#(.person | .graham gore)

[saints-who-never-existed]

Y'know, as much as I want to see multiple episodes-worth of everyday friendship things and Beach(y)-episode nonsense, I have to admit that my train of thought today was actually inspired more by the thought of The Lads (TM) clashing.

More specifically, it came from remembering this gem of a scene from that very earliest pilot script in which it's not Irving who reprimands Manson for his refusal to enter the hold but Dundy (who is also described in the script as "impatient and shrill")

Isn't that just so fascinating?! Le Vesconte actively displaying callousness and poor judgement right from the get-go? Gore even being a bit antagonistic in the way he belittles Dundy as he leaves? It's such a fascinating thing to me and it changes everything!

[abrahamvanhelsings]

imagining the things graham gore could and would have done to edward little's cervix had he lived a little longer

[theselkiefolk]

Terror folks is it gauche of me to cast Tom Weston-Jones (LT- graham gore) in my concept work AND have his call sign be sundog??

[ghostshipglamour]

Who’s the beautiful lesbian on the French wikipedia article for Midshipman. where are they. Is she free tonight-

(I swear it’s the real image but you can check for yourself)

[lilgynt]

someone recognized my hannibal hat at the dispensary. definitely a moment

[tac-the-unseen]

Could you write slashers with a s/o who’s an artist? You can do with all/any you want but I would specifically like maybe the Sinclairs, Billy Lenz, Brahms and maybe Pinhead?

Slashers x Artist Reader + Pinhead

Micheal Myers:

•Pretends not to care, but he's an artist at heart

•If you sculpt or blind things he will insist on watching you over your shoulders

•Will steal supplies for you whether you ask or not

•if you Draw or paint, it's going on the fridge or wall

•He truly admires your work

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•Billy and Stu really just lets you do your thing

•Stu suggest glitter no matter the work or meaning

•Billy Suggests You make a lot of gore pieces

•Both of them will go the extra mile to kill models for you, so you have a subject

•Both Jokingly propose to model nude for you

Thomas Hewitt:

•Loves it when you proudly show him your art

•if you draw/paint on paper, He'll build custom frames So he can hang it up

•If you paint on a canvas, He'll make you canvases so you can make more art

•If you sculpt/Make pottery He'll make a display case for your work

•He's very proudly flaunts it to the family

Bubba Sawyer:

•Shows you his Bone art

•Wants to make art with you

•No matter what you do, He wants to join

•Will be as happy as can be if you make crafts with him or use his supply of bones in your art

Bo Sinclair:

•His Brain immediately connects you to Vincent

•He subconsciously starts treating you like his brother, no matter your relationship with him

•When he goes to other town he grabs you and his brother some supplies

•kinda just plops you down with Vincent and expects you to to get along, especially if you sculpt

•That's about as nice as he can get

Vincent Sinclair:

•He's excited to have somebody who understands

•Will silently sit next to you well both of you work on your craft

•Feels oddly comforting to him

•His family has always been connected by art, even though they're not great people. So having you make art with him solidifies your position as family to him

•shows you his technique with wax working, and wants to teach you how to sculpt with wax

Lester Sinclair:

•pt. 3 of familial bond

•because he didn't receive much attention as a kid, He desperately tried to be an artist to gain favor of his mother

•It didn't click with him the way it clicked with Vincent so he was shoved aside for “real artists”

•If you sit down and make art with him, he will cry

•constantly seeking your validation and praise

•holds your art very dear

Billy Lenz:

•Yet another creature looking over your shoulder

•He's fascinated by your ability to create

•You have hands And he has hands, yet your creations are always different than his

•He's a little jealous

•demands you teach him how to be better

•If you already don't know he'll show you how to crochet in return

Brahms Heelshire:

•In All his time locked away He has had plenty to make art

•He focus on the more classical sides of painting and traditional drawing

•He makes stunning portraits, So if you have a different art style it confuses him

•He's lived his life very sheltered so at first he might not even consider it art

•He later learns how much time and care you put into these works and starts to appreciate your dedication

•He also steals some of them to put up in his room

Hannibal Lecter:

•Very excited

•Starts showing off his own private art collection

•Takes it upon himself to teach you “proper technique”

•Gives you random history lessons on your choice of art form

•buys you very expensive supplies

Will Graham:

•Okay dude

•Doesn’t really care

•Just happy that you're happy

•Secretly admires your work when you are away

•Always make sure your work is safe and undamaged

The Lost Boys:

•Marko is immediately grinning ear to ear

•David pretends not to care

•Dwayne silently watches you

•Paul is all up in your personal space while you work

•No matter what you make or how proud of it you are, It's going in the horde pile with all their other treasures

•Paul and Marko asking you to draw them all the time

•If you do it's being hung up on the wall

Pinhead:

•Another artist in his own way

•He prefers body modification and rigging as his art form

•Will creepy watch you work from a distance

•He’ll give you polite criticism from time to time

•Seeing you so focused and dedicated makes him think of all the other past artists he's met

•Decides fairly quickly that you are his favorite

Thanks for reading <3

[phntmeii]

Hil

Im not sure if your taking requests for writing, but if you are I was wondering if you could do a slashers × S/O who is very strong but doesn't look it?

If that makes sense...

Like the S/O is very sweet, short and small, like she looks petite and fragile but it turns out she can easily lift extremely heavy things, or can punch really hard.

Like even harder or stronger than the slasher.

If you could specifically add Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, (NBC) Hannibal and Will, and maybe Thomas Hetwit?

Sorry I don't know if that's too much to ask for, I just love your writing so much!

Being Stronger than Slashers .

[ SFW + Fem Terms]

Pairings: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Thomas Hewitt x petite!strong!Reader General Warnings: Descriptions of Gore/Blood, Violence, Slightly OOC, Descriptions of panic attack/episode, Manipulative behavior mention

A/N: ty anon for request <33 Back to slashers :) Sad I haven’t posted more of them literally in Halloween month but I’m working on it (last second lol) </33

Bo Sinclair

Absolutely turned on to the fucking max when he sees your strength.

Small, sweet partners was always his type. He just loves fulfilling the typical male stereotype of being a protector over his partner.

When he turned the corner, looking to finish off the last victim of the lot within his abandoned town, only to see something better.

He watched as you effortlessly were carrying the body of the victim over your shoulder like it was nothing. Head completely caved in, more of a mass of flesh and blood than an identifiable person. Your other hand held a bloodied hammer.

Bo was completely still, but not of fear. He was standing there like a man who had completely re-fallen in love again.

His eyes were shining as his grin grew wide. Approaching, he was nothing but prideful.

His voice was light with a chuckle, thumb brushing away the blood on your cheek. “Shit, sweetheart… Never knew a pretty girl like you was so… strong. I love it.”

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent was overprotective a lot of the time. He was insistent you were never near his work nor would you be involved when victims were in town.

He loved you too much to have you a part of him and his brothers’ work.

Vincent was slightly startled, hearing the door of his studio open. He knew both his brothers were out.

Seeing it was you, he approached, silently looking down at you. You could tell there was an air of disappointment at you being in his studio when he didn’t want you to be.

A ragged, strained voice spoke from behind his mask, “Why?”

With a shrug of your shoulders and a smile, you walked past him, further into the studio. “Bo said he needed a box in here.”

Watching you walk past, his eyes were hidden but widened as he watched you easily lift up a heavy table to look under it, scrolling past the items underneath it.

He approached confused but didn’t stop you. “Oh! Here it is!” Your arms held up a filled box of tools and parts.

Vincent followed you around curiously for the rest of the day like a shadow. He was completely fascinated by your strength, wanting to see it again.

Once you returned from helping Bo, Vincent couldn't let go of you. He kept his arms around you, head on your shoulder. His quiet, strained voice simply said, "Show me again... Please?"

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal always held an air of curiosity about you. Your sweet nature was like an untainted part of his life. A woman so far from himself.

Hannibal’s curiosity was never-ending. He took advantage of his intelligence to learn as much as he could. Stalking, Manipulative behaviors in “therapy”, etc.

You were almost always at his place. He liked it better that way although it provided some maintenance when it came to his extracurricular activities.

Hannibal had been making another of his fancy dinners for the two of you. The presentation had to be precise and perfect. Presentation was half the work for him.

He absentmindedly spoke while you were cutting vegetables beside him, “I have not set the chairs. I will do so in a moment, my love.”

Immediately, you wanted to assist. You always liked helping out. “I’ve got it!”

Watching you walk away, he expected to finish his current task before going off to assist you. Instead, he looked up to the doorway to see you easily walking past with a heavy wooden chair in each hand, easily carrying the two like they were just a stack of papers.

A small smirk curled at his lips as his hands slowed in their work. He whispered to himself, knowing his eager curiosity was not wasted, “You are… a delight, my love. You will make for something truly wonderful.”

Will Graham

Will was someone who was vigilant and aware. His mind always raced a million miles an hour with tiny observations and connections.

There was something about you but he just couldn’t place it.

But, what was there to prove? You were sweet and kind, seeming so far from what he knew. That was part of why he held love for you—You weren’t him.

Will was in his head again, silently panicked by his own mind. It was torturous to live in a prison of his own violent thoughts.

You were someone who always noticed. Always could pick up when these episodes started.

Holding his hands and speaking sweetly to him to draw him back to reality, unfortunately, wasn’t working this time.

His eyes kept darting back and forth while his breath quickened. With him standing still, quivering, you had to make the choice.

With simple ease, you picked Will up bridal style, walking away with him.

It took him a moment to realize what happened, breaking out of being inside his head. His eyes just stared at you when he was placed onto his bed, sweat drenching his forehead.

He broke out into a small smile, absentmindedly licking his lips, as was his habit. "I... didn't know you could do that."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"No. It's... really attractive, actually."

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy was always a protector. Toward his family, it was evident. A given. Toward you, it was an inherent need.

The last thing he'd ever want is for you to be hurt, especially when victims come around.

He would lead you and Luda Mae into a room, having you two barricade it while him and Hoyt took care of the unfortunate victims who made their way to the wrong home.

You waited, albeit anxiously. And it only grew once you heard a loud thud followed by Hoyt's yelling.

"Goddammit, Tommy! The fuck are you doin'?"

Immediately you knew something went wrong. Despite Luda Mae trying to keep you in the room, you ripped away the makeshift barricade on the door and rushed out.

Tommy was on all fours, holding the side of his head. A man, you assumed one of the few victims, held a hammer in his hand. He quivered holding it, as if horrified by his own self-defense.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest chair, pulling back and cracking it hard against the man. Aimed for his head, he dropped to the floor unconscious by the impact.

You rushed over to Tommy's side, panicked. "Tommy! Tommy! God- Are you okay?"

His arm just instinctively shot out and held you to his body, protecting you in his mind. He opened his eyes and looked past you to see the victim with broken wooden pieces of the chair on top of him.

With his mask on, his expression was hidden. But inside, his heart warmed at how you were strong enough to protect him too. His own protector.

[rmstitanics]

* FAMOUS INDIVIDUALS WITH YOUR MOON SIGN.

If you’re looking for suggestions on which authors and music artists to check out next, look to your moon sign! In Western astrology, the moon is said to represent your subconscious mind, emotions, and inner personality, so it is widely believed that we tend to relate to media by artists who share our moon sign.

♈️ ARIES MOON

WRITERS:

Gore Vidal

George R. R. Martin

Nicholas Sparks

Rick Riordan

Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Christopher Paolini

MUSICIANS:

P!nk

Whitney Houston

Céline Dion

Selena Gomez

Rihanna

Tupac

♉️ TAURUS MOON

WRITERS:

Jodi Picoult

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Hans Christian Anderson

Clive Barker

George Bernard Shaw

Aldous Huxley

MUSICIANS:

Pharrell Williams

Kelly Clarkson

Bob Dylan

Demi Lovato

Christina Aguilera

Pitbull

♊️ GEMINI MOON

WRITERS:

C. S. Lewis

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Orson Scott Card

Franz Kafka

Margaret Mitchell

R.A. Salvatore

T. S. Elliot

MUSICIANS:

Ella Fitzgerald

Florence Welch

Art Garfunkel

Billy Idol

Sia

Tina Turner

♋️ CANCER MOON

WRITERS:

George Orwell

Liu Cixin

Brandon Sanderson

Cassandra Clare

Diana Gabaldon

Lois Lowry

MUSICIANS:

Tchaikovsky

Taylor Swift

Kurt Cobain

Halsey

Aretha Franklin

Janis Joplin

♌️ LEO MOON

Oscar Wilde

Holly Black

Geraldine Brooks

James Dashner

Jack London

Ta Nehisi Coates

MUSICIANS:

Lana Del Ray

Paul McCartney

Queen Latifah

Niall Horan

Bruno Mars

David Bowie

♍️ VIRGO MOON

WRITERS:

Leo Tolstoy

John Grisham

Claudia Gray

Isabel Allende

Xiran Jay Zhao

Douglas Adams

MUSICIANS:

Dolly Parton

Nicki Manaj

Madonna

Lorde

Bo Burnham

Lizzo

♎️ LIBRA MOON

WRITERS:

Jane Austen

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Sylvia Plath

William Shakespeare

Maya Angelou

R.F. Kuang

MUSICIANS:

Ariana Grande

Charli XCX

Bruce Springsteen

Jay-Z

Harry Styles

Fergie

♏️ SCORPIO MOON

WRITERS:

Veronica Roth

Edith Wharton

V.E. Schwab

Harper Lee

Keira Cass

Meg Cabot

MUSICIANS:

Lady Gaga

Tyler the Creator

Cyndi Lauper

Beyoncé

Bob Marley

The Weeknd

♐️ SAGITTARIUS MOON

WRITERS:

Stephen King

Victor Hugo

Marie Lu

Suzanne Collins

Samantha Shannon

Adam Silvera

MUSICIANS

Hozier

Freddie Mercury

Adele

Ludwig Van Beethoven

Chappell Roan

John Legend

♑️ CAPRICORN MOON

WRITERS:

Sarah J. Maas

J.M. Barrie

Jeff Shaara

Joyce Carol Oates

Stephanie Meyer

Angie Thomas

MUSICIANS:

Frédéric Chopin

Neil Diamond

Jon Bon Jovi

Lin-Manuel Miranda

Stevie Nicks

Donna Summer

♒️ AQUARIUS MOON

WRITERS:

Margaret Atwood

Leigh Bardugo

Louisa May Alcott

Seth Grahame-Smith

Anthony Horowitz

S.E. Hinton

MUSICIANS:

Cody Simpson

Marilyn Monroe

Britney Spears

Billie Eilish

Tim McGraw

Carrie Underwood

♓️ PISCES MOON

WRITERS:

Toni Morrison

Edgar Allen Poe

Malcolm Gladwell

Lisa McMann

Alice Oseman

Philippa Gregory

MUSICIANS:

Kenny Chesney

Elvis Presley

Frank Sinatra

Prince

Kendrick Lamar

Sabrina Carpenter

[averagepolarexpeditionenjoyer]

sex enjoyers poll part 2!!!! My bad for not putting Blanky on the first one, apparently there’s a cuntiness limit we hit last time 😔😔

personally I would want to fuck Francis Crozier when he was better but if I couldn’t… I’d fuck him again but when he’s going through the alcoholism withdrawals so I can sensually nurse him back to health like a baby bird except he’s a sad sweaty man (..Jopson…. I get it now….)

[laniusbignaturals]

This, too, counts as “exploring each others bodies”

I’d worry less about whether or not I project too much in my writing if this lil nasty ass Sallowgraham WIP didn’t keep getting derailed by one of them taking a second to wax poetic about how good it would feel to gut the other like a fish

[nigesakis]

In light of the Graham Gore book (The Ministry of Time) coming out on May 7th and a show adaption already greenlit, I think it's important to talk about the fact its about the historical Gore, not the AMC character. As far as I know, the author first was a Terror fan and then picked interest by seeing historical Gore's portrait, and then got into the historical information (and you probably couldn't write a whole book about the AMC character anyway, considering the little screentime). So, it's not a Terror fanfiction, but a book involving RP fanfiction.

Anyway, what I wanna talk about is that The Terror fandom, me included, has a problem with mixing the historical and fictional sides. The Terror is a work of fiction, the characters' personalities and their actions are fictional.

Especially Fitzjames, who is as fictional as Hickey is. He's mostly based on Battersby's "research", which we now know includes a lot of bullshit (the Barrow scandal apparently did not happen, for example). @jamesfitzjamesdotcom can probably tell you more about that than I can.

So, the thing is, if you wanted to write a book about Fitzjames, about Francis, Fitzier, Goodsir or basically any other character with screentime, and then say it's about the historical persons, you could not do it if your interest and knowledge is majorly based on or fueled by The Terror.

You couldn't mix AMC James and historical James together, because they are two different people. If you write about Fitzier with their characterisations from the show, you couldn't call it historical Fitzier; it'd be like writing Destiel and then saying it's Drarry. Or some other ship that has barely any canon content, because if you look at historical Fitzier, there's no Fitzier. Like writing about Bungo Stray Dogs and then saying its about historical Ozamu Dazai just 'cause they use his name and some character traits.

It's one thing to take historical lore and use it for The Terror fanfiction or headcanons. But you can't look at historical Fitzjames or other crew members and extend their AMC/Simmons counterparts onto them.

The Terror is an amazing show in itself, but it's not a biopic or historical show like HBO War is, for example. It's not a show that tries to represent the real people as they were, the expedition as it was, it's a work of fiction inspired by real events, subjectively interpreted and then fictionalised. So if you're interested in the real events, you can't just watch or read The Terror, because it doesn't represent them. It doesn't represent the people.

This fandom, again me included, needs to be more conscious of that when talking about the historical people and events.

Especially now, because the Gore book will most likely attract more people to watch/read The Terror and get into the Franklin Expedition. So it's important that when they get here, there's a clear, or at least clearer, cut between The Terror and the real history.

For example, not tagging historical FE content with "The Terror/The Terror AMC/terrorposting" (since the historical Terror would be HMS Terror it'd be a difference) is a start. Tagging the show/book content clearly with "Simmons/AMC/2018" somewhere, and not with "Franklin Expedition", is another way.

[hor3nee]

Oct Fem!Char Recs

Female RE Characters x Reader fics I read & loved this October. Go check out these fics!

Ada Wong

IN SICKNESS & IN HEALTH！• Ada Wong/Reader in which a certain mercenary takes care of you while you're sick. @wo8ngs RN: I read this while I had a flu and omg yeah it made me feel so much better. Was like giggling and shit. Final hc made me UGH I loved the very mild angst.

CHERRY • Ada Wong/Reader (18+) You'll take it like a good dog, won't you? @homicidal-slvt RN: She calls Reader good dog and that rewired my brain tbh.

Honey! It's a Murder Case. • Ada Wong/Reader after changing town, you, a detective, arrive on the crime scene after dead man's wife called, a woman in the red that seemingly was already waiting for you. @clitorphosis RN: Seriously beautiful and I wanted to tear open my skull reading it + doomed yuri bless.

Ashley Graham

I’LL DO IT ! • Ashley Graham/Reader ft. Leon (18+) You’re drunk, Ashley’s drunk. He’s pretty fucking sober. She likes him. Ashley likes him a lot, and he wishes she didn’t. @wokelander RN: I will kill for og Ashley biggest defender + the epileptic gf mention made me holler so hard loved.

Making Out with the President's Daughter • Ashley Graham/Reader Ashley wants to have a makeout session with you. That's it. @/MasterOfMemez96 RN: It's like under 500 words, short and really sweet!! And I'm really picky with fluff.

Hey, Scene Slut • Ashley Graham/Reader (18+) “You like when I fuck you like this? Sitting here all pretty for me while I cut you open?” You felt like she could say anything to you and she’d still be an angel in your eyes. @/zh0mb13affa1rz RN: Being so honest I read for the gore stayed for the smut and may have discovered something new about myself.

Claire Redfield

communion • Claire Redfield/Reader (18+) It’s over, and she’s back at your place the following weekend. @delphi-shield RN: It's like porn, right? But art. Like art porn. Like smut laced with gods word and thrown onto tumblr, should be the modern bible. God-teir read.

eat that girl for lunch • Claire Redfield/Reader (18+) she dances on my tongue, tastes like she might be the one (or every college girl has that “phase”) @thisfanisgonesorry RN: It's in 1st person. Also shit made me tweak heart breaking damn. Loved.

Ingrid Hunnigan

Brat • Ingrid Hunnigan/Reader (18+) Getting taught a lesson in obedience by your beloved girlfriend. @homicidal-slvt RN: No words just eating their smut and becoming increasingly depraved reading their stuff also the first ever Hunnigan/Reader I've found so thank fuck for that.

[n1angi]

Shrouded in Darkness

CHAPTER 5 : RISOTTO MILANESE

previous chapter | next chapter

Will Graham x AFAB character x Hannibal Lecter (Polyamory)

Summary:

In the heart of Baltimore, forensic analyst Sidonie Renard navigates the shadows of crime scenes, concealing her loneliness behind a composed facade. Drawn into a web of intrigue, she captures the attention of profiler Will Graham and the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Word count: 4,5k

Chapter Warning: Murder, Blood, Gore.

The morning air was crisp, with a faint chill in Sidonie’s home, a reminder that winter was fast approaching.

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a dim light through her apartment, with only the glow from the front door offering any brightness.

She picked up the leather bag she had packed the night before, hearing a soft whimper from her dog. Smiling, she crouched down to give Lucy a gentle pet.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” she murmured.

Lucy licked her face, and Sidonie let out a small chuckle. After leaving the house, she locked the door behind her and glanced at the two cars waiting outside. Noticing Jack stepping out of his car, she sighed and began walking toward him.

Today, Sidonie was meeting Abigail Hobbs, and the thought made her sigh. Although she was irritated at Jack for assigning her to a task outside her usual duties, her curiosity ran deeper.

There had to be some connection between Copycat and G.J. Hobbs. Why else would the copycat contact G.J. Hobbs if they weren’t somehow linked? Even if Hobbs didn’t know the copycat personally, the killer had to have some knowledge of him to mimic his actions so closely.

Will Graham had mentioned earlier that the copycat case wouldn’t resurface, but Sidonie had a nagging feeling, almost instinctual, that he would.

Whether Abigail could help with the case or not remained to be seen, but it was worth a shot.

“You’ll be in the second car,” Jack told her.

“Good morning to you too, Jack,” Sidonie replied as she walked past him, heading toward the car behind his.

She glanced at the sleek, expensive vehicle and noticed Hannibal in the driver’s seat with Will in the passenger seat. She gave them a nod before opening the back door.

Her eyes fell on a slender young girl with wide, steel-blue eyes that held a mix of confusion and slight tension. Abigail’s pale, almost ghostly skin made her seem even more fragile.

She leaned away slightly to make room for Sidonie.

Sidonie settled in, placing her bag between herself and Abigail, and greeted her coworkers.

“Good morning to you too, Miss Renard. Did you get any rest?” Hannibal asked with a slight smile as he started the engine, following Jack’s car.

“More or less. Thank you for asking,” she replied, noticing Will slouched in his seat, rubbing his eyes. Now, he didn’t seem to have gotten any rest.

Sidonie turns her attention to Abigail, who looks at her anxiously. Offering a gentle smile, she extends her hand.

“Sidonie Renard. I’m a forensic analyst. It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.”

Abigail hesitantly shakes her hand, glancing between Sidonie and the others.

“I thought analysts were supposed to focus on evidence,” Abigail remarks.

“Umm, Yeah, that’s true. But sometimes understanding the bigger picture helps uncover details. Being present gives me a better sense of the situation, so that’s why I’ll be accompanying you on this trip.”

“Then I’m guessing you’ll be around quite often,”

Sidonie offers a subtle smile as Abigail continues to stare at her. She notes how expressive the young girl’s face is as if her emotions are laid bare for anyone to see.

“That’s right.”

Abigail smiles, but it’s clear that it’s forced, born out of discomfort.

Hannibal glances in the rearview mirror, observing them.

“How are you finding the weather, Abigail? I’ve heard it can be quite a change from what you are used to.”

Will subtly raises an eyebrow at Hannibal's question. Was he really starting a conversation with the weather?

“Winter is milder here than back at home… but I’m adjusting.”

“It’s often the small adjustments that are the most challenging, but they can also be the most rewarding,” Hannibal informs. “This trip can be considered as one of those occasions.”

“I just hope… it brings a bit of peace,” Abigail says softly, her voice almost a whisper.

She lowers her eyes, watching her fingers as they fidget. Her shoulders slump slightly.

“It’s not easy to keep hope alive… especially when everything feels uncertain.” Will murmurs, his voice raspy, betraying his fatigue.

“Will is right,” Hannibal adds. “Hope is a powerful ally, Abigail. You are brave for facing what lies ahead, even when the path is unclear.”

“…I’m- I’m just…Everything feels so heavy sometimes.” Abigail admits, swallowing hard. “Hope feels more like a dream than something real.”

Sidonie watches Abigail closely, placing her hand between them and subtly shifting her shoulders.

“You don’t have to force yourself to move forward if you’re not ready. The burden you’re carrying isn’t light. Sometimes… just staying where you are is enough.”

Abigail looks up at her, then down again with a small shrug.

“Yeah… maybe you are right.”

The car falls silent for a moment. Sidonie clears her throat and reaches into her handbag.

“I didn’t have time to eat anything so…”

She pulls out a chocolate bar.

“I brought some chocolate. Would you like some?”

Abigail nods and smiles shyly.

“Do you prefer dark chocolate or something sweeter?”

“I thought only old people liked dark chocolate,” Abigail mumbles.

Sidonie raises an eyebrow playfully.

“Thanks for calling me old”

Abigail gives a faint chuckle.

Will listens, feeling a small swell of emotion as he hears Abigail’s chuckle.

He hadn’t been sure if he could reach that part of her, get her to open up. The moments they shared were subtle, but he hoped that she would get to be happy one day. He genuinely wanted her to have a normal life.

“Mr. Graham,”

He glances at Sidonie, holding out a chocolate bar. He nods grabbing the bar from her hand, mumbling small thanks.

He breaks off a section and glances at Hannibal.

“I’ll decline, as I’m driving,”

Will shrugs and pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

“Suit yourself.”

As the group arrives at the airport, the terminals are bustling with travelers and the clatter of rolling luggage. They make their way through the crowd, following signs to their gate. After a swift check-in and security process, they board the plane.

Inside the aircraft, the cabin features muted colors and soft, overhead lighting. Will settles into his window seat and pulls down the shade to block the rising sun. Abigail takes the middle seat, looking weary, and soon drifts off to sleep. Sidonie sits beside her.

In the row ahead, Hannibal, Alana, and Jack find their seats together, exchanging quiet words as they get settled. Hannibal’s gaze occasionally drifts back, observing the surroundings, while Alana and Jack engage in a low-key conversation. The plane begins to taxi, and the engine noise grows louder as they prepare for takeoff.

As the plane ascends, the cabin settles into a gentle rhythm of vibrations and occasional turbulence. Sidonie’s eyes are fixed on the pages of her book, turning them with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Will struggles to find a comfortable position.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to fall asleep, he glances over at Sidonie, noticing the cover of her book. It’s “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath.

“Quite a heavy read for a flight”

“It’s been on my list for a while.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Interesting choice for this setting.”

“How so?”

“I am guessing you’re not near finishing it,” he looks over the page. “Yeah, not even close.”

Sidonie raises a brow at him.

“No spoilers please.”

He chuckles faintly.

“Such a book is impossible to spoil.”

Her attention turns back to the pages.

“I assume you read often.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“That’s what every bookworm says.”

Will shakes his head.

“Perhaps you got me.”

Sidonie smiles faintly.

“Do you read?”

“In my free time.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Crime and Punishment, by Dostoyevsky.”

Will nods.

“Classic.”

“You?”

“Frankenstein, Mary Shelley”

Sidonie hums thoughtfully.

“Huh, an Interesting choice.”

Will tilts his head, waiting for her to elaborate.

She places her book on a lap, her hands still holding it.

“Well, if you put it in a certain perspective, both of the characters deal with the consequences of their actions and look into darker aspects of themselves in their way.” she explains “Raskolnikov's surroundings had a profound impact on his actions, while Frankenstein's choices were more a product of his unbridled ambition and intellectual hubris. It’s interesting how both of them are driven to confront their inner demons, despite the different forces pushing them.”

“Huh…That’s a good way of putting it.” Will nods. He hadn’t thought of it that way but found the comparison intriguing. He realizes this is the longest conversation they've had since she arrived almost two weeks ago.

However, his lack of initiative and the irritation that came with Jack’s persistence were the biggest reasons for it. Will leans into his seat.

“Mhh, you have a talent for… connecting dots, even when they seem unrelated.”

Sidonie blinks, realizing she has rambled a bit.

She had felt and knew that Will didn’t think much of her. Perhaps even to say he was not particularly fond of her. But just now, she could tell his tone was slightly warmer and lighter. Even inviting.

“You’ve just described the reason why I’m here.”

“It can be your cognitive capabilities, and… some might consider a personality trait.”

“How so?” She looks at him.

“Well, um, It could mean you're constantly on edge, wary of revealing too much about yourself.” Will says slowly “As if you're constantly guarding yourself.” He pauses as she arches her brow. “Or perhaps you have a deep need to make sense of things, to feel a sense of security.”

"Looks like Dr. Freud is back from the dead.”

Will rolls his eyes, faintly smiling at her sarcastic remark.

“And here comes the humor, a classic defense mechanism,” Will adds in.

“And I’m the one overanalyzing now mh?”

“Touché.”

Abigail shifts slightly in her sleep, her head resting against Sidonie’s shoulder. She murmurs in her sleep, barely coherent.

Sidonie freezes momentarily but then adjusts so Abigail’s head is comfortably supported. Abigail’s face relaxes, showing a hint of relief.

Will watches the scene quietly. The interaction is subtle but undeniably comforting.

Sidonie notices Will’s softened expression.

“Let’s try not to wake her... She has a lot to face today.”

Sidonie tells him as he agrees with a nod.

As she goes back to her book, Will, unable to fall asleep, finds his mind preoccupied with other thoughts, looking forward to returning home.

Two rented cars pulled up at the airport, everyone loading their luggage and heading to their destinations.

The morning sun was dim but bright enough to cast a warm light on the car. The weather was nicer than in Washington, with a chilly breeze rustling the leaves on the ground. Minnesota was greener than Sidonie had anticipated.

The drive was quiet. Will, who had struggled to sleep on the plane, finally managed to doze off with his head resting against the window. Hannibal was driving, looking well-rested, while Sidonie assumed he must have slept during the flight.

In the other car, Abigail sat with Alana and Jack.

Hannibal glanced at Sidonie in the rearview mirror. She had her head propped up with one hand, her eyelids heavy as she looked out the window. The dim sunlight touched her face.

“I can wake you when we arrive, Miss Renard,” Hannibal offered softly.

Sidonie turned towards him, her gaze lazy.

“It’s okay. I prefer to sleep in a bed.”

Hannibal nodded and returned his attention to the road.

He gently pulled up to the motel, as Will had chosen to stay there rather than go into the city.

Sidonie stepped out of the car, and Will looked at her, still half-asleep. He had expected her to stay in the city with the others.

“Hannibal is heading to the city,” Will said, just to let her know.

“I know, but I’d rather get some rest right away,” Sidonie replied.

Will nodded and looked at Hannibal, signaling him to call before picking them up.

They received their keys and went to their rooms on the second floor, two doors apart, and settled in.

Sidonie looked around the room, noting the full-sized bed with white sheets, a small TV in the corner, and a table with two chairs. She drew the curtains and turned on the light. Setting her bag on one of the chairs, she sat on the bed and then lay down, closing her eyes.

The first day of travel had been exhausting, and she needed time to adjust to the new environment. She hoped she could trick herself into sleeping, but after ten minutes of silence and shifting uncomfortably, she gave up.

Getting up, she opened her bag.

Fortunately, she had picked up some food at the airport before their flight. She took out a sandwich and sat down in the wooden chair, leaning back.

As Sidonie unwrapped the sandwich, her mind drifted to a distant memory. She remembered sitting in the kitchen with her mother, a table of similar size between them.

She gripped the steel spoon with the delicate flower carvings. Her gaze fixed on the soup in front of her, which she could distinctly remember the smell of. It was earthy, and fresh, with a hint of onions, garlic, carrots, and celery mingling together. The smell should have felt comforting, but instead, it brought haunting tension to her.

Her eyes slowly drifted to her mum's hands, which were always empty of any jewelry. She could remember the navy dress she wore. She couldn’t quite place if it was old, or if she rarely wore it.

The memory of her face was blurry. All she remembered was her lips; tight and down casted. Her jaw clenched.

Sidonie took a bite of the sandwich but immediately felt her stomach churn.

It tasted acidic.

She spat it out and stood up, grabbing her bag and pulling out a water bottle to drink quickly. Her face showed her distaste.

Had she been given expired food?

Her eyes scanned the package, and the fresh date stared back at her, contradicting the discomfort she just felt.

The sleek, white car pulls into the driveway and Will glances back at Abigail. She looks over at Sidonie, prompting her to open the door. Both step out of the car, with Will and Alana following closely behind.

Abigail's gaze fixes on the large, graffiti-like letters scrawled across the front of her house. The word "CANNIBALS" glares back at her. She stares at it, her brows furrowing, her lip trembling slightly.

Hannibal and Sidonie stand behind her as Abigail slowly moves toward the house. Sidonie takes in the surroundings—a traditional two-story house with a classic suburban look. The muted brown bricks and siding give it a rustic feel, and fallen leaves are scattered across the black, sloping roof.

As Abigail nears the entrance, her eyes fall on a faded, rust-colored stain on the front step.

“Is this where my mum died?”

“Yes.” Will nods.

Her eyes slowly brim with tears.

“I was sort of expecting a body outline in chalk or tape.”

“They only do that if you’re still alive and taken to the hospital before they finish the crime scene.”

He explains as she stays silent for a moment.

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Abigail mumbles softly as she steps into the house. Will lingers outside for a moment, staring into the distance before turning back to glance at everyone else, then heads in.

Sidonie follows, her eyes briefly falling on the faded stain by the entrance. She pauses, staring at it, lost in thought. When she looks up, she catches Hannibal’s gaze. He silently urges her to move along with the others.

They all step into the dimly lit room. Antlers are mounted on the walls, and the interior is dominated by dark wood and deep browns. Sidonie can't help but admit that the decor isn’t to her taste.

Alana stays close to Abigail, while the rest follow behind. Abigail hesitates in the doorway before entering the kitchen. The room has been scrubbed clean, every surface meticulously wiped down by the cleaners. The evidence box sits on the table, waiting for them.

“If you ever want to go, you just have to say so and we will go.”

Alana reminds her.

“Go where? Back to the hospital?”

“For now.”

Abigail notices that all the family pictures, once proudly displayed, have been turned around, their images hidden from view.

“They turned all the pictures over.”

“Crime scene cleaners will do that.”

“They did a really good job.”

She glances at the spotless table and then shifts her gaze to the floor.

“Is that where all my blood was?”

Will nods.

“Yes.”

Abigail faces him.

“You do this all the time? Go places and think about killing?”

Sidonie glances at Abigail and then shifts her eyes to Will.

“Too often.”

“So you pretended to be my dad?”

Will steps forward, moving closer to Abigail.

“And people like your dad.”

“What did that feel like? To be him?”

Hannibal eyes subtly narrow as he observes the exchange between Will and Abigail.

“If feels like… I’m… talking to his shadow suspended on dust.”

“You think you knew him?’

“I tried to know him. I still try.”

“Even after you killed him?”

“Maybe because, I killed him.”

Sidonie crosses her arms, her eyes lowering to the floor.

Abigail nods.

“No wonder you have nightmares.”

“The attacks on you and your mother, they were different. Desperate. Your dad knew he was out of time. Someone told him we were coming.”

Will explains.

“The man on the phone?”

Sidonie’s eyes drift back to Abigail and Will. Hannibal’s gaze follows hers, taking in her reaction.

“It was a blocked call. Did you recognize his voice?”

“I had never heard it before.”

Abigail’s eyes flick briefly toward Hannibal, as Hannibal tilts his head slightly.

“Was there anybody new in your father’s life? Someone you met or someone he talked about.”

Alana asks.

“He may have been contacted by another serial killer, a copycat.”

Will’s voice is gentle as he addresses Abigail, who furrows her brows in visible distress.

“Someone who’s still out there?”

“Yeah.”

Abigail swallows hard, a realization dawning on her that her nightmare is far from over and hope feels increasingly out of reach.

Sidonie walked through the hall and entered the room bathed in soft cream pastel hues.

This was Abigail's room. Her gaze swept over the full-sized bed with dark blue sheets adorned with white flowers, flanked by wooden nightstands. One of them held a white lamp and a photo of Abigail with a friend.

Approaching the desk on the right, Sidonie noted its neat arrangement of books. Above it, posters of horses, bands, and pictures from trips decorated the wall. Two small shelves displayed a few trophies, all earned from horse riding.

The room had a peculiar, somewhat unsettling scent.

As Sidonie examined the trophies, Abigail entered. Her eyes took in the sight of the woman In front of her.

Although Sidonie’s strong, distinctive features and deep, articulate voice were intimidating, just now there was a softness in her demeanor, which contrasted with her usual presence.

“Do you like horseriding?”

Sidonie shakes her head.

“Never tried it before.”

“But do you want to?”

Abigail asks her, and Sidonie glances over with a gentle smile.

“Now that I remember it, I would love to try.”

“I used to be afraid of the horses when I was small. They used so huge in my eyes.” Abigail shares “But after my dad forced me to start horse riding… I grew to love them.”

Sidonie gazes at her for a moment, lost in thought.

G.J. Hobbs had appeared to be a loving father, and despite everything that had happened, Abigail still seemed to love and miss him.

She wondered if it was truly possible to love a parent who had caused so much harm.

“I see.”

“They are suspecting me, aren’t they?”

Abigail suddenly asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s natural that they do,” Sidonie reassures her.

“Yeah…Why else would they send you here.”

“I’m not qualified for what they asked me to do. The only reason why I agreed, is for personal interest.”

“Personal interest?”

“Copycat killer.”

Abigail nods slowly, her gaze drifting away.

“I see… um, how does he kill?”

“He displays them theatrically. Like pigs. Leaves no evidence. Quite the character, I would say.”

“And you work on evidence.”

Sidonie nods in agreement.

Abigail crosses her arms and swallows, her expression tense.

“Is he… going to come after me?”

“There is a high probability that he might.”

Abigail nods her mind elsewhere.

Sidonie tilts her head slightly, observing her.

“Do you remember anything about him? The tone of his voice? Anything can help Abigail.” She gets closer to her “If we catch him, you will be safe.”

“Why do they suspect me?”

Abigail shifts the topic, drawing Sidonie's attention for a moment.

Alana had noted that Abigail seemed adept at gathering information while holding back her own—a subtle form of manipulation. Yet, Sidonie knew there was nothing to hide about their suspicions of Abigail. The girl was sharp enough to understand that much on her own.

“They’re struggling to understand how your father could have lured the girls.”

“I wouldn’t… I didn’t do anything.”

“The evidence doesn’t point to you. It’s just a theory.” Sidonie pauses. “But… it’s more likely that a copycat might be targeting you.”

Abigail’s gaze locks onto Sidonie’s, a flicker of terror in her steel blue eyes contrasting sharply with her calm olive green ones.

“If you remember anything, even just a small detail, it could help us solve the case. You’re under FBI protection, but that might not last forever. So if something comes back to you, you need to let me know.”

“He… He might have had an accent.”

Abigail mumbles.

Sidonie’s eyes widen slightly.

“An accent is a good detail. Can you remember anything else about it? Maybe where it was from or what it sounded like?”

“I’m not sure...”

A knock on the door interrupts them. Hannibal stands there, watching them.

Sidonie looks up, and Abigail, startled, glances at him.

“Dr.Bloom asked us to stick together,” Hannibal says, addressing Sidonie.

“Alright, let’s go downstairs.”

Abigail nods and moves past him, avoiding eye contact. Sidonie offers Hannibal a polite smile.

As they walk away, the wood creaks slightly under their steps. Hannibal’s gaze lingers on Sidonie’s back. His eyes darkened.

She was proving to be a complication.

Sidonie, along with the others, carefully unpacks the evidence box in the room.

“Can you catch somebody’s crazy?”

Abigail looked at the item in her hand.

“Folie a deux.”

Alana replies softly.

“What?”

“A French psychiatric term. ‘Madness shared by two.’”

“One can not be delusional if the belief in question is accepted as ordinary by others in that person’s culture or subculture. Or family.”

Hannibal adds as he sets another box down.

“My dad didn’t seem delusional. He was a perfectionist. After he skinned a deer, he would pluck the loose hair. Most people use a torch. Dad would remove all the hair by hand. He wanted to make sure he got every one of them.”

“Your dad left almost no evidence.”

Will said.

“You let me come home to find the evidence.”

“It was one of many considerations.”

Hannibal informs her.

“Are we going to re-enact the crime?”

Abigail as she looks at Will and Alana.

“You be my dad. You be my mom.”

She looks at Sidonie.

“You can be Agent Graham”

Then she looks at Hannibal

“And you be the man on the phone.”

Uncharacteristically, Hannibal is caught off guard by that. More so by Abigail’s steely nonchalant stare that followed.

Hannibal looks away as Alana's voice softens.

“We wanted you to come home to help you leave home behind.”

“You’re not going to find any of those girls, you know.”

“Why so?”

“Because he’d honor every part of them. Made plumbers putty out of elk bones. At least that’s what he told us. Whatever bones were left of those girls is probably holding pipes together.”

“Where did he make this putty?”

Hannibal asks.

“At the cabin. I can show you.”

“Abigail... there’s someone here.”

Everyone turns to see a girl with dark hair and a dark red leather jacket. She looks to be about the same age as Abigail.

“Hey, Abigail.”

“Hey, Marrisa.”

Marissa and Abigail head outside, with the adults deciding to give them some space. Will and Alana follow, standing at a distance to monitor the situation.

Inside, Hannibal and Sidonie go through the evidence box.

Hannibal’s gaze shifts to Sidonie as she fixates on a package containing a golden wedding ring. Her eyes locked on the ring, that had a slight stain of the blood.

Hannibal notices her intense focus, a subtle curiosity evident in his expression.

“You seem lost in thought Miss Renard.”

She puts it back down.

“Just thinking about the case.”

“I believe there should be more reasons for your agreement to accompany this case.”

Sidonie glances at him, her frows furrowing subtly.

“Perhaps, it is something personal,” Hannibal adds in.

“And what gives you that impression?”

“Everyone has a reason for doing what they do. Even being here has a purpose for each of us.  For Abigail, it’s a hope. Leaving her old life, to start anew.”

He watches her intently. She meets his gaze, her eyes briefly meeting his with a hint of curiosity. Raising her brows and sighing, she shifts her focus back to the evidence.

“I’m here because of the copycat killer. I’m curious of him.”

“Curiosity takes us to many places, but it always circles back to our mind. The real intrigue lies in the canvas itself, not just the strokes on its surface.”

She furrows her brows slightly, her gaze moving from his hands to his face.

As he examines the evidence with a calm demeanor, Sidonie feels an unsettling chill, as if something unseen is creeping up behind her. His calmness contrasts with the intensity of his scrutiny making him seem almost omniscient, adding to her discomfort.

“I suppose we all have our reasons for being drawn to certain things. If there’s something more personal, It’s my matter to handle. Not anyone else's.”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Ah, a well-defended boundary. It seems that you have mastered the art of self-preservation Miss Renard.” He pauses “While such skill is admirable, it often leads to a certain solitude.”

Sidonie hesitates, the urge to deny the truth rising within her, but she can't escape the reality his words hold.

The loneliness she feels is palpable, shaped by her nature and circumstances. It leaves her with a sense of vulnerability as if she’s suddenly been laid bare.

“Perhaps there is some truth to that. Being alone is something I’ve grown accustomed to, but that’s what I chose, and manage just fine.”

She looks him in the eyes.

“But I can say for certain that catching this copycat killer will personally satisfy me. Knowing I’ve apprehended him will simply boost my ego and credibility.”

Hannibal’s eyes darken slightly, sensing the hint of need in her voice, almost a desire.

He smiles subtly, feeling a twinge of excitement.

A subtle yells come out of the yard as they look away.

A distant shout breaks the moment—Marrissa and Abigail are outside, calling someone out.

They look away, drawn back to the present, as the moment slips away and reality reasserts itself.

[earthshine-moon]

Why I love AMC’s Lt Graham Gore: an essay

Full essay under the cut but here’s the intro to (hopefully) get you interested

In my humble (and completely non-obsessed 😉) opinion, AMC’s Lieutenant Graham Gore is one of the best cold boys. He is not only kind and considerate, but well-respected and liked among the other men (especially Goodsir and while that is reason enough, I wrote this anyway bc why not?). In this essay, I will exhibit why Lt Gore deserves all the love and appreciation that is possible to receive from a single fandom.

A list of special mentions are at the end of this post as well if you’re interested 💙

This is long so buckle up and hold on to your Welsh wigs, we’re going for a ride.

The first scene where we witness Gore’s personality is the boat hauling scene in episode 2. When the scene begins, it’s clear that Mr Goodsir has been talking for a little while and at first, it seems as though none of the party are really listening to him until he speaks directly to Gore. As soon as Goodsir says his name, the Lieutenant looks up at him and responds immediately despite how much effort and concentration he is clearly putting in to hauling the boat. Gore’s instant and genuine reply of “I do not, Mr Goodsir” implies that he has been listening (maybe not intently, he’s not superhuman) and knows exactly who Goodsir is talking about. On top of that, the tone of his answer gives the impression that he wasn’t giving it for the purpose of not having to converse further with Goodsir, but rather that he honestly couldn’t remember the Inuk man’s name, which shows his kindness.

Just a few seconds later in that scene, Gore stops the men as soon as Goodsir offers to take over from one of them in hauling the boat. This second immediate action indicates that he doesn’t mind taking the time to swap Hartnell with Goodsir and instruct him on how to pull the weight. (He could just be thankful for the excuse to take a little break and I love that too, so I’m cool with it being a bit of both). The fact that he has no problem with taking this time just adds to the kindness that we have already seen from him.

This leads me onto his instructions to Goodsir. He explains the technique clearly and calmly, which shows exactly how considerate and attentive he is because he gives Goodsir all the advice he needs to keep in step with the others (“watch Morfin here in front, and me with the corner of your eye”). Gore’s tone is warm and friendly throughout with a touch of reassurance seeping in as he says “you’ll take to it, I know you will”, which conveys his trust and belief in Goodsir’s ability to haul. While he’s talking, Gore’s whole body is turned towards Goodsir and he gives him a couple of little shoulder pats. (Tartnell and Peglar also give him a shoulder pat each but that’s different. I mention that again later).

(Just a little side note that has nothing to do with this but there’s a little detail in one of his lines in this scene that I love. He tells Hartnell to let Goodsir “spell [him]”. We don’t use this phrase in the UK and as far as I can tell, it’s North American. I just think it’s a lovely nod to the fact that he comes from a line of Naval officers (one of which might have picked up the phrase). Anyway, back to me rambling about how wonderful this guy is).

And now, my current favourite thing to talk about and watch: the cairn scene. Gore’s second line in this scene (“does this place make you uneasy, doctor?”) is said almost like a joke but he doesn’t walk away like you’d expect him to if it was meant in that way. Instead, he stays where he is and turns towards Goodsir as if he is waiting for an answer. At first I thought he might have stayed to hand Goodsir his ice pick (or whatever it’s called. I can’t find them anywhere) but it looks like he doesn’t go to pass it to him until he actually does. And, in case you need any more evidence, if you look closely when it cuts to the wider shot, the end of the handle is visible by the side of his leg and there’s a 2 second long pause before Goodsir speaks where he could have tried to hand the ice pick over or at least lifted it up, but he didn’t.

Gore’s response to Goodsir explaining why he shouldn’t call him Doctor is to say “that’s a doctor in my book” which signifies that he respects the work Goodsir has put in to his career so much more than most other characters (minus Dr. McDonald, of course). This response clearly shows he doesn’t believe that Goodsir is any less worthy of the title just because he hasn’t got the same training as the other ships’ doctors. Just to add to that, by giving him the title of doctor, it raises Goodsir to a higher level; one, in the eyes of other people, more deserving of respect than his actual station.

Sticking with the cairn scene (last one, I promise), Gore says “thank you” twice; one to Goodsir and the other to Des Voeux. Both are said in response to very small gestures but actually sound so genuine like they had done something more significant for him than taking his ice pick or handing him the folder-type thing (if anyone knows what this is, please let me know). As far as I can remember, there aren’t many thank yous thrown around in the show, especially not any as genuine as these.

I’ve been watching his 7 minutes of screen time so much recently and on about the 10th time, I noticed that he’s quite gentle when he touches other people. He gives friendly little pats on the shoulder or arm to Goodsir three times and to Des Voeux and Morfin once each but none of them are the sharp, quick ones you see from other characters (like Tartnell and Peglar earlier in ep2). I saw someone say on here that a lot of the cold boys subvert the stereotypes of traditional masculinity and I think this is a subtle but really sweet example of that.

And finally, on to how respected and liked he is. We only ever hear Sir John call him Graham, which is interesting because in Victorian England, Christian names weren’t something to be used lightly as they symbolised close friendship or intimacy. Crozier saying “amongst everything else, I know you mourn a friend” to Sir John after Gore’s death reinforces that. All of this is then furthered by how much Sir John clearly grieves Gore’s death along with the implied grieving of the other Erebus officers. It’s such a credit to his character to see (however brief) the pain and loss his death created among the men.

Sorry to end this on a sad note but here have a cookie 🍪 for making it to the end

And now for some special mentions (including some things about the real Lt Gore)

• the little pompom on his hat

• him helping Morfin up onto the ice ridge

• him shouting with the other men when they find the shore

• “I pray it’s English tea merchants coming from Kenton that look upon that message next”

• asking Goodsir if he’s seen something when he sees he’s looking away from the cairn (idk I just think it’s kinda sweet)

• his smile (that’s it)

And for the real Lt Gore:

• he was an accomplished artist

• Fitzjames described him as having “the sweetest of tempers”

• a gun exploded in his hand when he was shooting cockatoos in Australia for food. Ended up laid flat and all he could do was quietly say “killed the bird” (his hand was fine btw. Only a small injury)

• He was promoted to Captain in absentia by the Admiralty (before the official proclamation of the deaths of Franklin’s men)

[eyezdrawz]

👁️INTRO POST👁️

Meet the artist!

Last updated: October 21nd 2024

Hi! I'm Eyez or Ken or Margo! My pronouns are he/him🏳️‍⚧️!!

I am a minor so please take that to mind when you talk to me, like, please don't be weird if your 18+

(purple: what I like most)

I like Pepsi and mt. Dew 🥤

Insta: eyecantibal

discord: eyez_in_disguize

Art archive side blog: eyezreblogz

pfp by @/whattheheckins

DNI: Homophobes, Transphobes, p3dos, pr0shippers, racists, bigots, fascists, people who make AI "art", and other idiots

DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT REPOST MY ART WITHOUT CREDIT.

I believe in peace and freedom for every country (ESPECIALLY FOR THOSE IN NEED RIGHT NOW!🍉)

✏️What I post!: Art, music rants, random thoughts, and reblogs

Link to my ocs master post: https://eyezdrawz.tumblr.com/post/763241944591761408/oc-master-post

❤️Main interest!:

Camp here and there (my fav podcast and this is what I mainly draw/write about) (finished podcast)

Malevolent (two episodes i need to listen to)

TMA (finished podcast) (not caught up with tmagp)

Old gods of Appalachia (need to relisten to)

Interview with the vampire (TV show and movie, currently ready the books)

Hannibal NBC

Midnight Mass

Joker (2019)

The Stanley parable

BG3

Dead plate

8:11

Tokyo ghoul

vampires

Cowboys

Vulture Culture/Bones

Heavy Gore/blood/body horror/Eldritch horror

Ocs (Santiago, Mikeal, Andias, and Bernadette)

And more!

🎵Music I listen to!

Will wood/will wood and the tapeworms (fav artist)

The Dear Hunter

Shayfer james

Hozier

Amigo the devil

Penelope Scott

Bear ghost

Tally Hall (and other tally hall related bands/members/projects)

Chonny Jash

And more!

All of my special interests/fixations: vampires, gore, gothic lit, bones, vulture culture, my favorite animals (deer, vampire deer (Siberian musk deer/Chinese water deer, wolves, hyenas, shrikes, maned wolves) human anatomy+medical terms and examination

Characters I relate too:

Armand from iwtv (I kin him so much it's not normal)

will graham from Hannibal

the butcher from malevolent

John doe from malevolent

Arther Fleck from joker 2019

random blinkies I like✌️: (i did not make these blinkies, all credits go to the people who made these) (chnt hourglass blinkie made by @/delicatecentipede)

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[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Feel So Numb: Werewolf!Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Ask and you shall receive

Contains: Hella blood and gore, werewolf attack, gunshot wounds

It wasn’t like him to be radio silent, especially for this long. After he had reported over the intercom to Hunnigan about the villagers all being hostile while searching for the president’s daughter, the line went dead from Leon’s end. All Hunnigan reported to you over your own earpiece was that Ashley Graham was possibly taken to some sort of church and now it was your job to find both her and Leon and to report to Hunnigan your findings immediately.

You arrived at the last place your fiance was pin-pointed; On some rural stretch of long-forgotten road. The cobblestone had been neglected, some dug up by winding roots while the rest had been caked in mud and dead leaves. You pulled up behind what used to be a police car. The driver side door had been ripped off its hinges and not a soul was left behind, only a splatter of blood on the inside and a dropped police badge from the local station. 

You eyed the obvious break in the foliage and narrowed your sight before you followed the beaten path knowing that you were walking right into danger. You drew your gun from its holster that had been strapped to your thigh and carefully watched your step. It was starting to grow dark out, the sun finally starting to set beyond the horizon.

You followed along the path until you came to a very run-down cabin where Leon had reported his first hostile villager. You saw his corpse laying across the floor and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at the smell the entire cabin gave off. You wanted to vomit. You swallowed the saliva that had pooled under your tongue and continued on, making your way out of the cabin and down the small flight of stairs littered with bloodied bones. You rounded the corner and stopped in your tracks at the sight of one of the police officers bloodied before you, his corpse had started to rot away.

Leon wasn’t kidding when he said something was horribly wrong.

Following the winding path out of the cabin and back into the woods, you had to step over and avoid more dead bodies until you finally came up to an animal corpse this time. It had been so decayed that no flesh remained, only bones and a little bit of muscle left. It looked to be a wolf and one of its legs had been snared in a rusted bear trap.

Now you had to worry about hidden bear traps and hostile villagers?

You don’t know how long you kept walking in the darkening woods, but you followed right on Leon’s trail until you made it to the village Leon must have been talking about. From what you last heard on the call log between Leon and Hunnigan, she mentioned something about a large windmill and a lake. You peeked around the village, bringing up your flashlight as you looked around. The looming stone church before you towered over everything around, cutting off the light of the drifting sun and casting you in near darkness. As you looked around, you nearly jumped at the sight of a burnt body tied up on a pole. The poor person was charred to a blackened crisp, no identifying features could be made out. Was this the second officer that was supposed to help Leon?

A shrill, faint noise sounded off in the distance, echoing through the woods. It rattled your bones, freezing your blood, making the hair across your body stand up on their ends. You raised your gun in the direction that the noise came from with your eyes wide and flashlight beaming into the dark. It sounded like some sort of fucked up scream; From an animal or a man, you couldn’t make out.

It took you a minute to finally uncurl from your position, quietly cursing to yourself before you trekked on.

“Gotta get the fuck out of here,” you whispered to yourself.

You kept following Leon’s distinct path. What locked doors had been opened, what path was made the most clear, what gate he had to force open with probably a good kick. You walked under a risen metal gate, eyeing it in case it slipped before you spotted an oddly placed crate to your right. There was an out-of-place torch post right next to it, barely any smoke furled out from the top. It had been extinguished recently, maybe an hour or so ago. Peeking up at the torch, you noticed that the embers were an odd purple color.

Where was Leon?

If connection had been cut out maybe less than an hour into his trek inside this fucked up rabbit hole, how far could he have gone? It had only been two days, really, he could be on the opposite side of Europe by now if he wanted to.

The scream echoed once again. It sounded closer this time. Your eyes bore into the wilderness that separated you from whatever the fuck was making that noise. It sounded like a monster crying out in pain.

Your feet carried you forward despite your brain wanting to sit tight and radio in help. A part of you was terrified to take another step into this twisted village while the rest wanted to barge through guns blazing to rescue your fiance and Ashley.

You quickly came upon the lake Hunnigan must have talking about. The water was choppy, the dock creaked eerily, there was no boat at the end of it. To your left was some sort of cobbled house, it had been worn for at least a decade by the looks of it. The door was broken open, the top half having been smashed into, the rotting wood now missing. You stepped inside of the place, gun in front of you with your finger on the trigger as you swept through the entire room, your eyes landing on Leon’s jacket and gun thrown to the ground in front of you.

You holstered your gun and bent down, picking up his jacket only showed that it was tattered. It looked like an animal had tore into it. The seams around the arms were split open, stitches were popped, there were odd lines scratched down the back of his jacket before you looked back down at the gun. Leon’s SG-09R laid splattered in mud, barely visible. You were only able to see in from the faint light of the full moon overhead. You couldn’t help but pick it up, the weight foreign yet familiar. It was empty, bullets absent. What was even more of a shock was that it almost looked like it had been crushed, especially at the wooden embedded handle. The metal was all bent out of shape and the wood was splintered. Whatever got ahold of it has to have been something big and nasty.

You swallowed thickly. Before you could press a finger to your earpiece to radio Hunnigan, you heard a chilling snap of iron close to you followed by a snarl that cut through the night.

You dropped the gun and Leon’s jacket and snatched up your own, barging outside with your finger on the trigger. You followed the sound the noise came from, flashlight clicked on only to see a bear trap ripped in half in front of you. It had been snapped at the hinges. Blood covered the rusted teeth, the pressure plate had been smashed, the chain had been yanked up from the soggy earth.

Whatever was making those horrible noises had just gotten out.

You swallowed thickly, raising your flashlight to follow the trail whatever it was made for you. There were odd marks in the mud and leaves, almost like a giant wolf had tore through the woods.

You heard someone shouting not too far away, gargled Spanish bellowing out before he was horribly cut off with a vicious snarl. You ran towards the noise before you stopped dead in your tracks at what your flashlight illuminated.

It was a monster. A real fucking monster. Not a zombie or some B.O.W. you’ve seen from the B.S.A.A.’s reports. It looked like something straight out of a nightmare. Your heart dropped to your chest as you stumbled back, your gun trembling in your hand. It was big, way bigger than any human you’ve ever seen. It was bulky and hairy and horrible. It was hunched over, tearing into the villager with clawed hands and a maw full of sharp teeth. It was wearing clothes, or whatever remained clinging to its lanky body. They almost looked… familiar?

Black cargo pants torn up way past the knees, a leg holster that was barely hanging on from the strap around its hip, and a shredded black t-shirt just like Leon-

It felt like someone had just pushed you off a cliff and let you plummet into an icy river below. You went into shock, shoulders dropping as the beast before you suddenly locked eyes with you. They were big, furious, slitted pupils drowning in a sea of sapphire blue as he looked at you with a feral hunger that could only be sated by killing.

“Leon?” you called out in disbelief.

No, it couldn’t be! He couldn’t be a werewolf. This was some sick ploy. It had to be.

He dropped the villager and stalked towards you, wolfen ears flattened against his skull, his lips curled back to reveal his bloodied canines, his clawed fingers flexing. He snapped his jaws, saliva and blood flying out as a horrid snarl clicked out from his throat.

You couldn’t let him kill you, but could you put him down?

You hesitated for a moment before you cocked your gun and pulled the trigger.

He woke up to his skull throbbing.

He winced and hissed, a groan emitting from his chest as he brought his hands up to his face. The light burned his eyes wherever it was coming from, the sound of his heart beating in his ears made his temples pound even harder. He felt like he had been ran over, thrown off a building, maybe even getting the shit beat out of him by that freak years ago in Raccoon City.

But it was always like this when he would turn.

His entire body was stiff, muscles screaming as he forced himself to move. He only managed to roll over onto his side before he had to stop. It felt like someone had just stabbed him right in the kidney, a choked shout cutting his breathing off. He braced his head against the dusty stone floor as he panted. He brought a trembling hand up to his hip where he could feel the tender skin as well as two divots in his trim waist. His skin flinched at his own touch, Leon grit his teeth and propped himself up on his other arm and finally opened his eyes.

He was in some kind of cellar, it didn’t look to be well taken care of. There were cobwebs caking the ceilings and the floor was covered in a blanket of dust and dirt. There were kegs in the cellar, some were leaking fortified wine from how long they had been aging.

Leon looked down at his hip to see he was healing. The gunpowder still sweetly caressed his nose from where he had been shot. Looking at his body, he noticed he had been shot in the shoulder he was propping himself up on and one in the calf right above his ankle. He was healing, at least, the skin closed up and slowly stitching itself back together.

“Shit,” he cursed to himself softly.

He quickly noticed that his uninjured leg had been shackled, a rusty iron chain was clamped around his shin, keeping him attached to the stone wall.

What the hell happened, anyway?

He could briefly hear the call of the wild ringing bells in the back of his mind. He could feel the beast inside of him clawing at his guts, baying to be let out again. His memory was fuzzy, no pun intended, as he tried to piece together what all had happened and why he suddenly lost control.

He rubbed at his pounding temples, brushing the sticky hair out of his face when he noticed it. Pulling his hand away, his eyes widened frantically at the sight of dried blood dusting his fingertips and crusting up under his nails. Bile suddenly bubbled wickedly in his stomach as he felt saliva pool in the back of his throat. Did he attack someone? All could remember were those fucking crazed villagers and-

You.

Leon sat straight up, wincing at the pull in his back before he locked his hands around the chain and yanked, trying to release himself. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he almost didn’t hear the cocking of a gun behind him.

Almost.

Leon whipped around, standing and then suddenly freezing. You were standing at the opposite of the small cellar, panting softly with your gun raised with both hands. His eyes zeroed in on the makeshift bandage on your bicep that was still bleeding from the looks of it. He felt dread clawing its icy way up his spine. 

“(Y/n)-”

“Shut up,” you grit your teeth, nudging your gun forward. “What the actual fuck was that, Leon?”

He attacked you. He lost control of himself and attacked you when you were sent here to save his sorry ass. Did he bite too? Did he turn you? There were other bandages around you, one particular one was wrapped around your thigh. The fabric was different than the rest, it almost looked like the scarf Ashley was wearing when Leon saw her last. He could smell her faint perfume.

“Where’s Ashley-?”

“Don’t change the fucking subject; She’s here with me.” You took a step forward and Leon raised his hands in surrender. “Now what the actual fuck was that you turned into?”