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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

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The Wrath of the Lamb

3x13

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4.7k (this is officially the longest thing i’ve ever posted, i beat my own record three times with this series lmao)

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, guns, pregnancy, burning, canniablism, death, gore probably more idk

Author’s Note: My very favorite thing about this rewrite is watching the show and seeing how those writers and creators took pieces of the original source material to create their own show and I took both the novels and the show and just did this. I am very very proud of this. I am so happy I decided to do it. I was going to make a substantial change to the ending but I honestly am hoping that one day, season 4 will happen and maybe I’ll stil be writing. Thank you all SO MUCH for getting this far. I am so happy we got to share this together and that this show is as good as it is. I hope I did it justice because this show is so complex. I hope that you all enjoy and thank you again.

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: Will orchestrates a plot involving Hannibal in hope of slaying Francis Dolarhyde; Bedelia is concerned for Will and the lives of those close to him.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif)

You looked in the small window of Reba’s hospital room. You were standing outside of it beside your husband, your hand tight around your upper arm. You were almost cradling yourself in a way. This reminded you of when you had come to visit Abigail, when she was still in the hospital. As your eyes went from the window to Will you were once again thrown to the reality of now. If it had been Abigail in that room you would have looked to see a shaking, sweating puppy dog Will Graham who was so unsure of the world around him. This Will was so different. His hair was done, his shirt ironed. You had ironed it.

He met your eyes and you gave him a small nod. He opened the door and you let him go inside. You did not follow him. He had enough empathy to give Reba and he understood where she was standing. You and him understood. You had all loved a monster.

Will grabbed your arm gently. You and him stood in front of Hannibal’s cage. You had no doubt that Hannibal saw you somewhere else. But nonetheless, you allowed yourself to ease in his presence. A thing Will was once again learning to do.

“Ding-dong, the Dragon’s dead,” Will said. Hannibal raised an eyebrow. He looked between the two of you and his smile faded.

“Pity. I had such plans,” he promised. You believed that. “Are congratulations in order?” Will approached the other man, just against the glass wall.

“I didn’t kill him. Neither did Y/N. Suicide.”

“I would have liked to kill him as well,” you muttered. Hannibal seemed disappointed at that.

“Then he wasn’t as strong as the Dragon after all,” Hannibal whispered.

“He was trying to stop,” Will argued. You weren’t sure why Will was arguing for Francis. You hated that he was. He had hurt you. Francis had scared you. You didn’t mention it but you could feel that Hannibal caught the emotion

“I was rooting for you, Will. I figured you would adore killing the man who attacked your family, it’s such a shame. You came all this way and didn’t even get to kill anybody. Only consolation is Dr. Chilton.” Hannibal paused for affect. “Congratulations for the job you did on him. I admired it enormously. Did you do it together? Was the idea hatched in the duo?” You straightened your back.

“No,” Will said simply.

“What a cunning couple you are,” Hannibal said anyway.

“Are you accusing us of something?” you questioned.

“Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation? Even a little bit?” Hannibal questioned.

“We came back to stop the Dragon. He’s stopped,” Will stated.

“Your family was on his itinerary Will. You’re safe now, all three of you. You can go home again. If there’s any point?” Hannibal suggested. You gave him a look.

“I like my life,” Will said but he did not sound convincing.

“It won't’ be the same. You’ll see it’s not the same,” Hannibal promised. You stepped closer to the glass.

“I want it to be the same. Together, we will make it the same,” you promised.

“Mutual assurances you try to exchange in the dark and in the day will pass through some refraction, making them miss their mark. When life becomes maddeningly polite…” Hannibal thought about his words and made you both think about them as well. “...think about me. Think about me, don’t worry about me.”

Will was ready to leave. You could feel it.

“You turned yourself in so I would always know where you are. You’d only do that if we, together, rejected you.” Will put his hand on the nape of your back. “Good-bye Hannibal.” Will started to lead you out.

“Will…” He turned. “Was it good to see me?”

“Good? No.”

Will walked out and you followed him. He kept going but you stopped as the doors behind you shut. Your mind reeled and he could see it.

“I need my own goodbye,” you whispered. He gave you a long look. He knew that this was what you needed. He knew it was. Still though, he didn’t want it. He wanted to protest.

“I’m going back to the motel. Meet me there?” You nodded. He walked down the hall. You could feel his tenseness but ignored it as you walked back into the room with Hannibal. He was clearly surprised to see you.

“Was that not good-bye?” he questioned. You shrugged.

“That was Will’s good-bye. Not mine.”

You walked in front of the glass and sat down. Hannibal did the same. You were arguably one of the only people he would sit down like that for.

“I take for granted, on occasion, that you enjoyed my company,” you told him. You played with the hem of your pants. “I recognize, to a fault, that you would eat me if let out. You would eat my husband. You would eat my baby. But still…” You smiled, reminiscently. “I loved you.”

He was pleased to hear this. He was so pleased.

“You never would have left him. Not even if I killed him in the kitchen,” he suggested. You thought about that for a moment. You thought back to that terrible day and felt it again.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“When you came in to interview for the secretary position I had already picked someone. I didn’t want to be rude, so I let you in.” He stopped. That was the end of his story.

“Why would you let me work for you?”

“Because I liked you. And as it turns out, we would have met eventually. Through Will.” You nodded.

“But it would have been different.”

“Yes. Yes it would have.” You pressed your hand against the glass. He looked at it and he did not put his hand on yours.

“Will is right. I turned myself in so you and he would always know where I am. Because you rejected me.” Your hand fell off the glass slowly.

“I deserved that.”

You stood up and took a deep breath.

“Good-bye Hannibal.”

You walked up to the hotel room and started to grab the key from your purse. You struggled for a moment but eventually found it. You slid it into the lock and unlocked it, walking inside. Your mind hung over Hannibal still when you were grabbed. You had just been able to see Francis coming at you enough to push him off, hitting his head. He ran out of the door and you followed him but eventually he went too far and you had to stop. You turned back to the room and ran back, your hand on your stomach as you breathed hard from adrenaline.

Will sat in the chair, tied down. You rushed to him, locking the door behind you.

You started to untie him.

“Who was that?” you asked.

“The Red Dragon,” he breathed. You scoffed.

“Not dead then.”

“Clearly.” You got him out quickly.

“Are you alright?” you questioned. He nodded, rubbing his wrists.

“Yeah. He didn’t hurt me much.”

“What did he want?”

You stared at each other. He didn’t need to tell you. You knew.

Will, you and Jack Crawford stood in the hall leading to the morgue.

“The obvious thing is to try to get him to come to us. Bait him with something he wants more than us,” Will said. Jack gave him a look.

“He’d be an idiot to go for it,” Jack muttered.

“I know. Want to hear what the best bait would be?” you asked. Jack stared at you. You stared back at him.

“Not from you.”

“Hannibal would be the best bait,” Will said so that you didn’t have to. Jack shook his head.

“Why in God’s name would anybody want to meet Hannibal Lecter?”

“To kill him, Jack. The Dragon could absorb him that way, engulf him, become more than he is,” Will explained. It gave you a moment of just realizing that was how he used to speak about killers he didn’t know.

“You sound pretty sure Will.”

“I’m not sure. Who’s sure? I’m not even sure Hannibal would draw the Dragon. I say it’s the best shot,” Will explained.

“Set up how?” Jack asked.

“I would be hell to do, I know that. We’d take Hannibal into federal custody,” Will said. You gave him a look.

“Because Y/N and Alana would never sit still for what you’re about to suggest?” You gave Jack a bitter role.

“We fake an escape.” Will stared at you for a moment and Zeller called his name. “One moment.” He disappeared in the morgue that left you and Jack alone, annoyingly.

“You’ll have both their lives in your hands,” you whispered.

“Since when do you care about if Hannibal gets hurt under my care?” he questioned.

“Since now.”

Bedelia did not look happy. You did not expect her to be happy either. You respected her bit of unhappiness.

“We assign a moment to decision, to dignify the process as a timely result of rational and conscious thought. Yet what you propose is so thoughtless, I find it difficult to imagine that moment exists,” Bedelia said bitterly. You stood behind Will, walking around the room slowly. Will sat down across from her.

“Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They’re more often a lump than a sum.” Bedelia stood up, walked to where she kept the drinks and poured herself one. She offered one to you that she then realized you couldn’t drink.

“However you think you’re going to manipulate this situation to your advantage, think again,” Bedelia said.

“There is no advantage. It’s all degrees of disadvantage,” you argued. Bedelia fixed on you and Will with a piercing stare.

“‘Who holds the Devil, let him hold him well. He will hardly be caught a second time’.”

“I don’t intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.” A flicker of alarm played in her eyes.

“Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him. Is that what this is?” she asked, bitterly.

“I guess this is my Becoming,” Will suggested.

“I just tag along,” you whispered.

“Because you have two crazy men in absolute love with you,” she told you. Will stood up, straightening his jacket. He was done here.

“I’d pack my bags if I were you Bedelia. Meat’s back on the menu.”

Alana looked annoyed. She sat in Jack’s office, a place you hated to the ends of the Earth. You messed with your hair a bit, leaning against the wall.

“Hannibal has tentatively agreed to the deal, as proposed,” Alana said.

“What will make him less tentative?”

“He wants Will and Y/N to ask him.” She turned to him. “He wants you to say ‘please’.” You gave a bitter smile. So very like him.

“I’ll say ‘pretty please’,” Will said. He was preparing to speak to you. He knew what he had to bring up would not blow over right.

“We will have a stampede when people think Lecter is out,” Jack explained.

“Let them stampede. Authenticity. And let them think I helped Hannibal escape,” Will muttered.

“Authenticity?”

“Someone has to be close. When the Dragon comes.” He turned to you. “And just one person.” For a moment, the other three people in that room let that sink in. It was a surprise even to Jack Crawford that Will would even suggest that he go somewhere without you.

“Sorry?”

“You can’t come,” he repeated.

“No I heard you, I was letting you change your sentence.”

“I don’t think you need to be there. You don’t.” You clenched your fist and looked away from him. You understood where he was coming from. There was no reason for you to be there. You would only be in the way and you had a child. It would be stupid.

But still.

Every piece of you wanted to be there with Will and Hannibal. You were always there with them. They were your boys.

You shook your head slowly.

“What do you suggest I do?” you asked. Will thought about that for a moment.

“Whatever you want.” You couldn’t look at him. He pulled a pocket knife out of his jacket pocket and handed it to you. You took it slowly but still looked away from him. “For if you need it.” You weren’t sure what that meant and you didn’t want to ask.

You and Will walked into the room with Hannibal again. You had hoped to never have to see it again. He did not look surprised to see you this time.

“I thought you said your good-byes.”

“We’ve had one last good-bye between us.” Hannibal was tied up in a straight jacket. You hadn’t been this close to him for a while. You wanted to touch him but you held yourself back.

“You didn’t just say good-bye, though, did you? That little extra bit at the end for you Will. It felt very final for both of you. I believe it’s called a ‘mic drop’. You dropped the mic, but here you are having to come back and pick it back up again,” Hannibal explained. There were nurses in there with you that stopped any kind of intimacy feeling you may have.

“I knew you would keep running if I kept chasing you. I knew you wanted me to know exactly where I could find you. When we needed you,” Will said.

“And you did,” Hannibal commented.

“I need you, Hannibal,” you said. Will finished it off.

“Please.”

Will stared at Hannibal in his cage. Even as Francis drove by, he stared at Hannibal. His mind became blurry. But still, he saw the outline of Hannibal’s face in the fog that was his mind as it crashed. People died. People were killed.

Hannibal was let out.

Will did not panic. He figured this would happen. He knew this would happen.

When his mind regained his moment, he got up and stepped out of the broken car. Hannibal crossed to the police car as he took off his straight jacket. He opened the door and pulled the dead driver from the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” Will called.

“You know Will, you worry too much. You’d be so much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself. Are you coming? He’s not going to kill us here. What he wants to do requires something a little more private.” Hannibal behind the wheel was an interesting scene. The side window was smashed, blood splashed across the inside of the windshield. Hannibal pulled up alongside Will, opened the passenger door and shoved a dead police officer out of the vehicle. He leaned over the seat.

“Going my way?” Will looked through the car door and then looked back down the road.

“You know it can’t just be the two of us,” Will said.

“It never was and never will be, just the two of us.”

You sat in Jack’s office. Will’s pocket knife was in your hand tightly. You were getting a play by play that way which was the only reason you were truly there. You sat in a chair, head in one of your hands as you heard the voices go out and static. You looked up and Jack looked at you.

“What is that? What happened?”

“Hold on.” He dialed a number.

There was an excruciatingly long moment in silence. You held your breath, biting your finger gently as you waited. Someone spoke on the other line. You couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Then he hung up and looked at you. You stared back at him and waited.

“They were intercepted. We don’t know yet if there are any survivors.” You stared at him and he waited for that backlash. He was ready for it. But there was no anger that went over your face, instead it was just a small laugh. You shook your head and that laugh fell.

He saw that face and he recognized the look in your eyes.

“Do you remember the first judge of Will’s trial?” you asked quietly.

“What?”

“Do you. Remember. The first judge. In my husband's murder trial?” you asked again, louder this time.

“Yeah. Hannibal killed him.” You widened your eyes and shook your head slowly.

“No. I did.”

He had no time to react. You opened the pocket knife and leaned across the desk, slashing his throat.

You reached the motel room quickly after that. You pulled in at the same time you saw a car pull into the parking lot behind you. You got out of your car, hands still stained in Jack Crawford’s blood. The car slowed down beside you. You looked into it and the window rolled down, revealing Will in the passenger seat, Hannibal in the driver's seat.

You let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Jack told me you were dead,” you said as you rushed to the window.

“Get in the back,” Will said gently. He went to grab your hand but stopped when he saw the blood. Hannibal noticed it at the same time. You did not address it, instead you got in the back of the car with them.

Hannibal pulled out of the parking lot and away.

“The blood isn’t...the b-” Will started but you cut him off.

“No. I slit Jack Crawford’s throat,” you stated. Hannibal, pleasantly surprised, laughed. Will turned around to look at you. He didn’t look exactly surprised at you. More surprised at his lack of shock.

“About time,” Hannibal said.

“Is he dead?” Will asked. You shrugged.

“I left before figuring that out.”

You were so happy to be back beside the both of them. You just let out another sigh of relief.

You got out of the car and admired the scenery. It was such a Hannibal place, you weren’t even surprised. The sun setting, the cliff, the way the house stood on the Earth. So serendipitous.

“The bluff is eroding. There was more land when I was here with Abigail. More land still when I was here with Miriam Lass,” Hannibal said. Will looked over the view and down the cliff a bit. Water, crashing. Gorgeous.

“Now you’re here with us,” Will said.

“And the bluff is still eroding. You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlaninic. Soon all of this will be lost to sea,” Hannibal explained. You walked over to where Will lingered by the cliff. Hannibal walked away from you to find the key to the home.

“This isn’t the right place for us to be,” he whispered.

“Yes it is,” you countered.

“Running from the law with a child?”

“Sounds like something we would do and do well.” He looked over at you away from the view.

“Let’s get your hands cleaned.”

The sun set completely. The moon showed through the glass walls. You stared through the view and Will stood beside you, watching you watch your new life. He put his hand on your shoulder and you leaned into him as Hannibal walked into the room. Hannibal pulled a wine bottle from the rack and poured two glasses of wine.

“I apologize that I cannot offer you any wine Y/N,” he said. You turned to him. Will’s hand dropped.

“No worries. I never liked it anyway,” you lied. Will took a glass.

“You’re playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon,” Hannibal said, moving toward the window as well. “Wasn’t surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon. Was it surprising when you both heard from him?”

“Yes and no,” Will said.

“Surprised me. I just wanted to sleep in my own bed,” you whispered. Hannibal smiled gently but that quickly fell off his features.

“You intend to watch him kill me?” Hannibal questioned. You shook your head but Will spoke first.

“I intend to watch him change you.” Hannibal took that in, a sad smile on his face as he fingered the corkscrew. He saw it in his hands and wondered if he should kill you. Kill Will. Get it over with. Instead, he uses the tip to cut the seal on the wine bottle.

“My compassion for you both is inconvenient,” Hannibal stated.

“If you’re partial to beef products, it’s inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow,” Will muttered.

“Save yourself, kill them all?” Hannibal asked.

“I don’t know if we can save ourselves. And maybe that’s just fine,” you said.

“No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend’,” Hannibal recited. Will looked out the window and sensed the danger.

“He’s watching us now,” Will whispered. He looked at you and you looked back at him. You were staring at each other the second that the glass wall shattered, impaling Hannibal in the stomach. You turned quickly, moving toward Will subconsciously. Hannibal’s wine bottle dropped from his hand and a large red stain on his sweater blossomed with blood. Glass shards fell through the air and beyond them, the patio is just the black knight. In the darkness came Francis Dolarhyde.

Hannibal slid down to his knee. Blood pumping from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Will grabbed you but Francis raised his gun to the two of you.

“Don’t run. I’ll catch you.” Hannibal glanced down at his belly wound.

“Hello, Francis,” he said.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” he echoed. Francis pulled a tripod from his bag and tossed it to you before pointing the gun at your head. Will took the tripod from your hands and began to set it up.

“I’m so happy you chose life, Francis. Suicide is the enemy.”

“I had one rag of pride that Reba McClane gave me. It told me that suicide was a sorry end,” Francis explained.

“You were seized by a fantasy life with the brilliance and freshness and immediacy of childhood. It took you a step beyond alone.” Francis pulled out a 16-mm camera from his bag and handed it to you who fixed it on the tripod, still at gunpoint.

“I’m going to film your death, Dr. Lecter, as dying, you meld with the strength of the Dragon.”

“It’s a glorious and rather discomfiting idea,” Hannibal muttered. You back away from the camera and he reached for the gun that was in his waistband. You wanted to reach for Will’s knife he had given you but hesitated.

“Watching the film will be wonderful, but not as wonderful as the act itself.”

Before you even knew what was happening, a knife slammed in Will’s face. You screamed. Francis shot you in the stomach. You stumbled back and then moved forward again. Will fell through the broken wall you attacked Francis. You had enough strength to get him outside.

Francis lifted Will off the ground and Will stabbed him with the knife that was once in his cheek. As you found your own knife, Francis started to again fight Will. As you moved you saw Will rag-doll across the stones. Will’s blood spattered across the thick drops to the stone. He got to his hands and knees. You went to stab Francis again but he got to you first, slashing your side. It stunned you enough that you fell back on the stones beside your husband.

Will pulled his gun out and Francis immediately disarmed him, tossing the gun over the bluff. You wanted to scream but nothing came out. Just as Francis went to slash him again Hannibal came out of the darkness. He tried to snap Franics neck but the man's neck was too strong and he swatted Hannibal away.

The two of them staggered across the patio. You tried to get up and Will did as well. He tossed Hannibal off but you and Will were up again.

You started to use your knives on his legs, hoping to disarm him. Hannibal grabbed a hatchet that he found off to the side. He slammed it into Francis achilles tendon and then his knee.

You, Will and Hannibal all stood now. Exhausted but equal. Francis bleeded from his wounds, leg destroyed. Hannibal staggered up to him and bit out Francis throat. He arched his back and blood fell all around him.

Eventually he fell and let out one last breath as he stared at Will in front of him.

Dead.

Will started to finally feel his wounds, as did you and Hannibal. He looked down at his hands which were drenched in red.

“It really does look black in the moonlight,” he whispered. You didn’t know what he was talking about but you didn’t ask. You stumbled to Hannibal who caught you. In his other arm, Will stood. The three of you embraced, not quite hugging, not not hugging.

You caught your breath together. The night was still otherwise.

“See,” Hannibal breathed. You did not look up at him. Will’s head was against his chest. You were buried in his neck. You grabbed Will’s hand and he held it for dear life. “This is all I ever wanted for you,” he choked. “For all of us.”

Hannibal sounded broken.

You felt broken.

Will looked broken.

You closed your eyes, brushing back the tears that you didn’t know were there.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying. Will stared at you and he genuinely felt that it was beautiful. He felt what you did. A single tear cut through the blood on his face and fell.

You held onto him and Hannibal tightly.

These were your boys. These were the people you had risked it all for. And you did not regret it for even a moment.

Hannibal let out a shaky breath and you felt the Earth underneath you move. You felt the ground and then you did not.

Where you once stood was drenched in blood. It was illuminated by the moon. If someone was to stand there, despite there no longer being a living person standing there, they would feel the emotions that had left. That place was no longer still. It was breathing.

The sea underneath it was breathing. It had engulfed three people who loved each other more than anyone had loved anyone.

The waves crashed against the rocks, the only noise left in the dark of the night.

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal imagines

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wo-wann-was-wer · 5 years ago

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WHAT I WAS THINKING: DARK SEASON 3 EDITION

EPISODE 1:

Who are these dudes with the harelip and what do they want

Why did she just take him to a cave and leave that’s kinda rude

So everything in this universe is just gonna be backwards. Love it

Ugh I’ve said this a million times but this show has such Fringe energy and I can’t wait to get a tattoo for this too

This is super freaking me out, i dont like that everyone’s in everyone else’s house.

Ooooh Katharina with glasses yes girl you better work.

I like Michael and this hat he’s rocking

Super into the fact that magnus and fransizka are involved in this universe too

There’s nothing cuter than sex before school. Ahhh the nostalgia

Ten bucks says that Hannah gets out of this bed and is pregnant

Fucking YEP

I am loving Martha in this Jonas journey

I know that all they did was flip the lens of the camera but my brain is breaking at this flipped Winden

Who the fuck is this random dude Martha is with

You know what he kind of looks like Jonas. I wonder if that's relevant or if I'm just grasping at straws

Bartosz looks like he's going to his first grade violin recital

I straight up just did not recognize Charlotte with makeup. She looks hot

There's got to be another person in that picture other than Ulrich because that's a lot of space to rip out for one person

okay hold up Woller looks so good and then when I saw that he was missing an arm I almost lost my fucking mind

Oh shit okay Hannah is living in Katharina's house.

Oh my God are Ulrich and Charlotte having an affair

Is it normal in Germany for kids to just walk into classes that aren't there’s and just sit down

follow up he has a clear noose mark on his neck

Aleksander looks so hot with this beard. universe B is the fucking glow up universe

It's weirding me out that the whole school is black and gray instead of light brown

The look of satisfaction on katharina's face

Wow honestly Louis just broke my heart with his facial expression when he realized his mom didn't know who he was

he looks so scared

Yes yes do it afffffffffair

Oh no you done got found out!!!

Oh the theme of the play here is red and set of gold

Fransizka looks so cute in this little outfit

Oh my God she's deaf!!!!

What the fuck. the fact that this actress can talk is blowing my mind

RIP to Regina a real queen

Peter's a fucking priest

All the fucking weird-ass freaky motherfucking trio is back

The dopplers have the same house That's cool

excuse me sir I think your child is broken

these guys are so creepy What the fuck

I definitely don't like the piano wire

oh this motherfucker is the one who gets lost

I feel like winden in this universe is just a little bit fancier

Well Charlotte and Ulrich just be fucking like crazy

Bartosz is the Jonas of this group and I love it

who was that??????

I cannot get over Aleksander in this beard

I like that things are opposite but they also have things that are different enough.

Like I'm so into the fact that they all went down into the bunker

who in the unholy fuck is that. who is that

Oh shit old Martha

What the fuck is this Tannhaus’ factory we're at

hold up Martha's in 1888

What the fuck. why is Jonas in 1888 and looking SO good

EPISODE 2:

casually sitting over your bed watching you sleep

he's look so good though

yo what the fuck everybody else is there too

Oh no things got really ugly at Mads’ wake

Not for nothing but Tronte is a dick

I kind of don't understand why Claudia would want Regina to live in such pain in this type of universe

Peter is such a good boy

lurking is the freaking national past time of this place

Oh shit we got some spin-off timeline stuff good

who is This is blind guy

I love Katharina so fucking much

I know what she's thinking and it's the same thing I'm thinking which is can I kill a child

why does this picture of Tronte make him look like Jimmy Smits

Katharina looks amazing in this jacket

Also I definitely did not just start yelling GO GET YOUR MAN KATHARINA

Regina just gets more and more badass as time goes on. Also all of the women of the tiedemann family are so fucking badass

I am so excited to watch this fucking relationship develop. they're both too cute

awwww he's using signs!

oh they're writing back and forth

DAMNIT PETER

I always feel like little Noah should do fuckboy sign offs when he leaves rooms because he's so smooth

yesterday Laurel said that this was back to the future but serious and just now Bartosz said it's not super easy to get nuclear fuel in 1888 and now I think that Laurel's right

I will never get over how good he looks JONAAAASSSSSSS

This guy feels like the OG inventor of sic mundus right

Katerina why are you even trying to check in at the front desk bitch Go and get your man

Is this Katarina's mom why does she just recognize that woman's name

everyone on the show is so talented.I spend the whole damn time being like oh my god the performances on the show and it's like yeah we know

Katerina get your man

I literally love them so much look at the look on her face She is a mama bear She is not going to let anybody take her man or her children and I love her

Not a huge fan of people who quote Shakespeare right before they kill other people or am I an enormous fan of people who use Shakespeare right before they kill other people

using a garotte to kill someone is ugly as fuck

I feel so bad for Jana

see this is one of the reasons why I'm like why would you bring Regina back to this world.

wowwwww TRONTE what's up dude

YO WHAT

Oh so how did Charlotte get back there but Elizabeth's still there too. didn't they switch places?

oh the head bump

Not excited for the mother daughter abuse stuff that's about to happen

I love these split sequences that they do at the end

anytime somebody stands and stairs for a lonely at a spot on the ground I assume to somebody died there

Oh shit that guy is a tannhausokkkk I see you

a religious images we love to see it.

This show is a whole series of pause that frame.

No I ruined something for myself!!!!

EPISODE 3

got to love those through and through Ariadne references

okay so Charlotte's great great grandfather has her watch?

who are these horrible traveler human beings

they look like less sexy Francis dolarhydes

I can't get over the fact that wollers missing an arm here I swear

we ARE the glitch BITCH

alternate universe Ulrich is a better person than standard Ulrich

what's this new like zoom-y thing they're doing

I was attracted to Magnus at this jump of the show but he looks better with dark hair

How did they not all die of fucking flu

eternally repeating deja vu

I looked at the production stills and I was like what the fuck is this hair do that Moritz has but he looks amazing

Also everyone on this show deserves an acting award

and Magnus is wearing a skeleton sweater

Hannah does that deep dive detective work any bitch knows the Nose doesn't lie

why doesn't anybody want to fuck wöller

omgggg eat the RICH

also he has that x tattoo on his hand that represents the no future thing

oh the light is rectangular and not circular ooooooh fancy

The show is also a lot of people catching each other's wrists as they walk away

I knew we couldn't trust this bitch

What did he give her

I love the parallels and characters behaviors between universe a and universe b

I want to know how Noah factored into all of this on this side

Martha has a type and her type is iconically Aryan

Oh Aleksander's back with that beard he's back

Hannah is such a snake

Omg that's her!!!!! I thought she was a trans actress.. hm. not super happy bout that :/

What is Helge talking about Ulrich did what??? omg

I would be like SIR DO WE NEED TO FIGHT STOP FOLLOWING ME

I stopped taking notes for the last half of that episode cuz I was really sucked in haha

EPISODE 4

FIRST OF ALL I'D LIKE TO GO ON RECORD THAT I DON'T CARE FOR THESE GENTLEMEN AT ALL

second of all why is this guy being like oh I took your name

why does he have Agnes's bracelet I don't like that

I don't like anything about this guy That's the end of the story

Also hold up a red hot second is Agnes dead cuz if so that's a hate crime

see what did I say

I knew that Hannah was going to get involved with Egon

from the second she walked in that office I was like that bitch has her eye on him and as she should he's handsome as fuck

Also he spoils her so much more than any other man she's ever been with AKA is Egon the only man she ever deserved

Is Hannah going to develop a heart cuz I'm not sure how I feel about that

Also what happens if Hannah gets pregnant

why is Ines a bitch I thought she was mad cool the beginning and now I feel fucking deceived

Also it's such a sweet gig that The kids who are playing kids can now play teenagers

poor Doris. Also he was shitty to her but he was far nicer than I would have been

Doris is so beautiful it's bullshit

older Magnus is so handsome

All I wanted was middle-aged Martha

bitch you have been having unprotected sex with him why do you think that pregnancy was not on the tabl

I'm like who's this guy in the church if it's not Noah I bet it's that little bitch

yeah I fucking knew it

Is this the dude that was married to Agnes I feel like this guy isn't real or something

I'm not surprised he let her go but I don't know why I'm not surprised. I feel like she's important to his timeline and I'm not sure why

look at these relationships forming between these sweet little bab

Hannah looks good in this red. Hannah looks good in all of these styles.

who is this child

I like that already as a child Bernd had his eye on Claudia as someone who was smart and had a ton of potential

I keep forgetting that I'm taking notes because I get so invested in episodes

Also I realize the zoomi thing which is going back and forth between the universes

Is Agnes Silja’s mom And if so with whom

he gave her Agnes’ bracelet that dope All right Tronte

Wow Claudia needs to back off her man

Claudia force him into a relationship with her

I fucking hate Hannah but sometimes she speaks so much sense

ooh I don't need anyone Yes girl that's true You don't need anyone You needing people was what made you act fucking crazy You don't need anybody

This was always my big problem with Hannah was that I initially identified with her because she was such a survivor but then she did such horrible reprehensible things I just couldn't let it go and I absolutely couldn't identify with her anymore

Oh here's my daddy Noah looking so good

I mean okay so I have been in this position before where I was cheating and then my man cheated on me and I was like how dare you but also you cannot be mad if your partner cheats on you when you cheated too. You both fucked up

Is Hannah going to have a redemption arc cuz that's a lot

Oh my God she's not going to get rid of this child is she

Oh my great God I cannot believe that she gave Helene that necklace.

I knew she was fucking connected to Katharina in the older generation I knew it

Louis and Lisa are a super cute couple and I know that they're not dating in real life but I think that they're very cute together

Oh everybody fucking

yeah they created the Apocalypse yeah

Oh no they have a child outside of worlds that's a mess How does that work so they had they gave birth to that ugly fuck

honestly I hate that he's their child for the most part just because he's ugly as fuck and neither of them are ugly as fuck so it makes me mad.

#episodes 1-4 #live reacts #dark season 3 #spoilers #spoilers dark season 3 #dark #dark network

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mid0nz-archive · 5 years ago

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The Cannibal & the Consulting Criminal: How Silence and Sherlock Taught Me to Read

(I’m writing a series of autobiographical essays. This meta is a messy. messy warm up…)

PART I: TSotL The Odd Flash of Contextual Intelligence

Know your intertexts (and the limits of their influence)

I’ve spent a LOT of time writing about the influence of Harris on Mark Gatiss in particular. We have Harris to thank for Sherlock’s mind palace for starters. Moriarty and Dr. Lecter share many traits. Then again so do the psychiatrist and Sherlock. I’ll come back to these obvious connections between Sherlock and TSotL in a later part of this meta. (The connections are actually quite superficial.) For now I want to return to my first obsession: the genius cannibal who taught me how to read and the fandom that saved me from him.

Do your research.

Thomas Harris, author of The Silence of the Lambs, choses every word with great care. How many people, for example, do you know called Hannibal? Clarice is more common I suppose, but it’s certainly not a run-of-the-mill monicker. While starlings are the most common of birds have you ever met someone with that surname? Have you ever met a Lecter? What if I told you there is an extremely obscure historical figure called Hannibal the Starling? (You’ll find the reference in Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology if you seek.) Would you think that Harris must have heard of that man? Possibly. Possibly. If I told you that Harris makes most of his characters’ names up– that they sound plausible enough, but unless you’re an everyman like a Jack Crawford or a Will Graham you’re a Francis Dolarhyde or an Ardelia Mapp.

Ardelia Mapp? In the novel Ardelia is Clarice Starling’s roommate at the FBI academy. When exams roll around and Clarice has been too busy hunting Buffalo Bill to read her textbooks, it’s Ardelia who makes sure that Clarice knows all about search and seizures. Adelia Mapp. Ardeila Mapp. What kind of name is that? It helps if we cram along with Clarice:

Mapp v. Ohio, 367 U.S. 643 (1961), was a landmark case in criminal procedure, in which the United States Supreme Court decided that evidence obtained in violation of the Fourth Amendment, which protects against “unreasonable searches and seizures”, may not be used in criminal prosecutions in state [or] federal courts. (x)

Hey Thomas Harris!

Recognize when there’s a joke and you’re not getting it.

Thomas Harris amuses himself with language. Clarice comes from the Latin root clar and the words related to pertain to brilliance and light and the illustrative. And Lecter? So many people have tried to trace its origins but all becomes clear when you think about its etymology. In Latin lector means reader.

Clarice’s boss, Jack Crawford, likes to quote impressive sounding things out of context. Dr. Lecter mocks him for picking and choosing passages of the Meditations of the Roman Emperor, Stoic philosopher, and persecutor of Christians, Marcus Aurelius.

“I’ve read the cases, Clarice, have you? Everything you need to know to find him is right there [in the case files], if you’re paying attention. Even Inspector Emeritus, Crawford should have figured it out. Incidentally, did you read Crawford’s stupefying speech last year to the National Police academy? Spouting Marcus Aurelius on duty and honor and fortitude— we’ll see what kind of a Stoic Crawford is when Bella [his wife] bites the big one. He copies his philosophy out of Bartlett’s Familiar, I think. If he understood Marcus Aurelius, he might solve this case.” “Tell me how.” “When you show the odd flash of contextual intelligence, I forget your generation can’t read, Clarice. The Emperor councils simplicity. First principles. Of each particular thing, ask: What is it in itself, in its own constitution? What is its causal nature?” “That doesn’t mean anything to me.” “What does he do, the man you want?”

I could go on and on about how Harris allows Dr. Lecter to reference Stoicism and all kinds of other ideas for his own amusement. I say amusement because the reader need not understand Dr. Lecter’s jokes to enjoy Harris’ books. Clarice doesn’t and she doesn’t pretend to. Oh how Dr. Lecter fancies his student! I could go on and on because the entire fucking book is a compendium of in-jokes. That in itself is Stoic food for thought. Diogenes Laertius recounts a Stoic idea that Harris likes to chew on.

“Some appearances are expert (technikai), others are inexpert; at any rate a picture is observed differently by an expert and the inexpert person.”

Julia Annas explains:

A non-expert will just see figures; the expert will see figures that represent gods. The expert is right— there really is that significance- and the non-expert is missing something. What is more surprising to us is the claim that the appearance is itself “expert.” The expert is not seeing anything that is not there for the ignoramus to see. It is the fault of the ignoramus that he fails to see what is to be seen, because he fails to understand the content of what is presents to him. (82) - Hellenistic Philosophy of Mind by Julia Annas

Lecter, the consummate reader, is the expert. Clarice, who’s not more than one generation from the mines, is the ignoramus. Yet she shows the odd flash of contextual intelligence.

Discern clues from NOISE.

Though their relationship was weird, close, and lasting Clarice would never realize that Dr. Lecter gave her everything she needed to know to catch Buffalo Bill the first time they met!

On that fateful day, with instructions from Jack Crawford to note anything and everything she sees, Clarice shows enough intelligence to asks Dr. Lecter about the drawings in his cell. Dr. Lecter replies:

It’s Florence. That’s the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo, seen from the Belvedere. Do you know Florence?“

If Clarice were prepared "to read” Dr. Lecter’s work, she might have understood the significance of the image. She’s the very model of the Stoic ignoramus.

Clarice finds Buffalo Bill/Jame Gumb by recognizing his personal acquaintance with the first victim he skinned, Fredrica Bimmel. They both lived in Belvedere, Ohio where Clarice finds Gumb while Crawford’s teams go all SWAT on John Grant’s last known address. We find out later in the novel that Dr. Lecter knew Gumb lived in Belvedere, Ohio. Perhaps he was musing on the facts of the case while composing his sketches.

Jack Crawford, of all people, should have noticed the name “Belvedere” and made the connection. His dying wife’s name is Phyllis but he’s called her Bella for most of their entire relationship. Phyllis and Jack were both stationed in Italy and during one of their outings, a man called Phyllis “Bella,” or beauty. Bella is the feminine form; “bel” is the masculine form, as in bel vedere, or beautiful view. We learn later that Clarice has to work hard to trick herself into seeing any beauty in Belvedere, Ohio.

Now you’ve got the facts. Theorize with them.

There is another explanation as to why Crawford might have missed the clue in Dr. Lecter’s drawing from Clarice’s notes. Clarice does not know Italian. How would she have written the sketch’s title in her report? Dr. Lecter does not say, when she asks about the sketch, that is is the Old Plaza and the Dome seen from the Belvedere (pronounced in English, be-vuh-deer as in Belvedere, Ohio). Dr. Lecter says all the proper names in Italian except “Florence.” Florence is the English name for the city Italians call Firenze. Clarice’s ear would catch “Florence” and it may be that her report stated that the sketch was of Florence, but no further details. She doesn’t, after all, ask Dr. Lecter how to spell the names of the places with which she is unfamiliar. Crawford, reading a reasonably detailed report from Clarice, might have only noted that Dr. Lecter was sketching Florence– enough detail for a report if you don’t know what you’re looking at. Clarice, while an ignoramus in the Stoic sense, shows potential. Dr. Lecter is polite when he surmises that she is “innocent of the Gospel of St. John.” He calls her innocent, not ignorant. She’s simply not an expert in iconography. She sees all she can see in the image. Crawford, however, is experienced enough with Dr. Lecter to know how important images are to him. Will Graham captured Dr. Lecter in Red Dragon by recognizing that one of his victims was posed in a tableau of a Wound Man in one of Dr. Lecter’s books. Graham was an expert. We can’t be sure from simply reading the text that Dr. Lecter isn’t making the epiphany of “Belvedere” especially difficult to decode even if Clarice were to have written a verbatim transcript of their discussion. In speech Dr. Lecter may be pronouncing the proper names as an American would, or, alternately, with an Italian accent. He could be pronouncing the incidental proper names (Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo) in an Italian accent and “Belvedere” in an American accent to dare Clarice and Jack to take notice. Or, he could be pronouncing all the names in an Italian accent, a fact could be lost in translation between Clarice, innocent of Italian, and Crawford, who knows just enough to have had an epiphany. Each scenario is possible and each reveals a slightly different interpretation of Dr. Lecter’s motives. If we take Thomas Harris himself as the final authority, in the audiobook Harris reads Dr. Lecter’s part. Harris says all proper nouns including “Belvedere” with an Italian accent (albeit with a Mississippi drawl.)

Yeah ok SO WHAT?! And what about Sherlock?!

In Part II I’ll talk about TSotL as an intertext to Sherlock and the limits of this influence. I’ll compare Dr. Lecter’s method of reading to James Moriarty’s. I’ll talk about why & how I crawled out of the cannibal’s skull and into the consulting criminal’s and where I am going next… Or I just might try to revamp this to make more sense. I dunno…

#Repost of an old meta I deleted but need for a new project.#The Silence of the Lambs

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ifreakinglovewritingsomuch · 7 years ago

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Hannigram AU / Broken Heart (Part Four)

Paring: Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham Plot: Lecter. Hannibal Lecter. Agent 007 of the MI6, with the license to kill, a playboy and the only person that can save the world from the “Red Dragon”. But to archive that he has to work together with, Will Graham, whose heart he broke years ago. JamesBond!AU Warning: Violence Words: 1302

A/N: Enjoy this chapter! ^-^

Dark Heaviness.

That's how the agent would describe the feeling that took over all his senses. He wasn’t able to move a single limp. Just thinking was painful and made him even dizzier.

Soon he felt panic taking over. It started slowly as a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and soon spread to his mind, clouding any rational thoughts.

He wasn’t able to see. He wasn’t able to move. What was even going on?

He desperately tried to open his eyes to get a peek at his surrounding but any attempt to move just triggered an enormous pain coming from the back of his head. Every movement seemed to weaken him more, but the anxious feeling won't go away, even though it's slowly replaced by nauseating pain.

Hannibal struggled to regain the power of his senses but he was still not powerful enough to do so without driving back into the black heaviness again, falling into a deep slumber

The second time he woke up the headache wasn’t that strong anymore, still, the nauseating pain made him feel dizzy. But he fought to stay conscious this time because he hated to be weak. And maybe the fear would pass if he got a closer look at the situation he was in. After all, he could clearly feel the tight ropes around his ankles, scratching open his skin. He was most definitely tied to a chair.

The headache was easily explained. Someone probably knocked him out from behind, maybe he was even bleeding.

Finally, he was able to open his eyes. Not used to the light he quickly closed them again, his body not fond of the quick movement.

This time he knew better and took his time to open them, taking in the surroundings not that there was much to see. It's a simple room, with plain walls and a stone floor, obviously covered in dry blood. It's obvious what this room was for.

But Agent Lecter wasn’t scared. He had been in situations like that far too often to be stressed out. It wasn't much trouble for him to get out of situations like that. One of the pros when you had to experience that over and over.

There was just one problem.

Where was Will? Hannibal was sure that they were together before getting attacked, not that he was able to remember it clearly. Weren't they on their way to leave the building?

Someone must have spotted and recognized them. The agent dearly hoped that Will was just tied up in another room. It would be his fault if something had happened to the younger man.

That's the exact reason why he had left Will all those years ago. This job only brought troubles and many enemies. Will would have been an easy target. Having a boyfriend was just not possible in that kind of business. Still, it had hurt so much when he left the younger man, for his own good. Since that day he literally took every opportunity to get his mind off Will Graham. No wonder he was known as a playboy.

But he never stayed with anyone for longer, he would just break their heart. Like he did with Will.

Surely he didn’t deserve a happy end but Will did.

His thoughts got interrupted by heavy footsteps outside the door, coming closer, before coming to a stop. Someone shuffled around, before unlocking the door, slowly opening it.

"Will!?" The agent was surprised to see the younger entering the room. "Thank god! I was concerned."

There was no answer he just stared back at the tied up 007 agents, only a few steps in the room.

"Quick! Untie me, we have to get out of here." Hannibal hurried him. This time the younger came closer, but somehow the look in his eyes was odd.

"Will?" No answer.

When Will didn’t attempt to get the agent out of his bonds, Hannibal started to worry.

"Are you alright?"

"He is." A deep voice answered, suddenly appearing at the door. The middle-aged man entered the room, gently placing his hand on Will's shoulder. He was dressed in all black. But the most noticeable thing was a little scar over his lip up to his nose.

Francis Dolarhyde.

"Lecter. Hannibal Lecter. 007 Agent for the MI6" He laughed dryly while stepping closer to the agent. "You know I'm kind of disappointed."

To say Hannibal knew what exactly was going on would be a lie. He was beyond confused mainly by Will's behaviour. The younger man was just silently standing by his gaze lowered, refusing to look at the agent. It's like Hannibal didn’t even care about Dolarhyde his whole focus was on the silent man in front of him.

"Will?" He didn’t like how desperate his voice sounded, but he just needed to hear his voice, he didn’t trust Dolarhyde with his health. He needed to hear from Will, that he was alright.

"Mr Graham, aren't you going to answer? Agent Lecter seems to worry." The evil smirk definitely didn't help the whole situation and Hannibal wished he wasn't tied up so he could strangle Dolarhyde with his bare hands.

Still, the younger man seemed to hesitate before he put his focus on the agent.

"There is nothing left to say between us." His voice was filled with bitterness, his face showing no emotions, but Hannibal wasn't able to tell why. The sudden creepy change of behaviour from Will was making no sense.

"You should see your face" Dolarhyde chuckled. "Did you really buy Will's act. You don't even know how much you're actions affected him. What a broken heart makes a man do." The whole thing seemed to be more than hilarious to the red dragon.

"What do you even want from me?" Hannibal asked. Those maniac masterminds would always fail to kill him in time because at first, they would spill all their plans to let him escape later. The agent didn't thing Dolarhyde would be that stupid as well.

"Lecter. Lecter...Lecter. I’m disappointed that you think of me so little." It was as if he could read the agent's mind. "You know there is no superior masterplan to rule the world. Exploding cars. Fairly a good idea. But this isn't some Dr Who episode. This was never about ruling the world."

"So what was it about then?"

"Make you suffer." He looked disappointed as if the answer had been obvious. "Do you know how many of my friends died because of the great agent 007. So I wanted to see myself and look you definitely don't owe that title"

Hannibal was getting enough of that bullshit, with all his force he tugged at the ties, which only cut deeper into his skin.

"All I need was one of your exes. And here you are tied up...Broken..."

"I'm not broken." The agent cut him off. "You can't break me."

"Yeah...that's right." Slowly Dolarhyde stepped around him, lowering his head to be on one level with the other. "I know when a man is in love and you...agent surely are." Standing up straight again, he took a few steps to stop next to Will.

"But he can...enough of this." Dolarhyde smiled and Hannibal wanted nothing more than to punch that maniac smile off his face. "I did my duty and told you everything, now let's get to the fun part." He reached for his jacket to reveal a gun around his torso. "You know I'm a sucker for details and isn't it hilarious that you will die by your own gun. And..." This time he turned to Will.

"And by the hand of the man you love. Do me the honour, Mr Graham." Will hesitated but finally took the gun, aiming at Hannibal.

"He doesn't love me."

#hannigram #hannigram au #will x hannigram #hannigram x will #hannigram scenario #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal fic #Hannibal Series #hannibal nbc #will graham #hannibal lecter x will graham #will graham x hannibal lecter #will graham scenario

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trulyhumblenarcissist · 7 years ago

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Hannibal or Hannigram

Well.. Unfortunately this amusing journey has come to an end. Yesterday I watched Hannibal's last episode and I am still hooked on it.

I'm not a quiet media consumer, I literally devour everything I like (lol), the faster the better. However I wish I was more disciplined and patient this time around, since Hannibal is such a deep and complex work you can't just binge watch it. If you're too hasty you'll end up missing some key points, affecting the whole experience. Every single line the main characters share is full of double meanings, layers on layers of lies and half truths that force you to constantly question your level of understanding.

The light is rarefied, usually diffuse rather than direct, the colors are cool-toned, never loud, with the exception of some intense flashes of red and orange. This contributes to create a deliberately somnolent, dreamlike atmosphere that accompanies the spectator through a meticulous, yet poetic inspection of the human unconscious.

The main subject of analysis is Will Graham, a man so skilled in understanding others the he usually loses himself. His "pure emphaty" is both a gift and a burden, something that makes him probably the most innocent being on hearth, a compassionate and merciful human mirror incapable of really condemn anyone, because he's too prone to wear other skins, even if they belong to serial killers.

On the other hand we have Hannibal Lecter, an extremely conscious and self aware man that uses his strong personality as a defense and attack tool. He secludes his real self into a fake human suit, impervious to any intrusion. This perfect camufflage that acts like a solid shield allows him to undermine other people without being affected. Hannibal is basically the crafty puppet master always in control, while Will needs to be "contaminated" by humanity in order to better comprehend it. Apart from this fundamental difference, however, Will and Hannibal are tremendously similar. Both intelligent and condemned by an overly lucid vision of reality, they "feel things" deeply and can read the minds of other people as printed books. Many common traits attract these two men in a way that seems almost fatal.

Hannibal is soon interested in Will, although initially it is a simple professional curiosity: Will's mind and his peculiar functioning are a frequent topic of conversation in psychiatric circles. Doctors and psychologists wonder whether Will is a genius or a psychopath. Hannibal's approach is completely different. He doesn't seek a demarcation line between madness and sanity, he doesn't believe in psychotherapy either, or at least, he refuses the concept of a treatment that makes people more willing to be subjected to social conventions and morality. Hannibal is definitely a master manipulator, but I don't think he has ever wanted to "shape" his patients. He aims for their darkest fantasies and fuels them, trying to bring them to light. His therapy is like wearing a pair of corrective lenses: you put them on and you see things you originally didn't notice because you couldn't focus well. Things that had ALWAYS been there, in your deepest core, denied and soffocated by fear and shame. Hannibal's velvety voice is never imperative, it drives without force, it creates a sort of psychological malleability that allows you to find your true self, no matter how ugly it is, and leads to catharsis, unlimited freedom and inevitable destruction.

Without any moral qualms everything becomes possible and God himself turns from Judge to loving ally.

On a metaphorical bed of twisted personalities, the troubled relationship between Will and Hannibal develops harshly. It can be considered the true and only protagonist of the story. A LOVEstory in all respects, filled with courtship, burning passion, fear and desire for the other, tenderness, betrayal, redemption... Death.

Honestly I was pretty surprised by how much this mad love between Hannibal and Will seemed "right" to me. There is nothing canonically healthy in their relationship, yet they both find their own safe place in the other. At the end of the day, shouldn't love be just like that? Ideally, love should allow us to acknowledge our most intimate nature, through the expression of desires that we would never reveal to anyone else. Love should make us feel safe and confident thanks to the reassuring awareness of being perfectly understood and accepted for what we are, no filters, no shame. In reality, however, we keep some barriers to protect ourselves and our loved ones. Boundaries makes life apparently easier, creating a comfort zone where we can recognize our intact individuality and protect it from contamination and excessive exposure. Humanity is just as coward as that... But wouldn't it be nice to leave everything behind, every defense, every fiction, every useless embellishment? Wouldn't it be nice to competely surrender to the other (desire becomes surrender and surrender becomes power)? Will's answer to this question is yes, but only after a very rough path.

The first season is characterized by a strong relational asymmetry. Will is completely succube, he is sick and vulnerable, so he is eventually imprisoned for crimes committed by Hannibal. With the second season reality begins to be completely blurred. We are kept in anxious waiting, trying to find out if Will has truly become a killer without remorse, but in reality the most radical transformation is Hannibal's. Such a huge metamorphosis projects itself subtly under our eyes and we're too focused on other things to effectively catch it.

Hannibal lets himself being fooled by Will's farce, he dangerously lowers his defenses and, as it happens to any "common" human being, he falls in love. He falls in love so deeply he begins to project a future with Will, far away from everything and everyone, the two of them caught in an everlasting artistic battle against this vulgar world. Actually the romantic family portrait in Hannibal's fantasies involves two fathers (murderous husbands as Freddie Lounds would say) and a daughter to protect and educate. Abigail represents communion, affection and heredity. All of this comes to a cruel end when Hannibal discovers Will's true intentions. Well, technically Will himself tells Hannibal to run away, but this is not nearly enough to what Hannibal wished for. He was laying bare in front of Will and Will ignored his feelings, or at least he violated his trust.

The third season leads us to a full closure. After a short period of separation Will and Hannibal meet again. They try to get rid of the yoke that binds them through different and useless attempts to kill each other. At some point the end up escaping death together and Will, full of doubts and consumed by a deep discomfort, allows Hannibal to flee. He asks Hannibal never to look for him again and assures that he would do the same. This is Hannibal's equivalent to a terrible defeat, another painful rejection that drives him to a drastic decision: he lets himself being captured so that Will will always know where to find him.

The yoke is still there, around their throats, more lush but equally heavy.

Will tries his best to lead a normal life, he marries a nice woman and even takes the role of the perfect foster parent, but after three years of relative tranquility, the great red dragon makes its appearance and the fragile veil of stability is torn from its sharp claws. The great red dragon is a formidable catalyst: it symbolizes passion and raw nature, eroticism, primordial impulses that express themselves freely, away from the inquisitive eye of the Christian God.

Francis Dolarhyde physically drags Will to a point of no return, he forces Will to decide who should be saved and Will chooses: the last fig leaf rushes to the ground leaving him completely naked and finally free. Will kills the great red dragon that was an almost perfect work of personality construction and by doing so, he acquires enough power to finally abandon the "idea of duty", the preconceived dimension of right and wrong. He embraces both Hannibal and himself at the same time, he forgives and fully understans the indomabile force of his feelings for Hannibal: by loving him he truly loves himself.

"It's beautiful": Will whispers full of emotion, soaked in blood, dark like the night, clinging to freedom and new awareness. He finds his peace after a terrible journey, he finds it in Hannibal and in the stormy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

I don't think it's possible to write a more poetic death for this two fatal lovers... Hannibal finally reaches Will with the power of his endless, loving stare and Will accepts it as an anchor of salvation that drags him into a place of absolute spontaneity and security, the true paradise on earth.

#Hannibal #hannibal tv #hannibal lecter #will graham #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy

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frostcryptid · 7 years ago

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Subtlety and Care

Before anything, there is mentions of animal abuse in this story. For @wolvesamongstdeer, my Hannibal Holiday Giftee. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you ❤❤ Thank you to @hannibalholiday for organizing this event as well!!

—-

Will hummed along with the Christmas music playing as he decorated the tree. Hannibal was in the kitchen baking some cookies to be shared by the fire after dinner. It’s the most domestic they’ve been since the Fall. He lowered his hand from hanging the next ornament with a sad smile.

Why was murder always the solution between them? It had been Garret Jacob Hobbs first. That kill was the one that started him on the path that led to where he was now. Matthew Brown followed; he didn’t actually die due to Jack coming to the rescue, but to be fair he did attempt to kill Hannibal on Will’s word. Abel Gideon’s death was both to prove a point and to punish Frederick.

The Great Red Dragon was their most recent kill together.

Hannibal was always disappointed when Will refused to go out with him, but Francis Dolarhyde was a life or death situation. Anyone else now would just be murder, even though Hannibal was careful to only pick out other criminals who escaped the broken system

“Be safe,” Will always tells him when he leaves.

“Will do,” is always the reply. Will can’t figure out if that’s supposed to be a pun or if it’s just Hannibal confirming he will do as Will asked.

Hands moved up to rest upon Will’s hips from behind, and he couldn’t help but relax. His husband was always there to help him when he couldn’t do it himself. Hannibal’s gentlest touches were the easiest way to do so.

“Will, are you finished?” Hannibal was talking about the tree, but it was plain to see that it was still a little bare. Folding his hand over Will’s brought him pleasure as Hannibal helped hang the ornament still dangling between the other’s fingers. “Take a break.” A shiver ran through Will as the words were whispered into his ear. “Come with me?”

Will know what he meant. God, did he know. His irritation grew more every time he told Hannibal no, but the tightness in his chest tonight was new. It was worse than anything he’d felt before in his life. It may have been why his next response came as a surprise to the both of them.

“Yes.”

What better way to get into the holiday spirit than to grant Hannibal the one thing he’d been craving the most: Will by his side, killing their target beautifully and making the kill a work of art.

“I pick who,” Will stated. There’d be no negotiations on that. Either Will chose or Hannibal would be on his own, and back to square one trying to convince Will.

Instead of answering, Hannibal pulled his partner into a deep kiss. Only after they were both flushed and left wanting did Hannibal pull away. He planned for much more after they killed together.

“Take time to finish decorating, as long as you need. I’ll finish up in the kitchen as you do so, dear Will. Come find me afterwards.” No more needed to be said as he left for the kitchen.

Will definitely needed a breather. What better way than doing as Hannibal said? He dug through the box to find more bulbs for the tree. The tinsel was already in place and some bulbs along with other knick knacks were carefully hung. As he worked, more thoughts about who they would make into art came about. Will remembered an article in the newspaper that day about someone abusing animals, especially the breeds with a bad name. He hoped Hannibal hadn’t thrown it away.

When it was all settled, Will found the other in the kitchen where he said he’d be. Their eyes met.

“Brie O’Malley,” Will said.

A feral grin spread across Hannibal’s lips. They were always on the same page about everything. Why did Will think he needed an explanation for this?

“Wonderful. When and how?” Hannibal asked. That was the question, wasn’t it? A very loaded one too.

Hannibal knew what Will felt during kills but he himself couldn’t let it go. They had connected more than ever when they killed the Great Red Dragon as a team. As one.

The thought of another shared kill made Hannibal shiver in anticipation. More of his sweet Will killing was one thing, but him actively liking it enough to keep doing it alongside Hannibal was something else entirely. The person hurting those innocent animals would be one of the last steps to Will becoming his true self. He’d been denying it for quite some time.

“Tonight, with one of your cooking knives?” Will asked. He was flattered that Hannibal was allowing him such freedoms but he’d let Hannibal take the lead while he could. After this, he knew the other man would cease letting him go back into his shell.

What was it Hannibal had said before? Don’t retreat. Well, Will was finally done with retreating. One thing would always lead to another in some way, as long as Hannibal had a say.

“He deserves less than nothing,” Will said, more to himself than to Hannibal. “After what he did, I won’t allow him to come into this house.”

Hannibal watched him with dark eyes. “Please, choose a knife that feels right to you. I shall do the same. We’ll grab our coats afterwards and head into the heart of the city.” Hannibal’s grin widened as Will’s fingers danced along the handles, before settling on one of the knives. “Shall we bring Brahms?”

Brahms, a Dalmatian, was always excited to be with his humans and always managed to make Will smile with his goofiness. Hannibal had also been teaching him to attack and defend should the occasion arise that neither of them were suited to do so themselves. The sound of his name had the dog lifting his head in their direction, his tail thumping gently on the floor. The sound echoed throughout the mostly quiet house.

Will clicked his tongue and the dog jumped from his bed to sit proudly next to his human. A nice ear scratch later, the three of them were off. Hannibal wrapped an arm around Will’s waist and let Will lean against him while the other hand held onto Brahms’ leash. The Dalmatian was well behaved for being so young, but that was Will’s doing of correcting bad behavior and giving treats for good behavior. Hannibal was always impressed with how naturally the animals obeyed him.

It was a quiet evening as the two strolled the streets like an old married couple. The thought had Will chuckling and clinging tighter to Hannibal. Will couldn’t think of anything else better on his finger than Hannibal’s ring. He sighed happily as they settled on a park bench together, to await their prey. After sitting for a moment, he kissed the man on the cheek.

“This is really nice, Hannibal.”

“It’s about to get better, Will.”

Both their eyes followed movements of an individual who was approaching. Brahms perked up from where he’d been laying to growl low. Will gave a sharp whistle to Brahms, making him stop growling but not stopping him from tracking the stranger’s movements.

“What a well behaved little thing. Do you mind if I pet him?” As the man reached down, the two recognized him as the one they were looking for. The Dalmatian gave another low growl, and Hannibal pulled him away to give the two some space.

“He’s not friendly with strangers. I apologize, Mister…”

“O’Malley. Brie O’Malley.” Brie supplied all too happily. “I help animals you see. Train the viciousness right out of them and they come home perfectly behaved. None of this ‘stranger danger’ nonsense everyone keeps talking about with their animals. I’ve provided a way to help with that though.”

“Would you be able to show me? Right now?” Will could be forward when he had to be. As of this moment, it’s exactly how he needed to be with this horrid person. Brie nodded a little too eagerly, and led him around the corner to his own home.

Brahms turned to see his human missing along with the stranger. He barked as he tugged Hannibal with all his might. Snow started falling and it just made the Dalmatian work faster to find Will, despite Hannibal’s strength and his refusal to be pulled. Hannibal took his time to enjoy watching the snowflakes fall.

They eventually came to an apartment complex with the main door left open. Hannibal noted that the lock had been blocked, and felt a swell of pride at Will’s forward thinking. Hannibal had no need to actively search for their target as Brahms was doing a good job leading based on Will’s scent.

Their final destination was closed to them. The door was locked and they could hear what they assumed to be a fight. Hannibal reached down to pet Brahms, and then unhooked the leash from his collar.

Will was just on the other side of the door, fighting to keep the whip from being struck again him or the poor dog chained to the radiator under the window. He threw Brie against the kitchen counter, and pinned the man’s arms above his head. Brie anticipated the move and knocked his head against Will’s own.

Will hit the ground and struggled to get back up, still conscious enough to see Brie coming at him. Brie was wrapping the whip around his hand, preparing to strangle Will. The man’s dark, dark eyes only had murder and admiration in them. They made Will’s skin crawl.

“Of course you already knew. The knife, the same darkness in you… I could tell, you know? It was easy. That’s why I chose you over the other one. I knew he could take me down without blinking, but you? You struggle and rebel at the thought of murder.” Brie circled Will, and Will matched the movements step for step.

“He’s not the one you should worry about.”

Brahms leapt down from the small window above the doorway. He tackled Brie to the ground, getting the man’s throat between his jaws.

“You should worry more about what my dog is gonna do,” Will rose his eyebrows at him.

At any sudden motions, Brahms would have Brie dead. Will wasn’t too worried when he unlocked the door. Hannibal was standing there with a wicked smile, the leash folded nicely in his grip.

“He’s mine,” Will demanded. The only answer he got was a nod to go along with the smile. Hannibal entered and closed the door behind himself as Will went back to the kitchen, finding his knife.

He spoke to Brie softly but not without hate, kneeling over him. “I’m going to cut you into tiny pieces. That’s only after I tear your back to shreds using the whip you’ve used on countless animals, and the other various tools you kindly showed to me.” He stood but not before forcing the knife through Brie’s thigh. The man let out a strangled noise, his windpipe damaged from the dog’s bite.

“Get Brahms and the other dog out of here. I’ll be done in an hour.”

Hannibal did as he asked, only after kissing the blood from Will’s face. Hannibal took his time walking the dogs home. He attached the leash to the German Shepherd they’d found in the apartment, trusting Brahms to walk by his side. Only after he fed and watered the new dog did he leave again, taking the car back to the apartment complex. When he was satisfied that the job was done, Hannibal got out of the car and went to into apartment.

Will was still there, staring down at the blood on what was left of the man, his stormy eyes transfixed. The man’s body had been broken and bent and shoved into the corner beside the radiator, mimicking a sitting dog. The whip was around his neck, keeping his body tied there like all the dogs he’d mistreated.

“Come back to me, Will.” Hannibal wound his arms around Will from behind, licking his neck free of blood. He interlaced their fingers to help ground Will.

“Where would I go?” A squeeze was given in reply.

“Nowhere now that we’re together,” Hannibal supposed. This kill hadn’t been together like originally planned. It was better. Will overcame what he’d been afraid for some time now, and that outshined Hannibal’s lingering guilt for forcing him to kill alone.

“It feels good.” It felt good to God too, Hannibal had once told him. Neither of them decided to bring that up again.

Hannibal’s Christmas wish had come true and, secretly, so had Will’s. Hannibal wanted Will to stop denying himself and Will just wanted to feel whole again.

Killing, he was certain of now, was part of them both.

Hannibal licked more blood from his neck, savoring the metallic tang of blood mingled with the natural musk of Will’s skin. Will could feel Hannibal’s excitement, but he would put his foot down on doing anything next to a corpse.

“We’re done here.”

“Let’s get you home, then. You’ve had a long day.”

After all, they still had two dogs to take care of as well as Will’s own injuries in the struggle with Brie. Neither worried though, since they both knew Hannibal would take gentle care of him.

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fandomgalcentral · 7 years ago

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Brothers in Arms Part XVI

Part XV

Brother in Arms Masterlist

Francis stood, alarmed. Home? This person you were with wasn’t from this world? This pleased the dragon immensely. The dragon snarled in anticipation as you got out of the car and approached the house, looking professional. You had to be in a situation like this and hoped he wouldn’t recognize you.

You knock on the door, having altered your form slightly as Kili watched from the car. The door opened and there stood Francis, looking a bit more controlled than the last time you saw him. Or so you thought.

“Mr. Dolarhyde?”

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“I’m detective Andrews. There’s been a rash of disappearances surrounding the area and I just wanted to check in with the neighbors if they’ve seen anything.”

“Nothing here, ma’am. Would you like to look around?”

“If I may. I don’t wish to intrude.” You give him a charming smile as he allows you in. After a few minutes however, something wasn’t right as red flags began to go off in your head. You entered the study, making sure he wasn’t around and locked the door, turning around and looked up at the painting. It was as you remember it: grotesque, creepy and haunting. How could he live like this when this other personality took over?

You don’t feel him stand behind you, but his voice was in your ear, his hands on your shoulders very lightly.

“Join us, Y/N. Help the Dragon consume the world in fire my love.” You turn on him.

“I always knew you’d lie in wait for my return. I will not help you Francis! This is NOT you! What happened to the Francis I fell in love with?” Tears filled your eyes as he began to get angry. Not a good sign.

“He’s…. He’s gone, Y/N. The Dragon has control.”

“Is he truly gone or are you trying to lie to yourself? Let me help you, please. I did it once and I can do it again, only if you let me.” You take his hands in your own, feeling the man you used to love start to come back, but then his eyes changed and he quickly had you in a chokehold, cutting off any air supply as you fell unconscious in his arms.

It had been an hour since you left Kili in the van. He had stayed out of sight as you ordered, but you shouldn’t have taken this long, even if it was for a “Routine Questioning” as you put it. He didn’t understand what it meant, but trusted you as a pounding on the window made him jump. He grabbed his bow and aimed an arrow as he approached the driver’s side window as Thorin appeared first, followed by Fili, Dean, Aidan and Richard. Kili put the weapon down as he opened the back doors.

“Kili! Oh thank Mahal you’re safe!”

“I’m fine. I couldn’t let her come alone-”

“Explain later. We’re just glad you’re alright!” Dean, Aidan and Richard hugged him for a moment, then joined him in the van.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“In that house directly across the street. She left an hour ago and I’ve been wondering if I should go checkup if she’s okay or wait it out.” There was concern to their human companions.

“An hour, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“Kili, if she isn’t back in 5 minutes, then something’s wrong.”

“I know and I didn’t know if I should charge or wait. She told me to wait-”Dean put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Lad, you did fine. There wasn’t much you could do until we got here. Now, shall we go slay this thing or are we just going to sit here until something happens?”

“Always the eager ones.” Richard added with a light chuckle as the 6 of them hop out of the van and approach the house, afraid of what they were going to find.

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comic-movieheroesranked · 7 years ago

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Cinematic Comic Characters Ranked! (Year 2011) Final Part

This year I think has the most characters ranked so far, and all from movies introducing brand new characters. X-Men franchise gets a reboot with X-Men: First Class; The MCU welcomes the additions of Thor and Captain America: The First Avenger; DC Comics introduces Green Lantern, and we also get The Adventures of Tintin, Cowboys & Aliens, The Green Hornet, and Priest. Here’s the TOP 20!

*SPOILER ALERT FOR THE HIGHLIGHTED MOVIES MENTIONED ABOVE*

20. Kato (The Green Hornet)

"Go be a journalist. I'll kick ass."

If anyone should have been the Green Hornet, it should have be Kato. His fighting skills are great, his driving skills are even better, and his abilities with machinery have not only created the best cars for fighting crime, but also the best coffee machines. Instead he chooses to be Britt's sidekick and even though he kicks the other dude's ass on several occasions, Kato still decides to put up with him for reasons no one will understand. Oh and he can't swim, which is random, but yeah.

19. Heimdall (Thor)

"I need no longer to obey you!"

Heimdall is the seer of all things and protects the portal outside of Asgard. When the Frost Giants break into Asgard he suspects someone has figured out how to fool his abilities, and what a greater suspect than the master of illusion himself, Loki. He suspicion for the male increases when Loki becomes King and he not only sends Thor's friends to retrieve him from Earth but he also tries to attack Loki himself. Loki freezes him but his will to protect Asgard gives him the strength to break free and bring Thor and his friends back home.

18. Captain Haddock (The Adventures of Tintin)

"You hit a wall, you push through it."

He might be drunk, but you can't take away Haddock's passion towards life and the seas. It's in his blood to be a true adventure seeker in the ocean and his biggest adventure comes when Tintin reveals his ancestor, Sir Francis, has hidden away treasure. The pair work brilliantly together and in the end, Haddock takes down his biggest rival while restoring honor back to his family's name.

17. Priestess (Priest)

"We've all sacrificed. Some more than others."

When the church sends Priestess to hunt down Priest for breaking his vow, she decides to join him in his quest instead. She's a huge gain to the cause, she seems to have the same skills as Priest and is also to help him almost instantly when he needs it, which is most of the time. In fact, during the last stand, Priestess not only takes out all the familiars, but she distracts Black Hat from killing Priest and also blows up the train full of vampires that would have otherwise destroyed their city. It's hinted she has feelings for Priest but she puts them aside to recruit the rest of the priests to help them on their future missions.

16. Jane Foster (Thor)

"Magic's just science we don't understand yet."

Jane's passion for science goes beyond the facts in front of her. She constantly tries to push the limit so that she can discover something truly amazing. It comes of the form of Thor, the god of thunder and someone she manages to hit with her car. Twice. She may not fully believe his stories at first, his unique charm really helps the chemistry between them and she does what she can to help him retrieve his mighty hammer, even if technically she only did it so she could get her research back from SHIELD. When Thor returns to Asgard she isn't sure whether or not she'll see him again, so instead of waiting to find out, she's back in the lab, trying to figure out how to reach him on her own.

15. Jake Lonergan (Cowboys & Aliens)

"I'm a wanted man."

Even though he lost his memory, Jake at least was able to kick into his natural instincts from the get go. With his fancy little alien gun he becomes the leader of the human resistance against the aliens. Turns out he managed to escape the alien captivity after his wife is killed and he slash's an alien's eye to escape. He casually handles every obstacle that gets into his way until he ends up actually getting caught by said alien but manages to kill him with the help of Dolarhyde. With the town in his debt, Jake is announced a free man and is no longer at risk of rotting in a jail cell.

14. Peggy Carter/Agent Carter (Captain America: The First Avenger)

"I can do more than that."

Yo, Peggy was a freaking force of nature. She literally did everything the soldiers around her did but in heels! It was her training that showed everyone that Steve was ready for the super soldier serum and she even got to show how sick she is with a gun when Red Skull's assassin snuck into their headquarters. It sucks that Steve had to die just shortly after their relationship was starting to go to the next level, but I'm pretty sure Agent Carter goes on to be the best agent this country has seen.

13. Sebastian Shaw (X-Men: First Class)

"We are the future of the human race."

One always wonders what kinds of horrors Magento must've have went through in the concentration camps that caused his hatred for humans, and most of the horrors were because of Sebastian Shaw. Wanting to learn more about mutant abilities, Shaw tortures Erik and even kills his mother to get his research. He seems unfazed by the kid's growing hatred and power and it's probably because he's not only the leader of the Hellfire Club, an organization of powerful mutants, he's also a powerful mutant himself. He can direct every type of bullet/energy into destruction for his enemies. His main goal is to create WWIII, a nuclear war that would kill the human race and leave him to rule the mutant survivors. He has the charisma to get away with it, but with Magneto as an enemy, he stood no chance. Killed by the very quarter he used in Erik's lessons, Shaw's dreams do actually end up living on through Magneto.

12. Hicks (Priest)

"Point A? Meet Point fucking B."

I thought Hicks was going to be that guy who always gets in the way but that wasn't the case at all. He really handled himself for someone who has never gone up against vampires, his skills easily proving why he was the sheriff despite his young age. Even though he wouldn't have lasted nearly as long as he had without Priest and Priestess, he was a great supporting character who even saved Priest towards the end. Of course his main goal is to save his girlfriend, Lucy, and he's able to do just that.

11. Hank McCoy/Beast (X-Men: First Class)

"Don't mock me!"

Hank is a sweet boy who, like Mystique, wants to hide the more uglier effects of his mutation. In his case it's his feet even though his skills when he uses them is what attracts Raven to him in the first place. Still, his feelings for her aren't enough to keep him from taking the serum he created but it only makes matters worse and turns him into the blue Beast we all recognize today. He accepts his mutant self after this, but its clear that whatever he had with Mystique is over as she decides to join Magneto's Brotherhood and he stays with Charles.

10. Odin (Thor)

"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor!"

Odin is an honorable King of Asgard, who truly makes every decision for a specific reason. But even he has trouble raising his two sons. On one hand he has Thor, who isn't quite ready to rule as he's too hot headed to truly make decisions with the kingdom's interest at heart. It must've been so hard for Odin to banish him, but it's what needed to be done for him to truly understands what it means to rule unselfishly. Then on the other hand he has Loki, who has been plotting to take over since the very beginning and gets even more fuel when he finds out he's adopted. All of it is too much and Odin ends up slipping into a cosmic coma until the very end of the film, where he acknowledges the growth in Thor now that he's saved Asgard.

9. Priest (Priest)

"Then I go against God."

Most of the priests and priestess are recruited into the church when they are young, but for some reason Priest joins when he's an adult. You'd think this would make him weaker than the rest but it seems he's not only the strongest, but also their leader. When the vampires are defeated, he goes into hiding until his old ally-turned-vampire kidnaps his daughter, Lucy, who thinks she's his niece because his brother agreed to raise her when he was taken away. With the help of Priestess and Hicks, Priest defeats Black Hat and rescues Lucy, but that's just the beginning of their problems. Priest discovers the vampire queen is still alive and goes after her, completing ignoring the church's protests once again.

8. Tintin and Snowy (The Adventures of Tintin)

"Snowy, look at this!"

At just the ripe age of seventeen, Tintin has traveled the world and solved some of it's biggest mysteries for his newspaper. The kid even carries a gun around, which does end up coming in handing when he gets wrapped up in solving the mystery of the Unicorn. He's not alone though as most of his discoveries come from the help and guidance of his trusy companion, Snowy. The two end up helping a captain named Haddock in finding his ancestor's last treasure, while also dealing with an enemy that is hellbent on revenge. Still, this adventure is nothing new for Tintin and Snowy and they're able to piece together the remaining pieces of the puzzle and find Sir Francis's lost treasure.

7. Hal Jordan/Green Lantern (Green Lantern)

"Let me go fight for my world and I'll show you that will is stronger than fear."

Hal's a likable guy, despite having a bit of an ego that comes along with it. Yes, he's extremely reckless at times, but he's got that spunk that allows him to think outside of the box, which is another reason why he was chosen to be the next Green Lantern after Abin Sur dies. Throughout the film we keep seeing everyone doubt him because he does have fear in his heart, a lot of it having to due with his father's death, but it's at the end he shows everyone that it's ok to be afraid, it's how you overcome it that matters. With this discovery he's able to defeat Parralax, a task some of the strongest Lanterns died trying to do, and finally earns his spot among the Corps.

6. Raven Darkholme/Mystique (X-Men: First Class)

"Mutant and proud."

It was so interesting to see Mystique in this light. In the previous films we had this hard, deadly assassin that was one of Magneto's biggest threats against the humans and now we got to see how that came to be. Before she was the intimidating mutant we know, Raven was just a scared girl who Charles adopted as a sister and who was ashamed by how she looks. But then she's around other mutants and she slowly starts to accept herself and even comes up with everyone's codenames, but then there's little things that set her back. One, Charles is a bit of a jerk to her and keeps holding her to expectations that I don't think are necessary when he doesn't try to understand what it's like to be in her shoes. Then there's Hank who does know what it's like to have to hide, and who Raven definitely likes, but isn't secure with his own looks and even encourages her to continue to hide who she is. But with all of this, Erik stays as a constant reminder that she is perfect the way she is and that anyone else would be lucky to have her gifts. After that, it's not hard to understand why she chooses him at the end of the movie.

5. Loki (Thor)

"I never wanted the throne, I only ever wanted to be your equal!"

I'm quite familiar with Norse mythology even before I really got into comics so I knew right away that Loki was not this concerned brother he was set out to be at the beginning of the film. It was surprising to find out that not only had he constructed literally everything that happened in order to take the throne for himself (except for Odin going in a coma, that was just luck) but he's also adopted and really belongs to the King of the Frost Giants. He tries to take out Thor and use the Frost Giants to kill his father but when Thor returns he tries to save himself by attempting to destroy the Frost Giant's world as a way to appease his father. Thor stops him, however, and Loki freefalls out of Asgard but somehow manages to take control of a human on Earth just as that human meets with Nick Fury to discuss a very powerful artifact.

4. Thor (Thor)

"For the first time in my life, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

The introduction of Thor. We don't see him become the great hero he already is and how he got to control the mighty hammer, but we do see he still has a lot of growing to do before he's fit to rule Asgard. His growth in character comes with the help of some humans on Earth, specifically Jane, who shows him that there are different ways to handle situations instead of brute force. His growth couldn't have come at a better time as he has to face off against his brother, Loki, who practically manipulated everything leading to Thor's banishment. His moment finally comes during his final fight with Loki, when he destroys the bridge that would allow him to see Jane again. He gives her up for the kingdom's safety, truly learning how a king rules with his kingdom's interest at heart. He loses the chances of seeing Jane and also loses his brother, but he's able to reconcile with his father and the support of his friends gives hope that one day, him and Jane will reunite.

3. Charles Xavier/Professor X (X-Men: First Class)

"You're not alone."

Who knew that Porfessor X, the father figure of many future mutant students and X-Men, was such a Casanova when he was younger. I see the appeal, who wouldn't like a guy who knows exactly what to say, in the most charming way possible? Still, despite all the wild nights he has, Charles is quick to get serious when the opportunity comes to meet other mutants like himself. After meeting Erik and the others, Charles tries to bring them in on his vision of peace and working together with the humans. Of course Shaw ends up causing a big flaw in his plan and despite becoming like a brother to Erik, he ends up losing the other to his hatred of humans. He loses more than that when Erik accidentally forces a bullet into his spine, leaving him unable to walk. Understanding their views can never be the same, they separate and Charles opens up his school to all mutants for sanctuary.

2. Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto (X-Men: First Class)

"Peace was never an option."

The best origin story of the X-Men, is how their greatest enemy came to be. We watch as Magneto suffers at the hands of Shaw and the Nazis for his powers and then uses said powers to hunt them down one by one. When he fails to kill Shaw, he meets Charles Xavier and the two begin a friendship as they use their two ideologies to meet other mutants like themselves. One thing I liked about Erik is his ability to learn fast. After Emma Frost bests him during their first one, he's quick to understand her threat and quickly handles her during their next confrontation in Russia. When training he allows Charles to open up his mind to advance his skills, and he also opens up Mystique's mind to her appearance. At the last possible second, Erik shuts Charles out when he confronts Shaw, killing him with the same quarter that lead to his mother's death. He needs to work on his accountability a little though, as it was him who deflected the bullet into Charles that handicaps him. Still, it doesn't stop him from starting the Brotherhood and becoming the villain we all know...Magneto.

1. Steve Rogers/Captain America (Captain America: The First Avenger)

"I could do this all day."

Captain America is the ultimate triumphant tale of the underdog. Steve Rogers was a weak tiny man who seemed to have so many illnesses that I thought he belonged in a plastic bubble. But the kid had heart and a true sense of doing the right thing, which is why he was perfect to become Captain America. And while his transformation was a HUGE success, and I'm not just talking about his physical appearance, it took awhile for him to really see some action. Throughout the film we see that even though he's got all of these enhanced abilities, he's still just a kid from Brooklyn. He's still dorky when he's around Peggy, he still mourned heavily after Bucky's death, and he still never backed down from a fight. Despite all the terrible things Red Skull committed, Steve never even batted an eyelash when it came to taking him down, or even sacrificing himself to save millions of lives. He's a true hero for the little guy, wonder how he'll do now that he's woken up more than seventy years into the future.

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elfnerdherder · 7 years ago

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Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 15

You can read Chapter 15 on Ao3 Here

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Chapter 15: Mesmeric Revelation

That night, long after he heard the clattering of dinner plates and laughter, long after he heard music and chatter, and far long after he heard doors closing, showers running, and feet mumbling, Will Graham left his room. It had been locked, but the gum did its job and kept the bolt from setting. A mere fiddling with the ink cartridge of his pen did the rest of the job, and the lock turned with a muted, triumphant click.

His feet padded along the soft carpet that muffled his steps, and the solidly built stairs didn’t betray him. He paused before the front door, staring. Every muscle in him begged him to go to it, begged him to throw the locks and make a break for it until he could find a road and a good Samaritan to help him.

He didn’t, though.

Just how many stalked the trees surrounding the house? Just how many cameras were on every angle he could take to escape? He thought of Matthew knowing the moment he’d tried to run, and he rocked back on his heels, away from the door.

Instead, he made his way down another hall and headed towards the security room.

He didn’t expect it to be empty. No matter how many slept, Dr. Lecter was no fool. Sure enough, poking his head in, he saw Francis beside one of the monitors. His back was to Will, but that didn’t stop him from seeing the antenna of a satellite phone that cut into the shadows of the room, nor did it stop him from seeing the map lit dimly by a few desk lamps and the monitor’s glow.

“You got the voicemail? Good. He’s getting desperate.”

A pause as Dolarhyde listened to the speaker.

“The man whose phone was bugged got transferred. I’ve got another guy, but he’s not there yet. Dr. Lecter needs you to find out exactly what they know so far, that we can plan the next step.”

Another pause, and Will swallowed, a dry click in his throat.

“You don’t need to know how many dead. You’ll see soon enough.”

He hung up and set the phone off to the side, beside the monitor. There was a pause, a long and dreadful silence as Dolarhyde stared down at the monitor. The lamplight gave his bones a sharp edge, his mouth a cruel twist. The hollows of his cheeks were pronounced, the curve of his shoulder elegant.

Truth be told, he looked like a dragon.

Will slipped down the hall and hunkered down in a corner of it, melding himself into the shadows. From his pocket, he produced a hairclip, nothing more than one of the things he’d found in one of the many bedrooms. Decidedly, and with a fair amount of careful aim, he tossed it at the door. It smacked the wood, fell with a quiet and plaintive thump.

It took less than two seconds.

Dolarhyde was at the door, his sharp gaze peering into the dark. The light behind him gave him an ethereal glow as he turned his head one way, then another. Even hidden as Will was, he still felt too exposed, far too noticeable as Dolarhyde took one step, then another out of the door his nose to the air like he could smell Will if he tried hard enough.

After a pained, loud heartbeat, Dolarhyde turned away from Will and headed down the hall to investigate.

The moment he was gone, Will rushed into the room.

The satellite phone was first, although he paused long enough by the computer to glance at it.

Thirty-Two Dead in Will Graham Killing Spree:

The Faces of Will Graham: Dozens Dead in Lecter Slayings

Where is Will Graham?

News updates. Links to articles. Dolarhyde was watching the media as much as he was trying to watch the FBI. If time hadn’t been a rapid pulse bulging right beneath his eye, Will would have stopped to read them, glean over the first one in particular –thirty-two dead? Will Graham Killing Spree?

Another time; some time when Dolarhyde wasn’t hunting through the house to see who lurked outside of his door at 3:30 in the morning.

The back door was quickly unlocked, and he was rushing down the steps before he had time to really consider his actions, before he could wonder just what was going to happen when he was caught.

Fingers fumbled over a phone number he’d come to memorize over the years, a failsafe to him in times of need or duress. He hadn’t had occasion to use it in six years, normal as things had seemed, but he used it now, running across the back lawn to the safety of the shadows of trees. The air was cold, wet. Cicadas screamed for their lives.

He didn’t answer the first two times, and Will let out a hiss of impatient air as he dialed it again. If he’d risked his live, if he’d risked his fucking life just for the bastard to ignore his call…

“Crawford here,” Jack said tiredly.

Relief seared him, a pleasant burn that made his legs give, and Will pressed his back to the tree, a sob managing to rip past his lips.

“Jack…Jesus, you finally picked up.” Will let out a sharp, aggravated breath of air as he hunched down, cradling the phone close to his face like the lifeline that it was. “Jack…it’s Will.”

“Cold as shit out here,” Duncan commented.

Earl swirled his spit around in his mouth before he spat it on the ground before them. Their rocking chairs creaked out of time, and the autumn breeze sent the wind chimes to clacking and smacking together in a horrendous cacophony. Late evening, and the crickets yowled.

“Hate them wind chimes,” Earl muttered. “Debbie likes them.”

Duncan grunted. “Debbie likes being a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah,” Earl said with a snort.

“Yeah.”

They stared out at the road, the distant sound of semi-trucks roaring by on the interstate their only companion. It was quiet in Telefar County, peaceful. Sunsets were mighty nice.

Cold as shit, though.

“She gonna make us come out here every time we chew?” Duncan asked.

“Says she wants her house ‘to be a fuckin’ home’.”

“I’ll show her a fuckin’ home. God damned forty-five fuckin’ degrees out here.”

“She’ll slap you with the barrel of that shotgun in there, that’s what she’ll do,” Earl replied. “Did it to her brother just the other night, came home drunk and shouting.”

“No shit?”

“Slapped him with the barrel of that sum’bitch, tossed him outside to sleep out here.”

“All ‘cause she found those church folks,” Duncan muttered. “God damn pastor coming around every other weekday. ‘Askin me, when I’m gonna get my ass to the pews? Bein’ a veteran an’ all, when’s my ass gonna warm a pew?” He sent a decisive wad of spit out onto the dirt; a complimentary response to a ridiculous notion as a Sunday morning sermon. “I serve my God’n my country, ‘n I figure I find God in more holier places than a church. Get my spir’tual en-light-ment from the forest, see.”

Earl hummed in agreement. “More’n one way to skin a cat. More’n one way to love a God.”

“Got damn eight AM service, wantin’ me to slap my ass on a cold pew,” Duncan continued. When he got on a roll, it was hard to deter him. “Cold as shit pew.”

“Better them church folks than those god damn psychos running up and down the east coast,” Earl said. He watched his old dog, Mutt, lazily crawl out from under the house in order to plop himself properly at his master’s feet. He nudged him with his boot, rubbed the dog’s side with the heel of it. His tongue lolled as his tail whapped against the wood.

“Saw that,” Duncan said with a sneer. “Bunch of crazies with their panties in a damn knot, stealin’ them doctors and killing cops.”

Earl spat on the ground. “God damn cop killers.”

“Death penalty for cop killers is what I’m saying,” Duncan pressed. “That’s all I’m sayin’, they won’t stop killing if they think they’ll just get a slap on the wrist. They’ll just keep killin’ cops, and I heard that doctor was a nice fellow; testified on account of his finding one of those agents and all. Saved his life since he got stuck with a knife.”

Earl was stopped from sharing his own opinion on the fate of cop killers when a car pulled up in their yard and eased to a stop. It was a fancy sort of thing, black with chrome accents and tinted windows. The man that climbed out of it looked the real city sort; slicked back hair, leather dress shoes, and a blazer of all the god damn things.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted.

Earl and Duncan shared a look. Duncan spat on the ground, and Earl rocked in his rocking chair.

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” the man pressed.

“Cold as shit,” Duncan grunted. “Forty-five fuckin’ degrees.”

“It is chilly.”

Silence. The car idled, and Earl wondered what sort of year it was. 2015? 2017? His cousin had a really nice Subaru, 2015 with a decent paint job.

Duncan didn’t have such curiosities. “You lost there, boy?”

“I am a bit turned around, yes,” the man said with an awkward laugh. “Would you mind giving me directions?”

“You ain’t from around here, are yeh,” Earl noted.

“No, sir, I’m not.”

“What’s a boy like you doing out here? Where you headed?”

“It’s a bit personal –I hope you understand.”

Duncan and Earl exchanged looks, and Duncan snickered. Earl absently spit another wad out into the yard.

“Oh, I understand just fine,” Duncan assured him.

Silence once more. The man shifted, unsure of himself. Mutt huffed a breath and lifted his head, only now just recognizing a stranger in the yard. He peered up at Earl, as if silently questioning if he should do something about it.

“Oh, you see it now, do you, Mutt?” Earl grunted. He nudged the dog affectionately and swirled the chew around in his mouth. Tasted like ass, but he’d eat his leg rather than give it up.

“Really, gentlemen, if I could just-”

“We don’t take kindly to strangers just hustlin’ along and getting right in our business, see?” Duncan said. He stood up and adjusted his pants, hitching them up at his hips. “So you just get along now and go buy one of them maps at a gas station like all the other folks do when they get lost down here.”

“Damn Yankees,” Earl muttered in agreement.

The man was dumbfounded, and he looked between the two of them with the same kind of expression Debbie had when she went to throw a cup away and splashed chew all over her arm. She hadn’t realized it was his chewing cup ‘till that moment, but god almighty he’d never heard the end of it. Now, he was stuck outside in the cold-as-shit weather when he wanted a chew.

The stranger’s eyes bugged for a moment, and he let out a laugh, incredulous as all get out.

“You’re serious.”

“As serious as sin, boy,” Earl said. “Got all them crazies runnin’ around our state, fuckin’ things up and makin�� us get some bad publicity. Last thing we need’s a Yankee boy comin’ down here, huntin’ and gettin’ lost and comin’ after our women.”

“I’m here on business, it’s simply that-”

“Telefar County business is our business, see,” Duncan interjected. “And since you’re inclined to your secrets, we’ll be inclined to ours. Secrets like directions, see?”

Silence again.

Earl squinted a bit at him, and when the stranger didn’t immediately move to leave, he stood up and went shoulder to shoulder with Duncan, giving him his most impressive stare down. It was a damn good one, all things considered. Farm work and ranch work had left him leathered, sun-beaten and wrinkled. Debbie still liked him, though, when she’d had one shot too many. She said he was a pretty as a newborn babe.

Now that all those bible thumpers got her roped into weekly church, she didn’t drink no more. Probably didn’t think he was a pretty newborn babe, neither. God damn bible thumpers.

“I’ll…be going, then,” the man said. He inched back towards his car.

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard today, Earl.”

“A damn fine idea, Duncan.”

They stayed standing until the man peeled out from the yard, fast enough that it kicked rocks.

They were just sitting down once more when another car pulled up, far less fancy and with a great deal more sputtering and general noise-making.

“God damn, we’re popular tonight,” Duncan grunted.

Earl fished about for another wad of chew, then tucked it into his lip. “Damn popular.”

It wasn’t another Yankee –if it was, they were a decent sort. A pretty lady with wild red hair and the most darling baby blue eyes Earl had ever seen made her way over. She’d turned the car off and tucked the keys into her jacket pocket. Sensible shoes and a camo coat, like she knew how the hell to dress for the elements. Earl liked her infinitely better.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she began. The closer she got, Earl was able to see red-rimmed eyes and a trembling mouth.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Duncan asked.

“No, I’m…I’m not at all. I’m in desperate need of help, you see.” She fiddled with a handkerchief in hand, and she stifled a sob as her knees tried to buckle on her. At the sight of tears, that did it. Earl was down the steps and leading her up them before he could think of a reason why not to. She was seated in his rocking chair, and after several prompts to Earl, a sweet tea from the fridge was produced.

“Now, now take it easy, little lady, what’s wrong? Someone get you bad? In some trouble?” Duncan asked. The woman fiddled with the glass and took a sip, casting them a grateful glance. Tears rimmed her eyes, although she fought to keep them back. A strong type.

“I’m…trying to find my husband, you see,” she said. “I think he’s run off with another woman.”

“What a got-damn, worthless-”

“Duncan,” Earl chastised. It wasn’t right to cuss near a lady.

“Sorry, miss, I just…if he’s left you, why are you going after him?” Duncan scratched his neck where the beginnings of a beard were growing. “Why you want him when, no offenses out here, but he clearly ain’t wantin’ you?”

She looked up from her glass, and there was fire in her eyes. “So I can beat the sense into him, then out of him, that’s why,” she snarled.

Earl decided he liked this gal. A sensitive sort that didn’t take shit from no one.

“Well, we don’t get a lot of people out around here.”

“I’ve been following him, and I think he passed this way. If I showed you a photo, could you confirm it?”

“If we’ve seen him, we’ll tell you,” Earl promised.

And damn, when she pulled out her phone and showed them a picture of that guy they’d just been shooing off their property, it just made Earl’s heart swell a bit. He looked over her head at Duncan, and Duncan looked back.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Duncan said with a grin, “yeah, we seen him.”

“Have you ever thought about killing someone, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked.

He sometimes loved asking questions like that, mostly because of how Dr. Lecter took his time answering. He always gave Will’s question consideration due their seriousness. No matter how odd, off-the-wall, or obscene, he took his time answering. On nights when Will woke up with remnants of his night terrors clinging to his eyes, he needed to know that someone else out there felt that way, too.

“We all have,” he said after a moment. “Although, I’d suppose you’ve given it a lot of thought lately?”

“I keep dreaming of killing people,” Will murmured. “I keep…dreaming that I have this…insatiable hunger. That no matter how much I kill, I will always want more.”

“Have you given your father a lot of thought lately?”

Will nodded, standing up to pace. He often paced in Lecter’s office, and he liked to think of himself as remarkably familiar with the whorls and dips of his wooden floor. Sometimes the words got stuck, but Dr. Lecter seemed to hear them all the same.

“Is there some form of aggression to your dreams? In the manner in which you take a life?”

“My heartbeat feels calm…steady. It doesn’t race until I wake and think back on what I saw.”

Will paused beside the ladder that led up to a wraparound second story, and he dragged his fingers along the grips of a step. In each groove of the wood, he imagined blood flowing like obscene rivulets, staining everything in its wake. He imagined what his hands had felt like, choking the life from the faceless victim in his nightmares, and he slumped against the ladder, rubbing his eyes to erase the remnants that felt like something much akin to a real memory.

“In your dreams, death is a release. You’ve honed in on your talents, so much so that your heart no longer betrays adrenaline and gives way to mistakes.”

“Do you have dreams like that?” Will asked, looking up. Poised in his chair as he was, Dr. Lecter tilted his head slightly to the side.

“Are you seeking the feeling of normalization through familiarity?”

“I’m wondering if I should check myself into a psychiatric ward,” Will retorted sharply.

Dr. Lecter stood, and he crossed the distance between them at a leisurely pace. Will tracked his movements, hands lowering to his sides, and when Dr. Lecter dipped down to meet his eyes, he cringed back into the ladder, the closeness stifling and mildly off-putting.

Dr. Lecter didn’t move back to give him space. He remained close, crowding him as he tilted his head one way, then the other; His eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed down. That close, Will could smell his cologne that blended nicely with his aftershave, and he gulped a breath of it down before his shoulders relaxed slowly, centimeter by centimeter. Silence sat muffled around them, and just outside of the window, the screech of a weed-whacker grated.

“Apart from your general aversion to eyes, I see no glazed expression or feverish stare,” Dr. Lecter noted lightly. “Your pulse is strong in your neck, and your knees aren’t weak. You aren’t running a temperature that I can see, and you haven’t mentioned lapses of time.”

“Wh-Why?” Will asked. Dr. Lecter didn’t step back to give him air. Will gulped down another mouthful of his cologne, and his eyes flickered up to meet a mildly amused gaze. After a shaky exhale, he looked away.

“You wondered if you should check yourself into a psychiatric ward,” he murmured. That close, Will could track the beat of his pulse at his throat. He stared at it, the even timing of it having a mildly calming effect on his nerves. “You give no indications of a split personality, nor any illness that would cause loss of memory or lapses in time.”

“I haven’t lost time.”

“Have you woken in any location other than your bed?”

“…No?”

Hannibal smiled briefly, a faint flash of canines. “Then you’re fine, Will. Dreams reflect some aspect of ourselves, but all that this tells me is that you’re particularly stressed, and it’s manifesting in your dreams. You’ve thought often of your father recently, and the only form of control over death one can have is if they are the one to cause it, therefore; it seems to me that your fantasies of a calm, stillness to your killing is that this is the only thing your mind feels that it can control. Life, with all of inability to be predicted, is made safe and normalized with your ability to still your heart when taking a life. Better to take than to have taken.”

Will looked up to his eyes once more, and he nodded curtly, once. Relief was a slow trickle, but it was warm, and Dr. Lecter’s answering smile as he finally backed away and let Will breathe stayed sweet in the back of his throat.

“…That’s a relief,” he said after a beat, straightening. The ladder shifted behind him, and he pushed away from it to continue his previous pacing. “I don’t know how I’d fare in court.”

“If it turned out that you’d killed someone?”

“Yeah. I don’t know the statistics for a solid defense in regards to someone claiming an alternate personality, but I’d assume that the jury wouldn’t buy that so easily.”

Hannibal laughed, a warm and low sound. “You know the statistics for soulmates in court, though.”

Will let out a derisive snort.

“You scoff at it?”

“Someone…claiming that because of their soulmate, they were driven to violence is about the shittiest excuse I can think of,” Will explained. “Soulmates aren’t the end-all. They may prompt, they may entice, and they may twist your thoughts and chemicals up a bit, but you don’t lose your mind. To say that a soulmate was the cause of any actions done by a person would be like saying that they’d put a gun to your head.”

“You’d be especially critical of a person with a half-connection, then,” Hannibal observed.

“There is no chemical compulsion at that point. The justice system is especially skewed in regards to soulmates, but I don’t buy it. At all.”

‘Woe be to the fool that stands before you in trial.”

Will sat down across from him once more, and the smile given was crooked at best. “I’m no judge…nor am I the jury or the executioner. If I’m lucky, I’ll never even have to walk into a court room so long as I live.”

A wonderful thanks to all of my patrons: @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe @frostyleegraham @sylarana @frostylicker Duhaunt6 and Superlurk!

#Hannibal #Where the Wicked Walk #LiaS scribbles #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #soulmate au #hannibal soulmate au #someone help will graham #Jack Crawford #coming to the rescue

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thisbecoming · 8 years ago

Note

what advice can you give for writing characters with psychotic mental illnesses?

[ ouf, this is a big question. i want to preface it by situating myself in relation to psychotic disorders: i’m not diagnosed with any form of psychosis, but i’ve been tested due to major depressive disorder + anxiety + genetic history of schizophrenia and other severe mental illness, and i’m considered “susceptible,” so even outside of writing francis dolarhyde, i’ve done fair amounts of research about schizophrenia. i think situating yourself in relation to whatever mental illness you’re writing is always a good idea. what do you know about it? does your character canonically suffer from psychotic symptoms or are you introducing this aspect to the character? why have you decided to write your muse this way? these aren’t things you need to address or justify out loud, but you’ll feel a lot more secure in your writing if you can answer them for yourself.

i think that doing research is an obvious piece of advice. i try to read articles and forum posts and discussions by people who have schizophrenia, rather than medical articles. since francis hasn’t been treated or diagnosed, the medical terminology and process is less important in most cases than the actual psychotic episodes, how they feel, how they end, the different kinds and the accompanying behaviours. i work hard to learn how schizophrenia will affect francis’ mannerisms and his behaviour towards other characters.

with that said, the most important advice i think is to remember that your character’s mental illness isn’t everything they are, and it isn’t a representation of everything that is bad and wrong about the character. your character can have strength and positive relationships and good days, and still be mentally ill. the reality is that there’s never really an off switch, but that doesn’t mean your character always needs to bend to their illness. sometimes francis is gung-ho about hunting his next family and willing to sink deeply into his delusions, while other times he’s forcing himself through conversations with people, and forcing himself into normalcy, so that every scene and plot doesn’t hinge on his mental illness, even if it’s always there. -- i hope that’s clear, and if it seems contradictory, that’s because in some ways, i’ve found writing francis to be quite contradictory. schizophrenia and psychosis in general isn’t recognized externally as being logical. it’s inconsistent, and once i realized that it was okay for francis’ characterization and responses to different people and situations to be inconsistent, it became a lot easier to write him as a whole. ]

#[ ooc. ]#[ god rifp i hope this all makes sense ]#[ anon. ]

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

Text

The Great Red Dragon

3x08

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, blood, surgery, canniblism

Author’s Note: I LOVE will graham and you can tell in this chapter i kinda went ham with my absolute adoration for him. Usually i try and hold back but im to sad to tonight so here is this love letter to will graham

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: As events jump forward three years, Jack seeks help as he pursues Francis Dolarhyde, AKA `The Tooth Fairy Killer'.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif) (can you tell i love will graham. i feel like its excessive now but he is so handsome in this episode and every epsiode but this episode too)

Alana Bloom sat on an uncomfortable chair. The divider between her and Hannibal Lecter was a thick, clear plastic. To Hannibal they were sitting together at his desk. To her, to the reality of her, he sat in his jail cell. The two of them seemed comfortable with each other once again, now that there was no way Hannibal could lay his fingers on her again.

It was the only reason Alana agreed to stay.

“Congratulations, Hannibal. You’re officially insane.”

In front of Hannibal were different and various papers. A newspaper sat there, detailing a family slaughtered in Buffalo.

“There’s no consensus in the psychiatric community what I should be termed,” he said.

“You’ve long been regarded by your peers in psychiatry as something entirely Other. For convenience, they term you a monster.” Hannibal’s eyes flickered up, away from his papers and on to her. She had cleaned herself up since they were last close. The suit she wore made her look distinguished. Her hair up in curls. Sophisticated.

“What do you term me?” he questioned.

“I don’t. You defy categorization.”

“Do you still prefer beer to wine?” he questioned. She pursed her lips, remembering bad memories.

“Stopped drinking beer when I found out what you were putting in mine.”

“Who,” he corrected. She gave the slightest of nods.

“Who.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “This means you’ll be spared the federal death sentence. They had enough to convict you dozen times over.”

“A baker’s dozen. Lest we forget Mason Verger. You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome Hannibal. The needle was guaranteed. But you beat it all on an insanity plea.”

“I’m not insane.” Alana nodded. She understood that.

“You know that and I know that. A dozen or a baker’s dozen, enough people have died.”

“You haven’t,” he pointed out simply.

“A promise in waiting, isn’t it? A promise you intend to keep.”

“I always keep my promises.” His lips flew into a small smile. Alana simply adjusted her spot in the seat.

“Get out of my chair, Frederick.”

Chilton stood up from Alana’s chair. Since she had become the director of the asylum things had been changed. For the better. Chilton was crooked, despite his frequent placing in her chair. She walked over and sat down at her desk and reorganized the documents that Chilton had been messing with.

“Shall we join hands in prayer of gratitude? ‘Thank you, Father, for allowing us to remove this monster, monster of monsters, from your flock. Thank you on behalf of the souls We will spare of pain.’” Chilton stood at the other side of her desk now.

“Thank you on behalf of the monster.” She leaned back in her chair. “Was that the magisterial We?”

“It’s our cabal, yours and mine. Hannibal Lecter will spend the rest of his life in a state institution, watching the diaper cart go by.”

“We lied. You wrote a book of lies,” she pointed out.

“Not difficult to see lies flying above my head, but it is almost impossible to shoot them down,” he pointed out.

“You should be lucky that Y/N is a respectable woman. She should have sued you for what you insinuated between her and Hannibal,” she pointed out.

“You say that only because you couldn’t sue me for speaking the truth about you and Hannibal.” He dragged a finger along the desk. “I wasn’t invited to the wedding though.”

“You held the groom at this asylum when you ran it,” she pointed out.

“Still. I put the actual murderer in jail.”

“I’m pretty sure they did that.” She picked up her pen. “Either way, Hannibal will shoot down your lies. He’s written a brilliant piece for The American Journal of Psychiatry.”

“Everything he writes is always about problems he doesn’t have,” Chilton said.

“What he’s written is going to be your problem. It’s not so much an article as it is a rebuttal.” She smiled to herself. “He has an acid pen.”

Will stood out by the shed. The dogs were balancing around him, running around and barking happily. Will was bundled against the cold although you had been the person who threw all of the layers at him. The dogs kicked up the snow. He was repairing the fence out there, something to keep busy.

He looked up the gravel driveway and a black SVU came down the track.

He let out a sigh, caught by the cold.

Jack Crawford came out of the car.

“Don’t want to talk inside?” Jack asked as Will handed him a mug of hot cider. Several stray dogs lay and mill at their feet as Will leaned against the porch railing. “Don’t want to let me inside. Come too far to let the cold stop me, Will.”

Will pursed his lips.

“Bold of you to show up.”

“Where’s Y/N?” he questioned.

“Making dinner. She didn’t hear you coming up and was, lucky for you, unaware I was making two cups of cider.” Will was relaxed but his tone was uneven.

“You don't want to talk about it here,” Jack said.

“I don't want to talk about it anywhere. You’ve got to talk about it, so let’s have it. Just don’t get out any pictures. There’s no point in doing that.”

“How much do you know?” Jack questioned.

“Two families killed, in their homes, a month apart. Similar circumstances,” Will said. You and him and passed the newspaper to each other at breakfast. Looked into it.

“Not ‘similar’. The same. You ever think about giving me a call?”

“If I ever thought about it Y/N would divorce me on the spot. But I didn’t think about it,” he admitted.

“You know what it is,” Jack said.

“I didn’t think about calling you because I didn’t want to. I don’t think I’d be all that useful to you, Jack. I never think about it anymore. I don’t believe I could do it now.” Will looked down at the lakeshore and Jack pulled out two pictures from his jacket pocket. He flipped them out on the table. Will looked down at them.

“All dead. This freak seems to be in phase with the moon.” Jack tapped the photos. “Killed the Jacobis in Chicago almost four weeks ago. Full moon. Killed the Leeds family in Buffalo night before last. One day short of a lunar month. If we’re lucky we have a little over three weeks before he does it again.”

“Will!” Your voice carried in from the home. Both men looked over.

“Looks like your luck has run out Jack.” You opened the door to alert Will that dinner was done. Upon seeing Jack you stopped. For a moment you were wordless. You looked down at the two pictures on the table, at Will, and then back at Jack. You recognized those people from the newspapers. You took in a deep breath and held your composure.

“If you want to by any chance keep your head I would recommend picking up those pictures, putting them back in your pocket, getting off my goddamn porch and driving your car back to where you came from,” you said evenly. “And give me that cup of cider.” Jack handed it to you and you snatched it, allowing it to spill on your hand without a reaction. “We need Will’s help. More of these families are going to die,” Jack said.

“I’m not going to let this happen again. I let it happen once.”

“You would sacrifice families lives for the miniscule chance one person gets a little hurt?” You stepped forward to him but Will lifted his hand. You stopped but you were still pretty close.

“If that one person is Will then yes. He’s saved enough lives.”

“He isn’t going anywhere,” Will said. You looked up at him and stepped back.

“Dinner is done,” you said and turned back into the house. Jack and Will shared a look.

“So,” Will started, pushing himself off of the balcony railing. “Joining us for dinner?”

You sat beside Will who was at the head of the table. Jack observed the house. It looked simplistic, comforting. On the small shelf by the table were picture frames. Each one of both of you. One when you were fishing, a small fish in front of your face as you laughed. One of Will by the fireplace in the Baltimore house. A couple from the wedding of the two of you looking happier than Jack had ever seen.

Jack had been at the wedding. Will invited him discreetly and because you were so distracted by your own happiness you couldn’t fight. You looked amazing. It had been a long time coming that day and when it did come everyone celebrated. There were even pictures of you, Margot and Alana on that day, cheering to a new beginning.

“People dump small dogs here all the time. I can give away the cute ones, rest, stay around and get to be big ones,” you muttered, petting the dog at your feet.

“You’ve always been a sucker for strays,” Will said.

“You’re not fooling anyone Will.” You stabbed at the plate and took a bite. Will placed a hand on your thigh and kept it there. You put your hand on top of his destreetly.

“Got a nice life here,” Jack said.

“I’m lucky here. I know that,” Will said.

“Surprised there aren’t any kids yet. Bella and I wanted them but with my job we could never fit it in.” The mention of Bella would make you sympathize with him and he knew that. Despite having calmed down a bit you still held up a good face.

“We have a lot of dogs although I can’t say we haven't been trying,” Will said. His face flushed a bit but you were so mad still you couldn’t even be flustered. Will knew there were some things you needed to say to Jack that you couldn't’ say in front of him. “I’m going to take the dogs out to pee.” He tapped your thigh once more before letting his hand leave as he stood up from the dinner table. You nodded numbly as he left, watching him go.

Your gaze went back to Jack.

“When you came into his classroom that day I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt but you failed me Jack. Countless times, you failed me.”

“You left me there to die In Florence.” You smiled.

“A fond memory.” You placed your fork down carefully. “You’re going to take him no matter how much I want to kill you for it.”

“I have to. I’ll make it as easy on him as I can. He’s changed. It’s great you got married.” You nodded.

“He’s better and better. He doesn’t have nightmares anymore.” You paused and collected yourself. “He was really obsessed with the dogs for a while. Now he just takes care of them. He doesn’t talk about them all the time. Doesn’t worry about them.”

“I know what it is I’m asking Y/N. And I wished to God I didn’t have to.”

You smiled slightly at what you were about to say.

“If he decides to go, and that’s a big if, he will not be going alone.” Jack nodded slowly. He figured this would happen. There was nowhere he went you would not follow.

“I know.”

“And you’re willing to deal with me for as long as it takes to get rid of this killer?”

“If I have to.”

You sat on your bed. The world was quiet out here. You loved it. Will loved it. It was why you got it together, your first joint home purchase. Will was taking off his shoes and you put your arms around him from behind.

He cuddled his head against yours. He could feel your breath against his skin when you spoke.

“I don’t want you to go, you know that.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll let me go alone,” he whispered. “But you know if I go, I’ll be different when I get back.” You nodded.

“I loved you at your worst and I’ll love you for the rest of the time you’ll let me,” you promised. You kissed him tenderly and his hands rested on your cheek, moving your body with his other hand so that he didn’t have to crane his neck.

Darkness moved around the bedroom peacefully. You slept beside Will but he was awake. He looked over at you and then slid out of bed. He pulled open a drawer quietly and took out a letter. The envelope is addressed to Will and Y/N, through the FBI. He hadn’t shown you this yet. He wasn’t sure if he should.

But you had felt him get up. Years of feeling when he was having a nightmare trained you for that kind of moment. You sat up and slid out of bed. Will looked over to you.

“What’s that?”

“I wasn’t going to show it to you.”

You walked over to him and put your arms around him from behind. You looked at the letter and the second you saw the handwriting you froze.

“Is it directed to you?”

“Both of us.”

You took it from his hands and stood up straight.

‘Dear Will and Y/N, we have all found a new life, but our old lives hover in the shadows, like incipient madness. Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking. I encourage Will, as a friend, not to step back through the door he holds open. I don’t doubt Y/N will protest against this ever happening but in case her will is not strong enough I must promise that there is darkness on the other side of the door and madness is waiting.’

You handed him the paper.

“I’m calling the girls from down the street. Their teenagers will watch the dogs.”

Will and you looked through the Leeds house. The two of you looked at the bloody remnants of what had happened there. You weren’t there to observe though. You were there for moral support.

His eyes were shut for a while. You watched him stand there. You were silent.

Until he opened his eyes and a deep breath left his lips. You quickly approached him and hugged him tightly. He hugged you back, catching his breath in your arms.

“Jimmy you’re the light of my life,” Jack said.

“I know. The print’s smudged. Came off Mrs. Leeds eye. Never did that before. Never would’ve seen it, but it stood out against an eight-ball hemorrhage,” Jimmy explained. You, Will, Jack, Jimmy and Brian all stood in the morgue together. He kept stealing glances at you and Will whose thoughts were elsewhere. “I just...I can’t believe you’re back. I’m surprised you're back.”

“I’m surprised Y/N didn’t drag Jack's dead body in here,” Brian said. He hit Will’s back. “Welcome back.”

Jack looked up from his desk to see Will and you standing before him. You were both looking at the information sheet.

“You were asking about the dog. Last night, a vet called the police. Leeds and his oldest boy brought it into the bet the afternoon before they were killed,” Jack explained.

“What’s going to happen to it?” Will asked.

“Please don't worry about the dog.” Will smiled a bit.

“What do you expect me to do?” he whispered. You smiled at him. Ever the sweetie.

“Best you can, that’s all. Busyworks been a narcotic for me sometimes, especially after I quit the booze. For you too, I think,” Jack said.

“There’s something else we can do,” you started. You paused for a moment. You and Will had talked this over just briefly but you understood it was what you needed. “We can wait until Will is driven to it by desperation in the last days before the full moon. Or we could do it now, while it might be of some use,” you finished.

“Is there an opinion you want?” Will nodded slowly.

“We have to see Hannibal.”

3x09

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal imagines #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

Text

And the Woman Clothed in Sun

3x10

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, pregnancy

Author’s Note: I am half asleep. I really hope this makes sense. This is short too which super sucks but there was a lot fo Francis in this episode that I cut out because thats boring because the reader isn’t in it lmao

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: Carving retrieved from crime scenes help Will and the FBI learn about Francis Dolarhyde's psychology; Dolarhyde finds a way to communicate with Hannibal.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif)

You stared down at the bathroom counter. You looked back up at yourself in the mirror and took a long, deep breath. This wasn’t ideal. This was not ideal. You didn’t want this right now, you didn’t need it right now.

Will had gone out to get you breakfast and you wanted to test the suspicion you had picked up the night before. Will had been talking about children and it got your mind reeling. You got up early to get a pregnancy test, just to try it, just in case.

The face staring back at you in the mirror was scared. She wasn’t easily scared. She just wasn’t ready to be a mother. You turned on the faucet and splashed some water in your face.

At the sound of the door opening you quickly grabbed the two pregnancy tests you had taken and shoved them in your purse that was sitting on the counter. You forced your nerves away. You weren’t ready for Will to know this quite yet, especially not after last night and his nightmares.

“Coffee,” he called, holding up a bag of food and tray of coffee cups.

“You’re a godsend Will Graham.”

“I do what I can.”

Francis Dolarhyde sat at Hannibal’s desk. The desk must have held many memories when it came to the killer. Francis was amazed that he was there, Hannibal on the phone with him. He had never really actually thought they would talk to each other. And yet, here he was.

“I have admired you for years and have a complete collection of your press notices. Actually, I think of them as unfair reviews,” Francis said. He looked in front of him at the office. He imagined himself sitting there, across from Hannibal, like a patient.

“As unfair as yours?” Hannibal thought about how to angle this. “They like to sling demeaning nicknames, don’t they?”

“The Tooth Fairy,” Francis sneered.

“What could be more inappropriate?” Hannibal questioned.

“It would shame me for you to see that, if I didn’t know you suffered the same distortions in the press.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Hannibal promised. Francis thought about this. The clippings he had read and re-read of Hannibal always mentioned the Grahams. The Bloody Valentines.

“Yes, I suppose it has to.”

“I don’t think I’ve been here since you last taught,” you whispered. You stood outside one of the FBI’s lecture rooms with Will. You could hear the echo of Bedelias voice inside.

“You had to bring that up,” Will muttered with a fond remembrance of a smile. “Hey, I used to love your lectures. They were interesting.”

“You liked to tease me as much as you could,” he argued. You shrugged.

“I thought it added to the entertainment. Come on.”

The two of you walked into the room together. It was packed but Bedelia was about to be finished. You had planned to come and see her when she would be alone but catching the tail end of her Hannibal lecture was alright too.

“Days and evenings again, the smell of fresh flowers and the vague awareness of a needle bleeding into me. Hannibal always stood at a distance, very still. There were days of talk. He never called me my name.” She recognized you and Will as you stepped into the room. She moved slowly around her podium. “It was strange at first, and then it wasn’t strange. And then my name was Lydia Fell. Deeply-felt truths of who I am as bedelia Du Maurier were smoke and mirrors of the highest order.”

You and Will stepped into the crowd and sat down. Bedelia walked over to you and the audience followed her, ears engulfing what she was saying.

“What we take for granted about our sense of self, everything we see, everything we remember, is nothing more than a construct of the mind.” Will eyed her with an uneasy mix of skepticism and sympathy. “Dante was the first to conceive of hell as a planned place. An urban environment. Before Dante, we spoke not of the ‘Gates of Hell’, but the ‘Mouth of Hell’. My journey of damnation began when I was swallowed by the beast.”

The class wrapped up quickly and the rest of the room emptied. You and Will stood up and waited for them to leave. Eventually, when they were gone, Will spoke. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his glasses laid perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

“Poor Dr. Du Maurier, swallowed whole. Suffering inside Hannibal Lecter’s bowels for what must have felt like an eternity.” You smiled smugly at his words. “You didn’t lose yourself, Bedelia, you just crawled so far up his ass you couldn’t be bothered.”

“Hello Grahams.”

“You hitched your star to a man commonly known as a monster,” you said with that same smile.

“You’re the Bride of Frankenstein,” Will said. Bedelia looked at you, eyeing you carefully.

“We’ve all been his bride,” she said and ignored the thoughts creeping up to her.

“How did you manage to walk away unscarred? We’re covered with scars,” Will said. Bedelia still dodged the question completely because she knew how and you knew how. It was becoming increasingly clear that you had not told Will about how Hannibal actually saw Bedelia in Florence.

“I wasn’t myself. You were. Even when you weren’t, you were Will.”

“I wasn’t wearing adequate armor.”

“No. You were naked,” she said. “Have you been to see him?” You and Will shared a look.

“Yes,” you answered.

“Haven't’ learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?”

Bedelia’s home office was strangely homey. You hadn’t expected that kind of thing from her, considering how stoic you read her to be on occasions. You weren’t sure how you felt about it. But Will had insisted that you come along. The last time he talked to a therapist by himself it ended up in more murders than he had planned.

“If he does end up eating you, Bedelia, you’d have it coming,” Will said.

“I can’t blame him for doing what evolution has equipped him to do,” she argued.

“If we just do whatever evolution equipped us to do, then murder and cannibalism are morally acceptable,” you said .

“They are acceptable. To murderers and cannibals. And you two,” she mused.

“And you,” Will shot back. “You lied, Bedelia. You do that a lot. Why do you do that a lot?” he asked. She and you shared a look.

“I obfuscate. Hannibal was never not my patient. Covert treatment suffers secrecy and disapproval,” she said. You shook your head lightly.

“You lied in your lecture. To others. You lied to the police,” you said. She and you stared at each other and that was the first moment that Will understood there was something he didn’t actually know. He looked between the two of you.

“My relationship with Hannibal isn’t as passionate as yours,” she said. “Did you ever discuss why I’m alive?” she asked at you. You and Hannibal had only talked about it once, in front of the painting back in Florence. Will had been so wrapped up in his head then that he didn’t even register it as something he should have noted.

“You tell those people that you believed you were Lydia Fell which is a lie in and of itself. But then you let Will believe that you just were out of dodge because Hannibal liked you. But that’s not true is it?” you asked. She pursed her lips. You stared so intently at each other that Will felt as though he wasn’t even there.

“You know how I lived because I wasn’t the first woman that Hannibal imagined as you,” she said. You raised your chin and gave her an amusing look.

“Bedelia Du Maurier, Alana Bloom…,” you whispered. Will was picking up the hints now. He understood now. “He needed companionship.”

“No, he needed you,” she argued. “But he could never have you because you were Will’s and he cared far too much for Will to take you. Do you realize the extent of your reach?” You surpressed your pride.

“Why don’t you tell me?” you challenged.

“I used to wash his hair when he came home, drenched in blood. He whispered your name when he forgot who I was. Can you imagine, having so much hold over a person who is usually so contained? I was amazed. From a professional standpoint, I was amazed.” She glanced at Will who was hearing all of this for the first time. “He used to bring people over for dinner and when he killed a man he asked if I wanted to participate, knowing I wouldn’t but knowing you would.”

Bedelia smiled gently.

“It’s a good thing that you married each other. Hannibal’s place things, linked for life.” She looked over at Will. “You couldn’t save him. Do you think you can save this new one?”

You and Will sat in the car together in the parking lot of the hospital Hannibal was being held at. You had been quiet the whole way there.

“You knew about all of that? All of what Bedelia was saying?” he asked. He looked over at you but you looked only forward.

“I figured most of it. I knew he dated Alana to spite me, he told me once when you were in jail that Alana was easier to sleep with.” You scoffed. “But I only ever thought about it in correlation to Bedelia. I knew she was lying all around,” you whispered. Finally, you looked over at him.

“Should you stay in the car?” he asked. You shook your head.

“That was ages ago,” you promised. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I have to think about it because I can’t knowingly take my wife to go talk to the man who fantasized about being with her for practically two years,” he said calmly.

“What’s he gonna do in the cage Will?”

He thought about this for a moment. He went to open the door but you grabbed his hand. He looked over at you quickly and noticed you seemed to be holding something back. That irked him.

“What else have you not told me?” You looked over at him and wondered if you should tell him. You had to tell him. You wanted him to know. You needed him to know so that he could help you. You grabbed your purse and fished out the pregnancy test before handing it to him.

It took him a moment. He looked down at it and his brain, usually so quick, did not realize what that small pink symbol meant. Then it all came at him. Slowly, he looked up at you.

“Are you messing with me?”

“No,” you said nervously. He was quiet. “Well?” He looked up at you and read your worry. He had made you nervous and it made him feel bad. He wasn’t nervous about being a parent with you he was nervous about the baby.

“Oh my gosh,” he said and a smile creeped onto his face.

“You don’t hate it?”

“No! Not at all? I mean...” he trailed off and there were the nerves again but you grabbed his hand and held it.

“We’ll take it one day at a time.” He took your hand and kissed your palm gently, shaking a bit. He was going to be a father. Him. He was amazed.

“Well now I’m defiantly not letting you come with me.”

“I’m not going to tell Hannibal. Not yet anyway. It would look suspicious. Come on.”

Will stood in front of the cage, just inches from Hannibal. You stood right beside them, leaning against the glass.

“Are you familiar with William Blake’s The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun? Blake’s Dragon stands over a pleading woman caught in the coil of its tail. Few images in Western art radiate such a unique and nightmarish charge of demonic sexuality,” Hannibal said, holding the crime scene photos.

“The man who killed the Jacobis and the Leedses saw something in them that drew him and drove him to do it. He chose them because something in them spoke to him,” Will said.

“The Jacobis were the first to help him, the first to lift him into the Glory of his Becoming. The Jacbois were better than anything he knew,” Hannibal explained.

“Until the Leedses,” you muttered.

“As the Dragon grows in strength and Glory, there are families to come.”

“I have to believe there is a common factor and we’ll find it soon,” Will said steadily.

“Otherwise you have to enter more houses and see what the Dragon has left for you. Eleven days to the next full moon. Tick-tock.” Hannibal looked over at you. “I like this Dragon. I don’t think he’s crazy at all. I think he may be quite sane.”

“I think that your opinion on his sanity is subjective,” you said.

You and Will walked into the museum together, up to where they kept the important painting.

“This way, Mr. and Mrs. Graham. You know, you’re the second group who’s asked to see the Blake today,” the tour guide said steadily. You stiffened and Will gave you a look. He took his glasses off slowly and you took them from him, putting them in the case you were holding in your jacket.

As you reached the level where the painting was you grew unsettled.

Will grabbed your arm. He had seen something that you hadn’t and now that you were two, he had extra reasons to be paying attention to it all. You turned around and the tour guide left the room to go find his colleague. The elevator was still open and Will pushed you gently out of the way.

Before you could protest, Will caught the closing elevator door. There was a moment of silence as the man in the elevator stared at Will and then he attacked him, shoving him to the ground.

You rushed to Will first who was pointing eagerly at the elevator but before you were able to stop it it closed.

“Are you okay?” you asked quickly.

“Yes, downstairs,” he said even quicker. You and him got up and rushed downstairs but by the time you reached the final flour, he was gone.

3x11

#will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter imagines #will graham imagines #hannibal imagines

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elfnerdherder · 7 years ago

Text

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch.5

You can read Chapter 5 on Ao3 Here

Check out my Patreon Here for early chapter releases, insight to the characters, chances to vote~ on certain outcomes, and more! :)

Chapter 5: The Black Cat

Will Graham was allowed outside in the early morning.

He’d grabbed a change of clothes from his pack, having ignored the now obvious hints that the other clothes within the room had been provided for him. He stood out in the fog, and he inhaled the humid air, cool only because of the early morning. It was going to be a warm day, much like it often was in a place like that.

Will may have had a bag put over his head, but he could recognize the good old, country south when he saw it.

The trees were hardwoods beyond the lush, well-maintained yard: maples, oaks, river birches, hickory, and beeches. The dense thickness of them was apparent even from where he stood, off to the west side of the house, standing among the dew and the grass. He wasn’t allowed to walk in the forest, Francis said, but he could walk around the yard. A kind sort of exercise, all things considered.

There was a pond in the back that he stood beside for a long time, staring down in it. It was a large pond, devoid of too much algae and grime. It was difficult for him to wrap his mind around the idea that Lecter hadn’t paid anyone to put so much effort into the space around them. It was difficult because of the implications, because of the idea that adoration for him was so utterly strong that they’d break their backs to give him a lovely mansion of sorts to lounge about in as he attempted to force his old patient’s eyes to change color.

Thankfully, they hadn’t changed color. He woke with two very, very blue eyes.

“Judging by the interstate we were on last before Molly had a bag put over my head, I’d say we were in Georgia,” Will said casually, glancing back to Francis. Francis stood a respectable distance, standing at a stiff ‘parade march’.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Francis said.

“You don’t have to,” Will assured him. “It’s not quite wet enough for Florida, and we drove farther than South Carolina. I’m guessing Georgia.”

Francis said nothing to that, a stoic expression on a carefully constructed face of calm.

“Marine Corps?” Will guessed, studying his stance. “Yeah…Marine Corps. My dad was in the marines, long before I was born. When he thought he was stuck waiting for something a long time, he’d stand like that, too.”

“Mr. Graham-”

“Did Dr. Lecter tell you to call me that, or have you decided that’s just how you’ll speak to me?” Will asked. “Because if he told you to call me Mr. Graham, that’s a load of horse shit.”

“I respect your position in this house,” Dolarhyde said, and he stumbled over his ‘S’ once more. It made his shoulders tense, and he ducked his head. “Please…just enjoy your walk.”

Will sighed, tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, and enjoyed his walk.

It wasn’t right for him to needle at Dolarhyde, but he’d woken with an honest anger, now that the shock was abating. Dr. Lecter was going to try and induce a full connection because he couldn’t handle the idea of his psyche reaching for something that didn’t reach back? He was going to try and force Will to connect to him so that he could justify something in this world changing him the way he oftentimes changed other people?

God, if he were a saner person, the thought alone would have crippled him.

He wasn’t a saner person, though. That’s why Hannibal Lecter honestly thought that he could change him.

“Will?”

Will glanced to the side as he meandered along a gravel path. Beverly stood closeby, her steps silent in the grass.

“Go away, Beverly,” he said pleasantly.

“I just want to talk.”

“Do you honestly think that you can salvage this mess out of the maw of madness?” he wondered. He realized instantly that he’d picked up on Lecter’s tone and words, and he gritted his teeth. He hated when he did that. “Better put, why do you think that I want to talk to you?”

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“I don’t,” he agreed, and he kept walking. “And I honestly don’t want to.”

“If you’d just listen-”

“You know, I’m getting that a lot from you people. If you’d just listen, if you’d just trust me, if you’d just get in the fucking car, if you’d just look into my eyes…everyone here, despite claiming to care about my well being, seems royally hellbent on giving me a laundry list of to-do’s, even as you all say, ‘if you’d just.” He paused to savor the sound of his voice coming out dry, sardonic, and perfectly in control. “I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised at your lying, though.”

“Look, Will, we’re friends, and I honestly care about you,” Beverly replied.

Will barked out a harsh laugh, hands curling into fists in his pockets. “No, we’re…we’re not friends. The, uhm, the light of friendship wouldn’t reach us, Beverly, not for a thousand years. Not after this.”

“Will-”

“You pretended to give a shit about me! For the better part of four years, you slowly gained my trust, got to know me, became the person you thought would appeal to me so that you could sidle in close and spy on me for Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” When his voice grew, he paused to take a deep, slow inhale. “What…could possibly make you think that now that I’m well aware of just the kind of person you are, I would ever want to consider you a friend, let alone think fondly of you?”

“I do care about you, Will!” she snapped. “That is real! That is honest!”

“Whatever shred of real honesty you claimed to have shriveled up and died the moment you watched Molly point a gun at me and did nothing,” Will replied.

That made her hesitate. An odd shadow passed over her face, and if Will had been closer, he could have seen the emotion shifting in the corners of her eyes, bleak somehow as her lips twisted down.

The moment passed, and the expression was gone.

“Dr. Lecter…is a good person,” she said after a long, pained silence. “He sees things that no one else does. He views the world in an entirely different light, like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s because he views human beings as animals,” said Will dryly. “Beverly…you may think this is somehow right or somehow…justifiably good, but you are putting your faith and trust in the hands of a very bad man.”

“You simply need to see him from a different perspective,” Beverly replied easily.

“Under his orders, I was kidnapped. Under his orders, Francis Dolarhyde murdered at least five FBI agents, and four others aided in the escape of a criminal, not before murdering at least two innocent people at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. That was after another person under his command walked into a police station and murdered a police officer. Can you say that it’s worth it? What you’re giving up for someone like that?”

“…I don’t know that yet,” she said honestly, “but I’m willing to find out.”

“You know that sooner or later you’re going to have to pay the piper, don’t you? Are you going to be willing to pay that price?”

Beverly held his intense, probing stare, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

“I guess we’ll see,” she said, and she raked fingers through her hair before adjusting her stance.

“I guess we’ll see,” Will agreed.

“Mr. Graham, it’s time for breakfast,” Francis Dolarhyde said from behind them. Will turned to him, no longer standing at parade rest, then looked back to Beverly, brows raised.

“We have a specific breakfast time,” he said informatively.

The three of them ventured across the lawn back to the house, their passage marked by the dark shapes of their feet cutting through the dew.

“Dr. Lecter said that you’ve likely puked up anything of substance last night,” Beverly said when they reached the door. “You didn’t consume anything with protein, so he requested a remedy for that.”

Will didn’t want to admit that she was right –alone in his room, thoughts gave way to a discontented nausea that brought everything up, the wine burning in his throat hours after.

“…I wasn’t sure quite how the meat was sourced,” he said after a beat, darkly.

“We’re not all cannibals,” Beverly retorted.

“You just blindly follow one, I know.”

She looked like she had a quick rebuttal for that, but when they walked down the hall towards the dining room he’d just visited the night before, she let the matter drop. Which was just as well; at the swell of voices carrying down the hall, Will’s muscles tensed, and the ease in which he condemned Beverly was gone, replaced instead with the sensation of hands reaching out, grasping for him. He was painfully, completely aware of Francis following behind him, just a step-and-a-half away, and he wondered if he’d be so quick to keep them off of him, should they try to touch him again.

The curtains had been opened in the dining room, bathing the rich mahogany walls with natural light. The flowers from before remained, although they’d been moved to a small table against a wall off to the side. That gave room for the twenty or so people that crowded along the chairs, eagerly discussing the morning events, punctuated with yawns, sniffles, and the sort of dry cough one can only give when they’ve just woken up.

As Will walked in, such chatter stumbled to a stop. Will was painfully aware of far too many eyes on him, their mouths in various shapes of surprise or intrigue, mouths half-full of what looked to be semi-chewed eggs and sausage.

“Come on,” Beverly coaxed, and she blessedly led him through a door to the side that opened up to the kitchen and away from so many prying eyes.

“Good morning,” Lecter greeted from an island counter. Standing poised beside him, Molly sipped a cup of coffee and observed him over the rim of it.

“…Good morning,” he managed after a beat. When Molly met his gaze, his lip curled, and he had to look away before something nasty fell out of his mouth.

“I’ve made omelets. It’s been some time, but I do believe I remembered the recipe after all these years,” he said. Molly and Beverly laughed appreciatively, and Will managed a grimace.

An uncomfortable pause followed, one bred from the memory of what a butter knife felt like pressed to his pulse just the night before. Being blatantly rude to Beverly was one thing, but when he’d exhibited too much emotion in front of Lecter, things hadn’t gone so well.

“Thank you,” he said, much too late for it to be considered polite, much less in conjunction with what Dr. Lecter had first said.

Thankfully, Lecter didn’t seem to mind. He set a plate down to the side of the island where stools had been pulled out, and Will sat down, accepting a fork with a dip of his head.

“The tomatoes are coming in only a little late in the season, but they taste wonderful,” he assured Will. “Ladies, if you’ll give Will the privacy of eating in here, there should be more than enough room at the table.”

Molly and Beverly left, although the look Beverly shot him as he began picking bits of sausage out of the omelet clearly said behave.

“It’s a protein-packed meal in order to replenish anything you lost within the last few days,” Hannibal said conversationally, washing his hands at the sink. As he dried his hands, Francis set a plate in front of the stool beside Will, adjusting the fork just-so. Will wondered if Lecter had ever had the chance to stab someone with a fork before.

Maybe that’d be the weapon of the day, if he didn’t keep careful control of his mouth.

Dr. Lecter hung his apron up on a hook by the pantry, and he sat down on the stool beside Will, his back straight and his presence far closer than Will would have liked. Beside his own hunched, curved posture, Lecter’s was impeccable and professional.

“The spinach is to replenish electrolytes,” he said, motioning to Will’s plate.

“I don’t even have the ability to puke in private,” Will muttered, savagely setting another bit of sausage to the side. He stopped, turning the fork around in his hand. “…Thank you for breakfast,” he added hastily.

“It was an educated guess that I made based off of what I know of your personality, actually,” Lecter said. “No doubt if you did manage to sleep, the images of fallen agents whose faces you’ll now forever remember haunted you at your most vulnerable.”

He was right about both of those things, although Will didn’t want to admit that. He picked another piece of sausage out of the omelet and set it to the side by the steadily growing pile. He tried very hard to pretend that he didn’t notice Hannibal watching his every move, taking notes. Before, when he’d been nothing more than his therapist, Will had always felt under a microscope, each inch of his person noticed and noted. While at the time it had been unsettling but ultimately helpful since he was trying to get better, now it was a grating sensation, the notion that each move he made gave away some sort of aspect to his character that he didn’t want to share.

“Do you suppose that I am feeding you something other than pork?” Lecter wondered after Will dug out a particularly large chunk of meat.

Will gripped the fork tightly and focused on the task at hand. “After the first year of therapy with you, Dr. Lecter, you wished to congratulate me on my progress by inviting me to dinner,” he said, staring at his food. “You told me that you’d made rabbit with braised potatoes and fresh herbs, and I ate everything on the plate that night. It was probably the best food I’d ever had.”

He spared Hannibal a glance as he unearthed another piece of sausage. “About two years later,” he continued savagely, “during one of your court cases, the prosecuting attorney listed dates in which the Chesapeake Ripper had murdered his victims. One of the victims you’d killed, Marissa Schurr, had died just one day before that dinner. She was missing several vital organs, as well as the meat just along her spine.”

“You believe that I fed you Marissa Schurr.”

“No, I know you fed me Marissa Schurr. When Agent Crawford was secretly investigating you, you invited him to your home and fed him Nicholas Boyle, brother to Cassie Boyle.”

“He vomited the dinner and ran tests on the meat,” Hannibal said dismally. “An ingenious plan, all things considered.”

“Yeah, so I’m not entirely convinced that it’s not your plan to do the same now. Half of your amusement, I think, was keeping us ignorant of your general machinations.”

“How is Agent Crawford?” he asked.

“You saw him less than a day before your escape. How was he then?” With all of the sausage successfully removed from the eggs, Will allowed himself to eat, chewing over the cooked spinach with a curl to his lip. He hated spinach.

“I asked if he ever woke with stomach pains. He informed me that the only pain he suffered was the fact that I was still alive.” He didn’t sound upset by the statement. Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw his lip twist into a small, delighted smile. “I’m sure he is enduring stomach pains now.”

Will had nothing to say to that. Instead, he focused on his meal, and Lecter followed suit, the sounds of forks clacking against china the only noise in the otherwise silent kitchen.

After breakfast, he was led back through the dining room where the numbers had dwindled down to about ten, Hannibal walking just ahead of him. Will didn’t so much as watch him as he watched the others in the room, noting the way adoration and –horrifically enough –hope lit up their eyes, mouths curling into soft, pleased smiles. He’d seen similar expression on the faces of those in churches, eyes turned towards statues of Gods and saints. Hope. Blind faith.

“Who are all of these people?” he asked Dr. Lecter as they walked down the hall.

“Attempting to glean information, Will?” Hannibal wondered.

“…Trying to understand what I’m seeing.” Among other things. He hadn’t seen a single cellular device or telephone yet, but he reasoned that he hadn’t seen all of the rooms just yet. Once he could locate a phone, he could find a way to get ahold of Jack.

“These are dear friends that have come together to help me in my time of need.” He didn’t sound the way one sounded when referring to a dear friend; if anything, there was a distinct turn of his mouth as he spoke, and Will wondered what sort of person suit he’d put on to convince them that he was their savior. He thought of the hands touching him before and cringed.

“Are they all…?” His voice trailed off.

“Killers?”

“Yes.”

“Some.” A young woman walked by them and stopped just long enough to bob her head respectfully. “Some are disparate youths seeking shelter from a society that has rejected them. Others simply found a place where they can be accepted, regardless of their differences.”

“So you’ve made a summer getaway camp for psychopaths,” Will said, though he immediately chastised himself. He couldn’t call it ‘surviving’ if he kept running his mouth and made Hannibal angry enough to make him dinner.

Rather than chastise him, Lecter surprised Will when he instead laughed, pausing in the main hall to really, truly look at Will, as though he were seeing him for the first time.

Will tried very, very hard to not look at his mismatched eyes.

“I have missed our conversations,” he said fondly.

That time, Will was smart enough not to say anything in return.

Jack sat across from a pretty, young woman with mismatched eyes and wondered where all her love had gone. If blood hadn’t stained the front of her shirt in a sloppy, haphazard manner, her appearance would have suggested a trip to a mall, not an attempted murder. She was dressed to blend with a ponytail tucked into a baseball cap, a white t-shirt, and medium wash denim pants. Jack wasn’t the sort of person have a damn clue about differences between medium wash from a light wash, but Zeller had noticed right away. This was a woman meant to blend into a crowd.

Thankfully, even while being stabbed, Bowman was quick on the uptake.

“We ran your prints, and they don’t match your identification, ‘Alyss Conners’,” Jack said at last. He’d let the silence sit suspended around them for quite some time, simmering in an underlying rage that was contained with only the slightest control. She hadn’t seemed to mind it, in truth; one brown eye and one hazel eye blinked at him lazily, casually. Her thin lips parted, and she let out a soft huff of breath.

“That’s odd,” she said. She had a distinctly high-pitched tone, the sort of voice that would normally get her whatever she liked.

“They did match the prints found at the scene of a crime in Kansas City from nine years ago, though,” he continued like she hadn’t spoken. “Suspect Kelly Brown, wanted in conjunction with the murder of four family members: Jason, Steven, Linda, and Bryce Brown.”

“My name is Alyss, not Kelly.”

“We know you’re working for Lecter. We’ve been pulling visitor records, and you’d started going to see Hannibal for at least 3 years under various misnomers. Thankfully, face recognition was able to pull you up and save us time.”

“I’m currently unemployed, actually,” she informed him lightly. “I hope to fix that, though. I want to work with soulmate counseling.”

Graham was attempting to finish his residency with soulmate grief counseling. Jack leaned in at that small jab, his mouth rippling with a silent snarl.

“Where’s Will Graham?”

“It must hurt to see your fellow agent die, Agent Crawford,” she commented. “In a TattleCrime news article, Freddie Lounds once said that you ‘walked with death’. Everywhere you go, death follows. How does that feel?”

“Agent Bowman isn’t dead, Kelly,” Jack replied with a gritty smile.

That took her aback. Her expression of sweet calm faltered, a twinge of panic lurking around her eyes before she struggled to compose herself, teeth bared.

“You’re lying,” she decided.

“He’s in surgery right now, but things are looking good. Whatever mission Lecter gave you, you failed.” He relished in her unease at his completely serious tone, a spasm near her mouth. It was a balm against the burn of her words. “You were supposed to kill Agent Lloyd Bowman and get away, right? A shadow of death that could strike wherever. Except you failed on both counts, Kelly.”

“You won’t find Dr. Lecter,” she hissed, and she bared her teeth. Her canines were sharper than normal, peeking out over lips the color of pink rose petals. “I may have failed him, but you won’t find him. You who walks with death and brings it in your wake, you will only hurt those around you in your quest to save Will Graham.”

“Where’s Will Graham?” Jack demanded. His tone darkened in response to hers.

“You’ll never find him,” Kelly hissed.

“Tell me, and we can maybe think of a deal, Kelly.” It was a lie, but it was a good one. Even if he took care of her attempted murder of a federal agent, she was wanted elsewhere for other murders. Things didn’t look good for Kelly Brown.

“Over my dead body,” she snarled.

“That can be arranged. The death penalty is still legal in Missouri.”

He stood up and gathered the papers into a file, heading from the room with a straight, confidant step. Just outside, Zeller straightened from his slouch, and he fell in step beside Jack as they headed down the hall.

“He’s still in surgery,” he said, and Jack grunted. Bowman was still alive, even if only just. It was good news. Good news was hard to come by whenever Lecter was in the mix.

“Also, I did checks on everyone. Molly Foster, single mother with a son by the name of Wally. Twenty-seven, widowed, but the death of her husband is from cancer, not murder. No soulmate, and no word on where her son is. Her face was pulled from the cameras at the BSHCI five different times, although she signed in to see Lecter under a different name each time.”

“I want to see where, when, and how she first came to find this guy. Do we have letters of correspondence?” Jack wondered.

“Beverly Katz, a student in the GWU graduate program for criminology. She was being scoped out by the FBI, but… this essentially ruins her application. She has a soulmate, Saul Yancy, who visited Dr. Lecter five years ago and used his real name. Beverly Katz visited Dr. Lecter only once, although she used a pseudo name.”

Jack nodded and walked into the autopsy room where Price was busy peering through a microscope. He tossed the folder down, loosened his tie, and tried to roll her words off of his back.

Everywhere you go, death follows.

“Agent Francis Dolarhyde.” At that, Zeller paused, a frown creasing the space between his brows. “We pretty much know his professional career. Before that, though, he was bounced from foster house to foster house, abandoned by his mother, cared for by his grandmother for a short while before she died, then taken in by his mother once more before he was back in the foster system until he graduated high school and joined the marines a month later.”

“How many times did he visit Dr. Lecter in his spare time?”

Zeller glanced up from his folder and frowned, uncomfortable. Jack didn’t care, though; while Dolarhyde may have been an agent, he certainly wasn’t one any longer. Jack had placed his trust in him to keep Will Graham safe, and Francis Dolarhyde had spit on it.

How does that feel?

“Quite a few times, actually, each time under a false name with a different guard working,” Zeller said reluctantly. “We’re going through as much information as we can, and Dr. Chilton is giving us his full cooperation.”

When Jack didn’t speak right away, Price lifted his head and cleared his throat.

“While he was looking at that, I looked through a few things, too,” he said. Jack turned to him expectantly. “Namely, the backpack of your Saul Yancy, soulmate to Beverly Katz. It seems that in the rush, he left a few things behind, namely a Nalgene bottle with very stale, very warm water in it.”

“Okay,” Jack said blankly.

“Well, I decided to study the diatoms in it, on a hunch,” he continued.

“You studied the diatoms on a hunch,” Zeller repeatedly bluntly.

“People have hunches,” Price replied defensively. At Jack’s aggravated sigh, he continued, “Diatoms are unique and can house specific ‘fingerprints’, so to speak, like people can. You study the diatoms, compare them to other diatoms, and you can find a general water source. Where this was water from a tap rather than bottled water…”

“We can try and hunt down just where Saul was before he made his way to Graham’s apartment,” Jack finished for him. His gut tensed, and he idly rubbed the scar. It did that often enough when he was stressed, a reminder of just how close one walked the line between life and death in situations like this. If Bowman lived, they’d have to compare scars.

“Sounds like a long shot,” Zeller murmured. Despite the misgivings in his tone, his eyes lightened perceptively.

“That’s what I thought, but I decided to give it a shot while you were doing your background sleuthing and face recognition project.” Price paused to savor the moment. “Looks like our guy Saul came from a place in Georgia before he made his way to Graham’s apartment that fateful night. Specifically either the Piedmont region, or the Upper Coastal Plain.”

“That guy really needs to drink more water,” Zeller said triumphantly.

“I’m pretty damn glad that he didn’t,” Jack replied. He felt the beginnings of excitement unfurling just under the place where Lecter gave him his crooked smile. “Get me on the phone with the Atlanta HQ,” he said, grabbing his phone. “I want my ass in the air in under an hour.”

A special thanks to my patrons, @hanfangrahamk @sylarana @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe Duhaunt6 and Superlurk! Y’all are the best!

#LiaS scribbles #where the wicked walk #hannibal fic #hannibal au #hannibal soulmate au #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #i mean it it's a slowburn yall #someone help will graham #will graham x hannibal #team sassy science #minus once since she is in a cult as of right now #jack crawford #needs all the help he can get

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elfnerdherder · 7 years ago

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Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 3

You can read Chapter 3 on Ao3 Here

If you’re interested in becoming a patron for my work, check it out Here. Every bit counts! (Plus you get to see sneak peeks and early releases of this fic here)

Chapter 3: The Devil in the Belfry

When Will was younger, his father used to play a game with him.

A man of few words, Will’s father was the sort of person to sit back and observe rather than speak. He was a sharp individual that valued integrity over profit, and he recognized rather quickly the sort of person that his son was. Will Graham’s empathy was a concern for him, not because it made him kind to those who most needed kindness, but because it also made him kind to those one should never be kind to.

Thus, the game ‘Spot the Fake’ was made.

It started with him telling his son three stories –two were honest, and one was a lie. Will’s job was to listen and observe the stories, then choose which one was the lie. His father told him, mouth grim above two painfully mismatched eyes, ‘people will smile with the brightest smiles at you, son, because you have something to give. I need you to be able to see past the smile and know whether or not they have good intentions because if you’re not careful, those bastards will eat you alive.’

At eight-years-old, it was a heavy lesson to learn, but Will Graham tried to learn it, mostly to make sure his father was proud of him.

He sorely wished he’d kept up on that game. He could have used it when he first met Molly.

He took a shaky step back at the sight of the gun, and his back pressed to the steel of the car door, cool against his shirt that clung to his suddenly clammy skin. In the distance, just over her shoulder, the rest of them walked out of the gas station, shoulders lax and heads down. Be it the expression on his face, or the way in which Molly stood, Dolarhyde noticed them immediately. He crossed the distance in eight long, quick steps and towered behind Molly, effectively trapping Will with glittering, livid eyes.

“He knows,” said Molly dismally.

“Mr. Graham-”

“Beverly too?” Will demanded, cutting him off. It came out more like a whisper, but it stopped whatever Francis was about to say.

“Beverly too,” Molly replied.

“Mr. Graham-”

“I’m not getting in the car,” Will said. “You’ll have to kill me.”

“We don’t have to kill you to make you comply,” Molly informed him. She sounded distinctly world-weary, like she was repeating a rather mundane fact. “He said that we could hurt you if you resisted.”

Will’s laugh was strangled because of course Dr. Lecter said that. “I bet he did,” he murmured. Even with his world crumbling around his feet, Will was glad to know that he could sound relatively calm, as though this were nothing to him, as though there wasn’t a gun pointed towards his intestines. As though Dr. Lecter hadn’t assured Will’s on-again-off-again girlfriend that she could hurt him if necessary.

Beverly and Saul paused just behind them, hands held tightly, their mismatched eyes side-by-side as they surveyed the situation. Beverly suddenly looked far older than her twenty-eight years. Seeing her face made Will’s blood boil, even as his palms turned clammy and cold.

“Come on, Will,” Molly prompted.

“Gonna sick Dolarhyde on me?” Will taunted quietly.

“No, Mr. Graham,” Francis replied. “I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s awful nice of you.”

“But Molly will,” he continued, unheeding of Will’s jab. “She will, and I don’t want her to. Don’t make her hurt you.”

“Get in the car, Will,” Beverly urged. Her eyes cut from Francis to Molly, and she looked genuinely concerned for him. The feeling curdled in his gut, made his stomach threaten to spit up what little he’d consumed the night before.

“Dr. Lecter would like to see you. Get in the car, please, Will,” Molly requested.

“Will-”

“Shut up, Beverly,” Will snapped. Molly stepped closer at his tone, and she pressed the barrel of her pistol into his stomach harshly.

“Don’t make me ask again, Will,” she whispered. “I’m not the patient type.”

Her words contradicted everything he knew about her. Looking into her eyes though, two matching baby blues, Will realized that everything he knew about her was wrong, wrong and tainted because it was built on nothing but lies, a foundation that began the moment she first introduced herself at a party and declared herself an avid fan of Will Graham. The expression she gave him now matched nothing of the woman he knew before, but that was because he didn’t know the woman before –she was a fake, a copy, and this person before him was a complete stranger.

A stranger with a very lethal gun.

“Okay,” he said at last, and the weight of the gun lessened as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’ll get into the car.”

“The backseat, please,” Molly said, motioning towards it.

He climbed into the backseat of the SUV, crammed between Beverly and Saul who both did their best to avoid touching him. The care they took, in comparison to the sudden coldness of Molly, made his guts roil, and when Beverly’s arm brushed against his, he cringed away from it.

The SUV pulled out of the gas station and headed towards the interstate, and whatever hope Will had felt in attempting to escape was gone, decimated in the wake of what cold steel felt like against his favorite t-shirt.

It took several miles down the road for anyone to speak.

“It was the radio,” Molly explained to Francis. He hadn’t spoken, but Will noticed him gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. After a beat, his hands relaxed, and he flexed them before gripping the wheel again.

“The radio,” he repeated. His voice was harsh, pricking against Will’s ears with an unmistakable fury.

“It wasn’t any of us. He heard it on the radio.” Molly reached over and patted his arm lightly, coaxing. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her comfort in the wake of everything happening gave Will the sudden urge to laugh, although he tamped that down. Still, an odd sort of strangled noise escaped his lips, enough that Francis looked at him through the reflection of the rearview mirror.

“Get his phone,” Molly said in the uncomfortable, disquieted silence that followed.

Saul reached for him, and Will let out a low, furious snarl.

“I’ll break your fingers,” he promised. When Saul hesitated, Will reached into his pocket and fished his phone out, tossing it towards the front seat where Molly caught it. She turned it about in her hands, considering its shape and texture, before she unrolled the window and threw it out into the screaming wind.

“He didn’t call anyone,” she assured Dolarhyde as she rolled the window up.

“He hadn’t needed to,” Francis replied after a moment of thought. “He thought we were…different.”

“Will-”

“Shut up,” Beverly,” Will ground out. “I’ll break your fingers, too.”

“Break anyone’s fingers, Will, and I’ll shoot you,” Molly returned before Beverly could speak. “Just do what you did before. Sit still and follow Francis’ directions, same as you did when you thought we were… ‘different.’”

Will sat still and followed Francis’ directions.

After thirty minutes of his reading road signs, Francis noticed.

“Molly,” he murmured.

Molly looked back sharply and met Will’s eyes once again, hers flashing with something he couldn’t name. “Put the bag on his head.”

When the bag was placed over his head by a hesitant Beverly Katz, Will found himself leaning back to press his head against the headrest. The interstate was a long, straight stretch, and no matter how many times he tried to count the blinks of his eyes or the curves the car took, soon enough he lost count and let himself ruminate on one solitary, dizzying fact:

He was royally, horrifically fucked.

Jack Crawford stared at the bloodbath, and he had to resist an honest urge to vomit.

It wasn’t the carnage; he was used to seeing death displayed in rigorous forms, twisted minds using their hands and their claws to carve death and destruction through the flesh of another. Years of work in the FBI had seasoned him to the practice of turning his emotions off when he observed the dead in all of its gory horror, made him impervious to the quips and jokes his forensics team tended to make to lighten the mood.

No, the nausea stemmed from the way the blood seemed to still sit in the air, even after all this time.

“That’s an unnecessary amount of blood,” Price said, crouched over a body.

“Are you shaming him, even in death?” Zeller asked dubiously. “Give the guy a break. It’s not his fault he bled everywhere.”

“I mean it,” Price protested, although not without a mild, wry smile. “If Dolarhyde was just…killing them, it’d be one thing. He eviscerated these guys.”

“Eviscerated,” Jack repeated bluntly.

“I mean, he really took a knife to them.” Price gestured to a neck wound, and he sighed. “It wasn’t enough that he got his jugular, he got him in almost every major artery afterwards.”

“Personal?” Zeller wondered.

“How many?” Jack asked. He had to force himself to ask, to move past the part where he had to walk across Will Graham’s apartment complex and step around large puddles of blood. In truth, it still felt like he was back in Baltimore, talking to the bastard that’d somehow instigated all of this, but that certainly wasn’t true. If it was, then he’d have had more time to plan, more time to prevent this.

More time to protect Will Graham.

“He got every single one in his unit, Jack,” Zeller replied. That quieted them as they mulled over the death of their fellow agents. “Five.”

“How do their stomachs look?” Jack asked.

“He’s got a Glasgow smile,” Price said, gesturing. “And it looks like…”

“He used a linoleum knife,” Jack cut in as Price inspected the wound. “I’ll bet my damn marriage on it.”

Price looked a breath away from asking about Bella, but Jack’s withering stare silenced him. He rubbed his eyes and inhaled the stench of blood, wishing that he was back home with Bella, enjoying a lovely dinner of takeout Chinese rather than dealing with this shit. He felt her concern like pinpricks across the back of his neck, and he was helpless to ease her worry. Time had made the distance easier to handle, being separated from his soulmate as he was, although it made the emotions between them stronger every time he returned home.

“Get them bagged and tagged. I want a full autopsy so we can see if he left any information behind about where they were going or what they were doing,” Jack said, stepping around another large puddle. The carpet was soaked with it; the landlords would have to either find a damn good wet-vac, or they’d have to replace it entirely.

All expenses paid by the FBI, of course.

“What do you think we’re dealing with here?” Price asked. He skirted the body and moved onto the next one, gesturing as a few more specialists stepped into the room. “We’ve got a newly-freed cannibal, at least five little helper bees, and potentially four hostages. Maybe more helper bees, maybe less hostages?”

“We’ll run background checks on everyone. His friends that were allowed access to the apartment had to give identification, so we can look them up.”

Jack hmm’d lightly and nodded. “For now, let’s not be so dumb as to think Agent Dolarhyde was able to corral four hostages into an SUV, keep them compliant for the duration of his drive, and get them where he wanted to go in one piece.”

“Drugs and fear tactics are good weapons,” Zeller pointed out. He crouched down beside another body and tilted his head, studying the wound patterns. “He could have gotten them one-by-one, and by the time they were all put away, he could do as he pleased.”

“The question is, where’d he take them?” Jack murmured. He swallowed down the bile that rose up, fast and sharp in the wake of a deep inhale.

Zeller and Price both looked up at that, and they stared at one another in the living room of Will Graham’s apartment, expressions grim.

They didn’t have to ask ‘what was Lecter going to do to them’ because Jack Crawford was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. If they didn’t find Will soon, no one had to try and guess what his fate would be.

Hannibal ‘the Cannibal’ Lecter had a bold enough track record that they could say with utmost certainty that this wouldn’t be the last of the carnage. Things were just getting started.

The inside of the cloth bag was hot.

It took less than five minutes of him breathing before the fresh, cool air ran out and he was left with the taste of his own morning breath. He hadn’t had time to brush his teeth when Francis had woken him, after all. He wasn’t quite sure how long it took for the heat to make him fall into a not-quite sleep where his head bobbed and his breaths came short, but he was certainly aware hours later when the bag was lifted. The space around him was suddenly cool, and he took a long, heavy gulp of air, sitting up with a lurch.

To the side of him, Beverly held the bag with that same, god damned expression she’d had in the parking lot when he was informed of her not being his friend, but something rather sinister instead. He focused on the spot right next to her black eye, and he smiled crookedly.

“I hope he’s paying you a fair amount,” he commented dryly.

“Dr. Lecter doesn’t have to pay us,” Saul said from the other side of him. “Come on.”

Will wasn’t quite sure if he liked this Saul, serious and curt, or if he liked the one from before who joked even in the most uncomfortable of first-meetings. He continued to stare at that spot on Beverly’s face until she looked away from him, climbing out of the SUV with awkward, jerky movements.

When Beverly motioned for him to get out, he slid along the seat and climbed out after her, logging that information away for later. Dr. Lecter didn’t have to pay them to abduct him. He had willing, eager participants in whatever game he was playing, so much so that money was of no concern for them. That, in of itself, was an unsettling thought. If one was being paid, they could be swayed by other money offers, promises of immunity, deals with the FBI or other government organizations, or even a cost/benefit analysis.

Motivations of the emotional variety, though, weren’t so easily dealt with.

He was led around the SUV that was parked in a wraparound gravel driveway. Looming over them sat an imposing, grandiose plantation home, windows lining the front and columns supporting a beautiful balcony that overlooked the driveway. It was an old home, but the paint on it looked fresh, and the shutters seemed new. Someone had taken great pains to place potted plants in between the columns, flowers ranging from lilies to roses to foxglove.

Two large, solid wooden doors parted, the mouth of the entryway spewing forth a number of people that spilled out along the marble steps in an organized chaos. At the sight of them coming towards him, Will tried to stop his forward motion, but Francis grabbed one arm and Saul grabbed the other, their muscle and weight propelling him forward against his will.

“Come along, Mr. Graham,” Francis urged.

“I don’t want to go in there,” he said, and he jerked against their grip. It was futile, though, and looking into the faces of adoration around them, Will knew he’d find no aid.

Their small group walked the gauntlet of onlookers, expressions ranging from outright delight to mystification, and one person felt so bold as to reach out and touch him.

“It’s Will Graham,” someone whispered.

“That’s Will Graham.”

“It’s really him!”

“He’s going to be so pleased…

Will flinched from the scrutiny, bumping into Francis, but that seemed to only embolden the others. They closed in around him, hands reaching, touching, grasping at the hem of his shirt as they stared; his skin prickled, tingled, burned until he wanted to rip it off of himself.

Someone managed to touch his face, and he cringed, stumbling over his feet. Francis caught him, and he seemed to see something in Will’s eyes because his expression of stone-walled intent softened ever-so-slightly.

“Give him room,” he said to the crowd. His tone brooked no argument.

They stepped back just enough for Francis to lead Will up the rest of the steps, and they entered the house uninterrupted. Breaths slipped from his lips in short, small gasps.

“His room is up the stairs and to the left,” Molly said. Once they entered the house, she strolled past them and headed towards the right where French doors led to what appeared to be a parlor. Will’s gaze followed her, then roamed about, noting the lavish details of the main hallway. Saul and Beverly broke to the left where another hall lay, and just ahead there was a second set of double doors, leading deeper into the bowels of the home. He wondered if he should make a break for it. Probably not the time, not with Francis holding onto him.

“Will you walk on your own?” Francis asked him.

“…Yes.”

Francis motioned to the stairs off to the side, and Will walked up them, noting the lack of squeaking steps or faded carpeting. This was a well-cared for place, every inch of it spotless with nary a dust particle in the air. The banister looked smooth and freshly polished, a deep, dark wood that gleamed underneath the yellowed light of a chandelier.

Just to the left at the top of the stairs, a door sat open, inviting him. Will walked in, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets so that Francis couldn’t see him ball them into fists.

It was just as clean and decorated as the rest of the house, from its curtained windows to vases lining the fireplace mantle. A large, four-poster bed sat centered, a trunk at the bottom with a fresh set of clothes folded on top. Will noted the two windows and a door that led either to a bathroom or a closet.

“Here is your bedroom, Mr. Graham,” Francis said. He hovered in the doorway, one breath away from entering. Reaching the center of the room, Will paused and turned to look back at him, frowning.

“…What is going to happen next?” Will asked.

“You will remain here,” Francis replied. “I will go and work, and someone will come to get you when it’s time.”

Will noted that the farther away from the FBI and Crawford he got, the less agitated Francis’ words sounded. He took his time speaking, found ways to avoid having to use the letter ‘S’. He took a step closer, and Francis tensed.

“Don’t leave me in here, Agent Dolarhyde,” he urged quietly. “Don’t leave me in here like this.”

“You will remain here, Mr. Graham,” Francis replied.

“I don’t belong here…please just let me go. I’ll find a way home, I won’t tell anyone about this…just let me leave. Let me go home.”

Francis’ eye twitched, and a muscle spasmed in his neck. He rolled his neck back and forth, popping it, before he tossed Will’s overnight back into the room, letting it hit the ground with a solid, desolate thump.

“You are home, Mr. Graham,” Francis Dolarhyde informed him, shutting the door.

The windows were barred from the outside.

Quick scrutiny of the room revealed a full bathroom with a walk-in closet, as well as a wardrobe that housed even more clothing than what was already hanging up. Inside of the trunk, several books of various genres rested, and the dresser held socks, underwear, and more than enough flannel to hang oneself with.

The door, naturally, was locked.

He took stock once more, noting the soaps and shampoos that lined the counter underneath the sink, as though one couldn’t have been sure what the visitor would like to use. By the third glance over the room, Will’s hands were shaking, and his breath started to sound more like a wheeze.

He was trapped in a house by Hannibal Lecter. He was going to be killed by his old therapist.

That is, if his on-again-off-again girlfriend didn’t get to him first.

He pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle the hysterical laughter that managed to tear its way up his throat, and his pacing became more erratic as he tried to dispel the energy that rippled just underneath his skin. Jack Crawford showed up, and Hell followed in his wake. In reality, that seemed to always be what happened, Jack showing up to ask questions and leaving Will to wade his way through a river of blood in the aftermath.

God, if he lived through this, he was going to find a way to ensure he never saw Jack again. The poor bastard.

He scoped the room out once more, then resumed pacing. Time crept with the sort of sluggishness that made him tremble, made his hands jittery as they fumbled with whatever he could find in his pockets –a pen with a chewed up cap, as well as a stick of gum.

He saved the gum for later, and he twirled the pen around in his hands, chewing furiously on the cap as he paced.

Time passed; his pacing gave way to him huddling into the farthest corner from the door, hands pressed to his eyes like he could somehow erase everything that he’d seen. Occasionally, he’d look down at his shoes, gaze fixated on the rim of red around one of them. Francis Dolarhyde had murdered several FBI agents. He’d put his trust in a killer.

The sound of the door knob rattling shook Will from the dark thoughts he had, images of dead bodies and the many colorful ways in which he supposed Francis could have killed them. He scrambled to his feet and pressed his back to the corner, tucking the pen away before whoever was on the other side of that door could see. He just had to wait. He just had to wait for his moment, and then he’d take his chances.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter stepped into the room, and it suddenly felt colder.

While time had given Will slightly shorter hair and a trimmed beard during his residency, it had made lethal edges of the once good doctor. His deep-set eyes were dark, his cheekbones high and hollowed from whatever food he’d been forced to live off of. His flat, thin lips held lines at the edges, although from frowning or smiling, Will couldn’t say. Rather than the jumpsuit he’d worn in what few photos the press had released, he was now dressed much the way he’d once been, before Jack Crawford had had the misfortune of walking into the sharp end of his knife. He’d even gotten his hands on an obscene red, purple, and black argyle tie.

He eyed Will, as well as the distance between them, and Will’s chest tightened, twisted so sharp he thought his heart would rip out from his skin. His heartbeat skipped, then rushed like the frantic flutters of a hummingbird’s wings. He felt distinctly trapped.

There was something different though, something in the way that the light reflected off of his eyes that made Will look again, even as he held his breath, even as he dug his shoulder blades into the wall painted a rather ostentatious shade of cobalt. It was something in Lecter’s eyes that took him aback, and it took far too long for his mind to process it, as obvious as it suddenly was:

One eye blue, the other maroon.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal Lecter greeted kindly.

“No,” Will whispered, horrified. It wasn’t real. What he was seeing as an illusion, a delusion brought on by stress and mortal terror, a deadly, potent combination when one was abducted by their on-again-off-again girlfriend at polite gun-point.

This wasn’t real.

“Oh, yes,” Lecter replied breezily. “You and I have some things that we need to talk about, I think. There are some things you may have missed while I was locked away.”

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