#I already posted this in the discord but I had to spread the horror elsewhere

[i-still-dont-know-a-username]

Just had the chilling realization that Astronomer Ghostquartet would have used chatGTP if he'd had the technology.

[redfivewritingby]

A Game of Inches: Part 1 (A Hannigram Super Bowl AU)

Many thanks to @the-winnowing-wind​, @confusedkayt​ and @cannibalhouse​ for being with me Sunday night as I slowly unraveled during the most insane Super Bowl ever. Of all time. Jesus Christ. Seriously. But by the grace of Fannibal magic, many hugs, and judgmental leopards did I not die of a heart attack during that fourth quarter. 

As promised and witnessed by the football gods who saw fit to bless the Pats with the most absurd comeback in Super Bowl history, here is part one of my fourth quarter sacrificial offering: a Hannigram football AU lifted directly from the game. Some liberties were taken with the game clock, but both of these absurd plays actually happened Sunday night. Thus they shall be honored before we get to the victory smooches. Post game smut and riffing on the hilarity that is football commentary to come with such lines as “Wow! He saw that hole and certainly took advantage of it! What a tight fit!” Get excited, y’all.

Now, I am proud to introduce to you, your very own Baltimore Ravenstags, Hannibal fandom!  

(Who maaaaaaaaaay or may not closely resemble another team elsewhere on the northeast coast. Mwhahaha.)

It had been a punishing three quarters, an apparent disaster to the naked eye. 9-28. The Minnesota Shrikes still leading. It was an unprecedented deficit to overcome on the largest stage of a player’s career, but the mood on the Ravenstags sideline was shockingly calm because of him…because that’s who he was. As bleak as the scoreboard looked, there was never any doubt who had controlled the time of possession in this game. If just a few more plays had gone their way, it would be an entirely different story right now. For the Ravenstags, it was a question of momentum.

Hannibal Lecter stood on the sideline glaring down the opposing offense with his hands on his hips and murder in his eyes. His jaw was relaxed and his shoulders loose like he didn’t care how much time was left. But Will, who knew the quarterback better and more intimately than anyone else on the team, could see the small signs of distress–the little chinks in the armor that could spell disaster for the team. Hannibal had ceased bothering with his sweat drenched bangs which fell into this eyes. The tilt of his hips also betrayed a slight favoring of his right leg, a reminder of the nearly career ending injury that had taken him out of the 2008 season. These things worried Will. The opposing defense would soon see them too, and next, Hannibal would begin seeing ghosts on his bad side. Errant passes into triple coverage would follow if the tone of the game didn’t change soon.

But Will had to disguise these feelings and bury his empathy on the sideline because when you were Hannibal Lecter’s knife there were as many eyes were on you as they were on him. It was an inevitability, and one that Will resented because it interfered with his ability to look after the man beneath the legacy.

The Shrikes called a timeout on a crucial third down to confer with their defensive coordinator. On the Ravenstag sideline, Coach Du Maurier slid up to Hannibal’s side and tugged on the sleeve of his jersey. They exchanged a few words and turned as one unit towards Will.

He swallowed as Hannibal beckoned him over with a hooked finger and an even more lopsided smile, which was never a good sign. Hannibal and Coach Du Maurier were cut from the same cloth: genius strategists with a flair for the dramatic. Their unorthodox play calling allowed them to dominate the League year after year. They had confounded defenses and analysts alike through four championship runs together and seven total Super Bowl appearances.

“What’s the angle?” Will asked because he could only assume that they were reaching into Bedelia Du Maurier’s infinite bag of tricks wearing smiles like that.

“Clarke Kent,” Coach answered eliciting a groan from Will. The situation was as desperate as all that? Yikes!

“Come now, Clarke,” Hannibal laughed and rested his hand on Will’s hip. “You flew so well the last time.” This was a ridiculously hammy way of referencing the now infamous trick play that made use of Will’s experience as a college quarterback at Kent State.

“I think you just want to wreck my QB rating, Lois.” Will gripped. “Mine is still at 100%. What’s yours again, grandpa? 97?”

Hannibal’s honey-colored eyes narrowed dangerously in response to his least favorite insult, but a sudden commotion on the field tore his attention away before Will could regret his choice of words. Their defense had stopped the Shrikes advance and now, it was ‘go time’.

“I’ll get us to the fifty! Be ready!” Hannibal shouted amidst the flurry of activity as the Ravenstags defense came off the field.

“Don’t screw this up, you twitchy little man.” Coach Du Maurier warned and pinched Will on the ass for good measure.

The Ravenstags switched to an uptempo offense with Hannibal calling the plays from the line of scrimmage instead of from a huddle in order to wear down the defense and save precious time. Hannibal diligently marched the team to the fifty yard line and called the risky play. “Clarke! Clarke! Fifty one is the mike!” he screamed signally to the offense where he saw a problem developing on the defense. Two seconds of nerve-wracking scrambling occurred on both sides of the line. It was a third down now. They only had one shot at this.

The snap was called. Will dropped back to catch the lateral pass from Hannibal.

Time slowed as it always did when he practiced this play. Being a receiver required a different mindset than that of a quarterback, but it was a mindset Will understood having been one himself in his youth. Will detached from himself. He detached from the defenders that were hurtling towards him. He detached from the hopelessness of their circumstances. To be a good quarterback you needed to create a reality where only you and the field existed. He went through his progressions and saw Jimmy gaining some separation from the cornerback that was assigned to him. Will stepped back, visualized the moment when the ball would leaves his hands, and threw it. His movements were instinctual because no matter how far he’d come in his career as a wide receiver there would always be some part of him that was still a quarterback. He’d never win any awards for aesthetics. He was not like Hannibal, but they understood each other. For both men, football was a blood sport, but Will’s ethos was about utility and lethality. 

He watched the ball arc through the air with bated breath. It had a good spiral on it, and Hannibal would not be able to give him lecture on his throwing motion tonight. But downfield, Jimmy had fallen behind. The ball bounced off his fingers ending another fruitless offensive drive for the Ravenstags.

Will ripped off his helmet and spiked it onto the ground “Dammit!” he screamed and looked for Hannibal, but Hannibal had already left the field.

Dejectedly, Will picked up his equipment and trudged back to the sideline. Hannibal sat on a bench with his head bent over a tablet in conversation with Coach Du Maurier. Will’s standard place at Hannibal’s side was left open for him and he could think of no excuse to avoid it. Will plopped down, stared at his feet, and considered whether he should apologize or not for not being good enough. But he worried about the cameras. It would be disastrous to be picked up on the jumbo-tron groveling for approval from his lover. The rookies needed their generals to be strong.

Will grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from a passing waterboy and shifted on the bench so his knee touched Hannibal’s. ’I’m sorry,’ the gesture said when words could not be spoken.

Hannibal never broke character, but he widened the spread of his legs so that their thighs touched. ��I know.’

A cheer went up when the Shrikes quarterback came onto the field at the moment Will felt at his lowest. Cheers that rightfully should belong to Hannibal in his opinion. At thirty-nine, Hannibal was a better player than he was a decade ago. A four time Super Bowl Champion; three time MVP; Hannibal had more wins than any other quarterback in history. But Hannibal was also Hannibal, and frankly, he was kind of a dick in addition to be entirely unrelatable being both an art snob and actual nobility. 

‘I WILL do better,’ Will vowed. He looked up into the the bright stadium lights, and let the noise inside. The discordant melody filled him, and he transformed those cheers into anger. When he got up off the bench after another critical stop by the Ravenstags defense, Will Graham was ready to kill.

A penalty gave the Ravenstags a much needed first down, but Hannibal slowed the tempo to a crawl by calling the team to the huddle. It was a suspiciously cautious move with ten minutes left on the game clock. “Will, I want you to dart up the middle. Get out fast and get ahead quickly. If you draw double coverage, Z should have an opportunity on a outside.”

“I want the ball,” Will growled getting a laugh from the other ten men.

“You always want the ball,” Hannibal smiled. “Let Z have it this time, pet. Does everyone understand their assignments?”

Will glared at Zeller, the other slot receiver on the team, and gave him his best ‘don’t you dare drop it because I will murder you’ look. There was admittedly a bit of a rivalry between them since Zeller had tried to steal Will’s locker besides Hannibal’s during Zeller’s first season on the team.

“Adapt! Evolve! Become!” The team shouted as one to break up the huddle and affirm that they understood. The ball was snapped. Will ran his route flawlessly drawing three defenders instead of two but felt a prick at the nape of his neck alerting him to danger. Will looked over his shoulder and saw with horror that Zeller had gotten stuck in the box while the pocket of protection collapsed around Hannibal.

He saw Hannibal’s eyes searching desperately for an opening. This was it. This was the nightmare scenario. Will had only a second to adjust knowing full well what was coming next. Will twisted on the balls of his feet changing the direction of his forward progress. He dropped his right heel into the Astroturf at the exact moment Hannibal’s eyes locked onto his. Will pushed himself forward as the ball left Hannibal’s hands. He reached as far as his arms could stretch and felt the impact of three defenders crashing into him. 

The ball was tipped by a defender before Will reached it. He knew with absolute certainty it would just miss his hands and fall instead into the outstretched arms of the safety for a devastating interception to end any chance the Ravenstags had of recovering this game. The emotional despair Will felt was more crushing than the physical weight bearing him down to ground, but the winds of fate suddenly shifted. Miraculously, the ball bounced off the ankle of Nicholas Boyle. It hovered in midair, six inches off the ground, and somehow, Will managed to get his hands beneath it before it touched the turf.

The instant Will had his hands on the pigskin, he reeled the ball into his chest and curled up around it at the bottom of a dog pile. The Shrikes grappled with him for the ball hoping to knock it out of his hands before he had full control of it, but Will held onto the rock as if his life depended on it.

His teammates eventually pulled him out from underneath the pile. There was hugging and shouting and signs of life on the Ravenstag offense. Will gave the ball to a lineman and risked a brief glance at the uprights not wanting to get his hopes up. Forty yards to go and another four downs to do it in. They still had a chance! Christ. The Ravenstags were a wink and a nod away from the red zone now after the most improbable catch of Will’s career. It just didn’t seem real.

“Will.”

Will turned towards the sound of the one voice he knew better than all others. Even at a whisper, Will could always pick out Hannibal’s voice above the roar of the stadium. His quarterback came towards him wearing a look of shock and reverie. It was a face Will loved to see in the privacy of a hotel room or their Baltimore home, but it was not appropriate now–not when they had everything to win!

Will ran at Hannibal at top speed and grabbed him by the face mask. “I told you!!! What did I tell you!?! Give me the damn ball, and I’ll bring the whole damn world to its knees for you!” he shouted into Hannibal’s face and brought their helmets crashing together. 

Hannibal looked dazed at the receiving end of a Will Graham headbutt, and that served him right. Will had acquired the habit from him after all. The violence did its job, and brought Hannibal back into himself. Will saw the competitive fire reignite in his eyes, and his heart swelled with affection and pride for his quarterback.

“Let’s kill them all, Will.” Hannibal said. He pushed Will away and slapped him on the ass as Will trotted past.

Will raised his voice and howled with the thrill of the hunt. Adapt. Evolve. Become. That was the Ravenstag way. “Let the game begin!” we shouted defiantly at the deafening roar of the mob. 

For context, here is what these two plays actually looked like in real life for anyone curious. Numbers 12 (Hannibal - Tom Brady) and 11 (Will - Julian Edelman) are the players you want to watch. 

Clarke Kent: I wasn’t able to find video of it from last night’s game, but here, watch the time it actually worked. (It’s better this way :p) Edelman really is a former QB from Kent State. I don’t know what the actual play is called, but a pun seemed appropriate for our boys. This is also my favorite play in the Patriots’s playbook so I wanted to share. I’ve been writing “Edelman has to QB for various reasons” fic long before it ever happened in a game. Seeing it last night was just “AHHH! *hearteyes*” even if it didn’t work out as hoped for. 

The Catch: JESUS H. CHRIST! Mother fucking triple coverage! I don’t know how he did it. In the game last night, the play came after the pats had closed the gap to 20-28, but I didn’t want this piece to get too long or technical for the non-sports fans.

Anyway, thanks for humoring me. Part two will be less sports ball and more fucking. I hope you enjoyed this presentation of the NFFL - National Fannibal Football League. ;-)