#largoindminor

[wetsammywinchester]

surprise love attack 💖💖💞💞 paula you’re amazing and i’m so thankful for meeting you! 🥰😘

Ann!!! I’m so thankful that I met you! Sending all the love right back at you 

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @largoindminor donated $50, and requested 'Hannibal/Will, first kiss’. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

It’s a different life, after the fall. Quieter. Still. The sun rises and spills over the earth like a slow pale tide, ebbing against the house where Will watches, waiting.

Canada. Not an exotic escape, like before. Woods and rivers. Snow, most of the time, and the summer a relief of blooming life when it comes. The house is on a patch of land that used to be farmed and that has gone wild in disuse, and around it there are stands of new trees struggling up, and flowers Will doesn’t recognize that bloom in spring, and birds that call in the morning. Like home, or at least the home that was. This is home, now. It has to be.

Summer now, with the days thick with sunlight. He fishes, in the river that curves by, a mile from the house. The dog waits on the shore, watching the birds. He breathes with the rhythm of the water and it’s peaceful--until it’s not. A tug--the line, caught--a salmon, desperate, and Will hauls in the line, gets it in his hands. Massive, struggling, its muscle working and terrified under the thin layer of skin. When he kills it he’s quick, and it lays still in his arms. He lays it on the rocks by the shore. The dog is warned off with a look. A thing that was alive, now dead. He doesn’t mind anymore that he finds it beautiful.

He stays by the river for another hour, sitting. He pets the dog behind the ears. Tiny ecstasy. The river flows east and the woods are full of birds. Life, soaring. He wishes he could enjoy it.

Dusk, or near to it, when he starts the walk home. The dog follows, smelling the fish in his bag. He’ll cook it tonight, he guesses, and it will taste like--nothing. He’s been trying to learn to cook properly, in hopes that spices and herbs and technique will do the trick, but everything he eats is reduced in his mouth to--protein, carbohydrate. Calories. Necessary to sustain life but nothing to care about. He can’t go to a psychiatrist anymore, can’t risk it, but he’s wondered. Is it something that’s changed in his brain chemistry, after the fall? When he woke up alone in a hospital bed with a new name, did the doctors know that this essential human thing in him was lost? Could it be fixed? Does he want it to be?

A mile, walked slowly. Dusk falling in a muffling blanket over the woods. He opens the gate to the property and the dog rushes home, eager for the kibble waiting, the guts of the fish it’ll get as a treat, and Will walks slower up the path between the weeds, because after all, what’s waiting for him.

“Will.”

He looks up.

Hannibal, standing on his porch. Almost unrecognizable--impossible--until he’s not. His hair has fallen over his forehead, and he’s not in a suit but in a thin sweater, sleeves pushed up at the forearms--jeans and boots--and there’s a bag beside him. He watches Will from the shadow under the porch and then takes the two steps down, offering his palm for the dog to snuffle into, never taking his eyes away. In the dusklight Will can see his expression in perfect clarity.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

A year. A year, here in this house that he was told was his. He pretended to amnesia and the doctors were useful, supplied him with his new name and his fake job and his keys and his phone, which had two contacts in it--his, with an address that led him here, and another under the name William Blake with a phone number, which he never called. If Hannibal wanted to speak to him--

But Hannibal’s here, now. “I had to take care of things,” he says. His voice. Rich as the dusk. The dog abandons him, thoroughly sniffed, and wanders off into the grounds to chase something else. Hannibal folds his hands in front of himself, neat. “Loose ends.”

Matter-of-fact and not an apology. Will nods, looks away into the shadowed trees. He wonders how many of those loose ends were tied up with murder. It’s a relief, in a way, to not care. “One last loose end to tie up, then, I suppose,” he says, and lets his bag and rod fall on the path.

Hannibal glances at the mess. Looks up again. “I would rather not,” he says. “If I do not have to.”

For the first time in a year, Will feels--surprise. An uncertainty. “I thought--” he says, and closes his mouth. He reviews, recatalogues. For the first time in a year he closes his eyes and there on the path among the wild-grown things he thinks--of a fall, of the wind rushing. The ocean, the painful crash. Blood, spilling everywhere, and what it must’ve taken to make sure he didn’t die there on the rocks, and afterward Hannibal thinking not of storing him away to be dealt with later but of--

“Safekeeping,” he says. He feels it. Deep in his chest. A space, tender as a bruise. He opens his eyes and Hannibal’s focus on him is absolute. It should be terrifying and isn’t. Never will be, ever again. “You could’ve picked somewhere with delivery.”

A tiny upturn of his mouth--Hannibal, smiling at him. It floods through Will like drowning did. “Why order delivery when you have me as a cook?” he says, light, and Will steps forward almost blind and Hannibal cups his face, leans down over him, thumbs tracing his cheekbones in sweet symmetry--and he says, soft, “You will have me, won’t you, Will?” and Will nods helplessly, and Hannibal leans down and presses their mouths together.

Soft, precise. The world condenses into a space of breath. Will parts his lips and Hannibal tilts his head further back, pressing inside--brush of tongue and a taste of--of nothing, and Will feels a surge of heat behind his eyes. It should be salt, and skin, and the infinitesimal differences in body chemistry that would make it Hannibal’s kiss and no one else’s. He pulls back--half a breath--and Hannibal cups the back of his head, holds him in place. When he looks his face is being searched, every part of him scraped open and bare--like he hasn’t laid himself like an offering, like he hasn’t transfigured at an atomic level to be the man Hannibal made him--and Hannibal says, “Oh, Will,” with an intense and mortifying compassion--and then Hannibal leans in, and bites him.

Will flinches, is caught. Grabs into Hannibal’s shirt, feels the pressure increase. His bottom lip between Hannibal’s teeth, and Hannibal bites harder, and harder, and Will’s muscles spasm involuntarily--and when the blood bursts forth he makes a strange sound he can hardly hear, but Hannibal groans, and lets go, and when he lifts his head again his mouth is a dark red, his teeth stained.

Will’s panting. He touches his lip. Not bitten through, but cut on both sides, and he looks at the blood on his fingers and then slides his tongue over the wounds inside. Salt, is the first thing he tastes. Salt, and bitter metal. Cloying, almost--too intense, and vivid, and immediately his mouth feels coated, his tongue flinching from the flavor. He looks at his fingers, and licks them clean, and his own skin is--”Is this what it’s like for you?” he says, and looks up.

Hannibal smiles at him, quietly. “When it matters,” he says, his hands still on Will’s skin and his face a promise, and Will leans up and kisses Hannibal and makes his blood his answer.

[sammichgirl]

Belphegor? Demon!Jack. Ok.

* In demonology, Belphegor is a demon, and one of the seven princes of Hell, who helps people make discoveries. He seduces people by suggesting to them ingenious inventions that will make them rich. Bishop and witch-hunter Peter Binsfeld believed that Belphegor tempts by means of laziness.

[homo-pink]

Idk if I’ve told you this before but- right down the hall from my office at work is a room with multiple 5 gallon paint buckets full of human hearts. A few floors down there’s cadaver head storage. Just the heads. Thought you should know. 😘

i do recall your hospital parking sitch—are you still maneuvering in and out of that abandoned location?—but i feel safe in saying that no, you’ve never shared this detail. i like to believe, strongly, that i’d remember anything ‘body parts in buckets’ adjacent.

(about 15-20 years ago, i had a family friend in the death business who would come to visit and if there was ever a small stain or a clump of something on her clothes and she was made aware of it, she’d say, “oh that’s just dead guy eye,” and napkin it away. she was neat.) 

+ if this was a story i was fiddling with, someone would surely be getting (quiet, secret, gross) head in your head room. thank you for gifting me with this info. 

[thelioncourts]

💖💋 - just because

me @ you all the time <3<3<3

[themegalosaurus]

largoindminor replied to your post “Does Sam still have demon blood in him? I can't remember if he was...”

*adds for extra angst* sam must still have a fair amount of lucifer grace inside him as well ?

//furtive glance sideways// i may or may not have exploited this possibility in a fic i wrote last year, ‘make thick my blood’; it’s a mark of cain fix-it, kinda (n.b. features soft wincest)

[sammichgirl]

Heather I just saw the news about the shooting in Virginia beach are you & yours ok??

Yes, me and my parents are physically okay, all things considered.

It happened about 5 miles from my home, and you never think it could happen in your own hometown.

It can. It does. And unless politicians stop thinking about placating the NRA and money money money, it won’t stop.

We need sensible, working, gun laws. It’s past time. It was past time so many years ago. How many more instances like this do we need?

I’m upset, I’m angry. I’m devastated and heart broken. But I’m alive. There are twelve families who lost a family member yesterday. And several more injured in local hospitals. And hundreds more who know and/or knew those folks, or worked in that municipal center that lived through this awful shooting.

I’m not okay.

[wetsammywinchester]

@efflorescentjared  replied to your post “Tagged by @zmediaoutlet @efflorescentjared and...”

idk why but “5 hours of sexual intercourse” is cracking me up

So clinical. Doctor Dean examining their sexual dysfunction. Wait, that’s another fic.

@dreamsfromthebunker replied to your post “Tagged by @zmediaoutlet @efflorescentjared and...”

omg ��

Still laughing this morning at how random some of these are.

@largoindminor replied to your post “Tagged by @zmediaoutlet @efflorescentjared and...”

“Three hours and five fucks” I approve ��

So proud, Ann 😉

@seafoxfire reblogged your post and added:

I decided to try this because its HILARIOUS!...

ANYTIME. Jump in anytime! I love to see this stuff.