#but like I've been thinking of him as a child ghost possessing a doll this whole time and so was she

[justhannigramfics]

10, 11, 22, 40, 45, 52, 61, 67, 74, 76, 78, 83, 88,

Who else would I be if I didn't send you a long list of what I wanna know desperately cause 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 I'm greedy~

*sigh* the things I do for you~

10: Hannibal is an antique doll, which Will finds at a yardsale as a child. He soon becomes Will's closest, and sometimes only, friend. Little does Will's father know, the doll is actually haunted, possessed by the soul of the actual Hannibal, who is possessive of Will and more than a little aggressive when he feels Will has been threatened in any way. As Will grows older, he learns to cohabitate with the spirit, but Hannibal is not satisfied with their simple existence and relationship.

11: Hannibal gets lost in the woods. He hasn't ever really gotten lost in the woods before, and no matter what he does, he can't find his way out, despite knowing it was only a small copse of trees he had wandered into. Soon, he meets a strange being in the woods, who calls himself Will, and claims to own the woods Hannibal is trapped in. Mind games, starvation, and much more.

22: Hannibal is a symbiote. Think Venom. He hitches a ride out of the lab on a reporter who wasn't supposed to be there, and finds someone interesting as he's looking through her thoughts. Freddie Lounds must take him to Will Graham. Will Graham, who then refuses to believe any of what he is seeing or experiencing is real.

40: Hannibal hears about a store where you can purchase something that you need. What that is depends entirely on you, and you won't know it until you see it. When he walks in, he's amazed by the man he finds, and the way he immediately identifies the object that is meant for Hannibal amongst the clutter of the shop. When he gets the item home, Hannibal experiences something he can't exactly explain, so he returns to the shop to demand answers of Will Graham.

45: So, sorta based on Anastasia. Hear me out. So Will was a prince, and Hannibal was a servant boy who spent almost all his time with the young royal. A war breaks out, and the two become separated, and Will forgets everything about his past. Years later, Hannibal manages to track him down, but has to help Will get his memories back before he can confess he's been in love with him since before they were separated.

52: Mostly just a concept without a plot at this point. Will is albino, but he manages to hide it. Hannibal figures it out. Things happen from there. I dunno. It's a work in progress.

61: This one actually is about Will having synesthesia, as I mentioned in one of my previous answers having to do with Hannibal having synesthesia. As I mentioned in that one, it's been a difficult idea to get going, but I still think I'll get it written eventually.

67: There was a prophecy that Will would kill the monster in the woods. The woods that no one dares walk through after dark, and try to avoid during the day as much as possible. All except Will, who goes there to avoid all the attention his supposed destiny brings to his door. He has never seen the monster in the woods, but one day he met a strange man who doesn't fear the woods, or the monster. Hannibal Lecter is kind, and doesn't seem to care that Will is destined to be a hero. He listens. When is a monster not a monster?

74: Hannibal is given charge of a young man who has been marked. This particular mark is there to signify that the bearer is someone who will bite. Someone who uses their teeth as a weapon, like an animal. Hannibal finds Will interesting and intelligent, but with a fire that he can't help but be drawn to.

76: This is actually two fics, but inspired by one movie. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Because the ghost in that movie is just so Will coded, but also so Hannibal coded. A captain of a ship who doesn't want anyone in his house? Will. A man who is particular about what a new tenant does with his things? Hannibal. So I've split it into two fics, and they each have the same premise. There's a haunted house on the market, and one determined ghost who is about to meet a stubborn man who won't go back on their decision to live there.

78: I've been working on this idea for a long time, but it's taking a lot of research because I don't want to be disrespectful or misrepresentative. Will is deaf. He has a cochlear implant, and he can usually keep it from being noticed because of his hair, and doing whatever he can to not draw attention to it.

83: Will died. He didn't realize he'd died until he met his caseworker, who laid it all out for him. He's stuck haunting his house, and no one can see or hear him. His dogs know he's there, and he's glad of that. When the new owners of his house show up and start messing everything up, he calls on Hannibal, a demon who promises he can help. Think Beetlejuice.

88: There's this really cool thing I learned about. It's not technically legal in most states right now, but in my fics I can do whatever I want. Hannibal turns bodies into food for forest animals. It's completely Eco-friendly and cool. Will Graham decides to utilize his services as a body-disposal plan. Hannibal wants desperately to learn more about the man who brings him bodies so frequently, but Will is a very private person. Hannibal has to get creative.

#hannigram fic #fanfic #hannibal fanfiction #fan fiction #ask game #\

[always-andromeda]

just some thoughts that I've been having as of late; or, reflections on the passing of time and a ghost story.

it's strange how trauma works. it will continually tell you that you are stuck in the dark ages. it will insist that the little ghoul you used to fear is still there in the corner or right underneath the bed or behind the coat you've worn since sophomore year. it convinces you that you still need to strengthen your wardings. it makes you a paranoid skeptic for the foreseeable future.

I don't like thinking about it for too long, but sometimes I really hate that ghost. because what I once thought was terribly romantic has become a horror. a ghost tale recounted between friends in a kitchen as I make dinner. a teary eyed hug because I never thought anyone else would have seen the same things I did. because that's the other thing about ghosts, everyone else thinks you're fucking crazy when you say you've seen one.

they tell you that you're being dramatic. you felt too much. you got too invested. you should've known better. how do you know better when you don't know anything? you don't blame the child in horror movies for touching a possessed doll. that's just what children do.

I think that's the most difficult part sometimes. I really was just a child when I knew him. I had seen spirits before, of course, and I had built my walls decently high to protect myself. but something about the shape of him, the cadence in which he spoke, the way he made me feel like I was the only person he'd ever want to haunt, even though I knew full well that I wasn't. the way I used to consider that a privilege.

while he drained the life from me, I got tiny pieces of him. I heard whispers here and there that sustained me long enough to believe that maybe one day I'd feel a gust of wind. maybe he'd realize how much I cared for him and he'd close the door. he'd settle beside me, every step creaking horribly with the weight of the things he'd been and done. and in those moments, we'd finally be flesh and blood.

but no matter what I did...he'd always leave. all of the kindness in the world couldn't have made him stick around. you can't feel the warmth of an embrace when hands just go right through you. but you can keep siphoning adoration and affection from the well. you were never quite satisfied but you did a wonderful job at making me feel useful.

so useful that I worry that the second I stop being useful, I will lose it all over again. but I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to see that the house isn't haunted anymore. I've decorated the walls with as much color as I can and invited all of my friends for dinner. I've become quite good at distinguishing the real and the fake (or so I tell myself).

but sometimes in the quiet of the night, I will hear that familiar creak and that whistle of wind. for a split second, I will experience the soul shattering fear that it's starting all over again. until nothing follows. the night melts into silence again. it's just the house settling. just the foundation settling into the soil. just the soft breathing of walls that had to hold it in for far too long.

I will fall asleep again soon. I will feel warm and comfortable in my own bed, my own flesh. but, for now, my eyes are open. staring at the cracks in the ceiling and remembering how he used to push through them. and how I used to thank him for breaking in. how I used to thank him for being my biggest nightmare. and how the day I banished him was the day a large part of me died and went with him too.

he'll always have that remnant of me. I hope that I haunt him too. I hope I'm a wailing ghost girl in his closet, always reminding him that the love he steals is fleeting. the sheet that covers his tangle of an existence is paper thin and flaking away. I hope that ghost girl tears him apart.

I will fall asleep again soon, I promise. I have to craft a bedtime story. to put myself at ease. because the house is just settling. I will be okay.

#medarants✨ #lmao i try not to post stuff like this often #because real gamers suffer in silence 😤 #/j #but who knows #lets see how long i keep this post up lol

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/5/2021: WITCHBOARD (1986)

WITCHBOARD is a movie that sort of perplexes me. I find it so understimulating that I sometimes can't remember whether or not I've seen it before (this was one of those times). But, at the same time that it doesn't fulfill many of its entertainment obligations, it's so earnest that it's hard to stay mad at it.

To be fair, my expectations are skewed by writer-director Kevin S. Tenney's other work—specifically his second film, NIGHT OF THE DEMONS. The very discussion of that movie terrified me as a child, when kids from households with looser media standards would describe it in pornographic detail, themselves visibly shaken. Decades after its release, NIGHT OF THE DEMONS remains an intense viewing experience: hostile, horny, inventive, and imaginatively sadistic. Tenney's directorial debut WITCHBOARD is sedate by comparison, relying almost entirely on interpersonal drama to drive its plot.

The story revolves around a love triangle between two former best friends, Jim (Todd Allen) and Brandon (soap star Stephen Nichols), and the object of their shared affections, Linda (the late Tawny Kitaen). We meet the three at a house party populated by Linda's bluenosed law school classmates, where her boyfriend Jim looks as out of place as he feels. He and his construction worker pals roll their eyes at an intense theological discussion held forth by Brandon, who doesn't mind resting his arm on Linda's shoulders, despite her having left him for Jim. Brandon's young republican façade belies his fascination with esoteric spirituality; he is obsessed with spirit boards, which he claims have been in use "since recorded history". He entices Linda to help him with a demonstration of his Ouija board ("My Ouija!" he cries, every few minutes of the film), which he apparently lugs around everywhere, and they contact the ghost of a little boy named David. But, something goes wrong, and the tires of Brandon's sportscar spontaneously blow out, ending the night on a troubling note.

Thereafter, demure Linda fixates on the board that Brandon left behind in his haste...and she also starts swearing up a storm, which Brandon insists is a sign of "progressive entrapment," a phase of demonic possession (that Tenney ripped off from THE EXORCIST). As Linda's pottymouth worsens, and a series of strange accidents plague our heroes, Jim and Brandon set their differences aside to fight off what they realize is not little David, but a different, more malevolent spirit: the axe murderer Malfeitor (J.P. Luebsen), who has been haunting Jim and Linda's home.

This revelation is aided by Zarabeth (Kathleen Wilhoite), a flakey valley girl psychic whose cartoonish presentation, and outrageous death, is the closest we come to the horrific burlesque of NIGHT OF THE DEMONS. Much more concern is given to Jim's inner workings than anyone else's grim reality: The product of an alcoholic home, the self-sabotaging Jim killed a promising med school career, and torpedoed his relationship with Brandon to be with a woman he still holds at arm's length. "I love you. And you love me; even if you don't know it, I know it," Linda whispers as Jim gazes into the middle distance after she tells him she is pregnant. WITCHBOARD seems to participate in the genre of melodrama more than anything else, which is an interesting gambit, if not always an effective one.

Actually, one of the reasons that I might not always remember whether I've seen this movie before is that I always think it's supposed to have a softcore porn element. This misunderstanding may come from the way lingerie is featured in the key art for the two following sequels; or maybe it's the way all of the actors look like Ken or Barbie dolls; or maybe it's the bright, diffuse lighting that looks like its meant to light up and wash out everyone's nooks and crannies; or maybe it's just the presence of sex symbol Tawny Kitaen, despite the fact that she is almost always draped in frumpy gowns in this movie, and her sexiest look is a suit and tie that I was honestly jealous of. Anyway, I inevitably start to remember that I HAVE seen WITCHBOARD before whenever it assails my ears with the rockin' rhythm of "Bump In the Night" by hairmetal heroes Steel Breeze. If I have to have this song stuck in my head for the rest of my life, then by god, so do you:

#blogtober #witchboard #ouija board #spirit board #horror #ghost #possession #tawny kitaen #stephen nichols #todd allen #kevin s. tenney #steel breeze

[aki-draws-things]

I've been staring at your Bad Things Happen bingo while just giggling "stabbing, hehehe..." but more seriously: would you mind doing "Never got to say goodbye" for our dear Tybalt and Paris?

I did it!!! I can’t believe, but it’s finally there! (I’ll check mistakes tomorrow, so I apologize in advance.)

It got longer than expected, but ehy! The boys deserve it, right? (Though they don’t deserve what happened to them.)The stabbing one would have been interesting too...I hope you’ll like it ~

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt:  Never got to say goodbye Fandom: Romeo et JulietteShip: Tyris

“Uncle said not to leave the house. Mercutio are you listening? Mercut –” The door slammed close and Valentine was left alone in the big hall; he couldn’t blame his brother, he couldn’t force him to remain in the house for God only knew how long. Sure, he wanted to keep him safe, just as everyone else, but knowing his friends maybe he was safer outside. Maybe. Not that Valentine could take the risk.

“Find the man who brought the news here. - He said turning to two guards behind himself. - And bring him to me.” They both nodded at unison, bowed slightly to the younger Escalus and left. What else could he do, after all? With his uncle in Mantua since the previous night and Mercutio outside in the streets he was the only one in the house with some authority and he would use it all without reserve.

“I can’t lie to you, Mercutio. I don’t feel particularly sad for what happened. - “Romeo, for the love of--!” Benvolio stepped in. - I mean, yes, it’s bad and I’m not happy it happened. But I’m not sad either.” Mercutio wanted to laugh, he knew how Romeo would feel even before telling them what happened, they both knew already, a shorter version, no details nor anything. Just like all of Verona by then.

“I get it. - Mercutio sat on a bench between them. - There was a time when I couldn’t care less of how he was, but things changed over the years. Things…” He lowered his eyes as realization settled in.

His uncle had no time to think of that, not while leaving in the dead of the night after the news of an ambush against his son happened, but himself and Valentine… they could’ve thought of it sooner. Or simply thought of it. But didn’t, either of them.

“Someone has to tell him. - He whispered to himself. - He would know already, but someone has to tell him.” A dread feeling engulfed his heart and cut out his friend’s voices. “How can I tell him?” Every other sound got cut out and he just stared ahead.

Lunch was already a moment Tybalt hated, with his uncle’s complaining about everything he did, his talks of Juliet’s marriage with Paris, his –  well, his uncle talking. It always ended up ruining his mood in one way or another; that day had been no different.

He started complaining of his laziness, how he remained in bed until late morning, not knowing the kind of night he had spent, alone.

He woke up in the middle of the night, red curtains drawn around his bed and an unpleasant suffocating feeling. All he could remember was dreaming, what would be too much to ask, it was bad, that he knew for sure, he felt panic rise in his chest, like a bubble swelling in his throat, an unspoken fear taking hold of him. He laid in bed, blankets thrown aside, trying his best to remember what he was dreaming about, what could shock him so much. By the end of the night, before falling back asleep, all that came to his mind was that he must have dreamed of death. It was far from being a comforting thought, but he was too tired to fight it. It was a dream and nothing more, he said to himself, and yet he had this sense of dread, like a knot in his stomach refusing to leave, and it was still there at lunch.

“Are you okay, cousin?” Juliet’s voice mingled with the low whispered one of a servant, talking quickly at Lord Capulet. He only heard Paris’ name, nothing else.

“It seems that Count Paris – He looked up at Juliet, expecting her to show some interest in the news, instead it was Tybalt that turned just slightly at the mention. - had been wounded in an ambush last night.” The knot, or whatever was in his stomach, tightened, he felt his heart miss a beat, felt it drop, and suddenly his head was light, everything confused and dazed. He felt sick. Sicker than he had ever been before in his life, and damn, he had been sick.

“Tybalt? - Juliet’s voice was so far from him. It was wrong. It was so wrong. - Tybalt what’s wrong? Are you sick? You look like you’re going to have a fit. Or throw up. Or straight up faint.”

He pushed himself up, swayed a little and steadied himself with a hand on the chair. He had to get out. He needed air. He needed to be alone. He needed to find Mercutio. If someone knew more about this rumor that would be Mercutio.

“Sorry, I – - He stopped, stumbled back toward the door, his face pale, for a moment he feared Juliet would be right about the fit. Except he didn’t feel it coming, not yet at least. - I just need some air. I don’t feel too good since last night. I might be coming down with something. I – I –” He turned and walked, ran, outside, slumping against the wall as soon as he left the palace.

“We found this in his possession, Lord Escalus.” Valentine turned, it always sounded strange when guards talked so formally to him. Normally that title was reserved to his uncle, sometimes to Paris. Mercutio had been called like that exactly once in his life and he laughed until he cried. Him, on the other hand, he simply felt strange but there wasn’t much he could do, in that exact moment he was the one in charge, mostly because Mercutio ran out of the house as soon as he could. - But again, Valentine couldn’t blame him. -

“Show me.” He walked closer to the guard and took the dagger from his hands; it was familiar, sure he saw it at his cousin’s hip since – Well, Valentine didn’t remember when he first saw it, it had been years, that he was sure of. One of the first gifts. A promise, instead of giving a ring. He remembered how Paris had been proud and jealous of that particular dagger, a rose engraved on the hilt by expert hands, a callback to the Capulet’s crest. Tybalt personally made that dagger and, not without shame, Paris gave him his.

“It’s ruined, used, maybe not even too sharp. But it bears our crest. It’s yours, if you want it.” Tybalt sharpened the blade and kept it on himself since then, just like Paris did. And now the dagger was in Valentine’s hands. It shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t know. Maybe he didn’t but Valentine couldn’t take the risk, family was everything, he had been taught. Whether it was by blood or not.

“Find out everything he knows. You, - He pointed at one guard, the one who gave him the dagger. - with me.”

Everything felt hazy, like living in a lost dream, somewhere where Tybalt could barely make out the borders and everything around him merged in a whirlpool of forms and colors. He made three steps, not more, before what little lunch he managed to eat found new residence on the cobbles of the street but didn’t help him feeling any better. His head was still spinning, the heart pounding fast in his ribcage, for a moment he thought he was going to faint right where he was, or maybe Juliet was right and a fit, one of the bad ones, was coming, despite him not feeling it. - He truly hoped it wasn’t the case. It had been only three months since the last one, having one this soon would do no good for him. He still remembered how it was when he was a child and they were much more frequent.

As soon as he felt his legs again, without them buckling up at the mere thought of taking a step, he ran. The thought of running straight to Mantua slipped through his thoughts as he passed a stable.

“No. No, you fool. Find Mercutio, he will know what’s going on.” The second thought caught him by surprise, everything was so blurred, thoughts included, that it was strange he could make it out so clearly. The dream still lingered in the back of his mind, far away, blurred as everything else, but deeply unsettling, the more he thought of it, just as that previous night, and less he could remember.

Mercutio was sitting between his two friends when Tybalt finally found him, so caught in his own thoughts that at first he didn’t notice him. Romeo and Benvolio did, though, and slid a bit closer to their friend, like they wanted to protect him. - Protect him from an unarmed man? - They wouldn’t be so wrong if the rumor was true, maybe Mercutio was in danger too.

He walked closer, he tried to. Suddenly his legs were heavy again, the world was spinning and he felt like he was going to fall; still he pushed himself forward dragging his feet on the ground. What were they thinking? He must have looked drunk, hobbling their way like some kind of reanimated corpse.

“Tell me… - His voice sounded raspy, for a moment, a very long moment, he believed he was going to throw up again just because he opened his mouth. He didn’t but the feeling was there. - Tell me it’s not true. Tell me it’s just a rumor.”

Mercutio looked up without saying a word. For a moment he didn’t even recognize Tybalt.

He took in his appearance. He noticed how pale his face was, a sickening white, like a ghost, the sweat sticking the blond strands to his forehead, - “Sweat from what? Did he ran? Is he sick? Maybe both. Is he going to have a fit? Oh good Lord, no please. We can’t stay here, and he’ll need a medic.” Mercutio's mind seemed to run too fast for him to keep up. - Tybalt’s eyes were wide in fear and desperation, pleading him for an answer he didn’t have. He was only wearing a plain shirt, one Mercutio was sure he saw him wearing in bed, disheveled and even dirty, no red coat, no sword at his side, only the familiar dagger. The one Paris gave him.

For a moment Mercutio thought he had to sprint forward and grab him before he fell, for a second moment he thought he would see his beloved cousin drop like a broken doll in front of them.

“I beg of you, dear Mercutio… - Tybalt held out a hand, tried to grab his, his voice broken just as his look in Mercutio’s eyes, his words, affectionate and pleading, telling him he didn’t care if others could hear them. - Tell me it’s not true.”

He wanted to. He really wanted to, but that would have been lying, wouldn’t it? Mercutio wasn’t even sure himself, there was anything of the whole ordeal he was sure of. His uncle was still in Mantua, his cousin was hurt, maybe even dying, - Almost certainly dying. - his little brother trying to keep himself together and –

“Tybalt!” Valentine’s voice interrupted his thoughts and made everyone turn. One would believe the younger Escalus was angry, maybe even furious, from the tone he used. He joined them running, a guard in black and yellow following shortly after him. “Where on Earth were you? And don’t you dare answering me! - He exclaimed pointing a finger at him. - I went to the Capulet Palace and Lady Juliet said you ran away claiming you were sick. One would not go around when sick. Not even my brother does that.” He walked closer breathing heavily and looked back and forth between Tybalt and Mercutio before sighing. “Am I the only one in this God forsaken family who understand the meaning of safety?”

“I am safe.” Mercutio almost complained. Almost. Valentine looked too worried in that moment, he would only make him angry, and both him and Tybalt were aware of how dangerous Valentine could be if provoked.

“You need to come with me. Both of you, actually.”

“Valent – ” Tybalt started but the boy stopped him immediately, before he could even finish his name. He took the dagger from under his cloak and held it to Tybalt.

“The guards stopped a man who was spreading the news around Verona. We don’t know yet if hes the perpetrator or just a messenger, but he had this on himself when they stopped him.” He waved at the dagger with the engraved rose, dagger Tybalt turned in his hands careful, like he was hlding the most precious treasure. The ground shifted slightly beneath his feet. “Now, for the love of God, will you both come with me?”

He looked at Romeo and Benvolio who were now eyeing the dagger and Tybalt, Valentine was almost sure they were thinking he was somehow responsible for what happened, he almost dared them to say a word.

“Don’t make me force you. - He begged, and Mercutio took a step forward. - There’s no one I trust right now , apart from family. No Montagues, no Capulets, no one. Just this time, Just this one time do as I ask.”

Tybalt didn’t hear him, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the dagger, everything was spinning once again. It was his dagger, the one he made, the one he gifted to Paris. If the man, whoever he was, had it it meant he knew. And not only him perhaps. They knew about him, about them.

What if it was his fault Paris got –

Mercutio grabbed him, stretched his arms out and caught him as he fell, Tybalt blinked slowly, confused to finding himself on the ground, with Mercutio’s arms closed around his body.

“Everything is fine, just breathe.”

“Liar.” he wanted to say but his voice was nowhere to be found, lost somewhere like he felt he was too. His head hurt more than before, black dots danced in front of him making him nauseous. “Nothing is fine. Nothing will be fine. Paris is – ”

He grabbed his arm in despair moving restlessly despite Mercutio’s hold.

“I – - His voice came out shaky and small. - I should be in Mantua.”

Valentine almost laughed, he stepped in front of him and knelt on the ground until he was everything Tybalt could see.

“So they can get you too? No way in hell, no. I won’t allow that. Listen to me – Listen, Tybalt. - He took his face in the hands and forced him to look at him. - We’ll need you. Mercutio, and me, and our uncle to. We will need you, whatever will happen. Mantua will need you. I something happens, and I’m not saying it will, - He added when Tybalt squirmed and tried to break free from his gentle hold. - if it does happen we will need you to be safe. And right now that city is far from safe. Especially for you.”

“By his side. I promised, Valentine… You know I did.”

“Yes. - It was Mercutio now, his arms still holding him tight. - And Paris would want you safe too. You know that even better than we do.”

He lifted him, stopping the guard from helping them with a quick wave of the hand.

“Mercutio what – ?” Romeo tried to move closer but Valentine stepped between them, picked up the dagger that slipped from Tybalt’s hand and held it out.

“Stay where you are. I don’t care how long you’ve been friend with Mercutio, or how much he can trust you, you follow us and I’ll have you head decorating the hall.” Unconsciously Romeo took a few steps back. Benvolio, on the other hand, moved forward, uncaring of the knife.

“Whatever happened he, for sure, won’t be safe around a Capulet. That dagger is the proof. What if he –”

“He’s an Escalus, you dumb, blue-clothed monkey.” Valentine said, annoyed, the blade shifting just slightly in his hand, resting against Benvolio’s neck without hurting him. Yet. “We’re much better than you all at keeping secrets, especially when said secret is about a marriage.” He eyed Romeo briefly, then turned once sure they wouldn’t follow them just yet.

He would be a good Prince one day, Tybalt thought dazed. A respected Prince. One Verona could even learn to love, maybe. - A dangerous, loyal and powerful Prince, too. Whether he would rule with power or justice or love only the future would tell. -

Days later the world broke. The ground opened beneath Tybalt’s feet and threatened to swallow him, was not for Mercutio and Valentine being so close to him to catch him. He should’ve been there. He should have been by his side, he kept saying. He should have at least said goodbye.

Months later he force a smile on his face, so fake that he could only fool the guests at the party, but never the rest of his family.

He watched as Juliet entered the room and his gaze softened for a moment walking toward her, it almost surprised him how she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, a thousand questions falling from her lips.

“Where have you been? What are you wearing?” Tybalt laughed, it wasn’t happy, not really, but it was the closest think to a laugh Mercutio heard in months.

“Asks the one dressed in blue.” He linked their arms and walked back toward Mercutio and Valentine.

“And you’re wearing…  White. And gold. That’s quite neutral.”

“Thank God they’re neutral. It would have been a problem, otherwise.” Valentine hugged him just as she did a moment before before parting when the Prince joined them.

“I hoped you would make it on time. - Juliet looked positively confused at the familiar tone the man used with Tybalt, like he was family, or something of sort. - Come, tell me how is Mantua, my dear Count.”

#tyris #tybalt capulet #paris escalus #tw character death #off screen tho #prompt: Never got to say goodbye #bad things happen bingo #bthb #angst #romeo et juliette #retj #fanfic #aki writes