroom doorway. The unnerving permanence of his smile rattled you while his eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intelligence, seemed to leer at you.
"Jesus Christ!" you choked out, a hand instinctively clutching your chest to steady the frantic beat of your heart.
"Hmm… not quite," Alastor replied, his grin deepening, causing his eyes to crease with malevolent cheerfulness. "Forgive me, miss. A gentleman should refrain from intruding upon a lady's private domain. However, our earlier conversation was abruptly cut short, and I am not one to leave matters unresolved," he continued, twirling his staff with a casual flourish. "I would be remiss if I did not take advantage of this rare opportunity. Would you grant me the pleasure of your company, perhaps for a brisk stroll?"
Your eyes narrowed, wrestling with the uncertainty of his intentions. On one hand, curiosity was a shared sentiment; however, Vaggie had explicitly warned against spending any time with Alastor. Additionally, your suspicion that Alastor's interest in you concealed darker motives had only intensified since your previous encounter.
Observing your hesitation, Alastor's low, rumbling chuckle reverberated through the air like an ominous prelude, the static overlay even more prevalent than before. He casually leaned against the doorframe, his dark silhouette swallowing the feeble light in the room.
"No need to be so guarded, sweetheart," Alastor drawled, his voice an unnatural blend of charisma and menace. "I'm merely captivated by the anomaly of a living soul gracing Hell's grounds. You see, it's not every day we welcome a newcomer like yourself." Despite his attempt at reassurance, the room felt suffocating, as if his presence tainted the entire space. "You couldn't have arrived at a more intriguing time," Alastor continued, his eyes glinting with a vicious spark. "It seems fate has a sense of humor, placing a delicate creature like you amidst the chaos of Hell–and so soon after an extermination!"
Your eyebrows furrowed, skepticism etching lines on your face as you shot him a look that bordered on irritation. "Am I supposed to know what an 'extermination' is?"
"Sweet girl, an extermination is a grand spectacle of Hellish proportions! It's a symphony of destruction orchestrated to cleanse and reset the infernal balance," Alastor explained, his words dripping with macabre enthusiasm. The way he spoke made it sound like he reveled in the mayhem. "And you, my unsuspecting guest, have stepped directly into the aftermath."
Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, a mix of defiance and fear lacing your words. "Is this your idea of a sick joke?"
Alastor leaned back, a wicked grin still playing on his lips as if savoring the fear dancing in your eyes. "Who's joking?" he jested, his voice resonating with a chilling levity.
You eyed him warily, the manic in his eyes intensifying. "So, what's your role in all of this? Are you some kind of demonic tour guide or a sadistic host?"
He hummed softly as he mused. "Oh, you could say I wear many hats. But most importantly, for the time being, I'm here to make your stay in Hell as... entertaining as possible."
His words dripped with a malicious promise, each syllable carrying the weight of an unspoken threat. As he spoke, the air around you seemed to thicken with an unsettling energy, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were just beginning to scratch the surface of the twisted game that Alastor had set before you.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Chapter End Notes: Okay, I'm seeking honest opinions here... is my writing TOO complex? I feel like I'm using a lot of words that aren't used in everyday conversation, and I worry about any unsuspecting readers whose first language isn't English. It concerns me that they might struggle with comprehension and have it take away from their experience. I don't want to stress anyone out. Does that make sense? I'm an overthinker, so any feedback is appreciated!
#alastor#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazin hotel imaginary#fanfiction#hazbinhotel#hazbin hotel fanfiction
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
Twisted Minds: Act II- Chapter Sixteen Hassun
TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Crying, Implied Death, Court Scenes, Lying, a smidge of Jealousy, Desperation, Slight Possessiveness
Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.
Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter @dilfdemolisher
Twisted Minds Masterlist
COURTHOUSE - COURTROOM - DAY -
the speaker as MARION VEGA, prosecutor. She has the floor. A smiling assassin.
“Garret Jacob Hobbs, the Minnesota Shrike, killed young women who looked just like his daughter. He killed them and he ate them.” Vega pauses and looks at Will. He sits, shackled, with his attorney LEONARD BRAUER. JUDGE BERTRAND DAVIES straight ahead. An audience in the gallery. No jury. A bailiff stands guard.
“Will Graham understood how Garret Jacob Hobbs thought, which is how he caught him. Shot Hobbs dead as he cut his daughter's throat. Will Graham and his partner Dr. Y/N L/N saved Abigail Hobbs's life. But this profile he created of her father was so vivid, he couldn't escape it. In an unconscious state, he killed three more young women.” She has a remote for a projector in her hand and she CLICKS it. The LIGHTS DIM. KER-CHUNK -- the lights flicker across Will's face as a slide changes on a screen. SLIDE: CASSIE BOYLE MOUNTED ON ANTLERS.
“Cassie Boyle.” KER-CHUNK -- MARISSA SCHUUR IMPALED ON ANTLERS.
“Marissa Schuur.” KER-CHUNK -- ABIGAIL HOBBS. Will looks down.
“And Abigail Hobbs. Mr. Graham saved her from her father, but couldn't save her from himself. He killed her and ate her. At the very least, we know he ate her ear.” KER-CHUNK -- a ghastly image of the ear Will threw up.
“What he did with the rest of her is locked away in the recesses of Will Graham's traumatized mind, or so he would have you believe. Something else you should know about Will Graham. He's an eideteker. He has a remarkable visual memory. He is keenly insightful to the human condition and I would argue, the smartest person in this room. Capable of creating a psychological profile of a different kind of killer, one that would become his alibi.”
COURTHOUSE - HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE COURTROOM - DAY-
JACK CRAWFORD paces, waiting. KADE PRURNELL approaches. “Moment of truth.”
“If I knew what the truth was.” Jack says as he prepares himself to take the stand. “There’s nothing wrong with your instincts.” Prurnell says as she looks him dead in the eyes. “My instincts have not yet arrived at conviction.” Jack says as his head bows towards the sky. “Mine have. With the benefit of no prior involvement and no personal connections to the accused.”
“Meaning, I can't be impartial.” Jack says softly and with slight understanding.
“Of course you can be impartial. But right now, you're not. You have to believe something. As long as there is reason and evidence to believe. You have reason. You have evidence. Will Graham is playing a game.” Kade Prurnell is certain in her beliefs. The courtroom door opens and Jack turns, expecting to be called. His nerves evident. But it is just a bailiff exiting. Kade softens. “I understand why that would be hard for you to accept.”
“Let’s hear that theory.” Jack says with slight defiance and an unreadable expression, “It is easier to be a man who missed a friend's suffering than it is to be the head of Behavioral Sciences at the FBI who missed a killer standing right in front of him. There's a reason you're a witness for the prosecution, Agent Crawford.” Prurnell says with a cold gaze. “What reason would that be?” Jack says as he meets her eyes with a cold gaze of his own.
“If you can't represent your own beliefs, represent the Bureau's. Will Graham lied to the FBI. He lied to you. And you know it.” She holds his arm, reassuring, cheerleading. “Let yourself off the hook, Jack.”
COURTHOUSE - COURTROOM - DAY-
Jack is on the stand. Mid-testimony. Vega in front of him, but Jack's eyes are on Will Graham. Will does not look away. There is a female bailiff on duty. I’m directly behind Will, I keep my eyes on Jack. “How did you meet Will Graham?” asks Ms. Vega
“I met him at the opening of the Evil Minds Research Museum. He disagreed with what we called it. He told me the title mythologized banal, cruel men who don't deserve to sound like supervillains.”
“What was your first impression?”
“He was intelligent. And arrogant. And very likely on the spectrum.”
“Which is why he was never real FBI. He failed the screening procedures.”
“Yes.”
“But you felt he was qualified to work in the field.”
“Under my supervision. And with a Partner.” I look down at my lap with a clenched jaw.
“You believed he was valuable because he can think like a killer?”
“He can think like anybody. He has pure empathy and projection. He can imprint profiles on the blank slate of his mind for us to read. Its one of the reasons I though Dr. L/N and him would work well together” I smile softly at the thought.
“Sounds like a supervillain. She points to a table in front of the bench. It is laden with marked evidence bags, dozens of them, including five fishhooks, for each of the victims.”
“Five horrendous murders. Over forty different pieces of forensic and physical evidence. That tell us Will Graham knows how to think like a killer because he is one.” Jack looks up at Prurnell and then at Will. Vega presses.
“Rather than being tormented by the work he did, Will Graham enjoyed the cover his role at the FBI gave him to commit his terrible crimes.” Jack looks at Kade Prurnell. Then Jack looks at Will. “I don't believe that to be true.” Marion Vega is thrown off guard by that.
“Agent Crawford?” For Jack, this is a moment of clarity; he looks at Will, talking to him; committing to what he feels to be true. “Will hated every second of the work. Didn't fake that. He hated it and I kept making him do it.”
“Why then, when you gave him the opportunity to quit, did he refuse?”
“Because he was saving lives. I was warned by more than one person, including his partner Dr. L/N, if I pushed Will, I would break him. I put checks and balances in place, then ignored them. And here we are.” In the gallery, Prurnell looks saddened. She exits. Will stares at Jack on the witness stand, and Leonard Brauer can't hide a smile as he makes a note.
A PADDED ENVELOPE -- MARKED URGENT -- CARRIED BY A PARALEGAL - COURTHOUSE - COURTROOM - DAY
Where Will Graham is at the defense table with Brauer. Brauer is late 40s, cocksure and aware of his own abilities. “What does Jack Crawford drink? Because whatever it is, I need to send him a very expensive bottle.” Brauer says with a shiteating grin on his face. “He said I'm a killer because he drove me insane.”
“He paved the road for your defense.”
“He didn't say Will was innocent.” I say as I approach Will and His Lawyer. Brauer shakes his head. A pragmatist. “Innocence isn't a verdict, Dr. L/N. "Not guilty" is. This isn't law, it's advertising.” Brauer says as he looks to me.
“Advertising trivializes, it manipulates, it's vulgar.” I say for Will. “Boo-hoo. So's the law. We have to create the desire to find you "not guilty," which does not exist in this courtroom. We're manipulating the consumer into buying something they don't need. They don't want your innocence. Unconsciousness in a pretty package, that I can sell.” The paralegal brings the envelope down to Brauer.
“Thank you.” The paralegal turns to leave and Brauer opens the envelope and takes out another envelope. He pulls open the second envelope. Shakes it over his legal pad.
“If I take the moral high ground with you, I'll get you killed.” SLO-MO as flakes of DRIED BLOOD drop like snow onto the pad – WILL GRAHAM -- his face falls -- BACK TO REAL TIME -- a HUMAN EAR drops onto the pad. Gray, spotted with DARK BLOOD around the rough edges of the incision. I gasp loudly and cover my mouth.
“I think I opened your mail.”
BAU - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - NIGHT-
Hannibal and Y/N stand beside Jack, watching him thoughtfully. Jack absently listens as BEVERLY KATZ, BRIAN ZELLER, JIMMY PRICE work on the ear and the envelopes, reporting their findings. Lips move WITHOUT SOUND until their VOICES SLOWLY FADE IN. “Shrunken capillaries. The ear was cut from a corpse no more than forty-eight hours ago.” Zeller says as he gestures towards the ear.
“Before the trial started.” Bev says. “We fumed it all -- ear's clean, no prints on the envelopes besides the courier, paralegal and the lawyer.” Jimmy says as Hannibal leans over the ear in fascination. “One thing's for sure. Will Graham didn't do it.” I say from next to Hannibal.
“Although, I wouldn't be surprised.” Zeller says with a distaste for My recently incarcerated Partner. “The timing is deliberate, choreographed to drop the ear at the start of Will's trial.” Jack points out as he ignores the distastful Zeller. “Such a gift has great significance.” Hannibal says as he place a hand on my Lower back, causing my breathing to hitch.
“A "gift." From who?” Jack asks with a furrow of his brow. “Will claimed someone else committed the crimes he's accused of.” I say, “He said that someone was Hannibal.” Jack says with a raised brow. “Perhaps he was half right.” Hannibal says as Jack looks at Him, considers what he is saying. “You gotta be kidding me.” the angry, impassioned Zeller --
COURTHOUSE - COURTROOM - DAY-
...the DOORS OPEN and FREDDIE LOUNDS ENTER. Without ever fully revealing her face, leads her to the witness stand, favoring Will as she makes her way down the aisle. “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.” Marion Vega questions Freddie Lounds, mid-testimony.
“Would you please describe your relationship with Abigail Hobbs?”
“It was sisterly. We were very close. I was helping her write a book about surviving her father.”
“Did you ever discuss Will Graham with Abigail?” Did they ever when i spent time with Abigail she’d tell me about her interactions with Freddie Lounds.
“Yes. She bonded with him after her father's death, even saw him as a father figure. Which he took advantage of until Abigail began to feel threatened by him.”
“Did Will Graham ever threaten you?”
“He told me it wasn't very smart to piss off a man who thought about killing people for a living. I believed him. I was terrified.” Bitch please. I was there, i could feel the cockiness and Arogance, but never fear nor terror. “You spend a lot of time with murderers and their victims. Why were you terrified?”
“Will Graham never struck me as a victim. He was something else.”
“Why was Abigail so afraid of him?”
“Her father killed young women as substitutes for her. She told me she was worried Will Graham wasn't interested in substitutes.” A catch of breath as Freddie's emotions suddenly catch her. What a wonderful Actress she is, able to get even the jury to choke up. I roll my eyes and Will turns around and looks at me then back at the stand.
“This is all hearsay, your honor.”
“We'd argue excited utterance–”
“I'll allow it.” The judge remarks
“Abigail told me she believed Will Graham was going to kill her and cannibalize her like her father wanted to do. She was right. I should have listened to her.”
“You blame yourself for her death?”
“I blame Will Graham.” Freddie wipes her eyes. STARES Will down. And I almost walk up there and Knock her the fuck out.
“Your witness.” Brauer stands. “Miss Lounds, I've only been recently retained on this case, so forgive me for not having all the details. Can you remind me how many times you've been sued for libel?”
She Hesitates “Six.”
“Six. How many times did you settle?”
“Six.” She sighs her farce fading. “Six. Thank you. Nothing further.”
COURTHOUSE - CORRIDOR - DAY-
Jack Crawford standing in the center l he is blocking Freddie Lounds's path. “You and I spoke at length about Abigail Hobbs. You suspected her of complicity in her father's crimes.” Jack says with anger and suspicion. “I remember our discussion.” she says as she crosses her arms
“Just chose not to mention it.” Jack says with annoyance for the red head. “No one asked.” Freddie looks at Jack, deadly serious now. Real emotion. “Abigail was a frightened girl, who put her trust in Will Graham. And he killed her.”
“Your testimony made her death sound like it was premeditated.”
“Murder, Jack. Her murder.”
“Did that conversation with Abigail Hobbs ever happen?” Freddie stares, then: “You're looking after your friend. I'm looking after mine.”
BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM'S CELL - DAY-
Hannibal and Y/N face Will standing on his side of the bars. “It seems you have an admirer.” Hannibal says with a amused smile.
“You think someone sent me an ear because they admire me?” Will asks confused, I look at him with soft eyes. “The boundaries of what's considered normal are getting narrower. Outside those boundaries, this may be intended as a helpful gesture.” I say to him. I want to reach out a hand but i know the guards would most likely stop me. And Hannibal keeps gracing his hand on my back.
“How far would you go to help me?” Will asks as he turns his head towards Hannibal. “It hadn't occurred to me to send you an ear. But I'm grateful and intrigued that someone has.” Hannibal says and he inconspiculously runs his fingers up and down my spine.
“Gratitude has a short half-life.”
“So can doubt. Our ideas are not set in stone. When exposed to new thoughts, they adapt into their most potent form. I have new thoughts about who you are. There may very well be another killer.” Hannibal says as him and Will lock eyes.
“I want there to be.” Will says as he looks at me. “Some part of you still suspects me.” Hannibal says as he looks down at me then to Will. “I don't know what anyone is capable of anymore. Even myself. I know there's no evidence against you.” Will says, i close my eyes and sigh.
“There never was.”
“Accusing you makes me look insane. I'm not insane. Not anymore.”
“You may not be guilty. Tell Us about your admirer, Will.” I ask as i step forward slightly. “He's experienced. A sophisticated killer. He has a wit and a whimsy. Parodied the crimes We investigated so well We didn't know he was there. He's connected to me somehow. He knows me. Or thinks he does. He certainly knew about the cases.” Will says, i nod in agreement.
“You could be describing me.” Hannibal says as he steps behind me. “I once thought I was.” Will says as he watches as Hannibals hands grace my shoulders. “This ear you were sent presents an opportunity, Will. If someone else is responsible for your crimes, perhaps he now wants to be seen.” I say, i know the killer is close. You could say they’re right behind me.
“Why would he want to be seen now?” Will asks confused on this situation put at hand. “He cares what happens to you.” Will Graham holds Hannibal's gaze.
BSHCI - THERAPY HALL - DAY-
Y/N sits in a solitary chair opposite Will Graham locked into his therapy cage. Shafts of sunlight giving the space a cathedral feel. Leonard Brauer paces to one side. “I don't want the first time you do this to be in court. Dr. L/N, weren't you and the accused romantically involved?” I dont blink.
“How is that relevant to the case?” I ask, i really dont want my love life out into the court. “It's relevant to your testimony. In that court, your affections, your pro-anything Will Graham will be on trial. Get all starey and non-blinky like you did and it'll undermine you and me, but mainly him.” Brauer says as he looks at me.
“My testimony is based on my professional–” I say but am cut off “You're smitten with the accused, Dr. L/N. It's adorable. But not our brand of defense.” Y/N looks caught.
“Marion Vega will smell it on you like you stepped in Young Adult and tracked it into the courtroom. Were you and Will Graham romantically involved?” I look at Will, then at Brauer; this is all so painful. “There was a Blooming relationship between me and Mr. Graham, yes.”
“How was it?” I again can't avoid looking at Will. Then at Brauer. “The advance came from Will. And i initially rejected it.”
“Because he was dangerous?”
“Because he was unstable.”
“What made you change your mind” I look at Will. My eyes say one thing, My words another. I looks at Brauer -- definite. “I don't have romantic feelings for Will Graham Anymore. I have a professional relationship.” That sits in the air. Brauer breaks it. Pleased. “I like "professional Relationship." It's so... indifferent. Unless you look like you're lying when you say it. And you didnt, which will fool the jury. But we all know…”
“She was lying.” I am looking at Will, the painful truth of this hurts. The fact i have to lie or pretend that i dont Lov- is this what love is? Protecting with no remorse of the others that are affected. All i want is for Will to be Free. so that we can try to move on from this. We save lives together. But there's gonna be a day and age where we wont be the most innocent when it comes to blood shed. Like I even am at all.
BAU - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - NIGHT-
Jack Crawford, Zeller, Price and Katz are gathered around the ear. Looking seriously concerned and energized. “You've identified the ear?” Jack asks who is actively wondering where Y/N is. “We ID'd the knife that cut it off.” Zeller says with a shrug of the shoulders.
“It's Will Graham's. The blade matches the cuts on Abigail Hobbs's ear and on this one.” Beverly says as Jimmy Price zooms images of the two ears on a SCREEN.
“It was presenting in court as evidence. And then it went to the courthouse evidence room.” Beverly says. “It was checked out by a bailiff at the courthouse. Andrew Sykes. And it never went back.” Price says as JACK as certainty grows in him. Energized.
FBI SUV - NIGHT-
Jack sits in the passenger seat of an FBI SUV, looking at a neat tract home, all lights dark. He raises a HANDSET.
“Go.”
BAILIFF'S HOUSE - NIGHT-
Shadows move out of shadows as two FBI AGENTS pause on either side of the front door. One nods at the other and he crowbars the lock – As the door FLIES OPEN – A BLUE SPARK A small electrical relay taped to the doorjamb is thrown and we follow the WIRE, taped down the floor and through the hall, into the next room.
The wire reaches a black shape in the room and FLAME BLOOMS, blue and yellow, beautiful as it quickly spreads. A ROAR and a BURST OF ORANGE LIGHT as flames suddenly surge --
CLOSE -- the blossoming fire as it spreads, reflected up close in a staring EYE...
FBI SUV - BAILIFF'S HOUSE - NIGHT -
Sudden glow of fire fills the car window next to Jack's face, reflected, bathing Jack's face in HEAT and LIGHT as the darkness is chased from the windows of the house and FLAMES
can be seen -- Jack bursts from the SUV and the reflection disappears.
CRASH! The house windows shatter outward as the heat and flame inside builds. Jack shields his face as we hear the ROAR and RUSH of the fire --
BAILIFF'S HOUSE - NIGHT -
QUIET and a muted stillness -- the calm after the storm. A FIRE CREW is leaving, their job done. The house is still intact, but the windows are gone and the place is smoke-damaged. LOCAL COPS are putting up incident tape and turning it into a crime scene.
The house still SIGHS and GROANS from heat contraction. The interior is dark, eerie shadows thrown by work lanterns. Smoke hangs in the air and water drips. Jack navigates the burned home with a flashlight. His feet splash through gray puddles. Jack turns his flashlight into the lounge and his face tightens in grim horror. In his FLASHLIGHT BEAM we see a horrific tableau -- the CAUTERIZED BODY of the DEAD BAILIFFhas been IMPALED on the rack of a huge STAG'S HEAD.
JACK CRAWFORD -- he stares at the body like it is a personal insult. SMOKE-BLACKENED FACE Torn into a permanent clown's mask. Burns can't hide what was done to the dead bailiff's face. Right ear missing, Glasgow smile cut into his cheeks. BEVERLY KATZ, up close
to the body --- as she tweezes trace evidence into a bag.
WORK LIGHTS now illuminate the mutilated corpse. His uniform is fused to his charred body. A badge and name tag, "Andrew Sykes," melted into his chest. Brian Zeller taps it with his tweezers. Jimmy Price comes from the front door, walking Jack, Y/N, and Hannibal through.
“Wanted to give us a warm welcome and still leave something to find.”
“An arresting piece of theater.” Hannibal says as he runs a gloved hand against the SOOT on the wall. Rubs it in his fingers and smells it. Hannibal approaches the body closely. Jimmy Price steps back to let him take it in. Hannibal slowly walks around the corpse on the stag's head.
“It's Will Graham's greatest hits.” Zeller says and i Glare harshly at him. “Are we addressing the elephant in the room? The charred, mutilated elephant right over there.” Jimmy says as he gestures towards the corpse. “Could we have been that wrong?” Jack asks us. I look at him with empathetic eyes.
“About Will Graham? No. We couldn't. He practically took a selfie with each of his victims.” Zeller says and quite frankly im ready to knock him out…….or shoot him in the foot at the very least. Because his very biased opinion on Will Graham is gonna interfere with this investigation.
Hannibal watches the proceedings like a polite dinner guest watching a family argument, but not engaging in it. “The evidence we found was immediate and almost presentational. May as well have been gift-wrapped.” Bev says, she’s uttering the words of me and Will.
“That's what You and Will said about Cassie Boyle when she was found in that field. "Field kabuki."” Jack says as he faces me. I nod as I try to keep cool. The utter amount of fear, Betrayal and grasping to life the victim had in his last moments was extremely hard to ignore. And Zeller pissing me off does not help in the slightest.
“There wasn't any evidence before Will was apprehended and there hasn't been any since.” I say with narrow eyes towards Zeller. “He ate a girl's ear. It was inside his stomach. God knows how much else of her was in there.” Zeller says as he stands up and leans towards me trying to act all menacing. But all it makes me feel is like he needs a good ass kicking.
“Should've taken a stool sample.” Jimmy says softly. “Knock it off.” Jack says to me and Zeller.
“Tell me, Jack. What impact could this have on Will's trial?” Hannibal says as Jack considers the implications...
COURTHOUSE - DAY-
Jack Crawford and Kade Prurnell stand before the large, ornate desk of Judge Davies as he gets into his robes. “This murder raises serious doubts about the case against Will Graham.”
“Your team provided the evidence.” Judge Davies says with furrowed brows. “The overwhelming evidence.” Prurnell says with narrowed eyes. “Then you understand how significant it is for me to question it.” Jack says with gusto. “We heard your testimony, Agent Crawford. Are you sure you're not trying to assuage your own guilt.” Prurnell asks sarcastically and rudely. “Yes. I'm sure.”
“I'm not.”
“Why is it so important to you that Will Graham be found guilty?”
“I have no agenda here. What is important to me is the truth.”
“Andrew Sykes was mutilated in the exact manner Will Graham allegedly mutilated his victims. In ways that have not been made public.” Jack says as he is looking positive about his findings. “Will Graham isn't saying he didn't kill those people. His lawyer's running an unconsciousness defense. In effect, he's admitting the acts, just not the responsibility.” Prurnell says with large arm gestures
“Will has always maintained his innocence, despite gaps in memory. Whatever Brauer's strategy, this would offer a new line of defense.” Jack says almost Happily. “That's for Mr. Brauer to tell me, Agent Crawford, not you.” Judge Davies says, “Yes, your honor.”
“If Mr. Brauer does bring up this murder, I will give him leeway to present it in evidence.”
“Thank you, your honor.” Jack risks a glance at Kade Prurnell, who meets his gaze.
COURTHOUSE - COURTROOM - DAY-
“...Will Graham manifests publicly as an introverted personality. He would have us believe he places on the spectrum somewhere near Asperger's and autism. Yet, he also claims to have an empathy disorder.” Dr. Chilton is on the stand.
“You choose your words very carefully, Dr. Chilton. You chose the word "claims."”
“Will Graham has never been diagnosed. He won't allow anyone to test him. He has carefully
constructed a persona to hide his real nature from the world. He wears it so well, even Jack
Crawford couldn't see past it.”
“But you did?”
“Mr. Graham and I had no personal relationship for him to manipulate. I have objectively studied him and the crimes of which he is accused. These murders were measured and controlled. The confused man Will Graham presents to the world could not commit those crimes. Because that man is a fiction.”
“You discount the encephalitis he was suffering as a cause?”
“He managed his illness with the help of his neurologist, whom he murdered for his trouble.”
“Is Will Graham an intelligent psychopath?”
“There is not yet a name for whatever Will Graham is. He kills methodically and I believe he would kill again, given the opportunity.”
“Thank you, doctor. Your witness.” Brauer stands up.
“Dr. Chilton, Will Graham spent his time catching murderers for the FBI. You don't see a contradiction between that and the cold-blooded killer you describe?”
“No, I don't. Will Graham is driven by vanity and his own whims. He has a very high opinion of his intelligence. Ergo, he caught the other killers simply to prove he is smarter than all of them, too. Saving lives is just as arousing as ending them. He likes to play God.” Chilton smiles. Certain in his damning testimony.
BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM'S CELL - DAY-
Will Graham lies on his bunk. Somewhere off, a demented soul begins screaming in a repetitive wail. A mind in torment. Will stares into the ceiling as the wailing continues, unabated... Will closes his eyes. The cell block lies in darkness. Silence. A SUDDEN hollow CLANG as the bolt slides back in the CELL DOOR. Will Graham's EYES OPEN. Instantly awake. He looks to the cell door, which slowly opens. An invitation.
BSHCI - CELL BLOCK - NIGHT-
A sound rises -- the hollow CLOP of hooves. Will peers and sees the BLACK STAG, night on night, as it slowly fades into the shadows at the end of the hall. Will follows it into the darkness, past empty cells, toward the end of the cell block where he can now see the GATE stands open. Will peers into the NURSES' STATION. Empty. Will walks toward the open GATE and up the stairs beyond.
“Will?” Will turns to see Hannibal, amidst the shadows, standing at the door of his cell, pointing him back inside. A KLAXON SOUNDS, harsh in the silent dark. now behind Perspex. He is --
BSHCI - PRIVACY ROOM - DAY-
Hannibal and Y/N stand outside the doors. Will shackled to the table within. The doors open and Y/N and Hannibal both ENTER. He pulls Y/N a seat then sits and pushes a file across the table to Will.
It slides across the table until it COMES INTO FOCUS. It's a wide shot of the BURNED HOME of Andrew Sykes -- his body on the stag's head in all its glory. Will looks at Hannibal, long and slow. Then he pulls the photo toward him, shackle chains rattling on the table. “My admirer?”
“What do you see?” He begins reading a forensic report and then turns back to the image of the crime scene: A WIDE SHOT of the burned room. Will grabs my Hand and closes his eyes. I've realized we ground each other in our moments like these. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. I close my eyes as I feel his thumb stroking my hand.
IN THE DARKNESS OF HIS MIND, A PENDULUM SWINGS. FWUM. The PENDULUM is now outside his head. It swings, wiping away Hannibal. FWUM. And the privacy room PLUNGES INTO DARKNESS. The CRIME SCENE PHOTO FILLS FRAME. Pull up and away from it to reveal Will STANDING IN DARKNESS. HE NOW STANDS IN THE ROOM in the picture, pre-fire/pre-murder. Hiding in shadow. We are --
BAILIFF'S HOUSE - NIGHT-
The bailiff ‘Y/N’ enters in her uniform, turning on a light. His Mind is playing tricks on him again, a cruel trick but a trick indeed. She sees Will. She KNOWS Will.
The STAG's HEAD stands in the center of the room. The bailiff looks confused. Before she can speak – “I shoot Mr. Sykes once, collapsing lungs, tearing through his heart's aorta and pulmonary arteries.” Will Graham raises a silenced handgun and SHOOTS the bailiff ‘Y/N’ square in the chest.
“He will die believing we were friends. It is his last thought.” The bailiff's face falls in shock and blood blooms on the chest of her uniform... Will moves to the dying bailiff and, as she would fall, Will grabs him. LIFTS HER BODILY as Will swings Her, high and hard, down onto the stag's head. RAMP back to NORMAL SPEED as the antlers burst brutally from the bailiff's chest...
“His death isn't personal.” Will's hand, gloved, removes WILL'S POCKET KNIFE from the evidence bag. He stands over the gruesome dead bailiff ‘Y/N’. Will's face knots in effort as he starts to cut, ETCHING a GLASGOW SMILE. “He is merely the ink from which flows my poem.” He stands to reveal he has now cut off the RIGHT EAR. As it drops into an EVIDENCE BAG --“My tribute. This is my design.” Will Graham stares down at his work.
BSHCI - PRIVACY ROOM - DAY -
Will Graham as he looks up from the photographs to Hannibal stroking the back of a hyperventilating Y/N. Her Head buried into the crook of his neck. Obviously coming out of a panic attack. Will looks worried and goes to say something but Hannibal shakes his head.
“It's not the same killer. He murdered his victim first, then mutilated him. Whether it's me he thinks he's copying or someone else, that's not how we roll.”
“How do you roll?”
“Cassie Boyle's lungs were removed when she was still breathing. Georgia Madchen was burned alive. What I found of Abigail was cut off while her heart was beating.”
“Then this is blunt reproduction?” Hannibal asks as he runs his fingers soothingly up and down Y/N's Spine. “You knew that already.” Will responds as he watches Hannibal's hands on his lover's body. “Would've liked to have been wrong.” Hannibal says as he watches Will’s eyes curiously.
“Occam's broom. You intentionally ignored facts that refute your argument and hoped nobody noticed.” Will says with a raised brow. “You noticed. I wanted to dispel your doubts once and for all.” Hannibal admits as he strokes Y/N's Hair, “My doubts about what?”
“Me. I want you to believe in the best of me, Will. Just as I believe in the best of you. This crime offered us both reasonable doubt.”
“It offered us a distraction.”
“Maybe this acolyte has given you your path to freedom. Even Jack Crawford is ready to believe, Will.” Hannibal suggests
“It would be a lie.”
“No greater than the lie that binds you here, that claims you are guilty.” That lands on Will. “I must admit to selfish motives. I don't want you to be here.” Hannibal says shamelessly. “I don't want me to be here, either.” Will says as he reaches a hand to stroke Y/Ns arm, (Because that's what he could reach).
“Then you have a choice. This killer wrote you a poem, Will. Are you going to let his love go to waste?” Hannibal says as he smirks on the inside as he smells the sweet aroma of Y/N’s hair. WILL GRAHAM ponders that choice as he Looks at his lover, His Butterfly --
BSHCI - PRIVACY ROOM - DAY-
Y/N is mid-discussion with Will Graham and Leonard Brauer. “We were heading one direction and now, we are heading another.” Brauer says with an enthusiastic smirk. “You're going to abandon your defense strategy, the entire case you've built... mid-trial.” I say flabbergasted at the current situation.
“Exciting, isn't it?” Brauer says without a care. “This seems reasonable to you?” I ask completely and utterly once again Flabbergasted. “Not only reasonable, fashionable. There's a killer on the loose, demonstrating all the hallmarks of Will Graham's alleged murders. Somebody out there likes you.” Brauer says as he turns his attention to Will.
“You suffered an illness whose brutality was matched only by its perversity. This happened to you, Will. We all saw it happen. Me and Hannibal saw the most.” I say as I grasp his hand softly.
“I didn't see all of it.” Will says as he strokes my hand with his thumb. “I didn't see any of it.” Brauer says as I eye Brauer and decide to remain calm.
“It was cruel. And it was real. Do you think this killer committed the murders you're accused of?” I ask Will seriously, now i dont think this killer committed Will’s ‘Crimes’. But I do think another killer did. “Don't answer that. Not in front of me. It's inconsequential.” Brauer says as he shook his head.
“But is it true?” I ask, “You're being awfully high and mighty, Dr. L/N. Adorable, but high and mighty. Very ivory tower. Very reductive. Very far from the point, which is the exoneration of your ‘friend’ Will Graham.” What the actual hell is that supposed to mean.
“And the point you're trying to make is reasonable doubt.” I say incredulously, “That's a win.” Brauer smirks. “Best you can hope for is mistrial.” I say confused at his motive. “Will Graham's alive. Also a win.”
“You won't be able to plead unconsciousness again.” I say worried about this. I dont want anything bad to happen to Will. I don't know what I would do if something did. “Your fast, triumphant diagnosis of unconsciousness was the best play we had. Now we have a better play. Needless to say, I won't be calling you to take the witness stand.”
“Who's taking the stand in my place?” I ask confused, I’m Will’s partner. What the hell is this fucker on about.
COURTHOUSE - COURTROOM - DAY -
Hannibal’s Eyes are straight ahead. As he walks forward – We hear the hollow CLOP of hooves coming closer... Will turns his head and sees only Hannibal in his smart suit as he moves past and toward the witness stand. Stay on Will.
“I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God…” Will turns
Brauer stands before Hannibal Lecter. “Describe your relationship with Will Graham.”
“I was asked by Jack Crawford to monitor Will's emotional well-being while he consulted on cases. I was never officially his psychiatrist.”
“If you weren't his psychiatrist, what were you?”
.
“I was meant to be another part of Will's stability. I failed him in that.”
“How did you fail?”
“I was unable to determine if Will's condition was due to mental illness or stress from his work at the FBI.” Hannibal looks straight at Will. Holds his gaze. Jack and Y/N are in the gallery. Prurnell to one side of them. “My mistake was never considering his innocence. Until the murder of a bailiff from this courthouse.” Hannibal looks at Will and then at Jack. In the gallery, Prurnell turns to Jack Crawford. Hannibal locks eyes with Will. “How do you know this, Dr. Lecter?”
“I have been asked to consult on the case by Jack Crawford. He wanted a profile of the bailiff's killer.”
“You believe the bailiff's murder was committed by the same person guilty of Will Graham's alleged crimes?”
Marion Vega stands. “Profiles aren't evidence, they're opinion. This is hearsay.”
“I'll allow it.”
“Thank you, your honor.”
“I believe there are alarming similarities in the crimes.” Hannibal says as he looks at the judge. “Will Graham accused you of the crimes for which he stands trial. And yet, here you are, testifying on his behalf for the defense.”
“Will rightfully couldn't accept these actions as his own. A mind faced with the possibility of committing such deeds finds an alternative reality to believe in.”
“You don't blame him for that?”
“No. Will Graham is and will always be my friend.” Hannibal holds Will's gaze. “Your witness.”
Vega stands. “Dr. Lecter, what was the cause of death in the bailiff's murder?”
“A bullet to the heart.”
“And Will Graham's victims, alleged victims? Their cause of death?”
“Mutilation.”
“That's different than a bullet.”
“No two crimes of any killer are going to be exactly the same.” Hannibal says as he looks to Y/N, she’s looking at Him. Hoping that he does not damn her lover, Her partner. “Is it common for a killer's mode of operation to be wildly divergent?”
“Not common. Not unheard of either.”
“Your honor, the witness's personal beliefs and biases are driving his conclusions. These are clearly two different killers, two different cases. The prejudicial impact outweighs the probative value.”
“There is sufficient similarity to consider this defense on the issue.” Brauer says as he stands.
“I'm ruling this defense inadmissable, Mr. Brauer. All previous testimony on the matter will be stricken from the record.” Judge Davies says. “Thank you, your honor.” Jack, Y/N react to the finality of the judge's statement. Hannibal glances at Will, an apology, then averts his eyes.
COURTHOUSE - HALLWAY - MORNING-
JANITOR pushing a motorized circular floor scrubber down the hall. He wears headphones and tinny ROCK MUSIC can be heard. He stops at the doors to our courtroom. Pushes them open and FLICKS ON THE LIGHTS. They illuminate the room and the janitor GASPS!
Where the mighty seal once adorned the wall behind the bench, a terrible sight now is revealed. Judge Davies -- MUTILATED, hanging suspended from the hook that once held up the heavy plaque. His arms out sideways in a Christlike pose, supported by a wooden rod. He has been made into the iconic statue of Justice -- the top of his head is missing and bandages cover his eyes. He is holding a set of scales in one hand.
Judge Davies’s BRAIN sits in one scale, his HEART in the other. The janitor stands, stunned, the tinny music still rapping a beat against his ears…
COURTHOUSE - COURTROOM - DAY-
A CRIME SCENE in progress. Katz, Price and Zeller are processing the dead judge, Jack observing. Hannibal and Y/N are walking down the aisle, awestruck by the tableau. “Not only is justice blind, it is mindless and heartless.” Hannibal says as he looks ahead, I nod my head “No kidding” I say as I gaze at the macabre beauty of the literal metaphor of the image before me.
“Judge was killed in his chambers, then hauled out here for display.” Jack says as he approaches me and Hannibal. “How did the killer get so close?” Hannibal asks. “There was no signs of a struggle. Mutilation was postmortem.” Bev says as she points it out.
“He was shot in the chest just like the bailiff. Can't find the entry wound because he removed the heart.” Zeller says from beside the body. “But there's an exit wound. No slug. Must have took it with him.” Jimmy says smiling like he almost always is. “A trophy.” I say as Jack averts his eyes from the death tableau. He speaks privately to Hannibal and I:
“I didn't know how much I wanted this to end, until it didn't. No verdict. No ending. It starts over. Right from the beginning. Like the trial never happened. Why?” Jack asks us, the psychiatrists.
“Psychopathic violence is predominantly goal-oriented, a means to a very particular end.” Hannibal says and i nod in agreement. “The killer wanted a mistrial?” Jack asks with furrowed brows.
“It's an elegant, if rather unorthodox, solution.” I say with a straight face and honestly im quite satisfied with the result because I now have more time to prove Will’s Innocence. “To what?” Jack asks me and Hannibal.
“He spared Will a guilty verdict and, for the moment, spared Will's life.” I say calmly and I feel shivers up my spine as Hannibal’s Hand grazes my lower back. “Is this the same killer? Or is Will still on trial in your mind?” Jack asks Hannibal, “I feel like St. Peter, denying Will a third time. Like you, I fear my hopes about him were wrong. I don't think it's the same killer.” Hannibal says as He looks past him and Jack turns to see Kade Prurnell in the doorway to the court. Taking in the terrible sight.
“Excuse me.” Jack leaves Hannibal and me and goes to join her in the doorway to the court. They are silhouetted in the doorframe, as the crime scene work continues behind them.
BAU - FORENSICS LAB - DAY-
A WEB PAGE clicks up on screen. "Murda-bilia." It is a website dealing in murder memorabilia -- killers' signatures, former belongings, etc.: amateurish paintings, handwritten notes, creepy vials, that sort of thing. Jimmy Price turns away from the screen to reveal Jack, Y/N and Hannibal with Zeller and Katz.
“You want a signed Gacy painting, this is the guy who'll get you it. Name's Jonathan Mullion. I went through all of the bailiff's email traffic. Three messages he replied to were using a nym server which furnishes an untraceable address.” Jimmy says with a amused smile.
“Belonging to this guy Mullion.” Jack says as Beverly Katz looks at Jack, Hannibal, and Y/N. “We found an old partial print in Sykes's house. Not enough points to stand up in court, but it came back to Mullion. He was arrested for breaking into a murder scene and stealing artifacts.” Bev says as Zeller points to a report.
“Look at the date, Jack.” Zeller says as Jack looks at the report. His face falls. “Mullion was arrested in Florida. Same day Cassie Boyle was killed. There's no way he was in Minnesota.”
“Will Graham was in Minnesota.” Zeller says and i scoff, “Me and Hannibal were also in Minnesota when Cassie Boyle was murdered. But i don't see anyone throwing accusations at us.” I say angrily at Zeller. Jack looks at Hannibal. Saddened. “We got an address?”
MULLION'S APARTMENT - NIGHT-
A weird, dim single-room-occupancy apartment. We SLOWLY PAN over the walls and see strange outsider art- type stuff, amateurish paintings, handwritten notes, creepy vials; it’s serial killer memorabilia. A desk sits amid the clutter. A green glow from the laptop that sits above it. The SCREEN SAVER winks: "JUST SAYING HI TO THE FBI." Take in the crumpled paper on the desktop.
Y/N, Hannibal, Zeller, Price and Katz are now in the room. Zeller, Price and Katz are
cataloging evidence. Beverly hands Jack a bound book. He opens it. Monograph on Time of Death by Insect Activity, by Will Graham. It is signed by the author. Jack sighs deeply. Hannibal stands over the laptop. Looks at the message winking on there.
“Poor Will. I fear his new friend has condemned him.” Hannibal moves away from the laptop. Just like that, as if by magic, a pair of folded EYEGLASSES sits by the laptop. Hannibal walks to the foreground as, behind him, we hear --
“Are these the judge's eyeglasses?”
BSHCI - PRIVACY ROOM - DAY -
A shaft of light. Will's hand wafts through it, turns as if to catch the light. Y/N sits opposite him. “I was hoping a verdict would've Helped. I can't exactly blame your lawyer.”
“Faith in any sort of legal justice has never been any more comforting than a nightlight.” Will says as he gazes Lovingly at me.“There are so many miscarriages of justice when it comes to identifying psychopaths. You could have easily been misdiagnosed.” I say as I bring my chair next to him rather than opposite of him. I’m tired of being away from him. “I've already been misdiagnosed.”
“Not by the court.”
“Not yet.”
“How are you feeling, Will?” I ask as I brush his hair out of his face with my fingers.
“I'm numb except for dreading the loss of numbness. I walked out of that courtroom and I could hear my blood like a hollow drumming of wings. I had the absurd feeling whoever this killer is, he walked out of that courtroom with me.” Will says as he places a hand on my thigh. “He didn't.”
“He's going to reach out to me.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants to know me. What do you want?” He strokes my Thigh softly. She considers the question before answering simply: “I want you.” I say softly as i look him in the eyes as a single tear falls.
#hannibal nbc#hannigram#hannibal x reader#fem!reader#hannigram x reader#will graham x reader#twistedminds
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Holiday Tickle
one of my most favorite things I've written ~! I would just reblog it from my old Tumblr but since that has been flagged into near dust I'm posting a fresh copy, with a few added teases ❤️
A lively fire burned on the hearth, nestled under a lovely mantle adorned with a little Christmas village, a fluffy band of garland, and two stockings. Off to one side was a beautiful big chair with golden edges and red cushions, positioned just right to have the perfect aura of warmth from the fireplace. Maggie sat with endless contentment on this chair, her absolute favorite in the house. In one hand, her red acrylic nails grasped the stem of a wine glass, half-full with the deep red liquid. Taking a sniff and allowing the chocolate-y nose to waft in her nostrils, she proceeded to finish the glass in two large gulps.
Carefully placing the wine glass on the nearby end table and refilling it to the top, Maggie scooted against the tall back of the chair, fixing the red stocking cap which sat atop her long raven-black hair. The bold red was a perfect color match to her sleeveless top, which was scooped to show a bit of her ample cleavage, and was accented with a shiny black belt around her waist. The wide black belt hugging her luxurious curves, decorated with a big silver-tone buckle, was in turn, a match to her plain black skirt, which stopped just above the knees of her pleasingly plump legs. But neither color matched the guy sitting on her lap, who squirmed in anticipation as she refilled her glass.
He wore nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts over his tall, slender form. His arms were bound in front of him with a string of Christmas lights, from his wrists to his elbows. Atop his head of long beautiful light brown hair was a black headband, which had reindeer antlers sprouting from either side. He might have protested such an accessory, has mouth not been covered with a red silk scarf, elegantly tied in a bow over his lips. Maggie had her right arm slung around his back, her fingers holding his side tight as she took another drink from her glass before setting it on the table, turning her hazel eyes to his ice blues. Humming a melody softly, she then began singing Sleigh Ride in a lovely soprano.
"Just hear those sleigh bells jingle-ing
Ring ting tickling too!
Come on, it's lovely weather
For a goochie-goo together with you!"
Gradually gaining speed with her words, she began gently squeezing his side with her nails, her left hand now gracefully stroking and poking his belly button as she continued the next verse. He mumbled an "mmpph!" through his gag.
"Outside the snow is falling
And my fingers are calling 'tickly tooooo'
Come on, it's lovely weather
For a goochie-goo together with you!"
He flopped in her grip, breaking out in muffled giggles as she delighted in touching every square millimeter of his soft and smooth tummy. His defiance and resistance through the gag to her tickles only further emboldened her touchy teasing. As she continued, she began bumping her legs up and down in time with her song.
"Giddy-yap giddy-yap giddy-yap
Let's gooooooo
Let's look at those knees
You're riding on a wonderland of glee"
Maggie moved her left hand down to squeeze his hairless legs just above the knees, chuckling as he kicked in protest against the side of the chair. Her right hand moved down slightly, grasping and tickling at his side and hip at the same time. He blushed as he noticed her gaze trailing down to the bulge growing in his underwear, and caught him as he was trying to reach for it. Shifting her hands, she moved her right hand up, and snatched his arms by the green cord binding them.
"Giddy-yap giddy-yap giddy-yap it's grand
Just holding your hands
I'm gliding along with this song
Of wintry tickly land!"
As one hand held his arms up, the other freely explored his tender underarms, nails gliding along the pristine skin and fluttering about. His laughter seeped through the scarf, body bucking against her lap. She eventually slowed, released his bound appendages, and reached over at the table. Continuing her tune, Maggie dipped a blusher brush in a container of pink powder, and began merrily applying it to his cheeks with a big smile. He struggled on her lap, squealing as she put the scented makeup on his cheeks.
"Your cheeks are nice and rosy
And comfy cozy are we
We're snuggled up together like a boy
And girl with a feather would be"
Exchanging the supple brush for a long fluffy white feather, Maggie again held her toy tight as she drew long strokes over his chest with her tool. He squirmed, rolling back and forth on her lap, trying to avoid the soft instrument. His tummy twitched madly as that supple tip probed for tickle spots stroking about and dipping into his bouncy navel.
"Let's take the road before us
And sing a chorus or two
Come on, it's lovely weather
For a goochie-goo together with you"
When she began running the feather over his neck, he rolled hard against her, then squealed as the cold metal of her oversized belt buckle touched his abdomen. Maggie laughed and held him tight against it with one hand by the small of his back, the other briskly running its fingertips up and down his side. His muffled laughs grew louder, body thrashing around like a wild fish. His tush was given playful pinches and spanks as she made him flop endlessly. She then let him roll back as she gently rubbed his nape, her other hand trailing down his chest and midsection.
"There's a tickle party at the home of lovely… me!
It'll be the perfect ending of a perfect day
I'll be singing the songs I love to sing without a single stop
At the fireplace while I watch your boners pop
Pop! Pop! Pop!"
She sang, her index finger’s nail tip lightly rubbing the peak of his swell. He moaned softly at her touch, wanting to roll but lying perfectly still as she kept him on the edge. He wanted her touch so badly, wanted to press to her curvy chest and just wanted her so badly now he took every tease she gave. Drawing a finger back and forth along the waistband of his underwear and rubbing his back, she leaned in close to sing the next verse.
"There's a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy
When you pass out on my lap and there you'll lie
It'll nearly be like a picture print by Currier and Ives…"
Maggie suddenly shifted her grip and attacked his sides and belly, wildly spidering her nails all over his sensitive skin. Each tickly tickly nail tip setting off spastic explosions on his tum. She could barely contain her laughs through her song, utterly delighted at how he giggle gasped so desperately. Her fingers slid down to roll thumbs on his hips and glide into the dips making his hardness bounce for her amusement.
"These tickly things are the things
We remember all through our lives
These tickly things are the things
We remember all through our liiiiiiiiives"
As she kept him squirming and laughing loudly with one hand, she retrieved the blush brush with the other and began moved it towards his cheeks again, but then diverted with a smirk and began dusting his nipples. They quickly became as pink as his cheeks as they were doused with the soft powder.
"Your nips are nice and rosy
And comfy cozy are we
We're snuggled up together like a boy
And girl with a feather would be"
Maggie reveled in his reaction, his body writhing as he giggled and arched his hips upward, the hardness between his legs reaching maximum capacity. She grinned and tossed the brush back on the table, picked up a bottle of lotion, squirted a generous helping into one palm and began rubbing her hands together right in front of his face, flashing a devilishly horny grin. He threw his head back and moaned as she slipped one hand under his boxers and immediately seized his stiff member. The lubrication on her soft hands tickled and teased and aroused in an enveloping cocoon, shocking his system through the tickles but slow enough to keep him from immediately losing control. While her other hand alternated between swiftly rubbing a nipple and grabbing his side, she softly sang the last verse as a contrast to his dramatic sounds and bucks.
"Let's take the road before us
And sing a chorus or two
Come on, it's lovely weather
For a goochie-goo together with you."
She pumped methodically, her soft hands gliding up and down squeezing knowingly at the base and working up to his tip to stroke the underside with rapid tickles before going back down. He quivered, alternating moans and laughs through his gag as she continued to graze her nails on his midsection with spidery tickles. Her technique was finely honed and worked his body like an instrument designed to accompany her song.
"Lovely weather
For a goochie-goo together with you…"
She repeated once more, her singing now fading into a gentle hum of the melody. Feeling the imminence of his release, she changed her method, starting with a pump at the base of the shaft, then rubbing the foreskin and tip between her thumb and index finger as she reached the top. Her tickles never relented though, wiggling her shiny red nails over his belly, along his waist and hips, and ever-attacking his sides before circling his nipples with taps on the tips.
After just a few of these maneuvers, he cried out, thrusting on her lap. Maggie smiled wide, casually pulling a few tissues from the table. Catching his milky discharge with the tissues, she continued humming, lovingly giving his stiffness a final slow pump. She milked him mercilessly, flashing a knowing smile he knew she meant to make sure she got it all out. He fell limp on her lap as she cleaned up the excess, pulling down his undies and tossing them aside. Maggie untied his gag and guided his head against her bosom. She held him gently against her curves. Her free hand gently massaging his thin form with sensual deliberate tickles up and down his side and back, as her melodious sounds grew softer and softer. He thrashed and squeaked but soon quieted, his breaths on her chest slowing~
At least, until she reached for mr wand and began humming up her rendition of Carol of the Bells~
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bride of Discord Rewritten Chapter 15: since my last confession
Please note that this chapter may be more mature in writing than the other chapters. It is SAFE FOR WORK, but I'm bad at writing in a lighter tone, or simplistically. That isn't a brag that's bad.
Limp.
The body of discord hung from a slab of wood, surely A hybrid piano chair; Unsupported- hanging high above the consciousness. Awake in the dream relm. Of course he has wandered into the holes amongst the walls, scurrying and nibbling on the fleshy wrinkles incessantly, not bothered to even wipe his sniveling maw. Morally upstanding ponies dare not question their ineptitude, nor acknowledge or even ever be aware of the lingering sense of freedom he has and cannot possibly show remorse for.
No reason to.
How good would their malformed jaws feel when they spit out the bridle, tore the blinders away? He'd never know. They wouldn't let him know. They envied his innate love for everything and they were none the wiser.
Discord was a relative young being, he never went to high school, he uh, spawned around the same time as Celestia. He assumes. She was always older than him but probably not by much. Maybe he appeared to balance the chaos/science scale. Who cared. Discord was alive. Luna was older than him. He likes Luna, she didn't bother to change they way she spoke.
All that reputation-building from Celestia as Luna was caught in the midst of her adolescence chained to the moon. When old Celestia, pedestal Celestia, oh, pristine pure celestial, Celestia the CLEAN SCUM FILTH! when she revised the world to her whim where was Luna but surrounded by her beautiful night she couldn't even touch!
It didn't seem that simple anymore for discord. Where other ponies couldn't see how, for lack of a better word, beautiful and horrible his chaos was, fluttershy could breathe it. For a species of one, discord could see the simplistic contentedness normalcy. Celestia loved Luna more than she loved her sun. Luna appreciates the reclaimed love from her subjects, her colleagues, her equals. Her sister, her return to being a good pony.
Discord slumped down chair, cascading into a cheese wheel, before eating his way out, still scratching his beard. He fell downward towards the floor, his body smooth slithering down the... air.
He lay on the floor as everything around him spun. Backwards, slow motion, becoming 2D, 4D, fractals and organic shapes. It always came back to two shapes. One being a cane, the other... a silly shape. Like a spade..
"you shouldn't have her out like that. Shell waltz off!"
"She's grown."
"hey moron? You hear me? I know you do, I'm you! Haven't spoke to me in a bit!"
"Didn't need to."
The mirror hovered above him, trimmed in lead. Just a block. It didn't used to be. Had leaf detailings, with figs serving the vines a long heel. It clinked in tinked and sparkled like an icy windchime. Now it was just a block.
"newsflash: YOU DO!" The reflection maimed his ears. "I mean, who do you think you are, shutting out me? I'm yourself, I always will be!"
"no you won't."
Defiance. Dissent. How infuriating to have something flipped on you, that you wouldn't think would irritate you.
"I think you need to-"
"YOU DON'T THINK ANYTHING!" Discord boomed from the floor. Everything fell, clattering to the linoleum and wood.
"YOU'RE NOTHING WITHOUT MY THOUGHTS AND I DONT THINK OF YOU ANYMORE!"
The reflection grew big and tore through the walls. Stones crushed the atmosphere.
"NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU WANDER YOUR MIND AND TRY TO ORGANISE THE SCAPES-DONT YOU KNOW WHY THEY DONT STAY THAT WAY?! DO YOU POSSIBLY THINK SOME IMBECILIC STINT IN YOUR LIFE WILL POSSIBLY CHANGE YOUR NATURE??!!"
nature. What a joke. He is nature. Nature was to love. And he loved this life. This mind. This unorganized mish-mash of her.
The antler fell off of the reflection. that was what he was, nothing more. It didn't even have all of its features anymore, just misshapen and unfamiliar orifices.
"You're not high and mighty because that one horse out of billions wants to, perhaps, NOT kill you!"
"because I deserve it! She deserves it! You're nothing more to me but a shard of glass I threw out for not reflecting!"
The nose Sloughed off of the reflection. As did the teeth and the fur.
"and that's just it! I had no reason to listen to that! How easy to make you- no, IT break with just thinking different! You hold nothing over me! DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE NOTHING!! THIS REFLECTION IS NOTHING! YOU'RE GONE UF I SAY YOU ARE!!!"
The reflection shouted as the feathers slid off like melting wax, screeching as its very covering slithered form the body in a green glinting madness, leaving just bone that turned to dust.
Discord watched in horror, chucking the mirror furiously into the wall, watching a single shard embed itself into the stone. He covered his face as the ice ricochets towards him at mach speeds. A hail of glass that used to mean something. The sound resounded throughout the empty room, a great clattering, a metal bar slamming against the tile and then tinkling gently as the clear dust settled.
He didn't need this.
All of it. The kidnapping, the contract- it was worthless to him. She shouldn't even want to look at him again, after all of this. He couldn't just use her to become better and leave her with nothing? He had to make it right. Nothing he could give her could match the profound gift he received, ever.
Discord swirled in on himself, wrapped into a protective shell. Glass snow hovered above him idly. His eyes set on the ponies as they jabbered on beyond the door he peeped through.
"Don't be ridiculous, Applejack, she just said they were best friends!" Ouch. Why did he feel so hurt?
"He's fun and all, "but you can't really-" ouch!
He was just fun. I couldn't possibly be loved. He shook the thought from his head. How ridiculous! He was fun! She just couldn't see past that because she doesn't know him...
"Fluttershy, you can't be serious! He tried to take over Equestria! Three times!"
It didn't feel like him.
"He practically keeps you prisoner!"
But he cannot deny the accusations.
"He threatened the princesses!"
Every word made him Sick to his stomach.
"He beat me at Twister!"
And it was a damn challenge!
"GET OFF HER FLANK!!!"
...
The baby. He stood up, levitating. Another of him, standing short and twittering above the young mares, defending him. Sharing with him what he knew since he was born, what growing up with ponies taught him despite it being so uncomfortable to be told.
Discord knew he had a heart, because now it was aching. It wasn't jealousy, it wasn't spite at the young thing that pulled at his tear ducts uselessly. It was the relief that the baby dragon grew up with something he couldn't possibly imagine having all his life.
A commandment of love.
And he knew the ponies were right. And he knew the dragon was wise beyond his years. And he knew that fluttershy deserves to be around the love she grew up with.
Kimono told to him of the most powerful gift to grant on another.
#this chapter was not in the original series#it was made by me as an addition that made more sense than the intended chapter within the context of my rendition#mlp fim#my little pony#friendship is magic#mlp#fluttershy#bride of discord#bride of discord rewritten#discord#kimono mlp#one shot#fluttercord#short read#chapter 15#angst
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Shadow
You were beautiful.
An open defiance. A proud monument to my atrocity.
You twisted yourself into my worst nightmare, and my most precious fantasy.
You manipulated me into manipulating you into manipulating me. We were a self-perpetuating cyclone of disgusting passion and perfect hatred.
You led me on and tortured me because you knew I wanted you to.
I watched from behind my own eyes as I sculpted you into a beautiful beast of inverted stars and twisted antlers and withered branches and black tentacles that invaded every space between every atom of my mind.
It can be comforting and terrifying when the loudest voice in your head is your own.
I used you to construct a narrative that would give you meaning beyond that which I was willing to accept.
This is how it always was. I knew this. I always knew this. I knew because I was always just talking to myself.
With all my heart and every fiber of my being,
I love you.
I hate you.
I want you.
I’ll fucking kill you.
Forever and ever.
#inspired by the books you can find in Ultrakill#particularly the one you find on the earth over#poetry#shadow work#witchcraft
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
I want to have Wilderness/Antler Queen be an actual thing and Doomed by narrative girl kills it as final act of fate defiance.
After that, team gets saved and trying to live normal lifes :p
Focus of story would be on the Doomed girl, who... Now struggles with her acquired God complex :p Her compulsion to control life of her family and manipulate... Literally everyone around her.
Her wife, who... Struggles with having her own separate identity, fearing to make her own decisions and most often than not letting Doomed girl make decisions for her.
And they daughter, who was born back in the wilderness, but lived most of her life in normal world. She slowly learns how truly fucked up her mothers lifes out there were :p
Sounds cool and kinda fucked up I like it
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Short: A Sparring Concert
A window-vibrating musical howl shook the shopping district of Pentagram City, as something swooped low over the crowded sidewalk. The sinners in the streets yelped and shrieked at the disturbance, and the animate flood of living shadows that tumbled like windblown leaves in pursuit.
"IT'S THE RADIO DEMON!" someone screamed, and cries of terror went up along the street in a dopperling wave of fear that chased the surge of darkness churning along the streets. As the shopping district spilled into the entertainment hub of the city, the vocalizing airborne being at the head of the living wave of shadows alit atop a brightly-illuminated roof.
The neon lights of the casino signage made a spotlight-bedecked stage, and the winged demon turned in time with a musical sting that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The ground thrummed with the beat of bass, the glass pinged and crackled in time with the melody that was amping up around the onlookers, and before their startled eyes, the teenager in the tailcoat manifested a gleaming microphone and sang out a challenge to his pursuer.
The frantic terror attempting to seize the sinners in the streets wavered at the sight with the uncertain wobble of a precariously balanced brick. The Radio Demon’s son? What was this? What was happening? Why was he singing?
The shadows warped and wrapped their way up from the ground, slithering up the wall of the building opposite the casino to transform into the antler-crowned menace who haunted the nightmares of even the most stalwart of sinners. The Radio Demon's eyes glowed like potent hellfire, and his grin rippled into a wideness that made ones jaw ache to look upon it. With a gesture, he answered the nervy teenager's shout of defiance with a volley of spears made of ichor.
The audience’s confused gasps were answered by a gleaming wall of diamond musical notes popped into existence like mini starbursts in time with the song that the teen was singing. It was a raucous, energetic rock song with a metal edge, turning heads even without the splashy firefight that accompanied it.
The spears burst apart as they collided with the wall, and the teenaged demon gestures grandly as an attack of his own lanced into being: a series of arcing, nearly electrical tones that surged towards the Radio Demon, blooming into club-shaped explosions as his shadows repelled them.
This was… a show?
A few of the younger demons cheered as the bridge of the song, accompanied by an up-tempo swing in the music and a series of eye-catching flares of potent Energy, came from the casino roof.
Someone held up a hellphone, broadcasting footage of this strange musical battle to the Internet. Soon it was joined by another, then another. Soon an almost 180 degree spread of the battle was live and tracking astronomical views as Alastor and his son faced off in a flashy, choreographed battle with an improvised soundtrack.
It hardly mattered that anyone who had ever seen the Radio Demon fight before could tell that he wasn’t going all out. The spectacle of the pair facing off, set against the backdrop of the infamous Luck’s Paw casino, had more than enough showmanship to keep the audience hooked.
Sharp-eyed viewers noted the proprietor of the place standing on the roof, a softly glowing cigar clenched in his teeth as he watched the show carefully from the shadows.
The younger demon was reaching the crescendo of his song, and the Energy building in his frame was reflected by the unholy golden shimmer that shuddered through him as he sang. In its wake his eyes glowed, the small buds atop his head burst into a pair of stubby antlers, and the black markings inside his upraised wings blazed in a molten relief that played merry havoc with the light sensors on the watching hellphone cameras.
A circle-like shape manifested behind the boy, an eight-pocketed roulette wheel with alternating card suits. As Chance roared out a great swell of song, it began to spin. Alastor’s grin of amusement sharpened into a gleam of what could have been actual battle lust.
Chance abruptly collapsed, mid-note. The glowing roulette wheel fractured and disappeared as the teenagers body gave in to exhaustion and he fell backwards onto the casino roof.
Alastor teleported himself to the boy as Husk hurried over to their son. Confused and disappointed shouts came from the ground below.
“Is he..?”
Husk did worry so over the child, but Alastor was smiling in gentle wonder when he answered.
“Not to worry. He’s just over exerted himself my love,” Alastor replied with a soft chuckle of relief. “This was only a preview of things to come! Once his stamina matches his ambition, I believe we shall truly be putting on a show!”
Husk’s alarm faded to warm relief that glowed from his amber eyes like the purest gold, making the dark heart-shaped markings over them stand out all the more. It was a sight that set Alastor’s soul aflame with adoration anew every time he saw it. How was it possible to find himself pulled further and further into this glorious madness at every turn?
He leaned forward, placing a kiss on the spot between the marks and staking his claim again on the precious treasure that he’d won.
“Best let our audience know the show’s over then, my dearest love,” he teased. “After all, this is your stage.”
Husk grumbled put a good-natured complaint at being saddled with the chore as he stood. He lingered for a moment, regarding the exhausted teen slumped in the Radio Demon’s arms. The warmth was spilling from him again in a gentle current of gingery flames.
Before Alastor could remark on the sight, Husk was speaking again.
“Heh… The kid’s gonna be embarrassed to find out he flubbed his act in front of an audience like this.” He chuckled, no doubt imagining the flocking hoards of distressed complaints sure to follow the reveal. “How will he ever survive, Al? It’ll be the end of the world, for sure.”
“A rite of passage for any new performer,” the Radio Demon sniffed at the playful mockery. “Fortunate for him that we are prepared to assess this with assurances that the stage is set, and with some rehearsal, well! It shall be something that this world has never seen the likes of! I’ll be delighted to assist him with that practice, no matter the spectacle.”
“He’s your son, after all.” Husk’s knowing, droll look shattered to a flush-faced, wavering grin when Alastor replied.
“And yours, as well.”
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel alastor#radiohusk#hazbin hotel au#radiohusk chance#fan character#radiohusk au#alastor x husk#hazbin hotel oc#hazbin hotel fanfiction#husk#alastor#my aus#hearts proximity au
14 notes
·
View notes
Note
God, Thrasher's expression while stuck to Deepdark's horns was chilling, contorted in a grin, almost like he died laughing, like he was offering himself to Deepdark as sacrifice. He didn't even try and scheme or do a proper coup or anything, he just walked up to the fucking murder dear like it was a dark souls boss and he had multiple tries. It's hard to think this was someone who could manipulate others or even put up a veneer of being charming, guess he bought the Defiance ideology a little too hard
Here's a closeup of Thrasher's face when he's impaled on the antlers!
In drawing him this issue, I wanted to emphasize just how unhinged he became after Magpie and Partridge ran away, and how thoroughly he bought into his own self-image as the "true disciple" of Defiance's power and idealogy. Comparing him in this issue, versus when he first appeared in Issue 13 fantasizing about killing Deepdark:
He's still got that same grin, and hunger in his eyes, but he looks much more manic and wild now.
153 notes
·
View notes
Text
Blood Blooming
It wasn't unexpected.
Dressing in white always brought problems. Today was no different. The first time in a long time to be made pristine and presentable, already ruined by the blood of one of the guards trying to get him out of the carriage.
An attack. Bandits or thugs, he didn't really care to know.
He just wasn't dying for that bastard.
Taking the sword from the many gifts for his most loathed betrothed and ripping the fabric wrapped around his legs, soon forcing the carriage door open with his shoulder as more arrows impaling the wood. Giving a glance to the forests of his home, too far to easily run, before looking back to the carriage. The carriage and riding deer had scattered. The forest god was gonna struggle to protect him, so this a matter for his own hands.
He'd bite his lip, holding the sword defensively. Focus more on blocking than fighting, he was outnumbered. The few people in his party were either wounded or dead, or fled just as the commotion hit. He knew them all, not well. But he knew them. Castle guards for the most part, one even being one that would head the searches when he escaped into the woods. Even laughed at the misfortune Council members brought themselves by upsetting Prince Aster enough.
Now dead from trying to get him out.
It hurt his heart, knowing he caused this.
In a way.
He'd take a breathe, an attempt to calm himself just a little. Looking at the bandits with defiance and anger. Their coos and taunts weren't reaching his ears, but he could guess what they were saying. Probably calling him princess and insulting him, aiming to make him either intimidated or irrational.
Some launched at him, clashing steel against steel. Letting them push before shoving back. His aim to just protect himself, wounding them when he could.
Panic shooting through his veins and up his spine as one of bandits dropped dead from a blow from one of his buddies.
Shit.
Shit!
SHIT!!!
Yanking himself back from their attack, gritting his teeth as an arrow struck his calf. Swiping at his attacker before him, trying to get a thought through his own head that wasn't panic.
Jolting at a bellow one of the riding deer, crashing through the bandits on the ground. Ripping them up with its antlers, and tossing them aside. The relief that washed over him was short lived feeling his chest be pierced, his eyes shifting from the deer to the dagger firmly planted in his chest.
His shifting up the arm attached, the man that plunged it in. That wicked grin curling on his lips. So.
Familiar..
He couldn't place it.
Gagging slightly as the blade jerked as the deer yanked the man away, shaking him before throwing him. Staying in front of Aster like a shield, before lower itself for him to get on it's back.
He'd half drape himself against it, digging his fingers into the large beast's fur as it moved to sprint back into the woods. Soon feeling himself weep and struggle for breathe. Not like this...
One thing even coming to mind after catching the sight of pink petals littering the ground. He...
He didn't want to be alone.
The forest god was quiet, the first quiet he had in a long time.
It scared him. To be all alone with a riding deer that wasn't even his.
Forcing words to fall from his lips, "find him..."
#aster#prince aster#drabble#cw blood#tw blood#blood#tw violence#cw violence#violence#((the gif for after this point will be finished soon
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
The List ~Pt. 4 - Corruption~
Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader
Summary: An intense evening with Alastor starts to corrupt your judgment. Your list and morals are put into question as you start to uncover his intentions with you and the full scope of your abilities.
Themes: The usual angst, mystery (Alastor), Smut (oral and fingers), brief mentions of blood and bodily harm, cursing, fluff, actual plot, slow burn, and of course 18+ MDNI
3.3k Words (Ya'll wanted longer chapters so here ya go)
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four (You're on it!)
Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Seven.A
**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader
Had someone told you two months ago that you’d be sitting in an Overlord’s bed with his head in your hands, you’d have called them insane. Tonight though, it was your reality. Just try to keep a clear head. You pull away from the grip Alastor has on your wrists but keep your body close to his. “I don’t understand. Why do you feel like you need to protect me? I’m just some sinner here for a chance at –"
Apparently, that was the wrong answer.
The Radio Demon’s antlers grow and his eyes flash to dials. Before you can register what’s happening he has you pinned into the bed by your shoulders, placing all his weight down as he climbs on top of your body. I’m so fucked. “Why do you insist on lying to me my dear? Do you consider me a fool? I could sense your power the second I walked into that meeting, and I felt your presence as soon as you crossed the hotel doors. Oh-ho no, you’re no ordinary,” he leans closer, “ - filthy sinner.”
His tone was taunting, nearly playful, contrasting with his agitated demon form. Two minutes ago he was pressing kisses into your skin saying he would never hurt you and now he’s trying to intimidate you? He might know more than you had initially thought, but this ‘almighty/all knowing’ attitude is starting to test your patience. You’ve tried being the sweet, helpless sinner long enough. I’ve always enjoyed playing with fire, Radio Demon – two can play your game.
A giggle bubbles out of your chest. “Oh, you sense my power? Then it is quite laughable you’d think I’d ask for someone to protect me. Especially…someone like you.” The lights in the room flicker violently causing all the bulbs to burst. Alastor disappears into his shadow as the room dims. Finally free from his weight you jump up from the bed, pausing to allow your eyes to adjust. The room was dark, but the faint light from the bayou granted some visibility. “I know you’re still here Alastor. Don’t waste your energy trying to scare me. I’ve faced far mor---” a force slams into your shoulder, pushing you to the other side of the room.
With a solid thud your body hits the wall but your head is braced by a hand. You can feel Alastor’s warm breath once again on your face. He towers over you, holding the back of your head while caging you in with his other arm. His lips find your ear, “Continue to question my competence or my power and I will have to remind you who…I…am.” You shudder from the rush of adrenaline surging through your body. He pulls back to study your face, awaiting your next move. Rule #4̷͈̔.̸̹̋ ̵̣̆N̴̤͘e̸̼̎v̸̥̂e̴̫̿r̴̤̆ ̶̲̑ĺ̶̖ē̷̖t̵̞̅ ̴̮̿y̴̘͊õ̵̬u̴̻̓r̶̥͌ ̷͙̿w̴̨̒e̸̺̎a̶̻̿k̸̮͋n̶̢͝e̵͇͛ṣ̶̏s̶͕͘è̸ͅs̸̬̔ ̶͎̈s̵̺̿ȟ̵͚ő̴͖w̵͔͝
I might regret this later but fuck it. “Remind me then.” You breathily tease. The demon’s pupils grow, and his smile widens, “As you wish, ma chère.”
Alastor’s lips crash into yours with a hungry passion - his tongue immediately begging to taste your mouth. The hand behind your head was now entwined in hair, gripping the base of your skull. The other hand forcefully pushed on your lower back to make your body flush with his. You throw your arms around his neck to deepen your kiss and feel - Oh my God…he’s completely hard. Did my defiance give him that much of a thrill? This was not how I thought tonight would play out. A warmth starts between your legs from his kiss alone. The initial plan to push the demon to his breaking point is being rapidly replaced with the desire to break him in other ways.
Your head is abruptly ripped back, making you cry out in pain and frustration. His fingers hold your hair tight as he moves your head to look up at him. “I tried to be gentle with you darling, but it seems like you prefer to make things more…. interesting.” Alastor uses his grip on your hair to drag you across the room, tossing you onto the bed.
The force of his hand reignites your initial rage, “What the fuck is your ---" his lips press back into yours. Pulling himself on top of you he pushes a knee between your legs, putting pressure on your clothed heat and making you push into him. A smug laugh rumbles in his chest. You grasp his vest to pull him closer, but he breaks away yet again to grab your hands - pinning them to either side of your head.
“Quite a position you’ve gotten yourself in dear. What was that about not needing my protection?” he leans over and drags his long tongue up your jawline forcing a whimper out of your throat. “Ah it seems your body betrays you. It’s crying out for me, isn’t it?” Letting go of your hands he snaps his fingers, queuing for his shadow to slide your pants down. The sudden rush of cold sends chills over your bare skin. Show SOME restraint. Don’t just lay here and let him think he’s in charge.
“I might be slightly unraveled but from what I see, you aren’t as in control as you think.” Your hand palms the prominent bulge behind his zipper. He freezes, having not expected you to touch him so aggressively. Using one hand to undo his belt and pants button, you use the other to continue to tease him through his clothes. “Seems like you’re the one who needs me.” you say slipping your hand under his boxers, starting to rub up and down his length. Alastor’s eyes roll back, and a deep growl settles in his chest. Got him.
To your surprise, Alastor is (for once) at a complete loss for words. He hangs his head as he grinds against your hand. You drink in the beautiful moans dripping from his lips with every stroke your hand delivers. The breathy sounds of his pleasure make you squirm under him.
You swear you hear a husky “no” when you pull away. Looking up, his eyes darken and his voice rumbles like gravel, “Mmmm, that’s it.”
Oh shit…
Alastor gets up and grabs your hips, ripping them to the edge of the bed. You hiss when his nails dig into your skin, creating red droplets around each of his fingers. He lowers himself to his knees and traces the cuts with his mouth – eagerly drinking up what little blood had spilled. Uhg – Cannibals.
There’s no time to process the stinging on your skin before you feel his teeth at your thighs, making a trail of bite marks and kisses up to your heat. He pauses to look at your now soaked slit, flashing you a wicked smile as hooks one of your legs on his shoulder and kisses just around where you needed him to be. You buck slightly, giving him all the permission he needs to begin devouring you, flicking his tongue and suckling like it was his last meal.
Your hand slides into his hair, being mindful not to grab his ears or antlers. You tighten your grip, pulling a groan from Alastor before you start to grind into the warmth of his mouth. Feeling your body plead for more, he hastily thrusts in two of his fingers, massaging in and out while your walls spasm around him. You feel him hum in amusement as his tongue continues to lap at your heat, your breathless whines fueling his hunger.
Tears begin to sting your eyes. The tension was too much, “Wait – no - not yet!“ you try to push away but he hooks onto your thigh, forcing you down onto his mouth. Looking down you meet his eyes, his stare silently begging you to surrender to him. You give in as your head and eyes roll back in sheer bliss. “F-fuck - Alastor!“ you call out to him as an unfamiliar blaze ripples through your body. You reach a point of no return – no logical thoughts, no background noise. Your only focus is to ride out your own resolve.
Alastor gently works you through the high. As your spasms ease up, he pulls away completely. You watch him remove his fingers and put them to his lips - licking each one clean. You can’t help but be in awe of the erotic view – hair disheveled, shirt mostly unbuttoned, and the glow of the bayou casting over his face as he savors the mess you’ve become, the mess he’s made of you. “Is this all it takes to make you beg for me, ma chère?”
A cheeky smile spreads across your face while you set yourself up on your elbows “Beg? I don’t beg for any man.”
“Oh darling…” he crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You’ll soon find out I’m far greater than any man. Let’s pick up this little conversation tomorrow, shall we?” Before you can respond, he snaps his fingers, making the world around you quickly fade out and back in. Just like that you were back in your room and on your own bed.
What in the actual fuck just happened? You stand up from your bed, still completely bare from the waist down. Could have at least sent me back with my pants, asshole.
As if hearing your thoughts you see a shadow slip under your door delivering your neatly folded slacks then bolting right back out. How the - you know what, no. I’m too tired for this shit.
Any other night you would have stared at the ceiling, mentally preparing for the next day, but not tonight. Your eyes close before your head hits the pillow.
Between helping Angel then Alastor throwing you around, you wake up feeling like you got hit by a train as expected. You drag yourself out of bed and head into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower will help wash away some of the tension. Removing your shirt you begin to examine your naked body in the mirror. Your shoulder was turning an ugly shade of green and smaller bluish-purple bruises riddled your arms, hips, and thighs, reminding you of every place his fingers touched. Guess he was rougher than I thought. You shake your head and laugh – realizing the twisted satisfaction you feel seeing the aftermath of the night’s events.
Your body welcomes the sting of the hot water as you step inside the shower. Closing your eyes, you begin to relax while your mind wanders.
Alastor was quite an enigma. He said he could ‘sense’ your power which surprisingly didn’t worry you as much as you thought. Oddly enough it felt like a small weight off your chest having someone in the hotel finally know some truth, though you would have preferred it to be someone, anyone, other than Alastor. What truly troubled you was the lengths he seemed prepared to go to earn your trust. He was a powerful demon Overlord; he had an arsenal of ways to get what he wanted – fear, torture, bribery, death etc. Hell, with his reputation you were half expecting him to offer up a deal – but he didn’t. Why bother kissing me? Why be so vulnerable? Was he just trying to get a rise out of me? Trick me? Of course he was. Did he really think I would magically trust him just because he made me -
Three loud knocks at the door jolt you out of your thoughts. “What’s up!?”
“Just checking in! You missed breakfast and the usual afternoon activities. Everything okay?” Charlie’s sweet voice called back to you. Damn I slept through the day?
“Oh sorry to worry you, just not feeling – I have a bad headache. Could you please send Nifty up with some tea? Thank you!” You really didn’t feel like leaving your room today anyway. If Alastor wanted to pick up your little chat so badly, he knew where to find you.
Finding out the day was already halfway over; you finish up your shower and get dressed in comfortable clothes - sweatpants and a large off the shoulder tee. No use dressing up when you have zero intentions on leaving your room or seeing anyone, other than Nifty of course. Unfortunately, the hot shower only temporarily relaxed your sore body – the pain in your back and shoulders once again begin to throb. You decide to kick back in bed with a book while awaiting tea.
You don’t even look up from your book when someone knocks at your door, “Come on in Niff – just set it on the dresser, please and thank you.” The door opens and your ears ring. Of course. I should have guessed.
“Well good evening my dear. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to hide away from me. Did we not agree that we’d continue our conversation today?” Alastor hums as he walks into the room. He might not have been who you expected but at least brought the tea you asked for.
“Good thing you know better.” You jeer. Although you’re apprehensive of his illusively true intentions, you can’t help but smile at him looking so affable, pouring two cups of tea, and sitting himself on the side of your bed. “I’m just not feeling great, that is all. I’m tired and achy.” Reaching for the cup, your shirt moves to expose your bruised shoulder.
His eyes immediately lock onto your discolored skin. “And that wouldn’t be because of our little…altercation…would it?” his gaze wonders to see the marks speckled down your arms. His usually harsh stare softens as he sees what he did. Is that remorse?
“You didn’t hurt me if that’s what you’re asking. I usually feel like this after…” Stop stop STOP TALKING. Rule #2̷̦͒.̶̛͚ ̷̠͌N̶̰̄e̵̞͗v̸̹͝e̶̘̾r̶̜͋ ̵͉̌t̷̤̑e̶̹͒l̸̮̇ĺ̵͔ ̵͙̇á̴̠ ̷̦̅s̷̰̓ǫ̷̔u̵̺̅l̶̼͐ ̸̜̿w̶̪̆h̷͇̽a̶̡͠t̸̙́ ̷̖͠(̵̪̐o̶͖̾ȑ̴̨ ̶͓̊h̵̻͗o̸͎͠ẅ̵̢ ̶̝̕m̸̧̈́ṵ̵̔c̴̳̉h̵̡̀)̶̖̌ ̴̓͜p̵̡͐ö̴̡w̷͈̏ȅ̵̫ŕ̷͚ ̴̗͛y̷̳̔ó̴͙ư̷̞ ̶͔͘h̵̥̍a̴͍͘v̶̬̚é̵͈
He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, “After - what exactly? Wouldn’t have anything to do with why you fainted last night, would it?”
He obviously knows something.
You avoid his question, “You said last night you can sense me. What exactly does that mean?” Alastor sighs as he sets his cup down. He reaches for your hands like he did the night before, only this time he held them tightly in his, “Close your eyes.”
“Uhm - Excuse me?”
He huffs, “Have I not made it clear that I have no intention in hurting you?”
“I mean – “ you motion towards your bruises.
“Just close your damn eyes.”
You reluctantly close your eyes and listen to his instruction, “Concentrate on what you feel, and I mean really dig deep into the feeling your power gives you.” Okay fine I’ll play along, what’s the worst that can happen? You take a deep breath and focus on the flutters your stomach usually felt when you made a contract with a sinner. Of course you could feel the power each one gave you. The human soul was like pure energy, it was no wonder their collection was used to feed the Overlord hierarchy.
Feeling a pull, Alastor puts your palms flush to his chest. Your small flutters explode into full body vibrations - an intense static floods your veins and your hands begin to glow the soft pink you so often had to hide. The feeling makes you pull back in a panic. Damn him! How?
He responds to your look of shock with a breathy chuckle as stands up from the bed. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked all too pleased with himself. The arrogant reaction snaps what little patience you had left with him. You heatedly stand up as pink flames burst from your body and eyes while two small black horns crack through your skull. “What the HELL are you trying to get at Alastor? Why toy with me if you know so much already!? What the fuck do you want from me?” your voice was fierce but low. I don’t need Charlie or anyone else to hear me.
A smile crosses Alastor’s face, wider than you’ve seen before. His face would probably split if it went any wider. “Oh my dear, your demon form is beautiful.” He says coolly, placing a hand on your arm and hooking the other under your chin. His touch quickly brings you back to normal form. “Please sit, I can explain everything.”
“I don’t trust you,” you say as you both sit back down on the edge of the bed. His brows furrow at your statement, “Just hear me out?” You nod for him to continue.
“I took a…. sabbatical…seven years ago. When I returned, I felt drawn somewhere. My body began to ache from the pull. I could never figure out where I needed to go - until I walked into that meeting and felt you.”
“I’m…not following.”
“You know how magnets work? A negative charge and positive charge attract, or rather, are drawn to each other. Once together they create a force that can be unbreakable. The power we both possess does exactly that.” He grabs your hands again, flashing you a look of…is that excitement?
You’re skeptical of his idea, it sounded insane. Stupid even. But it made sense. You also felt the pull and ringing whenever he was around. As for opposites attract, that couldn’t be truer to the two of you. He rose to power by causing pain and carnage, abusing the souls he collected for his own gain. Meanwhile you were doing the exact opposite - protecting, healing, doing good for damned lesser souls.
“Okay say I believe all this - Seems like you would only want to use me and keep me around to feed your own power-hungry needs. I will not be some pet, locked away and only played with when it is convenient for you!” Your words come out involuntarily tearful. A pain burns in your chest at the realization that you wanted him to want you. Rule #3̸̭͗.̴̠̇ ̴͔̉N̷̙̉e̷̞͌v̶̪̾e̶̼̽r̶͍̈́ ̶̜̏b̷͈́ȓ̸͈ì̶̲n̶͚̍g̶̣̕ ̸̙̀a̷̼̚n̷̠̆y̶̺̕ö̶̫́n̷̯̈́e̶̤̅ ̷̯̽ť̷̪o̴̻̾o̵̱̚ ̷͙̃c̵͙̽l̴̞̋o̷̦̓s̵̪̎e̸̦̚
Seeing the worry flash across your face, Alastor grabs you with both hands and presses his lips into yours. Last night his kiss felt lustful and hungry. Not tonight. Right now, he kissed you like he would lose everything if he couldn’t have you.
He breaks the embrace, resting his forehead on yours, “I was never a good man. I will never be redeemed, nor do I want that for myself. I am selfish and possessive over the things I want. I will not lie to you, I want power. But I also want you. Not as a pet. Not as a tool. As an equal. Working together, not even the King of Hell can stand against us.” His words were calculated, voice smooth like whiskey – and you were drinking in every drop.
The list. Stick to the list. This has death written all over it. You can’t help anyone if you’re (more) dead, come on use the LIST! Rule #1̷̨͠.̷̗̓ ̴̡͝N̴͙̒e̶͐ͅṽ̷̬ẽ̴̲r̶̖͗ ̵̟́t̸̥̕ṛ̵̃ȗ̴̢s̶̙̃t̵̠̕ ̸̛̜à̶̭ǹ̷̫ọ̶͂ṯ̵̃h̸̢̒e̶̜̋r̶̳̒ ̸̯̓O̴̳̓v̷̖͑e̴͎̅r̸̮̀l̴̼͐o̶͚̕ȑ̴͕d̸̝̎
You pull his hands away, holding them between your fingers as you draw nervous little circles in his palms. “Alastor this is…a lot to take in. Your words are striking, but I need more. Prove I can trust you. Prove you want me by your side. Then maybe, maybe, I will consider your offer. Until then, I think it’s best we don’t speak about this to anyone. Deal?”
Alastor’s smile was soft with half-lidded eyes. “Consider it, a deal.” He leans into you as green and pink light flashes around the room. Your first deal with the Radio Demon, sealed with a kiss.
Tag List (Let me know if you would like to be added!)
@rl800 @fairyv-ice @looking1016 @martinys-world @sirens-and-moonflowers
#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#fanfic#alastor smut#x reader#reader insert#hazbin hotel x reader#fem reader#slow burn#hazbin hotel smut#writers on tumblr#alastor hazbin#radio demon#female reader#smut#hazbinhotel#hotel hazbin
110 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Wanderer
I had been walking for what felt like hours, each step weighed down by the heavy uncertainty of being lost in this never-ending forest. The dense woodland around me teemed with life, a symphony of bird melodies intertwining in the air. A gentle breeze blew through the forest, easing the growing fear that gnawed inside me. Although the forest was beautiful in the warmth of the summer, I was afraid. It would be getting dark soon, and I needed to find my way back to the path. The afternoon sunlight poured through the canopy, dancing across the forest floor and igniting the scattered roots I was trying to avoid. The air smelled of soil and cedar, a harmonious blend that filled my nostrils with each deep breath. I wasn't prepared for this at all, I had run out of water and barely had any food left. I'm not even sure how I got lost, but I guess that didn't really matter anymore, I just needed to get out. I continued winding my way through the dense trees, my legs aching desperately and the sting of blisters forming on the bottoms of my feet. Then, a looming figure emerged in the distance amidst the shadowed expanse. An elk larger than I’ve ever seen, its antlers reaching towards the sky in silent defiance. I froze, fear momentarily paralyzing me. Heart hammering in my chest, I hid behind a thicket of bushes at the base of a fir. I held my breath, terrified of moving or making any noise. I heard the creature come closer, its confident steps reverberating through the forest. Out of curiosity, I peered out from behind the thick tree. The elk's head was bent down, eating the grass beneath itself. Maybe I could sneak away without it noticing me, I thought, and I took a step back, keeping my eyes on the creature. Crack. A twig under my feet snapped, shattering the tranquility of the forest. The creature shot its head up and bolted. Then, a thunderous echo of a gunshot ripped through the air, followed by the pained cry of the wounded creature and a loud bang as it collapsed onto the forest floor. Panic and adrenaline surged through my veins at the sound of the gunshot, and I started to run. The sleeve of my sweater caught on a tree branch as I sprinted through the forest. I desperately tugged it loose, ripping the fabric carelessly, and ran through the winding landscape, the singing of birds becoming a faint blur. A sharp pain grew in my ribs as I desperately pleaded my legs to keep moving, dodging roots and branches with each stride as my feet crashed hard against the soft leaf-covered ground. When I felt there was enough distance between myself and the gunshot, I slowed to catch my breath. I took deep breaths and coughed as air filled my lungs. As I tried to regain control of my breathing, the familiar scent of smoke filled my nostrils. A fire. I followed the smell, inching cautiously through the woods as hope once again filled me. And there, amidst a clearing, stood a quaint wooden cottage, tendrils of smoke curling from its chimney. Relief flooded my senses as I stumbled towards its welcoming embrace, ready to finally feel safe.
0 notes
Text
Fall or Fly
continued from here
@themosthatedbeing
Well...today was quickly shaping up to be perhaps the worst day of his life, save for perhaps two others. But today had been, well...painful, to say the least. He'd decided to take a stand...to express his feelings about the way things were being run. And this had been the result of his defiance...his head hurt, his back...gods, his back burned...though given what had just happened to him, it would be folly to imagine anything else would be the case.
One pair of his wings had been removed and he'd been...well...kicked out. He was out of it, clearly....and as for why his head hurt...he had much less control over his angelic form right now, evident in the way his antlers arched above his head like a crown...only...
The crown was broken, the halo's crack had snapped. He had tried to warn his brother, tried to use his remaining wings to correct his fall so as not to injure him, but had fallen atop him all the same. He groaned, wasting no time in pulling himself off of his brother, and, despite the pain, rolling onto his still bleeding back to look at the sky. He was still alive, there was that...but...was Lucifer okay? He looked around from where he lay, the damage to his back from the loss of a pair of wings made it hard to move at the moment. But he had to know.
"Luci...Lucifer? Are...are you okay?"
1 note
·
View note
Last Seen Blogs
realloveoffenders
Cybelle and Hunteros
veenilla
A Runt Meepling
edselian
Words
deliberatelynonbinary
wish i was
noticetheuniverse
HUMAN NOISE