#Hannibal makes a passing comment about it

[theshatteringoftheteacup]

just learned the science behind squirting and plan to write the most educational fanfiction I’ve ever written

[softieekayy]

In the dark of the Night

Hannibal x vampire!reader

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: the reader is characterized with having a mole under her left/right eye and brown/black hair. (She also comes from greek origins and I sincerely hope I don’t offend anyone.) reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🧸

Biologically, vampires were impossible. Their immortality and survival on blood didn’t make any sense, in the scientific and medical sense. At least that’s what Hannibal Lecter believed for the majority of his life. Until he stumbled upon one, in the dark of the night where in an alley there stood a creature of the night, blood thirsty, sucking on the neck of a lifeless man.

Hannibal paused, he didn’t know if it was in shock or intrigue, perhaps it was a mix of both. But at this moment, he didn’t care what it was. He was taken so dearly by this bewitching creature. Oftentimes, he wondered what vampires looked like, in his head, they were ugly beings with protruding teeth and rotten grayish flesh from the lack of sun. Not once in his life did Hannibal ever think that they’d be so beautiful. This woman who stood in front of him was bewitching with hair that cascaded beautifully down her back in perfectly done curls and makeup done with perfection and down to the outfit she wore. She was perfection.

“I wonder if I should let you live or die.” The woman in front of Hannibal smirked, snapping him out of his momentarily trace while discarding the corpse as though he was nothing. To her, he was nothing more than a blood bag. Hannibal noticed her fangs, sharp canines that looked nothing out of the normal.

“I believe my death will bring you peace for your secret.” Hannibal responded breathlessly, stil so taken by the beauty in front of him. He watched as she moved fluidly, quick and fast, he observed how the moonlight beamed on her skin making her look ethereal. In a quick moment, she was in front of him, gripping his chin between her fingers as she observed. Hannibal didn’t know why nor did he care why but his breath hitched, not allowing air flow to get to his lungs. He couldn’t breathe but he didn’t care to, if he could die in this moment, he’d die a happy man. Death at the hands of a death Angel.

“I can hear your heart, are you scared?” The woman whispered in his ear, giving a slight lick on the shell of his ear as she huffed out a small laugh.

She pulled back, watching him curiously.

Something about him drew her to him. She didn’t want to kill him. However, her soul was drawn to his, something that she could tell was as old as she was. Older than life itself.

“Do as you please.” Hannibal whispered, closing his eyes, awaiting his death. Upon feeling nothing, Hannibal was confused, he wondered why she didn’t kill him. He opened his eyes, eyes that were the colour of rum and a slight tinge of maroon, eyes that held warmth hurried deep within. The woman in front of him was observing him, similar to a cat observing its prey, her blood stained mouth pulled into a slight frown.

She took one step forward, sauntering like a cat and in a moment, before Hannibal had known what happened, she stood next to his ear, whispering “Find me when you have time, we need to have a long chat.” Before leaving a small kiss on his jaw, leaving behind a red lipstick print, the only thing he’d have to hold on to for a long while.

Time passed quickly and before Hannibal knew, it had been decades since he’d seen the beautiful beast in that dark alley. He was a young boy then but a grown man now and somewhere deep in his soul, he missed her. He didn’t understand why and he won’t for a while, fate has decided to play a cruel game on him. He still remembers the inquisitive look that she held in her eyes and the way the moonlight made her look like an angel from the highest of heavens.

Even as he stood now, in the dark street, his face being lit by the moon, he thought of her.

His eyes were closed and his head tilted up, as if he was long awaiting death. She thought he looked like a fallen angel, craving for the touch of heaven again. Unbeknownst to him, the immortal beauty had been keeping up on him. She watched him grow from a 20 year old boy in medical school to the man he was now. A beautiful man with the appetite for something so dark.

“Hmm, you look as delectable as the night I met you.” She hummed, voicing her thoughts. Hannibal snapped his eyes open, looking towards her direction, bewilderment coating his face. Calling her a young woman would be quite the irony for she was as old as time itself.

She sauntered forward like a fox, her black lace skirt flowing down her legs seamlessly, lips stretching into a foxy smile with fangs protruding onto wine red lips. Even at night she dressed like a beauty and Hannibal could not stop staring at her, his soul wanted her, no, it craved her.

“You’ve developed quite the palette, love. A very interesting one at that.” She told him, leaning against the wall, a respectable distance still between them.

“You told me that we’d talk when I find you, it seems that you’ve found me instead.” Hannibal mused, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“It seems that I did.” She smiled up at Hannibal and he smiled in return. He may not know her in this lifetime, but their souls are well versed, knowing every inch of one another. The two walked forward to each other, two hunters coming together for the hunt of a lifetime.

“I believe we can have that talk now.” She told Hannibal, her lips almost brushing his own as their noses touched. Hannibal hummed in slight agreement.

“I believe that we can do the talking later.” He told her before kissing her, his lips twisting with hers in a passion that cannot be recreated. His hand gripping the back of her neck as her hands gripped Hannibal’s shirt, in an almost desperate manner.

She pulled back, giving Hannibal the chance to catch his breath, she didn’t need to breathe.

“Oh my dearest heart, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” The young woman told him, laughing a little when Hannibal pulled her close to his chest, resting his cheek on her head laughing a bit as well.

“So tell me now, why is it that you never killed me back then.” Hannibal asked her, leading her into his home and looking back at her. Despite the way her beautiful eyes glimmered in the warm light, they held a deep sadness within them.

“I’ve lived a long long life, my love.” She told Hannibal, caressing his cheek as she smiled. Hannibal leaned into her touch, wanting more.

“I’m here to listen to your pain.” He told her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Her body wasn’t warm, it hasn’t been for over a thousand years. It was cold, like a dead one.

“I was born in 487, in Ancient Greece, during the Hellenistic period, I was a priestess of the great goddess Artemis, a goddess of the hunt. A young woman who was to spend the rest of her days living in the temple of the goddess. Of course, back then I hadn’t known what life would hold for me. I was young and naive, wanting to help anyone who came to the Goddess’ temple.” She told Hannibal, her eyes closed and head tilted back as she reminisced the days of her early youth. Even though it had been over 2,400 years ago, she remembered it clearly.

Hannibal observed her closely, her hair that was once up nearly now lay in curls down her back as one hand held a glass of red wine he had kindly poured for them. Her nails were long and sharp, like claws but nothing out of fashion. She truly looked like a temptress, and maybe, just maybe, many stories of vampires being beautiful stemmed from her.

“There was this one night, it was cold and rainy all day, an indication that a storm was about to come. Many thought that the great god Zeus was upset hence why everyone stayed home that day. Women that came to pray for their daughters didn’t come, pregnant ladies hoping for a safe birth didn’t come and men who prayed for a good hunt did not come.” The old vampire told Hannibal and to him, it seemed like a myth. Her life, her humanity was so long ago that it seemed impossible to Hannibal yet it was. She was living proof of it.

“Yet there was this man who came, seeking shelter in the temple.” Hannibal listened to his companion continue her story.

“A young man in his 30’s I assumed. But he was beautiful, more beautiful than any creature I had ever seen. His hair was long and blonde and he was dressed in the richest of robes. I, being the young lady I was, allowed him in. I trusted him, fed him and gave him shelter from the rain. And he betrayed me.” She told Hannibal, the glass that she had been now shattered as broken shards embedded themselves into her skin.

Quickly Hannibal took her hand, eyeing for any injuries yet finding none.

“Are you hurt, my dear.” He asked her and she simply pulled her hand away before shaking her head no.

“What happened? What did this man do to you?” The older man asked her, running his hands through his slowly graying hair, worried about what she might say next.

“He betrayed me. That night, after feeding him and giving him a place to sleep, I went to pray to the goddess, to pray for the safety of my community and the children and for the families to never starve. I was just setting up her altar after praying when he attacked me. A growling creature with teeth as sharp as a sword and glowing red eyes, he turned to me and smiled and said “you’re a stupid little lamb aren’t you. Letting strangers you don’t know into your sanctuary.” Those words were the last I heard before searing pain and finally, darkness.” She sighed deeply, as if she had just breathed out the pain she held in her heart.

Hannibal felt pain for her and the way her life ended. She may be alive but she’s a walking corpse, she doesn’t breathe nor does she sleep. She’s not warm and she’s not alive. There’s no beating heart in her body.

“What about your family?” Hannibal asked her, making her smile slightly and look up at him, she stood up and walked over to him, running her hand through his hair and Hannibal leaned into her touch like a cat.

“I believe they simply thought I died in the storm, and I believed that it was best for them to believe that. My sister went on to have kids and so did my brother. However, my mother and father never really moved on from losing me.” The old vampire told Hannibal, and he nodded, understanding her reasoning for not going back.

“Come my love, you have work tomorrow and I have things to do.” The brunette told him, leading Hannibal up the stairs to his room and he followed behind her as if in a trance. Once reaching his room, he took out his nightwear and sat it on the dresser as the young woman watched.

“Are you going to leave again?” He asked her, not recognizing the voice that came out of him. He sounded like a small boy asking for someone to stay. He sounded pathetic to himself.

“Only to get my stuff. Unless you’d like me to leave.” The young woman winked towards the end of the sentence and laughed. Hannibal laughed when he came up to her and leaning down to her level, he placed a kiss on her lips and she returned it with just as much passion.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She told him after pulling back from the kiss, and kissed his cheek.

Their one morning turned into another and another and sooner than later, they moved in momentum. One could not function without the other, a flowing river.

Hanniabl proposing to her wasn’t very secretive, he did it in their kitchen, while she marked work of her students, the pair had decided to settle in Baltimore, Maryland where Hannibal worked as a psychiatrist and his wife as a teacher. She always had a thing for children and teaching. Unfortunately due to her being physically dead, she could not have any children of her own.

“What are your thoughts on marriage?” Hannibal asked her one day, not bothering to look up from the veggies he was cutting. His lover smiled at him, putting her hand under her chin in faux thought, fangs poking her cherry lips.

“I have never really thought of it. I’ve had lovers, yes, I’ve been a mistress and everything in between yet I have never thought of marriage. Why do you ask?” The smile never left her face as her attention was fully directed towards Hannibal. She sat up straight, dark hair cascading down her back in Hollywood curls as she crossed her legs one over the other before pulling up the sleeves of her sweater.

“If you’ve had lovers, you never thought of marriage?” Hannibal questioned, a small hint of laughter in his voice. He looked up at her, hair disheveled from the long day he’d spent with patients.

“They were lovers, not someone I’d consider spending the rest of my life with.” She told Hannibal in a nonchalant tone. Her eyes held warmth when she looked at Hannibal, he noticed the way her body lost its rigid posture around him and the way she let herself become more loose.

“Would you marry me?” Hannibal dropped the question, his breath hitching in his throat while he anticipated her answer. Anything other than a yes would kill him, physically and emotionally.

“Without a doubt.” The dark haired woman told him as she hopped down from her place at the kitchen bar and made her way towards Hannibal. He looked over his shoulder at her, smiling at her.

“If you’d said anything other than a no, I think I would’ve died.” Hannibal told her, standing up to his full height, towering over his lover. He pulled her into his embrace as she rested her hands on his chest, looking up at Hannibal with a love drunk look on her face.

“When should we start planning?” She asked him, elated beyond means yet not letting an ounce of it slip through her voice. Hannibal let out a laugh before bending down to kiss her passionately.

“You can do the planning, I can assure you that money will be no issue.” Hannibal informed her as he went back to continuing their dinner.

“Sweetheart, I've more than enough money to last us for generations. I’ve been alive for so long and many of my lovers have transferred their assets to me as well. So yes, I agree, money will be no issue.” She laughed and Hannibal laughed with her.

It was not long after this dinner that the wedding planning began.

(Y/n) had a famous dressmaker that she had turned into her kind to forever make her dresses. A polish woman by the name of Olg, a fiesty woman. No matter how grumpy she may seem, the older woman had always thought of the brunette as her own daughter ever since she lost her own.

“Olga! It’s good to see you!” The young woman greeted the older lady with a tight hug and a kiss to the cheek. The older one returned the hug before pushing her back to take her in.

“Still the mournful colours you wear. Reds and blacks and grays. I see that nothing has changed.” Olga told (Y/n) with a distasteful tone. The younger one never listened to Olga when she told her to wear more colourful clothes. The only colours she had in her pallet were blue and red.

(Y/n) laughed fondly before hugging the old lady again and dragging her to the car. The ride home was filled with chatter about everything and nothing. Olga pestered the brunette about Hannibal and to know more about him. She was excited, her daughter, not by blood, finally found love within her life. Someone whose eyes light up when she enters the room and the one person who looks at her as if she hung the stars specifically for him.

“Have you thought about wedding dress fabrics?” (Y/n) hummed in thoughts the question. When she was born, it was a plain white fabric wrapped around you. Although she was very fond of the dresses that were worn in the 1800’s. The puffy dress with off the shoulder sleeves, ugh, (y/n) loved them so much. She liked to think that they were the height of fashion, Olga liked to disagree.

The ride home went by faster than the two ladies expected yet they were not disappointed. Olga was happy to be here to judge the groom in person.

“Do you smell that?” (Y/n) sniffed the air, smiling as she straightened out her dress and fixed her hair before bending down to pet Lucius, a fluffy black cat that wandered the grounds of the Lecter home. Olga indeed did smell that, she smelt meat with a tinge of blood and she was absolutely starving.

While the young brunette cooed at the cat who was now spread out on his back, Olga examined her surroundings. The home was nice and modern, it was a large home with a glass front.

“Do you like it?” (Y/n) asked Olga before guiding her into the home. It was just as beautiful on the inside with a blue coded interior.

“Hm, it’s quite nice. However it compares nothing to the estate that one Lord gave you. Madly in love, he was.” Olga reminisced, pointing her finger at the younger woman who laughed boisterously. The younger woman led Olga into the kitchen where Hannibal was just finishing up the dinner.

“Oh hello, my love.” Hannibal perked up at the greeting before turning around to greet his wife to be. (Y/n) kissed him on the jaw and hugged him and he returned the hug.

“Hello Angel.” Hannibal smiled, caressing her cheek before kissing it in greeting. (Y/n) pulled back before walking back to Olga and introducing her.

“Hans, this is Olga, my mother in all but blood.” (Y/n) enthusiastically introduced the older woman who was busy sizing up the tall man. He had charm and was good looking. He could also cook. However, all that mattered was that he loved her daughter and that she loved him.

“It's a great pleasure to finally meet you, (y/n) has spoken greatly of you.” Hannibal smiles at the woman who nods slightly at him in acknowledgement. He gestured for all of them to take a seat and they did, Hannibal sitting at the head of the table with his fiancee on the right and Olga on his left. Dinner was a silent deal, Olga didn’t know how to feel. There were many times in the past where (y/n) had come close to marrying yet never did. She only hoped that this couple would last for eternity and beyond. Olga knew deep down that it will, she could see it in the way they both looked at each other. Hannibal looked at her as if she was the breath of fresh air he’d been looking for his entire life while (Y/n) looked at him as if he was the only thing that she lived for.

Dinner was a silent affair and Hannibal was an excellent cook. After dinner, (y/n) wandered off into her study to mark the remaining work of her students as Olga cornered Hannibal in the kitchen.

“She’s loved men greater than you, many Kings and Lords who were willing to lay their lives down for her beauty.” Olga informed Hannibal who listened intently, trying to ignore the clenching feeling in his heart. He knew that his lover had many before him yet he never felt insecure, not until this moment that is, the words from Olga’s mouth put that into perspective. If great kings and lords were willing to die for her, then who was he to deserve her love?

“Yet she never married any of them.” Hannibal retorted looking up at Olga, maintaining eye contact as some form of dominance.

“No, she almost did though. A man, a lord really. A widowed man, he was. His wife had succumbed to the chills and (Y/n) was new at court, quickly catching the eye of the young lord.

Their love was pure and young, like a freshly bloomed flower. However it did not last unfortunately, the young lord succumbed to a strange illness that (Y/n) would never die from.” Olga told Hannibal who listened closely to a piece of his fiancée’s history. Olga stood leaning against the counter, watching Hannibal, waiting for a reaction.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. However, she has me and I have her, I am not succumbing to any illness soon.” Hannibal smiled at Olga in a sarcastic manner who just smiled back at him, glad that he hadn’t let the jealousy overcome his conscious mind.

“You, my boy, will do just fine.” Olga pat Hannibal on the back and wandered off, leaving the older man to his own thoughts. Hannibal himself wasn’t less than royalty, he was the Count of Castle Lecter in Lithuania, his mother was a descendent of a family that ruled over Milan for 290 years.

He was on par with any king or lord that would die for his wife to be. She was beautiful, perhaps even the most beautiful creature to walk this earth.

Lost in thought while doing the dishes, he didn’t notice his lover walking in. The slight touch of her hand on his back caught Hannibal off guard as he let out a sigh of relief once he saw it was only his lover.

“Are you alright?” She questioned him, a worrisome look on her face as her eyebrows furrowed together, wondering what made him so panicky. Her hand travelled from rubbing his shoulder to caressing his face. Hannibal sighed gently before allowing himself to lean into her touch, cherishing every moment.

“I’m quite alright, dear.” Hannibal told the young brunette in a soft yet tired voice. She muttered a quiet “oh Hannibal,” before encasing him in a hug. Hannibal hugged her tightly, afraid that she was just a dream that his mind had conjured up before burying his face in her neck, allowing himself to breathe in her scent.

(Y/n) pulled back from the hug, bending her neck down to look at Hannibal as a frown overtook her beautiful face. She carded her hands through his hair before they settled on his face.

“How will you tell me what’s wrong?” She asked him gently and Hannibal, just for a brief moment, lost control over himself.

“Olga told me about your past.” Hannibal barely whispered out in a bitter tone. “She told me about the man who you nearly married and the kings and lords who were willing to lay their life down for you.”

“Oh my dear heart, that man was someone I loved years ago. But you, my dear, you are my love now. My star and my moon.” Hannibal relaxed at her words of reassurance, fully pulling away from their embrace.

“Let’s head up to bed now, I’ll start a fresh bath for you. It’ll help you relax.” She smiled at him and patted his cheek before heading upstairs.

Hannibal stole a quick kiss from his girlfriend before going back to doing the dishes. Once he finished, he wiped his wet hands on a towel and removed his apron and hung it on the hook before heading upstairs. Halfway up and he can already smell the scent of jasmine and sandalwood beginning to drift through the air. Hannibal tilts his head up and takes in a deep breath, already feeling a bit relaxed.

“There you are my star.” (Y/n) called out to Hannibal as she got up from the bed. “I’ve been waiting patiently for you, truly had half a mind to go and grab you myself.” She tells him, Hannibal laughs as he makes his way to their bathroom.

Even at the end of the day she looks like an Angel. His beautiful angel, crafted by god just for him. He removes his clothes, putting them in the hamper and then getting into the bath. Sandalwood and Jasmine, the scent that comforted him the most simply because it belonged to his wife. He remembers the first time he saw her, in that alley way, smelling like freshly bloomed jasmine with a hint of sandalwood.

“Take your relaxing bath, I’ll see you in bed.” The young woman told her lover before kissing him on the corner of his lips and strutting into the room. Hannibal relaxed fully now, lowering himself into the extremely hot water. It felt nice to have someone care for him like this. Sometimes he let his mind wander and wonder if this is the type of love Mischa felt when she was being cared for by her elder brother. He missed his sister, his little star in the sky. Now she truly was a part of the sky. Shaking his head, Hannibal closed his eyes and drifted off a short sleep.

Once he woke up, 35 minutes had passed and his body had already pruned. Quickly getting out, he moisturized and put his night suit on. His wife, although they weren’t married legally, was on the bed, reading a book that was centuries old. She was there when it was written, hence her copy is an original.

“I thought you weren’t coming out of that bath today.” She joked, smiling up at him.

“It seems like you made it too relaxing.” Hannibal joked back, poking her side making her laugh. Sweet laughter that sounded like wind chimes. She set her book aside, arranging the pillows so that she laid down properly on them.

“Ready to sleep?” Hannibal asked her, moulding himself around the shape of her body.

“With you? Always.” She tells her husband, moving closer to rest her head on his beating heart, allowing it to lull her to sleep. Hannibal moved his cheek atop her head, breathing in that familiar scent of metallic blood and jasmine, allowing the scents to send him to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning was usual, Hannibal woke up first, made breakfast, woke up his wife and Olga, ate breakfast and then got dressed and headed off to work, he was now consulting with the FBI.

(Y/n)’s routine was the same as well. She ate, came up, got dressed for her teaching job, grabbed her papers and headed off to school.

Olga, well, she didn’t exactly have a job however, she had decided to get a head start on the wedding fabric. She knew that (Y/n) wanted something that was classic and elegant yet also wanted lace. She headed to multiple fabric stores and picked up multiple fabrics, allowing her surrogate daughter to pick one she liked the most. She wouldn’t admit it but Olga was excited, her daughter had happiness once, yet it was snatched straight out of her hands and now, she has a second chance at it with a great man.

The day came and went, by the time she reached home, it was 3pm and two hours later, (Y/n) returned home.

“Olga! What is all of this?” She asked surprised, shutting the door and taking off her gloves and coat, (y/n) put them on the couch and sat beside Olga.

“I brought fabric. The sooner you choose the type, the sooner I can begin the design.” Olga told her. The younger girl looked at Olga for a moment before hugging her tightly and kissing her cheek.

“You shouldn’t have!” She told her once, pulling away from the hug.

“Nonsense child. Now choose your favorite fabric.” And with those words, (y/n) began to finger the fabric and examined them closely. Some were beautiful crème coloured fabrics with a pearl sheen and others were decorated with gold threads and white coloured flowers embroidered. It was simply beautiful. However, the one that truly caught the young woman’s attention was a beautiful ivory coloured fabric with beautiful lace detailing and the fabric was woven with silver, causing it to have a beautiful shine in the sun and light.

“That one is it.” Hannibal called out from the door making his wife jump. She glared at him for a moment before running her hands through her hair. He laughed and shed his coat jacket, sitting next to his wife.

“It's beautiful, isn’t it.” She told him and Hannibal nodded. The fabric truly was one of a kind, however, his wife was more beautiful than any fabric or creature.

“I agree but I think that you’ll make it shine even more.” He tells her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and kissing her. (Y/n) raised his hand to his cheek, deepening the kiss a bit more.

“So that’s the fabric I assume.” Olga guessed.

“Well then, I’ll get started on the dress.” Olga kissed (y/n) on the cheek and headed to the sun room that was converted into her studio.

4 months passed by and their routine continued. Hannibal and (Y/n) headed off work while Olga worked on the dress, keeping it a secret from the bride. A month later, the dress was ready.

“The flower arrangements are beautiful, aren’t they.” The brunette gushed over the flowers, clutching onto Hannibal’s arm as he agreed. They truly were beautiful. Baby’s breath paired with lilac coloured flowers.

“Have you sent the invitations?” Hannibal asked the wedding planner who nodded. Hannibal nodded in acknowledgement and placed his hand over his wife’s.

“Everything will be perfect, my love.” Hannibal tells her normally, kissing her forehead before muttering a soft “And anyone who messes it up will be our dinner.” (Y/n) smiled at that. They weren’t innocent, Hannibal supplied her blood and the rest ate with her.

Their wedding date was in a week and good lord did that week come fast. At work Hannibal had made good friends with Will Graham and that man was his best man. Hannibal had friends, many friends, yet Will Graham was surprisingly his closest.

“Are you ready?” Will asked Hannibal who looked at him through the mirror.

“To marry her? Any day.” Hannibal replied in confidence, making Will laugh.

“I just went to see her, she looks like a vision come true. Now I see why you call her angel.” Will laughed, running his hands through his unruly curls. Will hadn’t only become friends with Hannibal, he also became friends with his wife. Will reminded (y/n) of her brother, one that she never got to see grow.

“Are you ready?” Maya asked (y/n), straightening her veil before grabbing ahold of her hands.

“Maya, I’ve been waiting over 9 centuries for this, I am ready as I'll ever be.” (Y/n) tells her long time friend, squeezing her hands in confirmation.

“Alright then, let’s get you married.” Maya said, linking their arms together.

Will was right, his wife to be was a beautiful vision. Olga did so wonderfully designing the dress, it was reminiscent of fashion during the Tudor period, with a beautiful ivory bodice decorated with the most beautiful blue and gold birds and flowers, the skirt was simple and trimmed with lace as well as the arms. It was a heavy skirt with multiple layers of fabric. A true Tudor wedding dress. Her hair was done up and a few loose curls framed her face, the makeup suited her well, dark eyes with a dark lip and the finishing touch was a dark blue lace choker, with a pendant depicting the goddess that she once served.

“You are stunning.” Hannibal sighed out in disbelief, still looking at his wife and took her hands in his bigger ones.

The priest officiated the wedding and they said their vows, sealing the ceremony with a kiss.

Maya cried at the Vows while Will teared up a little, praying to whatever god there was to find a love like theirs.

“I’ve waited a thousand years for you, Hannibal. I’ll wait another thousand if it means to have you in my arms.” She tells him, placing her hand on his cheek as he leans into it.

“I’d wait a thousand years to feel your touch and your love again, my beautiful, beautiful wife.” Hannibal tells her, tilting her chin up before kissing her again. They are finally married now, after centuries (Y/n) found someone to love for centuries to come and Hannibal found someone to love.

Tagging my beauties: @chchchcheni @shawty-writes-a-little @jake-g-lockley @dimitrisebastian

[honeygrahambitch]

"Since laryngitis is not contagious I told Will he should definitely come to work today. Especially now that the Ripper dropped a body. He doesn't need to talk much. He can do his thing and then write a report on it." Jack explained to Hannibal as they arrived at the crime scene. "No one gets hurt and we get even closer to catching the Ripper."

"It's quite cold today." Hannibal commented as a tiny snow flake landed on his palm. "Will agreed I suppose?"

"He did, yes. But we have only been texting so I am not sure what state he actually is in."

Will was already there, next to Beverly, looking around the crime scene, examining something in particular. He was so focused that he didn't even hear Hannibal and Jack.

"Will." Hannibal greeted him. To that Will and Beverly turned to them.

"Will can't speak. Like, at all. I am doing the talking for him today." Beverly explained. Will rolled his eyes helplessly. "He is not thrilled about it but I can do a pretty good job."

"He definitely should not force himself." Hannibal agreed, frowning in concern. If Will was not making any effort to talk then it definitely meant his voice was gone. His usual strategy of ignoring any symptoms he would have did not work in this case.

Jack sighed loudly, probably understanding that Will should have indeed stayed home to rest instead of standing outside in negative temperatures.

"He wants to say that your coat looks majestic, Dr. Lecter." Beverly commented. "Jack, I'm not allowed to say what Will thinks about you at this very moment. I really want to keep my job."

Will didn't protest to any of the things Beverly said and pulled out a little bottle of pills. Hannibal was wondering if Will knew that aspirin won't help that much with getting back his voice. Was his throat sore as well? Probably. Will wouldn't complain about stuff like that even when his voice was perfectly fine.

Hannibal wished he would know that kind of things.

He wished Will would allow him to care for him.

That is why as soon as they were done with the crime scene, he asked Will to get into his car instead of Beverly's. He wanted to open his mouth to protest but the stern look on Hannibal's stern expression made him abandon his attempt to force his larynx.

As soon as they arrived at Hannibal's place, he started making some tea in a navy blue kettle.

"Ginger and chamomile tea does wonders for a sore throat." He explained as Will followed him with his eyes around the kitchen.

Will felt partially powerless and partially grateful. He could admit to himself that other than popping pills, he usually did nothing about feeling sick. He mostly took medication to function at work, he wouldn't need those at home.

"Thank you." He whispered.

Hannibal felt something warm inside himself at hearing his voice for the first time that day.

"You should have told- well, wrote Jack that you are too sick to work, Will. Just so you know, I'm not expecting you for our therapy session tomorrow." Hannibal said as he moved the cattle away from the electric stove.

"No, I can do it." Will whispered a bit louder and coughed immediately after.

"Therapy implies having conversations. And by canceling your appointment I don't mean that I don't want to see you tomorrow. You should definitely come here for dinner." Hannibal went on while pouring tea in two cups. "Sitting with you in silence is not something that I dread."

Will smiled at that. When it came to the two of them, silence was indeed not an obstacle. There was always something to project and something to observe.

Hannibal added a generous spoon of honey in Will's cup and none in his own.

Will opened his mouth to say something more but he coughed again. Hannibal passed him a note book and a pen.

"We can pass notes."

"How romantic" Will wrote to that, earning a genuine smile from Hannibal. Then he kept on writing and then handed the notebook back Hannibal.

"Since I can't talk and you insist on having me around I can finally do what you've been asking me for ages."

"And what have I been asking you for ages?" Hannibal asked curiously as he gave Will the notebook.

"You can draw me in your sketchbook and I promise not to move or make any comment about how boring it is." He wrote back and raised his eyebrows, watching Hannibal's expression as he was reading his words.

"Are you sure?" Hannibal asked trying to conceal his excitement behind a satisfied expression. He was already picturing each pencil or charcoal he could use.

Will nodded.

[coffee-in-rain]

i'm sorry for always yapping about Hannibal's food trauma and its prospective appearance in his and Will's post-fall relationship. but it is so intriguing to me. particularly: the usually romanticized notion of hand-feeding and the idea of Will making an off-hand joke one day.

Hand-Feeding

imagine if one of the last times Hannibal was hand fed by anyone, it had been his sister when they were trapped in a cabin in the middle of winter. Hannibal had been giving her all of his scraps because she was getting sick and needed it more and he couldn't let her go hungry. he was desperate to care for her in any way he still could. he'd gone so long without food that he'd passed out and awoke on the cold cabin floor. small pieces of bread were being stuffed into his slack mouth. one week later, his sister died. not solely because of a cold. she had fallen ill and it had been apparent she wouldn't make it through the winter.

imagine Hannibal carrying that guilt with him. wondering for the rest of his life: if she hadn't fed him those morsels of bread and subsequently fallen ill, then maybe she would've made it through the winter and they could've escaped together.

imagine the trauma of being hand-fed following Hannibal into the BSHCI: one day the orderly who detests him the most straps him down to shave his face and keeps him restrained during meal time. Hannibal doesn't receive a bite of food even though it's dangled mere inches away and it reignites the memories of being trapped in the cabin during the winter as a boy. imagine if he goes to sleep that day with an empty belly for the first time in almost four decades because the food was never close enough in distance to take a bite. imagine if he promised himself as a boy that he would never go to bed hungry as an adult and it had remained true until that night inside his cell.

imagine Will hand-feeding Hannibal post-fall when they're in recovery. Hannibal dealing with a broken wrist--making it cumbersome to feed himself depending on the meal. imagine Hannibal hesitating. unable to take the first bite. an offering of food. monumental only to Hannibal.

imagine Hannibal's jaw clenching with a notable tremor and his heart seizing the moment Will presses a piece of food against his lips, urging him to open up.

Will saying: "come on, baby, you need to eat."

you need to eat. one of the last sentences Hannibal heard his sister utter. imagine Hannibal feeling nauseous at the mere prospect of eating--of taking opportunistic nourishment away from Will (even though both their plates are full)--and then blinking back tears because he doesn't deserve this.

kindness. encouragement. the ability to sate his hunger before Will even takes a bite of his own meal.

knowing it can be taken away at a moment's notice and can be placed just out of reach like the multiple times he's experienced before. imagine Hannibal asking Will: "are you going to eat as well?" because he's scared of both feeling and appearing greedy.

imagine Will registering the turmoil stirring inside Hannibal. being patient and coaxing Hannibal to eat. whispering "it's all right" and "take your time" and then kissing Hannibal's temple in reassurance/praise as the first mouthful of food is eventually swallowed.

Will's Off-Hand Joke

imagine Will gaining a small amount of weight post-fall and he needs to size up in his usual pair of pants. Will makes an off-hand remark after dinner: "are you trying to fatten me up?"

it's meant to be teasing.

but imagine Hannibal's brain racing to the first association he has with that term: of being trapped in a cabin and having his shirt raised so his body-mass could be inspected. if he had retained a little more weight then maybe his sister wouldn't have been the one to be chosen. knowledge that haunted Hannibal for the rest of his childhood.

imagine if Hannibal becomes defensive and shell-shocked by Will's comment. believing it's truly one of the worst things he could do to Will. that he's made Will vulnerable in the same manner he had unknowingly done for his sister by keeping her as well fed as he could--and now he's been keeping Will as well fed as he could during their recovery. imagine Hannibal having a nervous breakdown because of that off-hand comment and Will spending the rest of the night piecing Hannibal back together.

[lockedcemetary]

The Birth of Venus

a/n: this is probably bad, wrote it at 1 am and have never written before and doubt anyone will even see this. written with male/ gender neutral reader in mind but i don’t think i mentioned sex or gender at all, if anyone does see this and likes it or has feedback, tell me!

also not proofread lol

_______________________________________________

hannibal who asks you to be his muse for a nude portrait. He presents this request as politely and professionally as possible, to hide his true intentions. Hannibal who knows damn well he wouldn’t need a reference to properly etch your figure onto parchment, he’s already done it dozens of times.

You, being none the wiser, agree. Albeit a bit hesitantly, but you agree nonetheless. fast forward to the arranged date and time, he has unclothe yourself in his bathroom that’s attached to the master bedroom, for your comfort, he explains. he waits patiently with his sketchbook in hand, legs crossed away from your view. you pay no attention to his body language, but anyone who was even slightly educated on seeing the signs would be able to deduce that he was enjoying the situation in another light.

you exit the bathroom, a towel draped over yourself. you stand a bit over a yard away from him, unsure of what to do with yourself. he assures you that there is no need to be nervous, it’s just you and him, no danger or judgement. this eases you slightly, though he can tell you’re still tense.

he instructs you to place the towel on the desk behind you, and you follow. you turn back to him to see him already looking at you, is that desire in his eyes? Of course not, why would that be the case? he lets his eyes rake across you, taking in small details that he mentally stores away. he realizes he’s staring, and staring is rude, so he pulls his eyes back to his paper. this is when he begins his rough sketch, he will go in and clean everything up later. when he is happy with his sketch, finishing the outline with only a few stolen glances of the beauty in front of him, he looks back up. you’re looking at him, watching his hands in particular. from this angle you can make out the rough shape of yourself, it makes you blush a bit as you realize just the situation you remain in. he sees the pink dusting your cheeks and neck, but doesn’t comment on it. he simply stares.

he drags his line of sight onto the page once more, adding finer details as the minutes pass. he can feel it against his thigh now, but he dare not speak of it or even acknowledge it. this has never been a problem when it was just him, though he knew it would arise when you were standing in front of him as his hand graced the page. he flicks his eyes up for only a second, to regain his senses. the image was starting to take shape now. you could see it, and you recognized it? it was you, in the place of Venus in the renaissance painting The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli.

you couldn’t make out the faces of the other three people in the image, but that wasn’t important. what was important was that Hannibal had led you here, just to simply take in your grace. you hadn’t known it, but this wasn’t simply a ploy to get you undressed in front of him, even if that was part of it. as elegant and chaste as hannibal likes to pretend he is. but he chose to memorialize you in the place of venus, the goddess of love, beauty, and sex. (atleast those are the motifs that apply here)

when he presented the image to you, your eyes widened on instinct. and you took a step forward to take the sketchbook from his hands and get a better look of it yourself, a better look of you, i suppose. Hannibal took note of the decreased proximity, and let his eyes wander. oh if only you knew how often you flitted about his mind. it’d end him, like you inevitably would.

________________________________

i was listening to the song Black Beauty by Lana Del Rey while writing this btw, good song.

[morningstarbee]

Thinking about episode 1 again. So like.

Obviously after the scene where Will and Hannibal meet, Hannibal is all "I think I can help Will see this cannibal's face." or whatever and it smash cuts to Cassie Boyle field kabuki

But like, I'm thinking about the timeline here.

So Hannibal goes to Minnesota, finds a girl who fits the profile of the Shrike's victims, takes her lungs, kills her, displays her and then goes back to Baltimore. Because when we see him cooking her lungs, it looks like his own kitchen?

And he doesn't show up to Minnesota "officially" until the second day, when he wakes Will up for the breakfast scene in the motel.

Assumedly, Jack calls him to Minnesota to help Will with the profile after Will makes that snarky comment about "Why don't you have Dr. Lecter draw you up a profile. You seem really impressed with his opinion."

So like

They meet

Hannibal goes to Minnesota and kills Cassie Boyle

Hannibal goes home.

The team gets called to Minnesota to investigate Cassie Boyle scene. Will tells Jack to ask Hannibal. Jack calls Hannibal.

Hannibal agrees. The next day he cooks the lungs and then goes back to Minnesota to wake Will up and flirt with him at like 8 in the morning.

I just need to know how this man got the lungs pass airport security. And if he didn't if he drove to Minnesota to kill Cassie Boyle...If you've seen my previous post, you know that's at LEAST an 18 hour drive, more with traffic and breaks. And then he had to drive back. Which is again, at LEAST 18 hours.

I like to believe that Hannibal had JUST gotten home from the drive when Jack called him back and he had to book a plane ticket to Minisoda

[tina-mairin-goldstein]

Hannibal Dash Simulator Season 2

🔍iwishididn'thaveatwin reblogged

🐈‍⬛team-sassy-science

Me and @ autopsyguy going to get some drinks after work.

@ teamsassyscience Why wasn't I invited? And who took that picture?

13 notes

#friends #who i will forgive for not inviting me drinking this one time

🌸flowers-in-bloom reblogged

I know this is a stretch, but has anyone seen my dog? He keeps running away and I haven't gotten the chance to microchip him because of this. If you see him, he answers to Winston, and my address is on his collar (he's the one on the upper left, this is the only picture I have).

🌸flowers-in-bloom

Never mind. I found him. Thank you to everyone who tried to help. He is now microchipped.

🌸flowers-in-bloom

Winston ran away again. The microchip is not 100% accurate, so please, if you see him, let me know. I'm afraid he might get hit by a car or attacked by a wild animal.

821 notes

#dogs #dog #missing dog

🔍iwishididn'thaveatwin

Okay, something happened at work, and I am currently OBSESSED. Just have to share this with you guys. This article is the best. I set up the link, so just click the picture.

174 notes

#bees #apiary #honey production

🔥Sponsored

_________Verger Meat Packaging

Fresh, high-quality meat. Perfect for any occasion. Pork, beef, and chicken from a variety of breeds, available for all budgets. Professionally raised on one of the oldest farms in the state.

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0 notes

🍷are-we-not-made-in-his-image

Petition to save local songbird habit from complete destruction

Local Baltimore City Council Sheldon Isley brokered a deal several years ago to turn the habit of endangered songbirds into a parking lot. Recently, there have been discussions going on further developing what little remains of these birds' home. More information and links below the cut.

_______________________Keep Reading

7,843 notes

#birds #petition #songbirds #wildlife #baltimore

🐎animal-lover12233

4 notes

🦅lonesome-hawk reblogged lonesome-hawk

Just LOOK at him.

🦅lonesome-hawk

Yes, I know he's on trial for murder. But if you had been following the trial like I have, you would know he's being framed. Now shut up and leave me alone. I'm disabling comments.

843 notes

🌸flowers-in-bloom

😶‍🌫️Anonymous asked:

Aren't those @ dogsandflyfishing's dogs?

Yes, they are. I am taking care of them for him while he is unable to.

2 notes

#ask answered

📸tattlecrime-official

Coming soon!

The REAL story of Will Graham and how his peculiar mind works, and how he was tragically framed to be the infamous Chesapeake Ripper.

Click on the links below to subscribe to TattleCrime.com for official updates and exclusive snippets.

-------------------------------Keep Reading

365 notes

#tattlecrime #official story #will graham

🐻prehistoric-predator

I'm partial to the Cave Bear myself, but a Dire Wolf is also a good choice. Before you vote, I've got some studies and info in the link below and some general information so you can make informed decision.

I'm curious to see what you guys think; I'm having to make a really tough decision right now.

Reblog for larger sample size

_______________________Keep Reading

69 notes

#cave bear #dire wolf #poll #polls #my poll

🐕dogsandflyfishing reblogged

🍷are-we-not-made-in-his-image

Lomo Saltado

Recipe below cut.

_______________________Keep Reading

37 notes

#recipe #cooking #lomo saltado

🐕dogsandflyingfishing

Everyone who is asking about Buster in the last picture I put up, he is okay. He got on the wrong side of a wild animal, which happens from to time when you live in a rural area. He needed stitches, but he will be fine. Stop accusing me of mistreating my dogs.

12 notes

#ask answered

😷autopsyguy

I've been going through a hard time lately. A friend of mine recently passed, @ teamsassyscience, and I've been thinking about her a lot. Two other friends of mine, @ dogsandflyfishing and @ flowers-in-bloom, along with my boss, are currently in the hospital and things don't look good. I'm really worried

Not what any of you wanted to hear, but I just needed to vent and didn't know where else to do it.

Here's to Beverly, and hoping that Will, Alana, and Jack pull through.

73 notes

📸tattlecrime-official

EXCLUSIVE!

A Red Dinner

Today, the entire city of Baltimore was rocked by the shocking revelation that renowned psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, is indeed the true Chesapeake Ripper. According to sources, Lecter very nearly took the lives of three people, and killed a third. Will Graham, once accused himself of being the Ripper. Dr. Alana Bloom, his lover. And Special Agent Jack Crawford of the FBI, a man Lecter has worked with closely in recent months. The one victim who was DOA is reportedly none other than Abigail Hobbs, who has been assumed murdered for months now, previously by none other than Will Graham. And what's more, it turns out he isn't just a serial killer, he is a cannibal as well.

Click Here for the rest of the story on TattleCrime.com

7,651 notes

#tattlecrime #official #hannibal the cannibal

[mostdefinitelyafeverdream]

pairing: hannibal lecter x gn!reader

warnings: ///

author's note: not much to say other than i wrote this on a whim, lots of unresolved tension & hannibal being hannibal which is self-explanatory enough i believe. first person pov because i think the use of y/n disrupts the narrative. comments & reviews much appreciated!!

banishing the heartbreak

tell me what the cards say

give me all the tingles

moi je veux le monde

bottom line - he's looking, and he keeps looking. a shiver - painfully vulnerable reaction, extreme and warranted by such imposing presence - runs down my arms and i struggle to hold the piercing gaze; it suddenly turns into a struggle, a subtle battle for dominance. that's what he made of it and never am i allowing him the upper hand (though matching his intensity is nothing short of exhausting).

his eyes hold such starved hunger, a primal instict much alike to the hunting predator giving restless chase and for a second i scoff at its theatricality. his stance screams of a man who's always had his way and i catch a glimpse of the underlying arrogance of a much anticipated victory, which against all reason, tugs at my own grisly pride.

"can i help you?"

he smiles but doesn't show his teeth - not yet at least. his approaching steps mark a distinct rhythm that confuses itself with the pounding of my frantic heartbeats, but stubbornly holding onto my slowly crumbling resolve, i keep shuffling the cards in my hands.

he didn't expect me to address him first - in nature, prey never provokes a predator.

he sits and never breaks the stare, amused like the cat that toys with mice without even paying much mind to their squeaks.

"may i request a fortune reading?"

a pause. i look to him again and he doesn't strike me as a believer - of any kind, in any being but himself. he looks like someone whom people devote their beliefs to, instead.

"i don't read for those who don't really want a reading"

he smiles again but nothing in the poised way he sits betrays his growing interest; nothing but a glint in his eye, the sadistic inclination of the enthused scientist about to prod and probe until he gets the desired results.

"so you presume to know what i want"

it's not phrased as a question, and this is but a first test, i vexedly realise. i try not to let his soothing baritone sway my resolve to teach this arrogant, arrogant man a lesson but how can i hope to oppose him if my resistance might be nothing more than an entertaining bit on his carefully directed stage? - merely few minutes have passed and that's the power imbalance he set already.

"i'm not as presumptuous as to assume something like that. but i am presumptuous enough as to assume what you do not want."

it's my turn to smile but i'd be a fool to believe it might elicit the same reaction as his domineering presence. it's tight lipped and more hostile than i'd hoped but i'd always been easy to read: my eyes, much like his own, betray my nature.

"hannibal lecter," he doesn't extend his hand, it's not an introduction but a statement: "excuse my rudeness."

he has a gentlemanly charm, surely carefully crafted to attract all kinds of attentions - trust would be the correct term, as i'm sure he thrives off the easy accessibility of prey, whatever his ambitions may be, but i do not trust this man one bit. i give him my name nonetheless which is my second grave mistake today; the first one: subconsciously letting him make space for himself at my table, where he comfortably sits scrutinizing my every move.

"nothing to be excused. what i meant to say is, i don't read for those who think of the practice as a joke."

he merely listens and does not refute my words of thinly veiled accusation. what an overbearing man.

"are you a man of science? a doctor, maybe." i stir the pot, i know i am and this game is most definitely dangerous but nothing short of exciting. it's too late to back down anyways.

"an accurate observation. knowledge incited by your... practice, perhaps"

"what a pity, i clearly see a future as a comedian"

it shouldn't arouse such unbridled delight and violent trepidation, the way he looks more and more kin to dig his talons in, to tear and cut his way to what he knows will be the inevitable dead end. and yet the poised firm stance still stands, unwavering - he's enjoying this and in some twisted, unforseen turn of events, i'm giving in and being led by his hand.

"comedy and tragedy alike bear the omen of fate. to evoke a laugh is but to twist the odds in in your favor and rewrite a satisfying ending. do you belive in destiny?"

i'm still shuffling the cards, he's still drinking in my every movement, savoring my resentment and aversion like a long-awaited meal. he subtly leans in and i match his pace, if only to prove his intimidation does not sway me, if only to prove i will dance to his jarring waltzer just to prove a point.

a single card falls from the deck.

the fact so unexpected we both quickly divert our gazes to look down upon it. the man whose ominous presence is enough to trigger every defense mechanism i possess smiles one more time - he bares his teeth. he takes a card of his own from his pocket, a business card, and puts it right next to the fallen arcana, then leaves the table - and me - without a word.

when i look back down again, the devil stares right back.

dividers by @/enchantings

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER TEN: RABBIT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm, fatphobia, body dysmorphia

This is chronologically the tenth chapter in the series.

Read beneath the cut...

Napalm is the slow fire of waking from a terrible dream, blind, gasping, burnt. The pain, though delusive, is made actual by the action of nerves.

Only a hand at your shoulder, vigorous in its attentions, hauls you up from the putrescence of slumber into the light-dark of four in the morning. You find Hannibal's shape through lashes gummed with sleep's adhesive.

His face is as impassive as a star, but his hair, ever coiffed, is displaced from the friction of his pillow.

“You were screaming,” he says, as you sit, stunned, in his arms. “What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?”

“No,” you say, although the scenes remain briefly in your vision, doubling like silk screen prints upon the walls.

Hannibal fills up a glass with fresh water and bids you to drink, his eyes pensive, unconvinced.

Only the notion that he may suggest you share his bed or else intrude upon yours impels you to honesty.

“I dreamt that I was trapped in one of the Silicone Lover’s dolls. That he was trying to squeeze me inside, and I wouldn’t fit. He said, ‘You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you. I’d better do something about that.’

“Then he started cutting me up with kitchen scissors, and I couldn’t stop him.”

You pause, choking on a breath, a verbal stagger.

Dr Lecter offers you the water again, which you take in both hands and drain to its end.

“Take your time,” says Hannibal. “When you’re ready, go on.”

Lying will fail you before the all-seeing eye, so it is with a flat honesty that you say, “It wasn’t what the Lover did in my dream that scared me. It was what he said to me. Because he was right.”

You reach down to pull the quilt up across your stomach, which Hannibal, with a subtle gesture, prevents.

“To agree with such a statement there must be some basis of comparison for you,” he says. “You knew the person standing in as the Lover in your dream. Can you name him?”

Hannibal could guess it, from the little you’ve told him of your unclean past, but if memory conjures the name from the gully of silence he does not say so.

Instead, he comments, “I think it’s unwise for you to sleep again until your mind is settled. Perhaps we may take advantage of the hour to continue your therapy, in an informal fashion.”

He sits in a chair by your bed, producing a notepad and pen from a pocket of his dressing gown.

You see that he will not move.

"What if I don’t talk?” you ask, softly. “What if I say I'd rather take the punishment?"

Hannibal's slender lips upturn.

"I wouldn't be inclined to take such a claim seriously.”

In sullen defeat you flounce back against the pillows.

Dr Lecter takes his cue.

“I’m curious about the friendships you’ve formed throughout your life. Have there been any notable examples?”

“Not many,” you answer, looking at the raw edges of your fingernails. “I was kind of the weird kid. It was like looking through a dusty museum window at everybody passing by, not really knowing how to get out there and talk to people. Like I was too old and too young at the same time.

“I got bullied, kind of. Nothing worth talking about. Just dumb kid stuff.”

“Even persecution of a childish nature bears painful resonance in later life,” Hannibal comments. “Moreover, isolation from one's peers may disrupt development in those vital years.”

You think of dolorous hours patrolling a fallow playground alone, three hundred children staring through you with adult hostility.

“I did make one friend,” you say. “First year of high school. Amy Glass. She was a weird kid, too.”

Hannibal scratches deftly on his notepad.

"Describe how you met."

Closing your eyes, you find your way back through the forests of the past to a corridor whose tiled floor squeaks under your shoes. You smell textbook paper and saccharine body spray. The sweat of young bodies, and the stale cafeteria fare you’d never tasted throughout your time there.

“Between classes Amy would sit in a window listening to music, or reading,” you say. “Stephen King, usually. Sometimes Anne Rice. She seemed to be up there all the time. I don’t think she was getting shit from the other kids or anything; she just preferred hanging out on her own.

“I wished I was like that, not caring. I wished I was her, period.”

“In what way?” asks Dr Lecter, and in the hallway of your mind a slender figure appears, brown of skin and eyes, blue hair cut roughly to the chin, its roots seeping in atop it like a stain.

Amy.

“A lot of ways,” you say. “Before I really knew her, it was about how she looked. She had piercings— ears, lip, nose, eyebrow. Teachers would tell her to take them out, then the second she was out of their eye-line she’d put them right back in. And even back then she had these awful stick and poke tattoos of bats and crosses she covered up with band aids for classes.

“She did all of them herself with a safety pin. God knows how she didn’t get an infection or anything.

“Then there was the fact I knew we liked some of the same music because of the patches on her bag, and her t-shirts and stuff. Nothing you’d approve of,” you add, as interest touches the face of your listener. “Jesus, I can’t even imagine playing stuff like that in this house. Anyway, I didn’t want to just be like, ‘hey, you like that band, too’. It would have been too weird. Stalkery, maybe?”

“Music isn’t such a terrible way to form a connection,” says Hannibal, amused. “I was once approached in friendship through a shared taste in cheese.”

Picturing his restrained derision you cannot help but laugh.

“Oh, god,” you say. “What were they thinking?”

“It was a naive assumption of commonalities. Besides, my commitment to professionalism would never have allowed us to be as close as he would have hoped.”

You give a little start of affront.

“You’ve made friends with other clients.”

Dr Lecter’s smile remains.

“Only with those whom I feel my presence benefits.”

“Benefits you, you mean,” you say, pettishly. “Whoever it was, you just didn’t like him that much. That’s why you turned him down. Or maybe he was too like you.”

Without appearing offended, Hannibal turns a page in his notebook.

“I'm unconcerned with debating my personal relationships, little one. Let’s return to Amy. Who initiated the friendship between you?”

“Amy,” you say. “It was after this councillor was trying to get something out of me, and I didn’t want to talk. I walked out that room feeling so... heavy, and grimy, and embarrassed. Then there was Amy, heading to the same office I just walked out of. She looked at me, scrunched her face up, and said, ‘Wish me luck.’ Next time I saw her I made the same face back and asked, ‘how was it?’

“‘The worst, just like always,’ she said. ‘Where’d she get her certificate, anyway? Clown school?’

“I burst out laughing. ‘She’s so bad, right?’

“And that was it. Friends. We went everywhere together. Amy really liked me. I don’t know why. I think maybe she thought I was sort of mysterious and interesting rather than just depressed, probably because I didn’t want to talk about what was going on with me.

“She told me everything about her. How her dad didn’t believe in mental health issues even though he was just like she was, and how her mom just ignored everything, hoping it’d just... go away. But I didn’t tell Amy even one little thing about me, really. Not one.”

Guilt you’ve never truly confronted falls like a petal from a late summer bloom, cloying the dark with its flavour.

“Did Amy ever indicate that she’d recognised your particular illness?” prompts Hannibal, and you shrug glumly.

“A couple of times. I ignored every hint. Changed the subject. Acted like it wasn’t a thing when it obviously was. I knew that she knew. That was the dynamic. She was softer, around me. She got it. She got me.”

Suddenly your breath feels very high in your chest, catching on a rib.

“I can’t help but notice your use of the past tense,” says Dr Lecter. “Might I assume that you are no longer friends?”

“We grew apart after school,” you mutter. “I think she would have liked it if I stayed in touch, but then sometimes I wonder if that’s just wishful thinking, and maybe she didn’t care all that much when we drifted apart and stopping talking.

“I have her on Facebook. That’s all, really. She was never a social media person anyway, but still. I could have tried harder. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Hannibal allows the silence between you to ferment before he speaks again.

“Looking back, what do you think prevented you from maintaining contact?”

“I felt like after school was over she’d find other friends, and I’d just end up being left behind. So I got out of there before I had to see it happen.”

"You abandoned a friendship on the basis of a prophecy that might never have come to fruition."

"It would have,” you insist. “All my life I've had senses about things. Like, if I get a feeling something will or won't happen, I'm always right. Like I was right about you."

Swanlike, Dr Lecter’s hands move across his notebook, tactfully punctuating a note.

"It's common for sufferers of complex post-traumatic stress disorder to misinterpret their hypervigilance as psychic premonition. A heightened awareness of your surroundings and the behaviours of people in your vicinity develops in order to predict danger before it occurs. Pattern recognition is more mathematical than clairvoyant."

"What about my dreams?" you ask, sharply. “Are they math, too?”

"You've had other nightmares?” asks Hannibal, and leans forward, poised to digest you answer.

Canny, you hoard the matter like a serpent its glittering lair.

Hannibal accepts his defeat with grace.

Gathering up his notebook and the empty glass, he says, "That's enough therapy for now, particularly so early in the morning. I'll make you some tea, and you may return to sleep. Peacefully, this time, I hope."

*

Later, there is a meal that sits, sinking in a bath of bronze on Dr Lecter’s dining table, so much of it that you’re gorged merely from the arithmetic of its makeup.

“Arroz de Cabidela,” says Hannibal, as he pulls out his own chair. “A Portuguese dish made with rice, chicken, or rabbit cooked in its own blood. Today I’ve chosen rabbit. Have you ever eaten it before?”

It occurs to you that he expects you to be disturbed by the notion, but you are not. Meat is meat, all of it equally cruel. That life must end for the furthering of your existence has driven you to veganism many a time.

Little chance of sustaining such a diet now that you sleep in the devil’s slaughterhouse.

“No,” you say. “I’ve never tried rabbit. I heard it’s really... gamey.”

Your palate is scarcely educated enough to comprehend the statement. Still, it is apparently accurate, for Hannibal makes a low hum of agreement.

“It has similarities to poultry, in flavour, though it’s rather lean and dry. The blood stew adds a richness you’ll find complimentary, however.”

The scent is certainly inviting, but you are so committed to rejecting whatever is served to you that you feel lightheaded, succumbing to the altitude of starving heights.

“Couldn’t you have given me a smaller portion?” you ask, piteously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s so... much.”

Hannibal glances from your plate to his own, his visage neutral.

“I’ve served you a great deal less than I’ve given myself,” he says. “That said, I’m sure we can settle our differences. I’m not unyielding, if I can see some effort is being made.”

You look him in the eye, hoping you appear more bold than frightened.

“Dr Lecter, you make me all these courses, and they’re crazy even for a normal person. I feel like you do it on purpose. And afterwards my stomach hurts.”

“That’s normal, after a period of fasting. Your body will adjust. Now, please eat.”

You don’t. The cut on your plate makes you think of the Lover’s dolls, how even at your slightest you wouldn’t have fit into such a shell. How, changed as you must be through Hannibal’s cooking, you would ooze over every edge.

“I could use the feeding tube, if you’re unwilling,” says Dr Lecter, rising from his chair to stand at your back. “It would be relatively easy for me to administer. But I’d hate to sour an otherwise pleasant meal with brute force.”

He cups your throat in his smooth hand, and you envision how lovingly he’d coil about you in restraint, guiding the pipe down through you as you choked and flinched in his grasp.

“I’ll eat a quarter,” you say. “That’s it. Then... then nothing else until tomorrow. I won’t sneak out of bed, and I won’t do anything that breaks the rules. Please, Dr Lecter. Uh... Daddy?”

Your confusion between roles endears you to him, as does your breathless, eager willingness to beg.

“Should I allow you to barter?” Hannibal muses, still caressing the wand of your stiff neck. “It’s a symptom of your illness, after all.”

“Just let me choose how much and I’ll try anything you offer me.”

Dr Lecter releases a small breath of laughter.

“I wouldn’t like you to eat your words, little one.”

Gnashing your teeth, you say, “I won’t. I can do it. Please let me. You’re supposed to dote on me, aren’t you?”

You feel Hannibal’s lips against your hair in a kiss of paternal indulgence.

“Always so spirited,” he says. “Very well. I cannot deny my little beauty her request.”

What beauty does he refer to? You’ve only recognised it in the mine shafts of furthest hunger, mistaking a shadow for some precious stone.

Yet clearly you are not so low quality as you believe if both men have fucked you so freely over other women, whom they could conceivably draw into the net of the house.

Then again, there is no accounting for the tastes of madmen, and mad they both are, even Hannibal in his gelid divinity.

From the topiary of his language and flippant games you are beginning to see that you interest him in your very opposition to his being. Were you to succumb completely you would not be so worthy: all men bow to Hannibal, after all, seduced and deceived until they’d lick his fingers like lambs for the milk of his approval.

You, like Will, resist and evade enough of his passes to set yourself apart from the flock.

You may yet throw a halter over the head of the horned man, if only in as much as he allows himself to be reigned.

Quartering your meal as neatly as you're able, you glance up at Dr Lecter, afraid that, by some caprice, he’ll break his code and force you to eat down to the bare plate. But he merely stands by, retaining his honour, and as you look at him you picture his mild hands breaking the neck of the rabbit to drain as though for a ritual of blood.

*

Frequently through your days with Hannibal he immerses himself in hobbies and work about the house, cultivating a necessary solitude after the long hours of ingesting others’ anxious thoughts.

He reads, or writes music, sketches, telephones his friends and past lovers—of whom there are many—or else sets his pen to journals, having seen you safe to your locked room, where he need not prepare for misdemeanour.

In this way your residence in Hannibal’s home does not impede upon his individual pursuits, but rather compliments them, an accent of his sempiturnal glamour.

You are, after all, but one of his many pastimes. It is indulgence, then, when he insists on attending your evening bath.

As he kneels beside the tub to dampen a washcloth his intentions surface, another infringement upon the flesh.

“I don’t need you to help me,” you mumble, arms taut across your chest. “I’m not your baby.”

“Your inner child wails for the tenderness your illness has long obstructed,” says Hannibal, calmly. “Your independence would have you die like an infant abandoned to the forest. Let me carry you, at least in this small act of service.”

You look at him with eyes as dull as old blades and picture the futility of your struggle, his lithe arms holding you, kicking and airless, beneath the foam.

“Don’t you have your own daughter you can do all this with?” you ask; you’ve not yet needled him on his familial relations, and feel yourself more than entitled to know.

Hannibal begins to work the flannel over your naked form, paying no heed to your twitching affront.

“Abigail would have served the role admirably,” he says. “But it wasn’t to be. As for my own children, I have none.”

The revelation passes you without surprise. It’s only possible to imagine him having elegant, adult offspring, absent of the soiling indignities of rearing an infant.

“So you took me away for you and Will to raise,” you say. “Guessing he doesn’t have kids, either.”

The washcloth folds beneath the water, and you gaze studiously at the opposite wall so as not to think about the hand behind the fabric, how it has touched you in other ways, pleasantly, horridly.

“Will is also childless,” says Dr Lecter. “He has never known family, as you have. His mother left him when he was only an infant, and his father was a distant figure, though present. Now it seems that they’re estranged from one another. One can only imagine the loneliness Will has known in his life. Perhaps, with your assistance, this will change.”

Cloth, skin, hands, touch. Gentle and beguiling their trap, to distract from the permanence of this suggested triptych as fingers play against you underwater.

Unsteadily, you ask, “Is Will your boyfriend?”

Hannibal turns you an indecipherable look.

“Do you perceive our relationship to be romantic?”

A strange question, considering the violation with which you were inducted to their company. But not once did either man kiss or grasp the other— a technicality, certainly, yet one, it seems, that holds weight.

“Yes,” you say. “For you, anyway. I don’t know about Will. I know he thinks highly of you. He just sees me as something that’s in the way.”

You kick a foot testily, splashing water over the rim of the bath.

“What are you in the way of?” asks Hannibal, as he begins to lather your hair.

“Not sure. Your friendship, I guess.”

“Do you believe him when he implies that you're only an obstacle to him?”

Water pours over your head, and you close your eyes, enduring the sensation.

“He told me I’m unwanted,” you say.

“When you attempted to kill him?”

Fear bowls over you with a black suddenness.

“He told you?”

“I came to my own conclusions. You weren't quiet, either of you, that night."

You look at Hannibal, at the stag man of your dreams, and taste something like dirt, something like blood, at the back of your mouth.

“Had you seriously injured him or succeeded in your bid to end his life I would have been forced to conclude our treatment,” he says. “But you did not. I’m thankful to have been provided with a truth I hadn’t yet drawn from you: I know that you are not a killer, at least not at this present moment.”

In a strengthless whisper, you ask, “What do you mean?”

Hannibal draws a comb through your hair, unmoved by the conversation.

“As time changes the continents, people come apart through circumstance into new being. That shift may one day lead to the birth of murder’s country.”

A thought stings you like the cold: Will and Hannibal want you to be capable of killing, if not of them, then someone of lesser consequence, the hereditary illness emerging in the child.

That is the secret under this house, the whisper in the walls, its present haunting.

“I hope that never happens,” you mumble. “Never. No matter what you do.

“And yet the whetting of your blood thirst didn’t begin with Will and I,” says Dr Lecter, mildly. “Until you admit your liking of its flavour you will remain unsatisfied, little one.”

You do not ask how he knows you’ve thought of killing, once before, which you yourself had forgotten; having been in your home, the chill sanctum of your childhood bedroom, he may have learned, of you, a myriad, his interrogation merely a practice in contextualising his findings.

“I’d rather starve,” you say, at last, and sink your chin beneath the water.

Dr Lecter takes a razor from a nearby cabinet and begins to shave you with slow precision. He does not ask if you wish for it, only glides the razor across your underarms, groin, and each leg until you run silken beneath his hands.

That done, Hannibal rises, brushing unseen dust from his knees.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes,” he says, and leaves the room, a ghost departing the stage.

You look at the razor, entrapped in its plastic guard on the rim of the bath.

Had you a pair of scissors you might have cut the metal free to make a weapon, or else an escape into realms unknown to the living. Though its edge is still wickedness manifest, it would take a great deal of pressure to pursue death by this angle, though it would not be impossible.

It is not death you want to meet, however, but another, nameless coward.

You take the blade to your arm, and the pain is like eating, a sin that sates the freak of misery.

The bathwater turns like a devil’s baptism, and though they are but shallow cuts you feel suddenly faint. Lying back, you lay your arm against the porcelain, thinking murky thoughts of your mistake.

Hannibal returns carrying a muted lilac dress and pale stockings, stilling at the sight of you, of the water, red as autumn mud.

He sets down the clothing and kneels beside you again.

“Let me see.”

You let him take your arm and touch the crude little gashes softly.

“Shower, quickly. Then I’ll treat your wounds. Fortunately, they aren’t so deep.”

How gentle he is with you, this beast dressed as a man in his pressed shirt and waistcoat, guiding your numb form about with a soothing authority. You’d once yearned to be handled like this, to be absolved and set free of any and all expectation. That it comes from him is like being spit in the eye by the Fates, one after the other.

Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos: what have you done to so offend them?

It’s only after having bandaged your forearm and settled you, dummy-like, upon his bed, that Hannibal speaks again.

“What motivated you to do this?”

“You know.”

“Elaborate.”

You lie, face down, in the pillows. The cotton smells like him.

“To feel better,” you say. “Amy said it helped her, sometimes. Cleared her head.”

The mattress tilts slightly as Dr Lecter sits down beside you.

“You mirror her pain to feel closer to love lost. Has it helped you?”

“No. I feel stupid. I feel—”

Restless, you turn onto your side and feel a tear, compelled by gravity, mark your jaw.

“I feel like a kid,” you say. “It’s humiliating. I hate that I always feel this way. Don’t make me live like this.”

Dr Lecter presses a tissue into your hand, as much to save his bedclothes as to comfort you.

“Fighting the expression of necessary emotions will only stunt them further, little one. Will and I would dearly like to see you flourish. Amy would surely wish that for you, too.”

Cradling your wounded arm to your chest, you flick the used tissue to the floor with the other.

“Screw you,” you say. “Both of you. That’s what Amy would tell me to say to you, Dad.”

Hannibal stares at the tissue, and you sense the inward twitch of his irritation as he bends to pick it up from the ground.

“Your parents called again, this afternoon,” he says, offhandedly. “I informed them that you were struggling with your treatment. I advised that we continue your residence here a month longer than previously agreed.”

He casts you a pitying look, and you’re reminded of the futility of going to war with Hannibal Lecter.

“It seems that I made the prudent choice,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

[nhescio]

Okay I have a visceral need for a hannigram time travel fic but instead of the typical Will or Hannibal fix-it, the person that time travels back is none other than Frederick fucking Chilton. Like imagine Chilton wallowing around all crispy and stuff after being human torched wondering what he’s done to deserve everything he’s been through. And when he’s finally okay enough to be discharged from the hospital to go home, an anvil falls on him or smth. And as he’s lying there incredulously, he’s like, yknow what? Im not even upset about this. I think Ive suffered enough near death experiences. Please just let this one put me out of my misery. And as his eyes finally drift shut, he hears an alarm blaring in his face. An alarm from his phone. His phone which, when he goes to shut it off, displays an impossible sequence of numbers— the plastic screen shinning with a date from four years past.

So after freaking out and confirming that he is indeed in the past, (and weeping in joy over his unmutilated body) Frederick does the obvious— he packs his bags, pays a visit to the bank, and gets on the next available flight out of the country.

And then his plane crashes and he dies.

But of course he doesn’t die because that seems to be a common theme in Frederick Chilton’s life!

So he’s jolting out of bed again to that same alarm and he tries not to tear his own face off (not that he would ever actually do that cause he knows how easily he could lose that precious face). And (after a few more tries) since this time loop bs isn’t letting him run away, he does the next best thing— phoning the FBI with a tip so that they would investigate Hannibal Lecter and put him behind bars for good. But of course Hannibal somehow finds out and discretely shakes the FBI off his trail while simultaneously sending one of his murderer protégés after Frederick. And so not even a month passes by before Frederick finds himself dying and waking to that infuriating alarm again.

And he keeps going through different loops trying to avoid being “murder tableau of the week”, but failing miserably every time. After dying for what feels like an infinite number of times, he’s realized two main consistencies. Number one, he can’t personally expose Hannibal Lecter as the ripper if he doesn’t want to be gutted, and two, the sooner Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter begin their weird courtship, whether from Frederick’s deliberate meddling or from ripples of unrelated actions, somehow he’s left with much less blood and chaos in the aftermath. In one incredible timeline, Frederick even managed to only sustain one life threatening disembowelment for three years before accidentally making a rude comment about Will Graham’s lack of a social life, thereby leading to a cold death in the Atlantic.

After this revelation, he vows to get Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter to bang each other as soon as possible for the sake of his own self preservation— going through elaborate plans like befriending and recruiting the FBI’s forensics team, or snapping Jack Crawford out of his obliviousness so he’d bluntly give them a nudge, or even once flirting with Will Graham himself to get Hannibal Lecter jealous (note: that attempt did NOT end up well).

And one day, after a shocked text from his “Sassy Science Matchmaking Squad” group chat proclaiming that Hannibal and Will, lovingly dubbed Hannigram by the group, had spontaneously quit their jobs and run away to Europe together, Frederick suddenly realizes he hasn’t been stabbed or burned or maimed or drowned or disemboweled once! He thinks back to his early success in this timeline— silently high fiving with Beverly and Jimmy (Zeller, the spoilsport, had refused to partake) while voyeuristically watching Will and Hannibal shyly having their first kiss in the shadows of a filthy crime scene. In fact, he didn’t think anyone in their immediate circle had been stabbed or burned or maimed or drowned or— well you get the point.

And as one year turns to two to four to eight with no word from Hannibal or Will except the occasional postcard, a sort of cautious optimism starts building in Frederick’s heart. The years continue to fly by until one day, Frederick finds that his hair has turned a snowy white, and that his legs are too weak to support his aching body. He tries to take in a breath to laugh but it comes out as a wheeze. He’s at the end of the line once more, but this time at the end of a healthy, fulfilling life. His only wish is that he’s finally allowed to move on. And as he feels his life slowly drifting away from him, Frederick wonders if he’s accomplished whatever divine mission that godforsaken time loop had wanted him to complete. It really feels like he did the best he could this life, preventing every possible death on the East Coast by sending Hannibal and Will packing early. Sure, he feels bad for the poor suckers in Florence or Paris that were probably flambéed for a pretentiously fancy brunch, but realistically, those two would always leave a body count no matter where they went.

All Frederick wants now is to pass in peace. With a heavy sigh, Frederick willingly closes his eyes one last time, content to move on into whatever lies in the beyond.

And he dies. For real this time. Woohoo!

The End

[silviakundera]

Snowfall watch comments ep 9-10

Ep 9

Screenwriter knows what the people want, now we're making Vamp Daddy her teacher so we can get hot for mentor vibes too (rubs hands together) yeeeesssssssssssss

Every time nepo baby girl appears, it makes me temporarily root for Loser Li to escape loserdom. god lady..; it is just possible that he could be talking to a female for work or crime reasons JUST MAYBE. (not that it's her damn business if he was on a date. but still. ugh.)

The way he still feels beholden to defend her honor smh. Escape the Jin family clutches, bro. They don't own you.

The Mu family are all dying at 30 and somehow Vamp Daddy is gonna help them pass on their legacy, but tbh I don't follow how.

So Vamp Daddy breaks into Mu Lihua's place to night prowl around, touches her magic artifact thingabob, and it burns him or something idk

Vamp Daddy: "She could hurt me even though she didn't appear before me. If what Mr Mo said was true, I'm sure she didn't come in peace."

...I mean, I also do not think she came in peace, but you did in fact break in and touch her shit without permission. That is an actual thing that just happened.

Fake public breakup trope ✔

lmao the Mu family stole the Profound Yang stone?

WTF does Doctor Bestie actually want with nepo baby ? I feel like there has to be a reason he keeps coming back there.

LOL normally I can't stand her but I gotta admit it was amusing when she tried to explain the idea of caring about people to our mildly evil doctor and he's just like ⁉🤔⁉ 1 ➕ 5 ➖ 2 ➗ 4 = 🎂

Loser Li vs Mi Lan: on one hand, he's no longer underestimating her and doesn't even have a sister complex about her anymore. On the other hand, totally unhinged dude who is fueled by insecurity, self-hatred, and resentment. Which he is making everyone else's problem.

Becoming a vampire and eating that obnoxious nepo baby and her Jin family could fix him.

Or make him worse. ?

Army of guys in Vamp Daddy's mansion to welcome him home. Plus his gf in a cage. Not nice!

Loser Li furthering the gay agenda, "I'm more than just obsessed with you. I've literally devoted myself to you."

Ep 10

Haifong Army HQ, BDSM gay capital of China atm

Flirting between bars, etc et al

I'll say this for the baddies, they all now consider Mi Lan smart and an actual threat.

Mu Lihua is smoking. Literally and figuratively.

Vamp Daddy just taking out a squadren with himself and a sword 👌👌👌👌👌

Yayyyyy murder \o/

Love the squishy sound effects of his rampage

lmaoooooooooooo the Mu magic yang ring has him spinning like a bad powerpoint animated transition

Hannibal Lector face mask is a go

"Since he can't be killed, I'm sure he can't feel pain" ...um... I am not sure that makes any kind of sense at all.

"He said he'll cooperate." Loser Li just visibly came in his pants 😂😭

[nanakiwii]

STARDEW VALLEY HANNIGRAM???

What the actual-?!

Really????

The voices won.

I regret nothing.

---------

Prison was boring.

Being locked up, as Hannibal expected, was all about routine and schedule. You wake up, eat, shower and shit when they tell you to. Good behavior was the key to bring back some of his old life pleasures: books and music, for example, were some of those achievements he earned.

But, Hannibal sensed he still needed something, or, someone to fill this void he called existence. After three years of isolation and intense silence, Hannibal couldn't help but to dig in every interaction he shared with his beloved.

In the time while they were apart, Will - somehow - managed to get engaged and marry a faceless woman and, as much as it hurt Hannibal, he couldn't deny he was happy to see Will as desperate as himself to try to easy the pain of their distance.

The lack of human contact didn't do great to his temperament and Hannibal knew we was becoming more "sassy" as days passed. He was bored. The bliss of the attention he received by the media was gone for ages. He found every assumption of his "diagnose" wrong and very dumb. "If this is the proof of human brightness, then we're destined to live in darkness" he thought.

It was this boredom that made him poke Alana Bloom until he discovered a way to taunt Will and to end his sickening loneliness.

Stardew Valley.

Apparently, it was farming game he could play with friends and family. And who was Will if not a friend and part of his family? Well, Hannibal guessed he had to find a way to play this exquisite video game with his precious Will.

---------

~ Inspired by this horrendous comic I drew on the printscreen brush tool a long time ago while I was sleep deprived and very very bored.

Text:

Will: "What is this game about?"

Hannibal: "I suppose it's a farm game, Will."

Will: "And, why you wanna play with me?"

Hannibal: "Well, Alana commented about it, and I'm curious."

Will: "I don't believe you."

Hannibal: "Come on, Will. I'm locked and bored. Help me out."

Will: "Fine."

Later...

Will *behind a computer screen*: "I still don't know how you manage to have those things."

Hannibal *also behind a computer screen*: "I'm a very behaved prisoner."

Will: "..."

Will: "No, look, let's just play."

[Stardew Valley home screen]

Hannibal: "Soo much hair options."

Will: "Shut up."

Hannibal: "What do I put on 'favorite thing?'"

Hannibal: "Such a hard question!"

Will: "I wrote 'dogs'"

Hannibal: "Yeah, I suppose you did."

Will: "You want me to ask, don't you?"

Hannibal: "Ask what?"

Will: "What did you write?"

Hannibal: "Oh, hoho... You would be surprised."

Will: "If you say 'pork' I'll kill you."

Hannibal: "Then, you better pick a knife."

Will: "Fuck you and your cannibal jokes, Hannibal!"

Hannibal: "Me and my jokes."

[Hannibal's character building screen:

Name: Hannibal M.D

Farm Name: Hospital

Favorite Thing: Will Graham ]

End.

AGAIN: SORRY ABOUT THE MAJOR GRAMMAR AND ENGLISH ERRORS. I WAS HALF ASLEEP HALF ALIVE AND I NEEDED SOME CRACK FIC TO KEEP GOING!

I wanted to post it somewhere because I keep laughing alone about what I made and wanted to share with other people.

The art is shit, but someday I'll make something better (I probably won't. Will I?)

[honeygrahambitch]

"And then I told Jack that that is all I can tell him. I can't make up facts about a serial killer just because he is not satisfied with the profile." Will explained as he watched Hannibal chopping a clove of garlic.

Silence.

Not receiving an answer was weird. Hannibal always had to make a comment. Especially when it was a complaint about Jack. Especially when Will rarely ever complains anyway.

But his mind seemed to be completely somewhere else.

"Then, Barack Obama visited our office. I told him he is invited to dinner tonight, I hope you are alright with that." Will said trying to test whether Hannibal was present or not. "Hannibal? What do you think?"

"Hm?" Hannibal finally reacted. "Sounds wonderful."

"Yeah." Will said and rolled his eyes. "Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, darling. What were you saying? You invited Jack over?"

"Yeah." Will replied, sarcasm obvious in his tone. "What's going on with you?"

"Long day. That is why I am really happy about having you here tonight." He said as he walked away from the kitchen isle and kissed the top of Will's head.

"Red or white?" He went on and walked towards the wine rack.

"This is a trap and I am not falling for it again." Will replied. "You are making steak, it's gonna be red. Try harder next time."

"Excellent." Hannibal approved and grabbed a bottle, which he placed in front of Will.

"Yeah, that's white, doctor." Will said. "Are you having a concussion or something?"

Hannibal looked at the bottle again. He had indeed grabbed the wrong one while meaning to reach for the Cabernet.

"Long day. Difficult patients." Hannibal said and fixed his previous mistake then headed towards the fridge to grab the wagyu steaks.

"Wine will fix it." Will declared. "Maybe let me take care of those. I'm not sure you can be trusted with the oven tonight."

"I love you but hands off. While I can admit that your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are superior, I believe my wagyu beef skills are a little bit better than yours."

"Fine. But do tell me about your day. I don't care about your patients, you don't let these things get to you. Tell me strictly about what messed you up."

Hannibal looked at Will and gave in.

"My mind played a trick on me and I've been thinking about it the whole day. It's a really silly occurrence."

"A silly occurrence is when Winston steals my underwear. Or when you steal my underwear. Whatever happened to you can't be silly."

Hannibal smiled.

"I was walking home from where I parked my car. And I passed by the playground from the corner of the street." He started as he placed the steak in the heated pen. He sighed and averted his gaze from Will. "This little girl looked identical to Mischa. Just for one second, I..."

"You believed it was her."

"And then I brushed it off. If you allow yourself to fall for these kinds of delusions you do nothing but harm yourself more. Even if it is just for a second." Hannibal said. "Hope is poisonous just as much as it is healing."

"In the end there is something beautiful in that." Will replied thoughtfully. "Even after a long time you are still able to catch glimpses of people who are no longer here. Be it only a second."

"I agree."

"You should have said something earlier. I do appreciate that you didn't even try to mask it in front of me."

"I am not afraid of looking vulnerable in front of you, darling." Hannibal said lovingly.

"Well done."

"Thank you?"

"No. The steak. At this point it's well-done. You killed the cow for a second time."

The comment made Hannibal anchor himself back to the kitchen and to the poor steak.

[bi-bard]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down - Will Graham Imagine [Hannibal]

Title: No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Pairing: Will Graham X Reader

Based On: Work Song

Word Count: 1,495 words

Warning(s): mention of murder (self-defense, it's fine), mention of dog attack (I would literally feed Hannibal to my dogs if he got them hurt)

Summary: Will felt that he had found a safe haven. Free from judgement and stress. Through every cause, he knew that he would have one person to go home to. He just never knew how far he could push the limits of that safe place.

Author's Note: That collection of warnings is better than most of this imagine.

HOZIER [2014] WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

------------------------

Will could vividly remember the day that he told Hannibal about (Y/n).

(Y/n) had been in his life for far longer. Some part of Will's mind told him to keep Hannibal from learning too much about them. Now, it seemed like Will's instincts protecting them, but at the time, it didn't make much sense to him.

Hannibal didn't seem shocked.

Mostly because he wasn't.

He had been in Will's house for long enough to see that there was more than one person occupying the space. Books that didn't quite fit with the rest of Will's. An extra mug in the sink that was waiting to be washed. There were signs of life far beyond that of the FBI agent.

Hannibal had told Will how his relationship could very easily walk the line between healthy and unhealthy. He spoke of the comfort that having someone to walk beside him could bring. But he also spoke of the risk of codependency that could lead both (Y/n) and Will into a very unhealthy situation.

"I wonder how far (Y/n) would go to protect you," Hannibal said. "Or how far you would go to protect them."

Will shifted in his seat.

"How far does one go before taking care of them shifts into enabling them," Hannibal asked.

"What are you suggesting they would be enabling?" Will replied.

"You would have to tell me," Hannibal explained. "I don't know all of your vices, Will. Especially when you have insisted on keeping so much hidden from the outside world."

Another shift as a deep breath went in through Will's nose and out through his lips.

"How much have you allowed (Y/n) to see?"

Will almost chuckled. "(Y/n) figured me out without any assistance."

"Much like you do with the killers you hunt."

"Are you insinuating that I'm the same as those killers," Will asked.

"Not at all," Hannibal shook his head. "Merely commenting on the similarities between you and your partner. And how it may impact the health of your relationship."

Will had considered the risk of codependency. A long time ago.

He understood that (Y/n) could get dragged into a world that they had no business being a part of. He understood that they may hold onto him no matter the risk to their own well-being. He understood how desperately he would cling to them if that day came.

But then, (Y/n) would kiss him. Touch his skin. Mutter soft words into his ear or the crook of his neck.

All of it would fade away. He would feel at peace once again.

Eventually, he stopped thinking about it.

Instead, he learned to cherish the love that he was offered.

His knuckles turned white with how harsh of a grip he held on the moments of peace he had with (Y/n). Waking up next to them. The nightmares that were soothed by gentle kisses to the side of his head. Meals cooked and dogs adopted. The evenings of (Y/n) running their fingers through his hair and reading softly in the hopes of steering his mind away from the horrors that he seemed to face with each passing day.

Then, Will got arrested.

He feared the worst. He didn't want to be the monster that he had tried to protect (Y/n) from. He knew that he wasn't, but he couldn't handle the idea of them turning their back on him.

The first time they visited, he knew that they would never think of it. They touched his hands from across the table, promising that they believed every word that he told them.

That scared Will more than anything.

If they believed him about who Hannibal truly was, then (Y/n) was at risk. Hannibal would go to the unimaginable in order to keep Will isolated like he wanted.

Will didn't want to see a world without (Y/n).

That was the only thought that crossed his mind as they leaned in and kissed his hands as they whispered about how much they loved him.

They were waiting on the steps when Will got dropped off at home. Jack had dragged him away to see another crime scene, which (Y/n) had all sorts of thoughts about but held back for the time being.

(Y/n) barely get their arms around him before the dogs jumped at the pair.

"I missed you so much," (Y/n) muttered to him. There was a small pause. "You need a haircut."

Will chuckled as his arms tightened around them. He had been terrified that one day, Alana or Jack or even Hannibal would show up and tell him that (Y/n) was gone. Now, he had them. Right there. And it was more freeing than walking out of his cell.

"Are you okay," he asked quietly as they stepped back.

"You... You just got cleared of murder charges and you're asking me if I'm okay?"

Will didn't respond.

"This is about Hannibal," (Y/n) concluded. He nodded. "He tried to 'warn' me when you were first arrested, but he's left me alone after I made it clear that I had zero intention to abandon you."

A small grin pulled at the corner of Will's lips.

(Y/n) grinned back before leaning forward to press their lips to his. Will's hands touched their sides as he kissed them back. He had missed this so much. These moments. He had been longing for them for so long.

"I love you," (Y/n) muttered to him.

"I love you too."

He was prepared to fight to keep (Y/n) away from the world that he had been sucked into. Anything having to do with Hannibal and the FBI wasn't something that he needed them to be a part of.

And then, Randall Tier happened.

(Y/n) and Will had been quietly existing together when the dogs started barking at the door. It was strange. When they needed to go to the bathroom, they would whine and scratch. Not bark like that.

(Y/n) and Will both looked at each other at the same time.

"Stay here," Will said. (Y/n) nodded.

As Will was slipping out the door, one of the smaller dogs got out.

(Y/n) decided that waiting for Will to give them information was the worst part.

They don't know what happened, but when Will ran in and grabbed his gun, they knew it wasn't exactly good news.

"Will-"

"Don't go anywhere, okay? Don't go outside."

"Why?"

He took a deep breath. "Just trust me. Please."

They nodded again. Will took off, careful to not let another dog out.

The silence that took over made (Y/n) sick to the stomach. They tried to level their breathing as they paced around the room. Nothing helped.

Especially not Will slamming back through the door with the dog in one hand and the gun in the other.

He quickly handed the dog over to (Y/n) before going to shut off all the lights.

"Get the dogs upstairs," he instructed. (Y/n) hesitated more out of shock than anything. "Now. Stay away from the windows."

(Y/n) was cradling the injured dog as they whistled and ushered everyone upstairs. They pushed the door shut and shushed the dogs.

There was a spare blanket that they used to take care of Buster, the dog that had escaped earlier. With the limited light, they did their best to examine the wound.

"That doesn't look too bad," they muttered. They kissed the dog's head. "Look at you. Tough puppy, huh?"

Or the dog wasn't the target of whatever attacked it. (Y/n) shook their head.

There was a loud crash downstairs, which made (Y/n) curl in on themself a bit. The dogs surrounded them. Protecting and comforting as best they could.

There were more loud noises downstairs before it all suddenly went silent.

There were a few minutes of silence before (Y/n) pulled themself to the door and made it into the living room. They closed the door to keep the dogs safe.

They found Will standing in front of a bloody body.

The creak of the floor got his attention. His eyes jumped to (Y/n).

"Will," they said softly.

He blinked a few times before starting to stammer over some kind of response. Some explanation for what happened.

(Y/n) walked over slowly, being careful to avoid the body and blood on the floor.

They quietly hushed him. "It's okay. Breathe."

He took a deep breath as his eyes jumped around to each part of (Y/n)'s face.

"It's going to be okay," they promised, cupping the sides of his face.

They ignored the blood on his skin. They leaned in and kissed him softly. Will froze for a moment, caught off guard by their calmness and understanding.

"We're going to figure this out," they continued. "We... We can figure out how to deal with this."

Those words were enough for Will to understand just how far the two of them would go for each other.

And that only made him fall for them even more than he already had.

------------------------

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[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Pain Relief (Hannigram S1) - Shortfic

Explicit // M/M // Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham // Tags: season 1, sick fic, pain relief, orgasms as pain relief, masturbation, fantasising, masturbation interruptus, hand job, blow job, happy ending. Patreon prompt fill.

Will has a near debilitating migraine, Hannibal offers to help with pain relief.

Pain Relief (2.5k):

Will winced and rubbed his forehead, as though that was going to make any difference. 

“Is everything alright, Will?” Hannibal asked from where he sat opposite him in his office, their usual appointment for Will’s therapy - their conversations.

Will shook his head gently, causing another explosion of pain just above his eyes, “headache. Can’t shake it.”

That was downplaying it, he knew. He’d had headaches like this more times than he could count. The sort that rolled on and on for days until they finally became a migraine. And then, he’d only chug more pills and hope for the best. If he was lucky it would pass quickly, if not it would be another day or more of light and sound sensitivity, nausea, vomiting, shakes, and the skull splitting pain that flared with every movement he made. 

“I’ve already taken aspirin,” Will added, preempting that question, but unsurprised when Hannibal offered—

“I can prescribe you something stronger if you’d like?”

This time Will avoided shaking his head, “No, I have meds. They just… they make me foggy. I’m no good to Jack if I take them.”

Hannibal let out a light huff of derision that Will was coming to know well. Hannibal cleared his throat, but didn’t make his usual obvious comments, about Will putting himself before Jack and his demands. Before the job. Instead he continued—

“There are other methods that may offer you some relief. Ones that won’t leave you unfit for work. More so than you already are now.” There was a tease in his tone.

Will started to chuckle but stopped as his head throbbed, “Are you going to offer me some herbal remedies? Incense? Maybe the number of a good masseuse?”

Hannibal chuckled in return, humouring him. “Those things can help, as can natural methods of pain relief, anything that releases endorphins. Acupuncture, meditation, even playing music. And of course, reaching orgasm.”

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[yourlocalmissingtexture]

Making a list of horror movies & series that feel queer somehow (probably just campy, me reading into shit, or me being gay for the killer idk could be any of those tbh) or are just straight up explicitly queer. Btw by horror I’m including any and all subgenres and stuff that intersects it.

So far I’ve got Saw, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Repo! The Genetic Opera, Cabin in the Woods, Hereditary, Halloween, Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Silence of the Lambs, Scream, Black Swan, Warm Bodies (idc if they’re a straight passing couple, zombies are queer allegory fight me), Lisa Frankenstein, Sleepaway Camp, Phantom of the Paradise, Hannibal (series), Jennifer’s Body, I Saw the TV Glow, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair

Stuff in blue I haven’t seen yet & stuff in orange I’ve seen but it’s been so long that I don’t remember much about them so shhh no spoilers please <3

PLEASE RECOMMEND ME STUFF!!!!!

Pleeeeeaaaaseeeee please please!!!! They don’t even have to be queer, I’ll find a way to project onto them regardless :3 all I ask is that they’re good or so bad they’re good. Leave a comment, reblog with tags, leave me an ask, or DM me if you have something in mind!

Edit: I’m updating this whenever I’m recommended something! :D