#abothreads

@voicesofthemuses​

(*)

Being abducted by aliens was something to be joked about, because the very idea was so fucking preposterous. Not that Taylor ever doubted the idea of aliens existing and live flourishing in the universe -- the Earth wasn’t even a trillion years old, she knew that it was stupid to assume that this planet was the only one capable of life, let alone intelligent life -- but just the idea of being considered so “special” by alien standards that she might be “worthy” of abduction.

There was nothing “worthy” about this.

She had awoken in a cramped cell, surrounded by various young women around her own age, from all over her own world, her head feeling it was being split in two, to discover that she had been abducted, but only by black market standards. They were treated like cattle, or even less than, because the aliens who were keeping them hostage treated them like shit. Or, worse, they used the girls for their own amusement; nothing was more terrifying than realizing that making even a small sound of pain was enough to warrant a vicious assault.

What these fuckers didn’t realize was that they had messed with the wrong bitch. Taylor Borelli had been a foster child, abused and misused, all her life, and she was not going to accept this laying down, not one bit. The first time one of the aliens, dubbed Basketball Heads due to their bulbous looking heads and their pebbly orange skin, had tried to grab her for “testing”, she bit his long spindly fingers off. The shrieks of agony were like music to her ears, and her bravery had gotten the other girls into a frenzy.

They could fight back, so long as Taylor was their leader. She accepted.

They had been in space long enough by the time they finally had a concrete plan and finally went through with it. While the ship was drifting through another planet in search for more girls, Taylor managed to pick the lock of their cage, and she and the others ambushed their guards; it was pandemonium for what felt like hours, but Taylor quickly realized that they were fighting a losing battle. Her only hope to stop this cargo hold was to crash it, so she ran through the corridors to find the controls; after shooting the pilots, she slammed her gun into every button she could find, until the ship lurched and she fell into a pod that immediately closed her off.

The computer generated voice declared that expulsion would occur in less than a minute. The ship was flying so fast through the atmosphere that the friction was causing flames to erupt all around them; when they broke through the clouds, Taylor’s eyes widened at the sight of a strangely Earth like mountainside, before the computer stated that expulsion was occurring, and then the pod was released, sending her flying away from the craft.

@voicesofthemuses​

(*)

It had been a long time -- years really -- since Will had ever tried to take that step beyond his comfort zone to try and connect with someone else. Someone who wasn’t a psychotic serial killer, anyway. After all, he and Alana had spent enough time together in the past several years to establish something, right? His observations of her did not come from nothing; his reaction to her getting closer was not unprecedent. 

Except it was.

Will never ever wanted to cross boundaries or make anyone uncomfortable, so desperate to please he was just under the surface, and knowing that he had on some level broke him. Hearing it right from Alana’s own mouth had shattered him from the inside out, to the point when she asked outright if he felt unstable, he couldn’t even speak, for fear that he would cry instead.

Will hit a severe emotional drop after that conversation, to the point where he was beginning to let his mind wander to darker thoughts and outcomes. Thoughts in which he knew were very unhealthy, and often would try to drink them away, but he knew if he did this time, he might end up doing something he regretted. So he withstood the temptation, lost sleep, and mechanically drove himself to Hannibal’s office on Thursday evening as he always did, for once not looking forward to the appointment the way he had begun to.

A pathetic Omega, is what he was. And it was all he was going to be.

@voicesofthemuses​

(*)

His head hurt. Why did his head hurt?

It took a strangely long time for Will to slowly regain consciousness; it felt like a genuine struggle, first to even have coherent thoughts, and then to even open his eyes. His body felt heavier than normal, and he squinted at the digital clock that was reading sometime after three. But was it three in the afternoon, or three in the morning? Because other than the soft glow of the clock, it was...very dark.

Slowly, with great effort, Will pushed himself into a sitting position, groaning quietly before putting a hand over his stomach. Nearly eight months along, he felt like a beached whale, but he felt the baby shifting slightly, so the Omega wasn’t entirely concerned. Movement meant healthy. Movement meant everything was okay.

And yet... Something felt wrong. Will couldn’t explain it, beyond a vague anxious feeling, like he was being closed in, but once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he found himself in Hannibal’s master bedroom. Which was...strange. Wasn’t he home? His last clear memory was the farmhouse. Unless he lost time again? Fuck, the sooner his new medication acclimated to his system, the better.

His stomach clenched suddenly, and Will groaned, but he managed to get out of the bed and into the bathroom in time to throw up in the sink. He must not have eaten recently, because most of it was just...fluids. And blood.

The very sight of it suddenly had him choking on his breath, as his vision blurred and suddenly all he saw was blood; blood on the walls, blood on the floor... Blood all over Frederick Chilton, who was passed out in an armchair Will didn’t recognize...

@voicesofthemuses​

(*)

They had played this game for far too long, in Will’s opinion. It was like a very long and carefully choreographed dance that was just taking forever; the staring, the orbiting, the scenting. He knew it was rare for an Omega to never take suppressants or scent blockers, -- he knew how to fight back if someone got too handsy -- but come on, even some of the best Alphas had trouble with their self control sometimes, right?

Will wasn’t stupid; he’d seen the way Hannibal looked at him. How the Alpha always liked to be slightly too close to keep an eye on him. He noticed the change in scent several times. Yet nothing he did could spur the man into crossing the line.

So Will decided to cross it for him.

His last appointment he scheduled just before his next Heat, and he had done it on purpose, so when Hannibal opened the door and let him into the office, all he was going to smell was extremely fertile Omega on the verge smelling like the best goddamn buffet one could get their hands on.

@voicesofthemuses

(*)

Frank tended to avoid therapy on principal. What was the point, honestly? He already knew he was fucked up in the head; an Omega in law enforcement since he was practically thirteen years old, people just assumed he wouldn’t have trauma from that? No, no, his suicide attempt was clearly out of left field, no one expected that to happen, it was a total shock.

Or maybe the bigger shock was that Frank rejoined the law enforcement world after a year of hiatus. His Otherness was more visible this time; the rage in his eyes that was always burning was noticed, his smiles were more tight than genuine, and people just noticed his aura. He wasn’t the same Frank that so many remembered him being, but again, they chalked it up to trauma, stamped a seal of approval on his papers, and by the time he was twenty three, he was actively teaching FBI recruits in classrooms while consulting on a few cases here and there.

And in between that, he hunted.

Five years was a long time before anyone even thought to bring Frank back out onto the field with his special ability, but Jack Crawford was an ambitious fucker, and once he had heard of what Frank could do, he all but dragged the man out by his shirt collar. The case with Garret Jacob Hobbs was when Frank’s two lives very nearly blurred together, but he got away with killing the man because he ended up rescuing Abigail in the process. And just to make sure he didn’t lose himself completely, Jack made Frank go to therapy.

How curious that he chose Hannibal Lecter to be his therapist. Because as soon as Frank had met the man in Jack’s office, he knew he was Other, just like Frank. The only question was, was he the kind Frank needed to hunt, or was he the kind who hunted the way Frank did? Was he a threat? Was he a potential ally?

It was professional curiosity that led Frank to accepting Hannibal as his therapist, and spending two nights a week at the man’s office, talking about anything and everything as they slowly cracked each other’s shells. He just didn’t expect to slowly feel himself begin to fall in love in the meantime. This prim and proper Alpha with one of the sexiest accents Frank had heard had slowly wormed his way into the Omega’s chest, and now they were at an impasse. There could be no moving forward unless Hannibal knew everything, and Frank didn’t know what might happen if he did.

Fate took that out of his hands.  A year into working in the field again and attending therapy hadn’t helped Frank with his bursts of severe aggression, and so he kept up his Polaroid Killer side life; this night, he had tracked down a serial rapist of an Alpha named Philip Jones. Using his specialized weapon in the form of his own slick in a beaker, he lured the bastard into an alley thinking he had found a distressed Omega in heat, only to end up with a bat to the back of his skull to knock him out. When he awoke hours later in one of Frank’s warehouses, it was to the torture that was awaiting him. His screams for mercy were like music to Frank’s ears, until he ripped the guy’s tongue out and taunted him with how his own victims had begged for mercy.

“It had to be an Omega who took you out,” Frank said casually as he got to work on castrating Philip while he wailed in agony. “You won’t touch anyone ever again.” Once the dick was sliced off, he shoved it into Philip’s mouth like a gag and held up his camera. “Say cheese!”

The next night, Philip was dead, so Frank moved the body to the nearby dump site. Let the trash find the trash. Except as soon as he was done posing the body and stapling the Polaroid picture to his chest, he caught the sound of someone else huffing a bit nearby, and he slowly moved forward, edging around the piles of trash until he found what he was looking for.

Hannibal stood there, dressed in the strangest plastic suit over his own, hard at work with a dead body of his own, inside the little shed that overlooked the dump in general. Curious, Frank watched him for a long moment, tilting his head, before he leaned against the doorframe as he realized just what he was looking at. The Chesapeake Ripper in his element. How quaint.

@minxchester​:  ➳

(*)

Joe had never heard of Dothraki until he reached this little village on the eve of his nineteenth birthday. The war bred horse-lords, taking what they pleased, burning villages to the ground in order to find supplies for their people, and slaves to hold their supplies. But thankfully, they lived so far out beyond the village boarders, at least several weeks of journey away, and so Joe didn’t really think twice about them. So long as he stayed in the village, he would be safe.

Or maybe he had come at the wrong time. A month into his stay, once he was established in his apothecary, the Dothraki came for them all. The warriors in the village were all but killed, and so were every men who tried to fight back. Children were thrown to the ground, women were attacked, and amid the chaos, food and clothing were being stolen. They didn’t even try to touch the gold; apparently the Dothraki had no need of it.

That was how Joe was found, burying some of his bottles underneath his hut in order to preserve them should they all survive this attack, only to have a couple of Dothraki burst their way in. They took one look at him, one whiff to catch his Omega scent, and he was immediately yanked out into the sunlight, one of the warriors wrapping an arm around his neck, and he was dragged, kicking and screaming, to where other hostages had been taken and tied together.

@pureblooded​:  “I could smell you from across the room.. Did you forget your suppressants?” from Ron to Draco

(*)

“What?” Draco’s voice was sharp as he looked up at the redhead, brows furrowed with a mixture of confusion and instant fear. If he forgot his suppressants, that would not be good; he hadn’t had a heat since he was fourteen, and he didn’t plan on letting himself have another one for a very long time, or ever if he had a choice in the matter.

“No! No, I take it every morning, it’s a habit.” Quickly, he mentally rewound the day, starting in the dorms when he woke up, and yes, he absolutely had taken the suppressant potion as soon as he was coherent enough to do so. The cork in the vial was always a bit tight, so it was normally a struggle. “No, I definitely took it.”