#I love alana and molly please don’t come at me I just don’t think they were for Will

[thefawnfallacy]

The way that Hannibal and Will are never referred to as being queer is interesting. It’s not like sexuality never comes up, it does, predominantly with Margot who openly admits to being lesbian and talks about it often as a part of her character but I think that the way sexuality is framed is another mask.

Margot openly wants to kill her brother, so her sexuality is on display, she is a character that the viewer can “see”. The audience knows that Hannibal is queer — he doesn’t say it but it is shown through numerous other characters, predominantly through Will. Will is the filter in which the viewer “sees” Hannibal and so we know and acknowledge that he is a queer character.

Will is the blurriest and this is interesting in a variety of ways to me. Why does the viewer never have a clear sense of sexuality from Will? To start, Will is an unreliable narrator, we cannot explicitly trust the truth of what Will tells us about anything because it’s always just slightly shifted. He doesn’t victimise himself but he does elevate himself, just slightly, based on his current concept of morality. He was guilty when he killed Hobbes so we see him as guilty and unsteady, he was righteous when he killed Tier, so we see him through a lens of righteousness. No-one else can see him clearly and therefore, neither can we. He is not hidden in plain sight the same way as Hannibal and in doing so, makes himself very confusing to properly understand while also being exceedingly easy to pick apart.

Will is multifaceted and shifts the way he’s perceived a number of times throughout the series, while always giving the impression that he is completely unaware of it.

(side note: this doesn’t properly fit but I think it’s worth mentioning the “Will Graham is not a lesbian” line because there’s an undertone of stubborn curiosity there — is Will Graham a lesbian? Hannibal doesn’t know and Margot is quite smug about it, but that’s more gender based than anything).

Because of the ability to “chameleon” himself for any situation, he leaves a lot open to interpretation. Will Graham could be queer, he could be straight, he could a lot of things. It’s also worth noting that Will Graham experiences attraction in very different ways when it comes to men vs women based on the characters we see. With Matthew (and I’m using the definition of attraction very loosely here) as well as Hannibal, he is incredibly manipulative, like he can’t imagine being genuine with these men in the biblical sense but with Alana he is more open to being perceived and received a certain way. Molly is a more hollow imitation of Alana — he acts the way he thinks love should be but it’s hollow.

Hannibal, of course, is a curious show of attraction. He expresses a wide range of emotions towards him but never stereotypical feelings, if anything, he seems to take a sharp left when it comes to Hannibal but at the same time, he is very obviously more gentle and honest with him, like he’s trying to “show”the viewer what’s underneath. (meaning he does carry about Hannibal, we know he does, he simply shows a wrestling with these emotions that often come across as more violent or unrefined).

*this is just my interpretation, please don’t take it as gospel 🙂.

[k-s-morgan]

Hey Katrin, I am on tumblr after a long time and one of the first things I do is checking your blog ! I don't know if this has been recently answered, how strong do you think 's4 dark Will' prediction is ? Initially I was very convinced of Will being sure shot dark at core, and being in an internal turmoil and predicted him going totally evil in s4. But after listening to different opinions and interviews, and some other blogs (which I don't actively follow) I have doubt now, there are open ends if Will has goodness inside him like otherwise why will he go for the murder-suicide at the end. If he was ok with being dark why suicide ?

While it is true he threatened Bedelia which felt like he wants to come back and not die/not kill Hannibal. I see the creators leaving behind very confusing trail of thoughts. Is that just Will being confused or deliberately leaving clue of Will's goodness.

So thoughts like this are bugging me right now ! In a good way because I love thinking. I have a second part but I want you to keep that private please ..

Hello! Ah, thank you so much, it's really great to hear :D And welcome back!

So, there are three possible answers: what I think, what I think Bryan Fuller thinks, and what Bryan Fuller actually thinks.

That Will has some goodness in him is undeniable. Hannibal does, too - apart from Mason, I don't believe anyone in this show is 100% good or 100% evil. Will cares about his dogs and people he can relate to; he shows warmth to those who care about him. Sometimes he feels sympathy to the victims overall and he's primarily interested in killing those who did something bad.

But I don't think this goodness would play any big role in S4 and S5. Will's struggles for all three seasons were with who he was and who he wanted to be. He retreated into his self-constructed shell again and again, and at this point, I think it's enough. He said he Became in TWOTL - it means he embraced who he is. Him and Hannibal living after the Fall means he's ready to start a new life, and to me, it would feel cheap and repetitive if his self-struggles suddenly resumed.

In S3, Will got innocent people killed without blinking just for his own selfishness. He set Chilton up in a horrific way and joked about it later with Bedelia. He conspired with a serial killer who murdered families with children just to stage the escape of another serial killer despite not knowing what he wants to happen next. This decision cost officers their lives, endangered Alana and Margot, endangered Molly and Walter, and many other people. For a character who did all this to suddenly feel like he wants to be good and start fighting his darkness again? I would find it horrible and so extremely hypocritical that I'm not sure I would keep watching. Because it's one thing to be a terrible person and be honest about it, but being bad and trying to pose as good again after everything? I'd explode from frustration :D

As for Will's murder-suicide attempt, I like what Bryan said once: "I think one of the reasons it seemed so organic for Will to go over the cliff with Hannibal at the end was that, in his mind, as he understood the universe in his world, he had peaked. It’s also stopping a monster and stopping himself from becoming a monster, but I think part of him was thinking, “That was beautiful. I don’t think I can do that again and feel as high as I do now.” Everything overwhelmed him and he went over that cliff because there was an apex to his experience, in a way that was poetic and dramatic. ... The kind of suicide where somebody jumps off a bridge, part of them hopes they survive and part of them wants to be over."

Will gave the fate the last chance to stop himself and Hannibal, knowing that if they live, they would be monsters together. He knows there is no way back for him now, that normal life will never work for him, so he's willing to either die or live with Hannibal by his side. He chose pushing them off because it gave them both a good chance to survive (Hannibal told him before that there are no rocks there). If he wanted to protect the world and kill them, he could always shoot Hannibal and then himself. He chose something more poetic and ambiguous.

Bryan called this action of Will his last heroic deed. I wouldn't say it's actually heroic, but I like the overall message. This was the last ambiguously good thing Will did before fully Becoming and accepting his new, free life.

In S4, I expect to see him and Hannibal as a team. I expect some conflicts, but not about Will's darkness because this arc has reached its climax. But what would actually happen? No idea. Bryan's attitude worries me often because he gives different explanations and creates different pictures. There are so many thing he said about dark Will, Hannibal's soulmate, but then he also often tried to justify him and make him look more vulnerable and much better than he is.

So, I believe Will would never struggle with his darkness again; I think, since Bryan is usually consistent in his writing, that he wouldn't make Will suddenly agonize over the same resolved conflict. But what he would do in reality? I don't know, and it's one of the reasons why I'm wary of the potential S4. If I hate something, it's character regression.

[chaoticornot]

I just finished the last episode of Hannibal, oof.

To be, honest it feels really peaceful. No theatrics, just them and the sea. In a way, it feels like a fever dream. Idk can't describe it. 

The season felt like two different ones because of the time gap. I don't mind, though, because it feels more realistic. I am curious about how Will quit the FBI because Jack wouldn't have let him go. And three years is a long time for Jack not to come knocking. 

I got to say I love Molly. She's great. And deserves the best and sorry, Will but, that's not you. Kind of mad that you didn't even text her at the cliff house, btw. I want to know if they found the house and what they thought when they found it. Did they think they both died or what? It answers the question of where Abigail was all that time.

How is it possible that Hannibal still looks sophisticated while in a prison jumpsuit? And looks hot as fuck; naked, bound, and with a collar. I cannot believe that Alana thought Hannibal would be afraid to lose his dignity. He has no shame. What do you mean, dignity?

He would do it if Will said: please, god help me, he is gone.

S3 is just them flirting the whole time. It's beautiful.

I noticed that when Will feels like he needs to hide or is lost, he wears his glasses, but when he is confident, he does not. When Hannibal gives himself up, he is wearing them. Btw, if that is not love then, Idk what is.

The last minutes of the finale were gorgeous. The fight is everything. Them working together. Ultimate murder husbands. The fall was so natural. 

What is happening to Bedelia though? Does anyone know?

I loved how much more we got to know Hannibal this season. His past, his sister, his favourite places. Also, of course, it's Hannibal, who is not one, not two but, three different famous serial killers.  I love all the scenes that were shot in Italy. Hannibal living his best rich life, the catacombs, the reunion, sawing Will's head open, which is kind of romantic. They were so married this season.

Feral Will is gorgeous and, Hannibal looks so in love with him. I melted.

Honestly, by the time I am finishing this, it's been about 2 weeks since I finished Hannibal.

[leztit]

Is Will Graham Self Aware?

If we don’t recognize Will’s self awareness over his Becoming and his love for Hannibal, we’re suggesting that Will is borderline delusional, incapable of setting boundaries, and unendingly indecisive but passive along the course he’s given. Perhaps love is blinding, but I’m going to talk about some times where he likely just worked in his own self interest instead.

There are two other posts that I think explain Will’s motivations well that I drew from, this one about how he doesn’t believe in free will, and this one that shows the reciprocity between Hannibal and Will. Therefore, he might be terrified of the thought of siding with Hannibal but give in to the inevitability anyway, and he might love Hannibal but need to reciprocate the violence that has been done unto him to be equal first.

season 2:

Despite his fantasies, Will does not kill Hannibal out of righteous violence when he has the opportunity out of the hospital. He was fine to kill Randall and (attempt) Ingram in similarly unplanned, sketchy circumstances (i.e. Ingram didn’t get convicted but Will still tried to pull the trigger, and he was going to be charged on Randall’s death in the end, risking his loss of freedom again). Either he’s somehow convinced himself that he’s still an effective upholder of the law, or he doesn’t actually want Hannibal dead or perhaps wants Hannibal specifically to be incarcerated for reasons of reciprocity rather than justice ones.

When in private with Hannibal, he is extremely candid about his murderous proclivities in what seems like excessive therapy appointments and dinners and work shifts together. A… suspiciously dedicated acting performance if it is a manipulation, but we see in his alone time that it is very much affecting him. This is the same man who refused to kill the person that stabbed him and chose a life of teaching because he was worried about Becoming. Either he’s sitting there essentially like ‘hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me!’ when it is clearly too late or he’s exploring his own darkness in full seriousness.

As for who he was siding with, Will spent months in jail trying to convince everyone that Hannibal is Hannibal and by “Yakimono”, Jack seems to believe him. Alana’s reaction at the world's most awkward dinner party™ is enough to show how suspicious it is that Will would forgive and believe Hannibal after everything. My personal favourite interpretation of the Freddie Lounds attack scene is that it’s completely Will’s imagination, what he wanted to do to her when in reality she was probably just brought to Jack’s desk and told the plan (why traumatize her for no reason? She would have written all about it!). There is all the possibility that he would have killed Jack in the end and gone with Hannibal (“Didn’t I?”). Either Will just plagued with indecision for the entire time or he was going along with the plan that would keep him out of suspicion and able to work with Hannibal behind the scenes.

season 3:

Will runs after Hannibal to Europe, angsting over his regret and longing for his “perfect world” alternative. He tells Jack that he wanted to run away with Hannibal, he tells Pazzi he doesn’t know who’s side he’s on and doesn’t deny what Alana is suggesting about seeing past Hannibal’s worst. These are all people that hate Hannibal, and Will isn’t gaining anything, especially not trust, by admitting his affection for Hannibal. He is also uncooperative with the police and goes off on his own to find Hannibal, therefore ruling out the idea of capturing Hannibal (at least right now). His options seem to be either to kill Hannibal or to run away with him, knowing he can’t get over him otherwise. He seems to attempt the killing option (unless he had only meant to scar Hannibal back?) perhaps because of his need to reciprocate. Either he’s half-heartedly trying to assassinate Hannibal (really? a small knife in public? *Chilton voice* ‘flirtation!’) despite being plagued with all these complicated feelings or he’s aware of the intimately personal nature of his ways to deal with Hannibal.

Will then loses his autonomy and spends a while tied up or drugged so it’s hard to deduce his thoughts until he breaks up with Hannibal. He later says “the only way you’d turn yourself in was if I rejected you” suggesting it was a plan of his, potentially a way to reciprocate for the time Hannibal put him in the hospital. If Will doesn’t believe in free will, he may believe in the inevitability of getting an opportunity to break Hannibal out just like Hannibal did for him, or at the very least hope he lives in that universe timeline. This might be why he’s so sour in the beginning of the “Wrath of the Lamb” when he ‘drops the mic’, he doesn’t see his chance yet. His voice sounds weak when he says “I like my life there (...) Molly and I want it to be the same.” When Will returns to say “pretty please”, his attitude is completely different, he’s energized and sly and smiley, practically glowing.

Backtracking, in s3e08, Will first goes to the Red Dragon crime scene and uses his empathy/imagination as effectively as we’ve seen in the past, but then goes to Jack and says he needs to visit Hannibal to get in the “mindset” again. Hannibal accuses Will of “just [coming] to look at [him], get the old scent”, and when Hannibal suggests that the Red Dragon is disfigured, Will half-heartedly pretends he hadn’t thought of that already (”that’s interesting”), which Hannibal calls him out for, too (“That's not interesting. You thought of that before”). Either he’s conveniently forgotten the effect that Hannibal has on him and convinced himself that he needs help on the case, which is questionable, or Will is truly there to see Hannibal.

Hannibal hints that he’s sent the Red Dragon after Will’s “ready-made” family, admitting he knows them and saying “they’re not my family, Will. I’m not letting them die, you are.” Will has been able to predict every other person who has been attacked by Hannibal (Beverly, Jack, Alana, Pazzi), but not the ones who Hannibal practically admits to? Returning to Hannibal after visiting Molly in the hospital, Will’s anger doesn’t linger and it’s arguably an intimate scene, standing in the dark, whispering about his “change”, their reflections overlapping. This is when Will realizes that the Red Dragon thinks he can do “anything”, even break Hannibal out of jail. Either Will is suddenly misunderstanding Hannibal but going along with him anyway, or Will is understanding of their plan and not particularly attached to Molly and Walter, maybe even likes the jealous attention from Hannibal (”Your experience of Hannibal's attention is so profoundly harmful, yet so irresistible”).

I don’t think I need to convince anyone that Will was purposefully breaking Hannibal out of the hospital. Can I just cite his eyebrow thing? Anyway, “it sounds weak to you, even as you say it”, the apathy at seeing police killed, going with Hannibal so easily. Either he needs to just retire because this plan crashed and burned bad or he wants to break Hannibal out of the hospital.

Of course, the interesting debate here is what his secret cliffside plan was. Either run away with Hannibal or finally kill him. “The bluff is eroding,” “soon all of this will be lost to the sea,” very well may be a plan admission. Will does not help Dolaryhyde kill Hannibal, he does not sit back and watch Hannibal die, he does not ensure his death with a fatal wound in the end.  Will and Hannibal survive together, either he just happened to survive and went with it idk his life is so absurd already might as well just become a murder husband since it fell in his lap? Or it was by Will’s own volition and assent that he runs away with Hannibal.

Conclusion: 

Will struggles to think rationally around Hannibal, it’s true, and he doesn’t make... great decisions, but I don’t think fans give him enough credit sometimes. He’s a criminal mastermind, a professor at the FBI, one of the best special investigators out there, and a master manipulator in his daily life. He struggles with the dark urges inside of him, perhaps yearns for a normal life instead, but is fully aware of them nonetheless. We can argue that Will is a hot mess, blinded by love, is borderline delusional in his self-denial and is riddled with indecisiveness for years but that he keeps on making bad decisions despite it and letting the current of his weird life take him along passively -- or we can recognize that he might have always been acting on his personal goals. His personal goals include exploring his Becoming and making things equal (reciprocal) with Hannibal and would empower him away from being just another victim. 

[slashyrogue]

Dear Future Husband 4/?

Continued from: Dear Future Husband 3

Encephalitis came into their lives five days after Will’s kill. She was mildly expensive as per Hannibal’s request, a Havanese puppy that cost nearly a thousand dollars, and the tiniest little ball of fluff Will had ever attempted to train. His days soon became consumed with her in between nights with Hannibal. The urge to touch him was still there but Will would use Cephie as a buffer to keep his hands full. 

Hannibal still looked at him with longing that was hard to ignore but he did. 

Will instead distracted himself with all the things that had happened in this reality. There were no flying cars but most stores were self automated and the richest still had the best toys. He read up on the past decade via the computer eyewear, laying back in bed and voice searching everything he’d missed. Everyday he learned something new and it only took him three days of searching to look up those in his past life. 

Jack Crawford was still alive but now retired. The FBI was searching for Hannibal as they knew the Will of this reality was long dead, and Freddy Lounds still ran Tattle Crime, though there were no new stories on Hannibal at all. Alana and Margot were both living with their son now older than Abigail had ever been allowed to be. Jimmy and Brian both went off radar but Will found a reference to them retiring early not too long ago. 

He found nothing on Hannibal at all but fake theories and fanfiction. 

His own articles spoke of his heroism at attempting to kill the monster Hannibal Lecter who authorities weren’t sure was alive at all. Molly was given a medal in his honor when they found his body on the beach. Will wondered if she really believed he would’ve come back to her. 

The Will of his time had barely had a chance to become his true self and he pitied him as much as envied. At least he got to go first. 

“Will?” 

Hannibal’s voice cut through his melancholy and Will took off the computer glasses. 

“Sorry I got caught up,” he mumbled, setting them on the bedside table. 

“I was attempting to take Encephalitis outside and she now refuses to come in. I do believe she’s going to need a bath once she’s been...apprehended.” 

Will smiled. “Has the Monster of Florence been bested by a puppy?” 

Hannibal’s blush made his heart ache. “She is very fast for an animal so small.” 

“That’s what the leash is for.” 

“I was just…” 

Will got up from the bed and headed for the doorway. “It’s fine, you’re not used to puppies. If you give them an inch they’ll take a mile.” 

“I was certain I could subdue her.” 

He laughed as they walked down the hall. “I’ll show you a trick that works every time.” 

The cool air outside felt good after he’d been cooped up for the last few hours, and when he walked into Hannibal’s yard he searched around for Cephie’s yellow coat in the dark. “Cephie, you want a treat?” he called out. 

A yellow fluffy head peeked out from behind a flower bed and ran at Will like he had steak in his hands. He grabbed her instantly and got mud all over his fancy clothes but laughed still. 

“I will remember that for next time.” 

Will looked up and saw Hannibal giving him that look again. He licked his lips. “Yeah, well...dogs like food.” 

He stood and carried Cephie through the door towards the kitchen sink. She barked happily as he turned on the warm water. 

“Can you get the shampoo?” 

Will tried to calm himself down as he heard Hannibal move around behind him. 

It had only been a few weeks now and every single time he saw that look it got harder not to give into the longing. 

He took the sprayer and wet Cephie’s head just as Hannibal handed him the dog shampoo. “Thank you.” 

“If you need help--” 

“No, we’re good.” 

Hannibal lingered for way too long but eventually left the kitchen. Will wondered if he was still watching them from the hall but forced himself to keep attention on Encephalitis instead. She loved baths and towel drying after even more. He sneaked her a treat after the blow dry and when all was finished watched her run off to destroy something no doubt. 

He sighed. 

“If you’re unhappy my offer still stands.” 

Will didn’t turn around. “I’m not unhappy.” 

“You don’t seem happy.” 

“Do you honestly know what I’m like truly happy? You didn’t know me outside of tormenting me. The moments we had weren’t much and….” 

Hannibal grabbed his shoulder and turned Will around roughly. “Do not diminish what I had with him in order to make yourself feel better for denying me. It’s an insult to the both of them and you know it.” 

Will blinked back tears. “I’m sorry, I just….” 

“I may not be the man you love but I am a man in love with you. Respect that or leave. It’s your choice.” 

Hannibal turned and left him alone in the kitchen. Will wiped the tears from his eyes. 

They couldn’t keep doing this. 

He let out another deep breath and headed for where he expected Hannibal to be but to his surprise found him somewhere else entirely. 

Encephalitis was pulling on one of Hannibal’s ties and instead of being angry he was laughing. 

Will’s quick intaked breath was so fast neither of them heard him but he watched the scene with all the love he was denying himself. 

This was what could’ve been his future. 

Maybe, just maybe, it could be his present. 

Hannibal suddenly seemed to notice him and let go of the tie, blushing just enough to be adorable. 

“We...she was enjoying the tie so I thought it best to give in.” 

Will smiled. “You’re going to spoil her rotten, aren’t you?” 

“Of course not.” 

He went to Cephie and picked her up off the floor. She licked his face when Will held her to his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have…it was a shit thing to say.” 

Hannibal bent down to pick the tie up off the floor. “Yes, it was.” 

“I know you loved him.” 

He set the tie on his dresser and still didn’t look at Will. “I washed away all emotions that night on the beach,” he whispered, “Let myself forget feeling that vulnerable and attached to another human being.” 

Will blinked back tears. “Loving cows will do that to you.” 

He heard Hannibal scoff and when he turned Will saw the tears on his face. “I let myself forget and wash away all that love for over twenty years and in less than two weeks it’s all come rushing back again.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“So am I.” 

Will felt the puppy wiggle in his arms. “If you want me to leave…” 

“I never want you to leave. I want to have you in my arms, in my bed, and in my life until the day I perish from this world forever. But it’s selfish of me to keep something I don’t have a right to covet. You may leave if you’d like. I will not stop you and I have already had credit cards made in your name. They are on your nightstand. Spare no expense in finding what can make you happy, Will.” 

He froze. 

“I….” 

Hannibal walked over to his closet and pulled out a suitcase. He set it against the dresser and sat on his bed. Will’s heart felt like it was being torn to shreds. 

“If you do go,” Hannibal said, his voice thick with emotion as he still didn’t look at Will, “I would ask that you do not say goodbye. I could barely hear you say it the first time and I’m not sure I could live past a second.” 

Will could barely see through his tears. 

“No.” 

Hannibal lifted his head and stared at him. “No?” 

“I don’t want to go,” Will whispered, “I...I want to stay.” 

“If you think you’re doing me a favor, please do not---” 

He shook his head. “I belong with you,” he said, “In a hundred different lifetimes, in every reality, I belong with you.” 

Hannibal sniffled. “You’re certain?” 

“I’ve never been more certain.” 

He let out a long sigh and Will felt Cephie wiggle again. “Thank you for being honest with me, Will. If you need to put the dog in her cage I’m fine with you leaving me now for the evening.” 

Will shook his head and walked around to the other side of the bed. He sat down and let Cephie run over to Hannibal who pet her head. Hannibal laid down and watched him with that look of longing again. 

He laid down beside Hannibal and grabbed his hand. 

“It’s cold in the other room,” he lied, smiling, “Can I sleep here tonight?” 

Hannibal let out a deep sigh and ran his thumb over the top of Will’s hand. “Yes, that’s fine.” 

They stared at each other for what felt like ages until Cephie’s barking cut through the warm haze. 

“I need to put her in the cage.” 

“Of course. If you don’t wish to come back…” 

Will sighed. “I honestly don’t want to move at all.” 

“She’s fine for the evening.” 

“And if she tears up the house?” 

“I can buy us new things, Will. I can buy anything you’d like. But this moment, I cannot replicate nor do I want to try.” 

Will didn’t move all night long though when he woke they were just a little bit closer.

[elissastillstands]

Hello, that "After All Endings" is giving me the eye. What is it about?

ALANA

“He won’t think to look for us here,” she whispers into the dark, soft space between them. Margot is curled around her like a root of an old oak, wind-steady, sinking the fine strength of her arms and legs through the soil of Alana’s fear. “He–he can’t–”

Margot hushes her, stroking her fingers through her hair. “It’ll be okay,” she murmurs.

“Margot–”

“It will.”

Next to them on the bed, Alex stirs. He’s two now, almost three, still too young to know how nightmares can bleed into the waking day, and Alana will kill to keep him in such a world. She buries her head in the round of Margot’s shoulder, feeling the slight but titanic shift of her bones beneath her skin, the sweat which transfers onto her mouth, an impression of living salt on her tongue.

“I hate this,” Alana says into Margot’s skin. “I hate this, I hate him, I hate them, I hate–”

When she was a child, she loved stories about fantastic things, creatures beautiful and savage which lived in the spaces between stars, heroes and immortals and gods and angels. Now she has lived those stories, and she hates most how her sense of wonder is gone, how fantasy now makes her hard and tired.

“–I hate how they made me sick of fairy tales,” she finishes.

“This is Vegas, honey,” Margot says, laughing under her breath. Her fingers are warm on Alana’s spine. “There ain’t any fairy tales here.”

Outside their window, the lights of the strip glitter, blunt garish torches to keep the monsters at bay.

[More of the excerpt and thoughts under the cut.]

—–

MOLLY

Time moves on. Their dogs are given to adoption. She and Wally go to therapy–she’ll probably be seeing a counsellor for the rest of her life. Her friends from work bombard her with flowers and condolences and offers to spend time with her, and Molly smiles at them and thanks them for everything they do, and she shoves the flowers in the trash after they leave. She sometimes tears them apart, when she’s sure Wally’s asleep. It feels good, to destroy something. It makes her feel better than she’s felt in weeks.

Dr. Williams tells her not to blame herself for what happened.

“I’m not self-accusatory,” Molly tells the other woman with a brittle smile. “I’m angry.”

The doctor nods. “Anger can be good. Anger keeps you alive.”

She’s angry. She’s angry that she’ll never be able to own a dog again without thinking of Will. She’s angry that her baby boy has nightmares and panic attacks, and she’s now afraid of the shadows in her own house. She wants to scream and rage every time she looks on the news and sees breathless speculation about the serial killer and her ex-husband, whether they’re still alive, what they want with each other, where they are now. She sometimes hears her own name, and that makes her angrier than anything else. 

Molly Foster, the victim, the helpless damsel, the duped outsider, and–God help her–the other woman. A side character in a story that gave her a scar and a broken heart and memories she’ll carry to the grave.

Why don’t they ever talk about how angry she is?

—–

REBA

“The people at the office sure do love you, honey,” her sister tells her.

“They’re very welcome for these. I certainly can’t eat all this by myself, even with your help,” Reba says, putting in a final pie in the oven.

She had decided to stay in her sister’s apartment for a little while after she was released from the hospital. Talia works as a real estate agent, having abandoned her dreams of becoming an actor after two years of failed auditions. Her place is nicer than anything Reba could afford. It smells like coffee and takeout and is filled with noises from the street, more than enough to banish the things bouncing around her head in the night. Her sister had offered time and time again for Reba to stay with her. Reba had refused for years, but she needs to be around people right now. 

Plus, she’s a stress baker. Stress baking is only good around other people.

Reba loves baking. She had learned how to weigh out ingredients and gauge batters by feel on her grandmother’s knee. The smells of hot sugar and fruit buried are buried deep in her heart, the motions of rolling out dough ingrained into her muscles. It’s in her blood. 

She’s not going to let the memory of a man drain the blood from her.

—–

BEDELIA

The candles are still luminescent in the gloom of the room, each one haloed and saintly, smudges of light in the haze of her vision. They drift with her, light reflecting in the ocean of her consciousness, rippling as she begins to sway. She can barely smell her own leg now. Her smell has become a faint, sour wind.

Any moment now. She’ll slip into the light any moment now–

“Oh, Doctor, you clever bird.”

Bedelia forces her eyes open at the satin voice rubbing against her ears. The face above hers swims, dark eyes shining, reflective as the barrel of the rife hovering over the woman’s shoulder. She is limned in gold, more saintly than the candles.

“How did you find me?” Bedelia says, or tries to say.

“You live not inconspicuously, Doctor,” Chiyoh says, brushing stone-cool fingers against her face. “What did you take?”

“Aconite. Over weeks. It makes the body inelegant. Bitter. Inedible. Poison for those who consume.” She has no wish to be consumed with impunity.

Chiyoh’s face moves from her sight, her halo dissolving back into candlelight. Bedelia’s eyes slip closed again, and she hears the faint tapping of fingers on a phone. The dial tone is barely audible, like the buzz of a fly. She imagines carrion flies buzzing around her, and it makes her smile, to know that they will not rot her bitter flesh.

Someone picks up Chiyoh’s call with a gruff greeting. Bedelia knows that voice, an honest, unpoetic one.

“Jack Crawford,” Chiyoh proclaims, the tones of his name musical on her tongue, “I am at Dr. Du Maurier’s residence. Hannibal and Will were here. The doctor poisoned herself so they could not eat her. She is in dire need of medical assistance.”

The agent is cut off mid-curse as Chiyoh ends the call. The soft fingers return to Bedelia’s face. “I will see you soon, Doctor.” The hunter stays until the sirens come, and then slips away just as all sound fades, and the black becomes a maw.

Bedelia is faintly aware that she is smiling. She is not easily eaten by the dark. 

—–

Thank you for requesting this ancient pet project of mine, Flo! Reading over this to choose excerpts was really fun and I’ve actually become really excited about it again. Hence why the excerpt is just the first section of each of the narrators. It’s a Hannibal fic (imagine that, a non-Disco fic) addressing the lives of the women of the show after The Wrath of the Lamb. While I enjoyed the finale as much as anyone, I was really frustrated by how little resolution was given for the women of the Red Dragon arc (and, generally, how little narrative time was given to the women).

The planned plot is basically thus: Margot and Alana make a new life in California with their son. Molly and Reba heal. Molly repairs her relationship with her family and becomes a journalist. Reba starts teaching photography development classes at a local university. Molly and Reba meet and bond over their horrific experiences; Walter starts looking to Reba for advice. Molly and Reba ultimately enter into a relationship. Chiyoh and Bedelia become lovers; Bedelia starts writing a book on Renaissance art, and Chiyoh starts to plan how to take Hannibal and Will down. There will be appearances from Freddie, Jack, Bella’s family, and a cast of other characters.

I love writing for Hannibal, but I’ve never published anything in the fandom. We all know how much I love Dante, classics, Renaissance art, and a lot of descriptions, and the show just invites all that. I just might finish and publish this, even though f/f content in the Hannibal fandom sometimes feels like a disappointingly small community. I can indulge all my bad writing urges in Bedelia. Someone please stop me. 

[elfnerdherder]

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 8

You can read Chapter 8 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 8: Two Baby Blues Pt. 2

           Reba Dolarhyde-McClane had rich, sepia brown skin and a smile like a 100-watt bulb. Her matching brown eyes fixed where she heard the voice come from, and if Will hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she could see right through him. Perhaps, being blind, she saw better than most.

           Not enough, though. Not enough to see Francis Dolarhyde.

           “He’d always been reclusive at work, but that suited me fine. People sometimes were rude to him, but he was always kind to me, always nice,” she said. She sat in her seat across from Jack and next to Will, hands clasped on her knees. “He never coddled me for being blind the way a lot of people do. He always respected my independence.”

           “How long did he go to Dr. Lecter?” Jack asked. Will wasn’t supposed to ask anything, merely observe.

           “About six months, and he said he’d gotten better. After Dr. Lecter was imprisoned, he took it pretty hard. He tried another therapist, but that fell through, then he said he’d be okay.” Her teeth bit over her bottom lip. “…I thought everything was okay.”

           “What happened the night that he…lost control?”

           Tactful, Jack. Will chewed on a hangnail and slumped lower in his chair, watching her. He felt Lecter’s indignation and mild unease like an ill-fitting suit. Four days strong without him. Will liked to pretend that he was doing just fine, like he didn’t wake sporadically and have to run himself to exhaustion on the treadmill at the hotel at 2 AM just to fucking sleep.

           “He wanted to be intimate.” She said ‘intimate’ like she’d had to practice the sound of it not feeling so intimate to say in front of strangers. “I sat on the bed, but he left the room, and when he came back, it felt wrong.”

           “Wrong?”

           “Serious. Dark. I asked what was wrong, and I smelled the gasoline…he said he had to. He loved me, but he had to. Then…” She nodded to herself, thinking of the timeline, “then the room went up, and a gunshot. I went to him, but he…his face was…”

           She stopped, hands clenched. Will tasted sorrow on the tip of his tongue, followed by a hint of bitterness.

           “I got out. I got to the neighbors, and they helped me call the police for a fire truck. It was all gone, though, all of it…” She sighed, composing herself. Reba had the poise of a Michelangelo painting, the grace of an angel. Will envied Dolarhyde’s time spent with her. “I miss him. He was troubled, but he was…he was so sweet. So gentle.”

           Will and Jack exchanged a glance, and Will nodded. She wasn’t lying.

           “Did he ever mention his eyes changing color, Ms. Dolarhyde-McClane?” Jack asked.

           “…His eyes?”

           “His eyes were different shades of brown.”

           She didn’t know what to say to that, and Will felt the befuddlement, the confusion. That they would bother to tell her, after all this time…

           “What’s that mean for me?” she asked.

           “We ran a test, and the shades of brown in the left eye correspond to a 92.4% match of the color of your intermediate family members whose eyes are on record due to filing their soulmate eye color,” Will said, speaking up. Reba looked to him, and it pierced him in the chest. “We believe he had a partial soulmate bond with you.”

           “Why are you telling me this?”

           Jack waved a hand sharply in his direction, but Will ignored it. He leaned closer to her, studying the way her lips quivered, her hands fluttering to the necklace at her neck before falling back to her lap. She knew. She knew.

           “You knew.”

           “…He’s not dead, is he?” she asked, a mere whisper.

           “He’s not,” Will said, “but he loved you enough to leave you. He loved you enough that when he started talking about red dragons and you got scared, he let you think he was dead rather than drag you into the mire he’d made for himself.”

           “Will,” Jack warned.

           “He said he was going to be okay,” Reba suddenly cried, and she covered her mouth with her hand, like she could hold back the words she’d kept to herself for so long. Like a wave cresting the breakers, tears began to fall, and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing soundlessly.

           Will leaned back into his chair and stared at the desk leg. His stomach settled a little, now that the truth was out in the air, ugly in its reality. In that moment, Jack both loved and hated him.

-

           Molly called him while he was getting lunch, and he sat outside, picking at a questionably soggy sandwich. Soulmates had half-off prices on Saturdays at the sub shop, but that hadn’t been enough for him to pull one of the contacts from his eyes. For what he’d paid for too much mayo, he wondered idly if he should have just bit the bullet.

           “You should have told me, Will,” she said when he picked up. There was as much accusation in her voice as there was worry.

           “Maybe,” he agreed. Then, “No, probably not.”

           “Have you been to a doctor?”

           “Yes,” he lied. Then, “No, no I haven’t.”

           “Will,” she admonished. His ears grew hot at the lie, and he chewed morosely on the bread, gritting his teeth against the texture. If that’s how she sounded when he lied about a doctor, he wondered the tone she’d take when he finally showed her his eyes.

           What did you do to your eyes, Will?

           “I’m fine, Molly.”

           “Is he going to try and kill you once he knows who you are?” she asked.

           “Maybe,” Will admitted. “I’ll have people on me. SWAT.”

           “They’re calling him Red Dragon in the news now, Will. Did he really eat that painting?”

           Will laughed and looked up at the sky. Something inside of him was tearing, and he coughed at the shortness of breath. “Yeah, yeah he did.”

           Silence. Will listened to her breathe as he chewed his dismally awful sandwich, and he wondered just what she’d say if he begged her to come visit. He thought of Red Dragon seeing her with him, though, and the thought was struck from his mind. He thought of Reba telling them everything she knew, how he’d found the painting one day by coincidence and began obsessing over it. How he’d wake her in the night sometimes, growling into a mirror in the upstairs spare bedroom. Guttural. Animalistic. He loved her, therefore he left her.

           “I miss you,” he said, desperate. “You haven’t mentioned the news casters once.”

           “Their eyes haven’t changed,” she assured him. “Not since the new guy.”

           “Good, good.”

           “Do you think about Garrett Jacob Hobbs a lot, now that you’re up there and alone?” she asked.

           “I do.” Molly was the only one to be able to get away with asking that, and she knew it. He wondered if Alana had called her.

           “I want you to come back down here. Forget what I said about helping people, I’m scared for you, Will.”

           “Oh, Molly,” he sighed. “I think it’s too late for that.”

           “Fuck Jack Crawford, just come back home. You want to come home, don’t you? Aren’t you already tired of this? You were tired before it even began.”

           “My darling Molly,” he murmured to her. “I wish that I could. I really, really do. We’d get the boat and go along the coast, getting fat off of beer and mangos.”

           “You hate mangos.”

           “I’d eat a thousand mangos if you asked me to,” he vowed.

           Another prolonged silence. He thought about Reba crying in Jack Crawford’s office, the stench of despair. She’d mourned Francis Dolaryhyde, but now she feared the Red Dragon like everyone else did. Jack promised to relocate her, that way she’d be safe in case she was the final product of his ‘transformation’. He wondered if in Reba’s dreams, she saw Red Dragon devouring her the same way Will did.

           “Please be safe, darling,” she said. She’d never called him that before. Stud, dear, honey-bunches, and sometimes William, but not darling. He didn’t care for it. Too many new names; Red Dragon, darling, dear Will, my Will.

           “I told you,” he said, and somehow she knew.

           “You did,” she agreed. “You said you’d be different, and god dammit if you weren’t right.”

-

           Will avoided the alcohol cabinet out of a stubborn need. He paced his room that evening, thought about Hannibal, cursed himself. When it began to rain, smeared images of a dark city with occasional bursts of light, he slumped into his chair and stared at the image of the Red Dragon next to The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun, trying to blend the two together. In the picture of Red Dragon, his cleft pallet was less noticeable due to the turn of his head, like he was used to trying to hide it. He didn’t look at the camera. Whoever had taken the photo, they’d done it against his will.

           “I’m trying to see you,” Will said to him glumly. “Beneath the pixels, the blood, the mirrors, the photos, the…textbook analysis. One part of a whole that never finished, and you’re trying to fill in the pieces.

           “How’d you talk to Hannibal Lecter in prison? How'd you get past the screening of letters? What’d you say that made him so delighted to pit you against me? Is that it? Is it a competition?”

           Red Dragon didn’t say anything in return. Will laid his head on the small desk, staring sideways out of the window as the rain fell, mocking him with its steady pace. He wished he could be so steady. With every flash of light that leapt across the sky, he wished he could be so steady, able to catch the guy and keep the girl in the end.

-

           He got a call early in the morning, a few days later, and he supposed he should get used to running on only a few hours of sleep. Seven days without Hannibal. Seven days with sleepless nights. He glared at the shadows under his eyes, and he resented them, resented the bastard that’d given them to him.

           “Dr. Graham, there’s something of urgency that I think you should see here,” Dr. Chilton said. “I’ve already called Jack Crawford, and he’s on his way.”

           Will didn’t realize he was wearing the same clothes as the day before until he walked into the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane –Jack’s facial expression made it painfully apparent. He looked down at his plaid shirt, brushed off a few crumbs from an English muffin, and followed Chilton into his office. Still two brown eyes.

           “We were doing our cell-to-cell inspections, as we normally do, when Barney found this in Hannibal Lecter’s cell, wadded up inside of a roll of toilet paper.”

           On the table, written in a short, neat script, was a letter.

           “Is that toilet paper?” Jack asked, eyebrows lifted.

           “Yes, very biodegradable from the feel of it. Not ours,” Chilton said with a sniff. He looked from the two-ply and fixed Will with a stare that he avoided. “Someone has been writing your ‘witness’ little love notes, Dr. Graham.”

My dear Dr. Lecter,

           I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you’ve taken an interest in me, after all this time. I thought I was nothing more than a blip in your timeline, a mere shadow within the memories you no doubt hold dear from the time when you were free to do as you wished and conquer your small portion of the world.

           When I heard from you, I thought, dare I? Of course I dare. It is of no consequence the body in which I am bound to, now, for this shell is not important –what is important is what I am becoming, and that is of greatness. You of all understand the power of transformation.

           I keep cutouts of you whenever you are in the press. We have a lot in common, you and I, from our ways to the unfair names they sling at us. They call me Soul Stealer, like a thief in the night rather than a creator. I thought of you seeing such crude attempts at naming, but I know it is of little consequence to you. You who was also slurred in the newspapers, first Chesapeake Ripper, then Hannibal the Cannibal…

           Dr. Will Graham interests me. He’s not very handsome, but there is something purposeful about him, even as I held him by the throat. He was not afraid as he looked at me. There was no fear in his eyes as he snarled. Perhaps he is a dragon, too.

           How you managed to warn me of his scent on my artistic depiction gave me the time to do as I will; I hold myself indebted. Perhaps one day we will meet, and I will share with you the ways that I am utterly grateful to you.

           Though the papers of this letter are insufficient, I thought it best under the circumstances, should you need to eat it. Your own note was on far better cardstock, something smacking of connections beyond your cell. I applaud your grace and wit, even as I learn from and ascend beyond it.

           Until then, I remain your,

                                                                                                                       -Avid Fan

           There were places ripped out, small spots where bits had been removed. Will had to resist reaching out to touch it, get a feel for the texture of the paper Red Dragon had so lovingly leaned over. He wondered if the smell of him was still ingrained in the fibers. Probably not.

           He could hear him, though. In person, his speech would be slurred, rough. On paper, no matter the quality, his eloquence was far beyond the physical shell he thought himself doomed to.

           “He bears screams like a sculptor bears dust from the beaten stone,” Will said quietly.

           “What?” Chilton said, a curt burst of noise. Jack waved at him to be quiet, and Will found himself wandering over to the window, rubbing the sleep from his yawning mouth. Hannibal was close. Hannibal was so close, but not close enough. If anything, Red Dragon was closer. He wanted neither one of them close, but he needed both of them to be close.

           “Is that what you get from this, Will?” Jack asked.

           “Avid fan, indeed,” he muttered, staring out at the early morning. It already looked like midday due to the brightness, and he squinted at the wraparound parking lot at the front entrance. “He knew what Lecter was, even as he saw him for treatment. He knows Lecter relates to him.”

           “Lecter reached out to him first,” Jack said.

           “He knows we are not the sum of our parts. We are light, dust, spirit, the many parts of a whole that furthers his growth. His transformation.” Will fiddled with the blinds, knotting and re-knotting the pull-string. Red Dragon thought he was a dragon, too. Will noted the fact that he said a dragon, not a great dragon. One of potential many, but he was The, and Will was a.

           Chilton opened his mouth, and Jack lifted a hand to silence him, staring at Will. “How’s he going to finish his transformation, Will?” he asked gently.

           “Hannibal Lecter would be the final death. Beautiful. Glorious. Like John the Baptist taking a knee when Jesus waded into the water.” Will glanced to an orderly stepping outside to meet someone pulling up. “Did you read it? ‘Even as I learn from and ascend beyond it.’”

           “How did he get the correspondence out?” Jack asked.

           “Ask Chilton’s orderlies, Jack,” Will said with a snort. He abruptly dropped the pull-string and gave him a wan glance. “Enough money or persuasion, and he’d be able to get whatever letter out wherever he needed it to go.”

-

           Matthew Brown was the easiest catch Will ever had while consulting with the FBI. Under the pressure of Jack, Will, and an indignant Chilton, he cracked and admitted to sending out letters unscreened for not only Lecter, but other inmates, too.

           The last one confused him, though, he admitted. Lecter had it sent to the newspaper, Tattler, as a personal ad. It ran just yesterday, he said, an odd request for meeting a single young lady by the name of Molly.

           Will Graham had to be held by back by Jack and Chilton both, fist halfway to Matthew Brown’s face before they hauled him out of the room. It took a while for him to realize, pacing the hall, that the ragged, guttural wheezing was coming from him and not the smoking, fiery maw of a dragon.

-

           “Molly, my Molly, please answer the phone. If you get this, call 907-XXX-XXXX immediately. Find a safe space to hide in until they call back and give you further instructions. You know where I put the gun; find it and put one in the chamber, like we practiced. Please tell me you’ve still been practicing.

           “I’m so sorry…my Molly, I’m so sorry. I love you.”

-

           They were on a plane to Florida when Jack got a call from one of the guys at HQ. It was a skip code, and a rather decently complicated one at that.

           ‘Save yourself, kill Molly –Graham’s love,” Jack said. Will paced the length of the jet, turned around, eyed the liquor cabinet. Told himself no.

           When they got another call that Molly had crashed a car into the hospital parking lot before falling out of the driver’s seat, unresponsive, he broke down and made himself a strong, strong drink. Three years sober, indeed.

-

           He woke to someone finger-combing the back of his head, mindful of the rather large, ugly scab at the crown. Will lifted his head blearily, and at Molly’s pained, drawn face, pale but very much alive, he grabbed her hand and wept.

-

           “Those aren’t your eyes,” were the first words out of her mouth to him.

           “No,” he said hoarsely. She didn’t draw away from him, stuck as she was with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. She let him hold her hand and kiss it, pressing his face to her palm with a need border-lining on desperation.

           “What’s underneath those eyes, Will?” she asked him. “What colors am I going to see?”

           “One blue,” he said, and he dropped his gaze to the fine lines along her palm. He traced her life line, then the heart line. “The other’s maroon.”

           “Do I want to know who it belongs to?”

           “No…no, you really, really don’t.”

-

           In his dreams, he took out both of his eyes and tried to crush them, a raging grief that took the breath from him, left him gasping for air that would not come. Before he could destroy them, someone reached out and took them from him. They held regret and sorrow with equal weight, and their kisses tasted like rotting flesh.

-

           Once she was well enough to be moved, Jack had her taken to a safe house with a round-the-clock guard. Will would have thought about going with her, but the need to see Red Dragon dead burned him with such a fury that he didn’t offer to go. The look she gave him, equal parts betrayal and equal parts unease at his mismatched eyes was enough to send him after Jack’s heel like a well-trained dog to the master’s boot. She didn’t tell Jack about his eyes. He didn’t tell her about Hannibal. Thankfully, with her injuries, she didn’t ask.

           “I’ve got my best guys on her, Will. Molly’s going to be okay,” he assured him. “She outsmarted the bastard. He tried to get her, and she got away.”

           “He outsmarted us,” Will said after a prolonged pause. “Lecter outsmarted us.”

           He felt a disquieted, uncertain sort of thing, and he wasn’t sure if it was Lecter’s pain at the distance, or if there was something more to it than that. He relished in the way that his skin burned, the way that he felt small cracks in the shell around him. Every time the pulsing pain faded, then returned, he reminded himself that if he was hurting, Lecter was, too. In the hotel room before they flew back to Baltimore, he drew idle designs with his finger on the table beside a glass of whiskey and his gun, staring for a long, long time. Only the burning need to see Red Dragon dead keeping him from doing something permanently destructive.

-

           Chilton didn’t want to let Will see Hannibal; he said it wasn’t wise, what with the way he’d been able to put people in legitimate danger, even while incarcerated. It wasn’t until Will leaned over the desk at him, contacts burning holes into him, that his stubbornness was quelled and he relented.

           “He almost killed Molly,” he said, a low growl. “I’m owed some answers.”

           “Perhaps he supposes that one-sided soulmate relations are enough for him to claim you,” Chilton said, leading him towards maximum. He tone was petulant, even as he relented.

           Will didn’t reply.

           He let Barney set up the partitions and the chair alone, his skin on fire. It’d been three weeks, and the time away burned, blistered, and reeked of bruises that sunk too deep. He reveled in the pain. It was his bedmate, his food and his water. He reveled in the destructive thoughts it lent him, in the bleak way that it made him stare at a wall for minutes that stretched to hours until he realized just how much time had passed, uncaring in the zombie-like manner that it lent him. Molly almost died because of him. Molly almost died because of his games. Molly almost died because of Hannibal-Fucking-Lecter.

           “Poor Dr. Graham,” Gideon said. He leaned against the bars of his cell, and if not for the nonchalant swing to his arm that hung, he’d have seemed truly piteous. “Word gets around quick.”

           “Does it?”

           “Matthew Brown; fired for smuggling contraband inside of these walls and willfully endangering the life of a person,” he said, ticking the acts off on his fingers. “Compromising a current investigation, impeding justice, and accessory to attempted murder. Quite the little naughty blend of illegal behaviors for an orderly of such a prestigious place as this, don’t you think?”

           “Do you think so?” Will wondered. “You sound like you’re not surprised.”

           “Oh, I’m really, really not, Dr. Graham,” Gideon said. He huffed a short laugh, lip quirking into a smile. “The orderlies here call this row the deadly crazies, but it’s here that they walk, isn’t it? Wouldn’t one of us, with practice, learn to walk as they do? Talk as they do?”

           “Do you think he’s like you then?”

           “No, he’s far uglier, far less sophisticated.” Abel shook his head, deep in thought. When one came to him, his eyes lightened and he looked back to Will. “I will say, though; he often condescended to have small little chats with Dr. Lecter, much like you do. Whisper on the row is that he’s going to find himself back here, in a uniform like mine rather than a uniform like Barney’s.”

           “Justice at its finest,” Will found himself saying.

           Gideon liked that. A lot. “Irony, too. I do feel bad for your girlfriend, though.”

           “That word got around too?”

           “Oh, yes,” he said with a somber nod. “When I was a surgeon, I was informed that I had hands that were just nimble and quick enough to do what other surgeons couldn’t do. If I was at that hospital, I’d have ensured she was taken care of.”

           “That’s honestly very kind of you, Dr. Gideon,” said Will. If he’d been at that hospital, Will would have shot him dead.

           “I think it’s because you have the ability to be just as rude, just as dismissive to me as the orderlies around here, but you aren’t. You give politeness where politeness is due, Dr. Graham, and I think about things like that.” Gideon smiled, dragged a finger along one of the bars of his cell. “I think about politeness, about who is and isn’t kind, about the people that show kindness even when they don’t have to.”

           “The world is nasty enough, I think; me being rude would just add to a problem.”

           “The world is nasty enough,” Gideon echoed. “Yes, with people like Matthew Brown lurking about, profiting from your woes, the world is nasty enough. I’m glad there are upstanding individuals like you to offset it.”

           “Dr. Graham?”

           Will looked over to see Barney hovering by the partitions, like he’d been there for quite some time. Will cleared his throat, looked to Abel, then back to Barney.

           “You have business to take care of, I think,” Abel said slyly. He moved away from the bars, settled down on his cot. “Thank you for the chat, Dr. Graham. Thank you for always being kind.”

           “Have a good day, Dr. Gideon,” Will found himself saying. He nodded to Barney, resisted the urge to press down on the indignant impatience curdling inside of him.

           “He’s awake,” Barney said as Will went to the partitions. Will nodded, already well aware of that.

           When Barney left, he walked around the partition and stared at Hannibal, his vision going red.

[daniellethamasa]

Hey all, Dani here.

It’s Thursday again, and that means that it is time for another round of book recommendations. I have topics planned for these through the end of the year, and I’ve started to create some more options so I can keep this series going in the new year.

The recommendation posts I’ve done so far are: banned books, LGBTQ+, fantasy, paranormal, romance, sci-fi, and historical.

Right now I have these topics scheduled for the rest of 2017: classics, diverse reads, contemporary, memoir/biography/non-fiction, urban fantasy, and poetry.

So far for 2018, I have: time travel, standalones, duologies, trilogies, and series. If there are any other recommendation list topics you’d like to suggest, please let me know in the comments.

Okay, so now I’m going to jump into my recommendations. To be clear for this I am including comic bind-ups as well, as they are commonly referred to as graphic novels as well.

Sandman by Neil Gaiman. I finally finished this series this year and it is so wonderful and complex. Seriously, there are so many diverse characters, an interesting mythology, and a wide variety of story types. This can sometimes be seen with the difference in art styles as well. There are some story arcs that fit more into a historical genre or mystery or fantasy, etc. Each member of Dream’s family is fascinating, and this is a 10 volume collection I know I will read again, and I’m sure I’ll pick up details I missed the first time around.

Fables by Bill Willingham. This is a series I would absolutely recommend to people who like fairy tales, especially people who are fans of the TV show Once Upon a Time. I was recommended this series from a friend at work and I’m glad I gave it a shot. My favorite character is Bigby Wolf, otherwise known as the Big Bad Wolf. Let me tell you, the relationship that develops between him and Snow White is awesome. I’m not going to lie; I made a werewolf stuffed animal at Build-a-Bear and named it Bigby Werewolf. Basically, I’m saying that these are a fun take on fairy tales in the modern world and they are fantastic. I need to finish this series. It is certainly on my to-do list.

Rat Queens by Kurtis J Wiebe. I’m pretty sure I’ve gushed about these foul-mouthed and violent female adventurers many times already, but I’m going to mention them again here. If you like fantasy adventures, particularly a D&D-esque quest style story, this may be the series for you. To quote the description for the Volume 1 bind-up, Sass and Sorcery, this series follows: “Hannah the Rockabilly Elven Mage, Violet the Hipster Dwarven Fighter, Dee the Atheist Human Cleric and Betty the Hippy Smidgen Thief.” Let me just say that I would absolutely love to go on an adventure with these ladies. (Actually I think it would be awesome and probably hilarious if Betty ran into my lawful nice dwarven life cleric). Anyway, just give this series a shot. It is so worth it.

Lumberjanes by Noelle Stevenson. This series also follows a group of female adventurers, but they are more girl scouts than a crass adventuring party. Instead we follow Jo, April, Mal, Molly, and Ripley, as they spend the summer at camp and have all sorts of grand adventures, running into merfolk, bear people, and all sorts of other supernatural mischief. Really it is a fun story of friendship and is absolutely a worthwhile read.

Saga by Brian K Vaughan. So this recommendation works for fans of fantasy, fans of science fiction, and fans of romance. This is a Romeo and Juliet type story following a woman from a planet called Landfall and a man from Landfall’s moon called Wreath. The war between the two races has moved and expanded and has consumed what seems like most of the galaxy. But Alana and Marko end up falling in love and having a baby together, which makes them both targets from both sides of the war. What’s really fun about this space adventure that features technology and magic and ghosts (and sex and violence) and so much more, is that the narrator of this story is Alana and Marko’s daughter, Hazel. Come on, it’s a science fantasy romance adventure story. What more do you need?

The Wicked + The Divine by Kieron Gillen. Are you a fan of gods and mythology? Well then this series might be the one for you. “Every 90 years 12 gods incarnate as humans. They are loved. They are hated. In two years, they are dead.” Why do they incarnate every 90 years? Why do they die in two years? Which gods appear in the series? This is such a fascinating story, where these god incarnates are celebrities, but just because they are powerful, it doesn’t mean that they will live forever. I don’t want to say anything to spoil any of the plot lines, but this is definitely one of my favorite series.

Scott Pilgrim by Bryan Lee O’Malley. Everything on this list is something I have been introduced to at some point in the last few years. Scott Pilgrim is the newest (to me) of all of these. I saw the movie and read all 6 volumes for the first time this year thanks to my boyfriend. It is a fun geeky somewhat video-game inspired adventure tale, following Scott Pilgrim as he takes on all of Ramona Flower’s exes for the right to date her. Yes it is sometimes absurd, but I really enjoyed the humor and fun of it all. This is also one of the few times in my life where I saw the movie before I read the source material. Turns out that I like both of them, so I’d say they are both worth checking out.

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Well, that’s about all for today. I’m currently about an hour into a 12 hour shift at work, so I think I’m going to see how much reading and/or writing I can get done before I go home. Hopefully I read enough to get another book review up tomorrow. If not then I’ll have a book tag up.

Recommendations: Graphic Novels Hey all, Dani here. It's Thursday again, and that means that it is time for another round of book recommendations.

[twobitcowboy]

But I made a great cup of tea

A/N: it started as a sickfic then became a songfic and then me waxing poetic about Evan's and Connor's relationship. it's also a bit of a response to the discourse of "Connor Lives AUs" portraying him as happy and fixed. he's not, and neither is Evan. even without Evan being the compulsive liar and bit of a creep he is in the musical, he still has issues. (p.s. you should listen to Gold Star For Me by Dodie Clark beforehand if you want, I think it makes the fic more meaningful)

read it here on AO3

Connor sniffed, feeling mucus hit the top of his nostrils. He cleared his throat irritably, sniffing again, and bringing his hand to rest under his nose. The brunette tapped his pencil against his paper, leaving little graphite dots and dashes on his empty worksheet. It was almost break and these teachers were crazy if they thought he was going to do any work. The fact that he had all A’s proved he didn't need to worry, one worksheet won't kill his grade.

To pass the time he idly hummed That's What I Like, he blames Zoe entirely. She sure loved her pop music. Connor didn't hate pop, he could sing along to a good bop every now and then; but he preferred his alternative and rock a lot better. He also really liked rap, and so did Evan, to his surprise. The first time he heard Evan quietly sing “percocets, molly, percocets,” he busted out laughing. His friend just blushed and told him to shut up, this was his favorite song. Connor was sure that was a lie, but now he played it every time they were in the car together, just to spite him.

Connor let himself think about Evan some more, the way the sun brought out tiny freckles under his eyes and across his forehead. The boy had gotten his cast off a few weeks ago and Connor teased him about his major tan line. In response the shorter boy just hit him and threatened to break his wrist too. The brunette smiles softly, thinking of all the ways Evan’s comfortable around him. The smaller boy would never threaten to break anymore else's wrist even for self defense. Well, considering that, maybe Connor should be concerned. He shrugs it off, Evan probably isn't strong enough for that. Probably.

The bell rings, interrupting his visual of an angry Evan snapping his wrist like a chicken bone. He has to pause and question that line of thought very hard.

Throwing his bookbag over his shoulder he leaves the classroom and joins the crowd of students in the hall and makes his way to the cafeteria, stopping briefly at Evan’s -their, he reminds himself - locker and swaps out some binders and snatches his lunch bag from the hook. Connor never used his own locker, seeing as it was on the one hall he never went down. Evan suggested they start sharing his since it was closer to both their classes. The long haired boy enthusiastically agreed, any excuse to get closer to Evan was a good one in his book.

Connor finally made it to the cafeteria and moved on auto pilot to the table they usually ate at. Jared and Alana were already there, eating in silence as they scrolled on their phones. Connor rasped out a hello and cleared his throat as he sat. He set his lunch on the table and stuffed his bookbag under the chair. Jared just grunted in response but Alana frowned and cocked her head.

“Are you not feeling well?” Connor opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a violent sneeze that harshly ripped the air from his lungs.

“Ugh..god,” he wiped his nose, “I guess not. I wasn’t sick yesterday.”

“You're sick?”

The new voice startled Connor slightly and he turned to see Evan with a pitiful look on his face.

“I'm ok Ev, just allergies or something.” Evan just frowns and plops down in the seat to his right and pulls out his food. The two go through their daily ritual of swapping some food items and sharing others. Evan isn't the most financially stable person and sometimes comes to school with no food at all. Connor always makes sure to pack extra food towards the end of the month so Evan gets to eat.

Jared just snorts and shakes his head, muttering something about being gay. Evan flushes and Connor glares, but Zoe takes care of it, flicking Jared as she comes up to the table.

“Jared don’t be a bully. Hello boys, and Alana.”

“Hey,” they all parrot back.

They pass time, chatting about their days as they pick their way through lunch. At some point Connor started sniffling again while Evan threw grapes at him to catch in his mouth. Alana was talking to Jared about some website problem she's having when suddenly Connor sneezed into his elbow, shooting gross snot all over his favorite jacket.

“Dab,” Jared said from across the lunch table. Connor glared at him, face still tucked in his arm.

“I hate you,” he grumbled, “Evan please get me some tissues.” Evan is right on it, shooting out of his chair and walking to the head of the cafeteria to grab napkins. Zoe wrinkles up her nose, ewwing at him and calling him gross. He flips her off with his other hand, head ducked down so no one sees the gross snot. Evan comes back with a fist full of rough, smelly brown napkins and Connor grabs them gratefully. He cleans himself up best he can and groans, leaning back in the chair. Evan is rubbing his back in soothing circles, Connor smiles at him weakly and resigns himself to the sickness looming in his body.

Connor has a head full of cotton and eyelids made of lead. He's made his way through three boxes of tissues so far; he's practically bathing in all his used ones, the trash can beside his bed full and overflowing. His bedside table is full of half empty cups of lukewarm water or ginger ale.

In short he's sick as hell and wants death now.

The morning after he sacrificed his jacket to the snot monster he woke up with a fever and aching limbs. As the day progressed he got worse, now with a cough and skin sensitive from fever. His mom dropped everything to play nurse, but Connor got tired of her hovering and convinced her to go back to work. Now it's the weekend and he's still no better, and he's missed three days of school. His mom things it's the flu and wants to get him to a doctor but his dad insists it's just a cold. Fucking Larry.

Right now he's fading in and out of conscious, groggy and confused. The passage of time is a mystery and his head is killing him, the sun slipping through the curtains and right into his eyes. He groans and rolls over slowly, careful not to disturb his cocoon of blankets. Connor longs for some company, he's tired of spending his suffering alone. Reluctantly he slips an arm out of his cocoon in search of his phone that's lost in the sheets. After finding it he types in the password one handed and opens the message thread to Evan.

come over? bring sicky things

softest boy: :(((( Be there soon.

Connor mentally fist bumps as another cough wracks through his lungs. He spits some green and bloody mucus into a tissue, gross. He decides to pass back out and wait for Evan to get here.

Connor wakes back up to the sound of knocking and conversation downstairs. He figures Evan is here but doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet. There are soft footsteps on the stairs and they get louder as whoever heads down the hall to Connor’s room. Evan creaks open the door and walks in, setting something down on the floor. Then he’s petting Connor’s head, combing the bangs out of his face and tucking them behind his ear. Connor smiles despite himself.

“Hey,” Evan whispers so soft and loving, Connor wants to cry. Instead he cracks open his tired eyes and sees Evan smiling at him. It’s like seeing God; his chest loosens and he didn’t even know it was tight. Evan swipes his thumb under Connor’s eyes, a look on his face so heartbreaking it makes Connor realize he’s actually crying.

“Oh Con, you want me to take care of you?” Connor nods so violently he gets a head rush. Evan just smiles and starts digging through his bag.

He’s propped up on tons of pillows and munching on vitamin C tablet while Evan takes his cups downstairs. The orange flavored tablet makes his mouth flood with saliva and jaw ache. He’s glad he can actually taste it since he hasn’t tasted anything in three days. However, Connor’s discovered a secret method to taste some things. If he blows his nose after taking a bite of food he can taste the food. He has no idea how it works but he’s glad it does. He hates not being able to taste things.

Connor also hates being sick, he has so stay in one place and is useless, he can’t do anything. Being sick brings all of his self-loathing to the surface. The cotton head is too close to the fogginess he gets when his depression is bad and he hates it. He hates it all, he hates himself. He hates how worthless he is.

It’s as if Evan can hear his self deprecating thoughts from downstairs and suddenly appears in the doorway. He’s holding two big, steaming mugs and waiting for permission to come in, Connor’s grateful. Connor nods and he comes in, handing the Marvel mug to the long haired boy. Evan walks to the other side of the bed and climbs on, careful to not slosh his tea. Connor watches him get settled, the steam from his mug warming his face. He waits for instructions from Evan patiently, taking tiny sips of lemon tea. Evan sighs in frustration and gets back up, evidently forgetting something in his bag of secrets. He climbs back onto the bed with his laptop this time and opens it, logging onto Connor’s wifi. He starts up Netflix and let’s Connor pick what he wants to watch. He decides on Midnight in Paris and they settle in to listen to Owen Wilson’s whimsical voice tell them about his adventures through time.

After the movie is done Evan makes him take a hot shower, saying the steam will help loosen the mucus in his chest and nose. Now he sits on the edge on his bed shirtless while Evan brushes his wet hair and rings out the strands. The scrape of bristles on his scalp is soothing, so he closes his eyes, not letting the soft tugs on knots bother him.

Eventually Evan starts to braid his hair, which surprises Connor so he asks, “how’d you learn to braid?”

“Googled it when we became friends, wanted to braid your hair some day,” comes his soft reply. It makes Connor tingle in happiness and warmth washes over him. They don’t speak again until Evan is done with the braid and asks Connor for a hair tie. He pulls a wet one off of his wrist that he forgot to take off before he showered. Evan takes it and ties up the bottom of the braid so it won’t come loose.

Evan pats his back and directs him. “Ok Connor, put on a shirt and come back to bed. We’re gonna have a little chat.” Connor can do that, he’s good at following orders. Especially when they’re from Evan. He chooses a soft, threadbare green shirt and pulls it over his head, careful of the braid. He climbs into bed with Evan, nestles under the covers and moves his head towards Evan’s lap. Connor looks at the shorter boy for permission, Evan smiles at him and pats his thigh, approving. As soon as he’s settled he closes his eyes, waiting for the first question. Hard conversations are easier in the dark, that way Connor can’t see the disappointment in Evan’s face.

“Can you tell what’s wrong?” Connor thinks about that, he should probably focus on one thing first instead of saying “everything but you.”

“I don’t like being sick.” Baby steps.

“Can you tell me why?” Evan isn’t patronizing him, he’s soft and gentle. He’s genuine and kind, wants to help. That makes it easier.

“Reminds me too much of when it’s bad, and after I don’t know if it actually is bad.” He’s proud of himself, and so is Evan. Evan hums in understanding and pet’s Connor’s head, not saying anything. Connor realized he’s waiting for Connor to continue, so he does, hesitantly.

“I don’t like my head being cloudy. It’s so hard to stay aware of anything and I can’t tell if it’s real or not. It’s like I’m always on the verge of crashing but I’m not even sleepy, I’m just mentally exhausted. I always have headaches too, I can’t get rid of them and it’s terrible. The pain is awful. I hate being sick because it means I can’t do anything. I’m not useful or active or anything. I don’t know how to explain it Evan.”

The silence is deafening.

“That’s ok, we can figure it out. It’s ok to not be ok.” Connor just nods and reaches for a tissue, blowing his nose and throwing it somewhere on the floor. Evan tsks at him. Connor turns to look at him, opening his eyes now. Evan has a look of mock disappointment that makes Connor laugh.

“You’re a disgusting menace,” Evan jokes, flicking the brunette’s nose. Connor just smiles.

“Yeah but you love me.” Evan’s face melts into warm devotion, he smiles so tenderly.

“Yeah Con, I do.”

“Love you too, Ev.”

They both blush but keep eye contact, the truth is out now. But it’s always been that way, hasn’t it?

They both love each other, there’s no way they couldn’t, Connor thinks. Connor loves Evan in a way that’s more than romance and not romantic at all. He doesn’t “love him as a friend”, he just loves him. Connor loves who Evan is, all his flaws included. He loves Evan’s mind and the way he moves. He loves they way he can’t handle things and how he needs space. Connor loves when Evan talks, his vocabulary and little lisp. The way he stutters when he’s upset or trying to prove a point. He’d do anything to Evan, all he wants in his life to protect and take care of him. No one sees how bad Evan is sometimes, only Connor, so he has to take care of him. Sure, he wants to kiss Evan senseless, get his hands all over him and show him how beautiful he is. But he also wants to sit in the sunshine talking about politics, to get high in his room, to make up and try to solve math problems with no paper at two am. He wants to be with Evan always, because Evan helps him handle things. Connor knows the other boy will never “fix” him but he does make days easier.

They’ll both have bad days, he knows that. Some days Evan won’t be able to make eye contact, he’ll have panic attacks. He won’t eat anything and sleep for hours. Some days Connor will yell and throw things, he’ll hurt Evan by saying things he doesn’t mean. He won’t sleep or shower and get high everyday. They’re both messed up, but it’s ok, they’ll get better. But right now Evan loves Connor. Right now Connor loves Evan. And everything’s ok.