#can you imagine Jacob and Barney in the same room??
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
I love that all of my friends who have watched Crazy Stupid Love with me will point at Ryan Gosling's character and say "ohhh I see why you like him... he's like your other F/O, Barney Stinson :) except he kinda respects women a little bit more" and I'm like... what. oh... huh.
I see.
#ive queued a few love notes and this is one of them. hi. trying to come back slowly but surely#can you imagine Jacob and Barney in the same room??#Barney telling Jacob how to deceive and trick women into giving him their numbers#and Jacob is like '????? no I just ask for it. why are you tricking people'#or Barney tells him about The Playbook or The Lemon Law and Jacob's like '?????????????????'#'I just ask a woman to sleep with me and they say yes. idk what the hell YOU'RE doing'#then it turns into a whole thing abt how Jacob doesn't need to do those things to get a girl to sleep w/ him#bc Jacob is competent and handsome and Barney is just some guy#like if it were just Jacob and Barney in competition to see who gets the most numbers at the end of the night WITHOUT lying/deceiving#Jacob would get *every* single one and Barney would only get a handful#Plus Jacob doesn't lie to the women and say 'ok ill call you'... I'm assuming he doesn't anyway#There's no implication that Jacob isn't letting these girls know 'hey there's no attachment here this is literally just a one night stand'#like why does Barney feel the need to lie to the girl to make her leave his apartment#or why does he feel the need to come up with a lie to sneak out of her place when she's asleep?#why not just say up front 'hey I'm just looking for a one night thing this isn't serious'#whatever maybe I'm just asexual and autistic but I will never understand Not Communicating. esp when it comes to sex. but ok.#woof#love notes#????#đâŹâŞ âĄ It feels different when youâre with me - ĚĚâđĽđ¤â¨â ĚĚ-#đ Our love is LEGEND â wait for it! â DARY! ⨠LEGENDARY! â¨#<- wow you can tell that first ship tag is recent and that second one is from YEARS ago#i need to update my old ship tags and put way more glitter text onto them#love notes: barney âĄ#love notes: jacob âĄ
11 notes
¡
View notes
Text
FIC: Win/Win (part 9/?)
ySo guess what I did today!
Overall Summary: Temporarily homeless, the reader needs a place to stay. Her friend Tom, who has a reputation for being a womanizer, has an extra room⌠and an idea.
Very loosely based on the How I Met Your Mother episode âWorldâs Greatest Couple,â where Lily posed as Barneyâs wife to help him get rid of his one-night stands.
Part summary: At Jacob and Zendayaâs wedding reception, the reader breaks her âno talking to Tonyâ rule, but for a good reason. Tom makes a split-second decision that impacts their future. Itâs fluff, you guys. Pure unadulterated FLUFF
Series Masterlist
I forget who I actually had tagged for this thing so Iâm going off my taglist:Â
@flokidottir-imagines-br @musiclover1263 @judemoos  @drxgxnslxyer  @hollanderheart  @thequeensardine  @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell  @captainbuckyy  @xxtomxo  @bringmethehorizonandpizza
âSo, how do I look?â (Y/n) asked, stepping into the living room in a long, one-shouldered pink gown. She did a little twirl, causing the bottom of the skirt to flare slightly.
Tom bit his lower lip as he finished tying his tie. âYou look absolutely stunning, love.â
(y/n) giggled. âYou donât look so bad yourself, yâknow.â
âI clean up alright.â Tom adjusted his tie so it tucked into the vest of his tuxedo. âYou ready for this wedding?â
âAbsolutely. I am so happy for Jacob and Z, this wedding is going to be so much fun.â
âYou know Tonyâs going to be there?â
(Y/n) groaned. âI know. Just have to ignore him, yâknow? As long as I donât have to look at Morgan too much Iâll be fine. She should have had that baby by now, I wonder why Jacobâs never mentioned it?â
âBeats me, love.â Tom held out his arm, bent at the elbow; (y/n) looped her own arm through it. âShall we?â
âWe shall.â
At the reception, after (y/n) had given her maid of honor speech and Tom and Harrison their co-best-man speech, Jacob and Zendaya were enjoying their first dance. (y/n) watched them silently for a little while before she noticed Tony sitting at a table near the back corner of the room, by himself.
âThis is going to be one of the odder sentences coming out of my mouth,â she said to Tom, âbut...uh⌠Iâm going to go talk to Tony.â She pointed at Tony, alone in the corner.
Tom nodded. âWant me to come along?â
âYou can if you want, but youâre absolutely not obligated.âÂ
Tom smiled warmly at her. âThink Iâll go harass Harrison and Amelia for a bit, then. Good luck.â
(y/n) kissed his cheek softly before heading back to the corner; she slid out a chair next to Tony and sat down. âYou look like youâd rather be getting a root canal,â she remarked.Â
âWouldnât be so bad at this point.â Tony shrugged. âThought you never wanted to talk to me again.â
âI didnât,â (y/n) agreed. âBut you look so sad back here, and part of me does still care about you, so⌠oh, hey, howâs fatherhood?â
Tony snorted. âDunno,â he replied, sneering. âWhy donât you ask the babyâs father?â
(Y/n)âs eyes grew wide. âWh-what?â
âThat crack you made that last time we talked? That âAre you sure youâre the father?â Turns out⌠Iâm not. She cheated on me with a guy from work, he got her pregnant. She confessed everything when I got home that day. I took a DNA test after he was born just to make sure, and sure enoughâŚâ Tony sighed. âMorgan still wanted me to be part of their lives, though. She kept calling me, texting me, it was so⌠I just wanted to move on, you know? But she was making it impossible. Made me realize I was putting you through the same thing. If it sucked for me, I canât imagine how much it sucked for you.â
âWow, Tony, Iâm really sorry about all that. I really was kidding.â
âI know you were. But, look, (y/n). I just want to apologize for the way I treated you. I should have left you alone the first time you asked me to. I was awful, and I know it, and Iâm truly sorry.â
âYou know what, Tony?â (y/n) smiled at him. âI forgive you, I really do.â
Tony smiled back at her. âThank you, (y/n), that means a lot. So Iâm a little bummed today, but Iâll survive. Hey, how are things going with Tom?â
âReally great. Heâs so amazing, Tony. Heâs funny, heâs caring, heâs...he is just all-around amazing. I really love him.â
âIâm so glad youâre happy,â Tony said. âI still care about you too, and I just want you to be happy. If Tom makes you happy, then good for you guys.â
âIâm impressed, Tony. Youâve really grown up these last few months.â
âWell, when someone does to you the thing youâve been doing to someone else for almost a year⌠itâs a tough lesson to learn, but boy have I learned it.â Tony stood up slowly. âI will absolutely understand if you say no, but⌠can we still be friends after this?â
(y/n) pushed her chair back as she stood up. âSure. Not, like super-close friends. But I definitely will get rid of my voodoo doll of you now.â
âThat explains why my back hurt the other day, then.â
(y/n) laughed. âIâm kidding, come here.â She pulled him into a quick hug. âNow, try to have some fun, okay? Iâm gonna go find Tom.â
âOkay. You have fun too. It was really nice to get to talk to you today.â
âYeah, you too.â She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before making her way back to the front of the ballroom.
âEverything alright?â Tom asked, when (y/n) approached him again.
âYeah. Letâs go dance, Iâll tell you all about it.â She grasped his hand and led him to the dance floor as a slower song started to play. âSo turns out, Morganâs baby? Not Tonyâs.â
Tom gasped loudly. âYouâre kidding!â
âNope. AND! Apparently all that stuff he was doing to me after we broke up, she did to him. And he realized how much it sucks, so he apologized for it. Weâre on good terms again, I mean obviously Iâll never date him again but at least now we can be in the same room without me waiting for an anvil to fall on his head.â
âYou know what that is? Thatâs growth.â Tom smiled warmly at her. Â
âWhat, me or Tony?â
âYes.â
(y/n) threw her head back, laughing, as she and Tom twirled around the dance floor.
As the reception wound down, (y/n) and Tom stayed behind to clean up while Jacob and Zendaya went to their hotel.Â
âI canât believe you caught the bouquet,â Tom said.
âI canât believe the garter bounced off your head and landed in Jacobâs grandmaâs lap,â you replied, giggling at the memory as Tom rolled his eyes.
âYeah, not one of my finer moments. Think we only have a couple guest tables left to un-decorate, then the bridal party table and we should be all set.â
(y/n) nodded as she carefully gathered decorations off the table she was standing next to.
Tom could not believe his luck. He thought that, after Ellie, he would never settle down again. Ever. But then, he met you, and you took a chance on himâŚ
...he knew, right then and there, he had to find a way to hang on to you forever.
âHey, um, (y/n)?â
She put a picture frame holding Zendaya and Jacobâs engagement picture in a box and whirled around. âYeah, Tom?â
âHereâs a hypothetical question for you. Is it bad form to propose to someone at someone elseâs wedding reception?â
âOnly if the bride and groom and all 300 guests are still there. Why?â
Tom grasped her hand, dropping to one knee.
âTom, you⌠I⌠Thomas Stanley Holland!â
âLook, (y/n). I thought I was in love before. And I thought I would never be in love ever again. And then⌠and then you came along and you proved me wrong on both counts. What I had with Ellie, it wasnât love, not the love youâve shown me and let me be a part of. And youâve melted what Harrison once called the âicy lump in my chest masquerading as a heartâ, and taught me how to love and be loved. I canât⌠I donât want to let that go. You were my fake wife once, and now I want nothing more than for you to be the real thing. I was going to wait until I bought a ring, but I canât anymore. (y/n), will you marry me?â
Tears sprang to (y/n)âs eyes as she smiled and started nodding feverishly. âYes!â she gasped.Â
Tom sprang to his feet and cupped her face in his hands. âI love you,â he said as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her lips.
âI love you, Tom.â
23 notes
¡
View notes
Text
The Fault in My Code: Ch. 10
You can read Chapter 10 on Ao3 Here
Chapter 10:
             To Catch a Madman: It Takes a Madman?
      Two murders, both horrendous in their method and brutality, have swept across the nation in a state of panic. We remember Michael Frost, who targeted his victims and strung them up like icicle lights towards the anniversary of his soulmateâs demise, and we certainly remember Charles Ganse, whose obsession with soulmates caused him to kidnap couples in order to collect their mismatched eyes. There are none so deadly as the Red Dragon, though, who has finally stepped out of the darkness in order to drag Dr. Will Graham to the light.
      We last remember Dr. Will Graham as a consultant to the FBI who aided in psychological profiles of killers. After his admittance to a psyche ward following his killing of Garrett Jacob Hobbs ���you will remember him better as the Minnesota Shrike âwe believed his career in profiling criminals was at an end. It seems, with the death of two and more to come, that he has been brought out of retirement in order to help the FBI one more time.
      I found him outside of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, after a meeting heâd held with Baltimoreâs own resident cannibal, Hannibal Lecter. He was neither calm nor collected, and I was once again reminded of how heâd been just a few years before, a consultant for the FBI, but certainly no agent. The screening process alone is arduous to be an agent, and it is quick to find any forms of mental instability.
      Is the FBI so desperate that they not only turned to Dr. Graham, but to Hannibal the Cannibal, too? Are they at such a loss that in order to catch this madman, they employ not one, but two? These are desperate times for America, and we can only witness with trepidation the bumbling ways that the Federal Bureau of Investigation is trying to keep us safe. To be sure, the Red Dragon is watching, and heâs as amused as we are terrified.
      âWill,â Jack cautioned.
      âIâm fine,â Will said pleasantly. The coffee sloshing over the rim of his cup said otherwise, but Jack wasnât going to point that out. His hands shook, and he stared out of the window, elbow digging into the newspaper with a vengeance. He imagined it to be Freddie Loundsâ face.
      âIt could have been worse.â
      âShe talked about my-â
      âI know what she talked about,â Jack cut in smoothly. âForget about her. She doesnât matter; I do. I say itâs not relevant.â
      âSheâs right, though. Youâre desperate, and we havenât got much.â
      âWe know who it is, we know his motivations, we know what heâs capable of, and we know that at some point, heâs going to try for Lecter. Thatâs far more than we had a month ago.â
      âHowâs he choosing them, Jack.â Will destroyed a buttered roll beneath anxious fingers. âThatâs how you find him, now that heâs shadow suspended in dust. You got his wife safe, you got his face, and youâve got an art gallery that wants his head for eating prized art, but you donât know how heâs choosing who to kill, so you donât know where to find him.â
      âDo you have an idea?â Jack asked.
      Will finished his coffee and set the cup down a little too hard; it rattled in the saucer and drew the ire of the waitress walking by. An hour of sitting, and theyâd ordered coffee, biscuits and gravy without the gravy, and a roll. Her worst nightmare realized.
      âI think Iâd be good bait,â he said. He stared out of the window, watching a colorful argument wedged between two cars. They were soulmates, their faces close enough to kiss, their fists close enough to hurt. He thought about Hannibal stroking his back to ease the knots out of it, and he shuddered.
      âMolly wouldnât forgive me if I used you as bait,â Jack said, but he didnât sound opposed in the least. A thread of intrigue filtered in his voice.
      âShe already hates you,â Will said cheerfully. âShe asked if the safe house would have any Crawfords in it, and when I said no she was grateful I took that into consideration.â
      Silence. Jack was many things, but the years taught Will that he wasnât kind. Heâd done his fair share of putting Will in the sort of mental places that Alana ground her teeth at night over, and he did so with conscious precision and no guilt. If it meant they caught a killer, what did he care what happened to Will? Will was just one, and the body count of a serial killer was far too many to risk.
      âIâll see what can be done,â Jack said slowly.
      Will left him in the shitty diner with Loundsâ article, a disintegrated roll, and the responsibility of the tip to the murderous, matching-eyed waitress.
-
      Chilton intercepted him on his way to Lecter, and for that he was annoyed. He seemed to radiate something, though, something that gave Will enough pause to be uncertain, on edge. He followed him to his office and sat down, legs spread and hands resting on his thighs. He gnawed on his bottom lip.
      âYou know, Dr. Graham, I have to say that Iâm an absolute horror at keeping secrets,â Chilton began, and Will bit down on his lip a little harder to keep something snarky at bay. âIâve been rather good about this one, but recent events have led me to believe that I would be doing you a disservice to keep quiet any longer.â
      âWhat,â Will prompted flatly.
      Chilton turned his computer monitor around so that Will could see it; a series of videos were shown, from isolation rooms to hallways to Abel Gideonâs room. Will studied them dispassionately, although his heart stumbled a little. He didnât like where this was going.
      âNow, according to the law, I can only keep video of hallways, access points, and rooms where the patient is a danger to themselves and must be monitored. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I wheedled, Lecterâs room was none of those things.â
      âAlright.â
      âThen your clever little stint with the partitions put you at an advantage, allowing a wall of privacy.â
      Will said nothing to that, since such a clever little stint had been his goal in its entirety.
      âWhat I do have, though, is audio.â Chiltonâs brown eyes flickered in triumph, noting the tensing of Willâs shoulders. He couldnât help it, an involuntary action.
      âThatâs not legal, either,â Will managed. His fingers curled to fists on his lap.
      âWe have arguably one of the smartest serial killers within these walls, Dr. Graham, and I wasnât going to leave his actions here to chance,â Chilton retorted. âHe wasnât forthcoming in conversations-â
      âSo you bugged his room to hear just what he said when you werenât around,â Will snapped. His leg jiggled slightly as he bounced its weight on the ball of his foot.
      âThere was nothing of true note until you came along, in reality,â Chilton said, unheeding of Willâs discomfort. âYou walked through those doors, though, Dr. Graham, and something changed fundamentally.â
      He clicked a button on the screen, and a crackly, soft but clear voice came through.
      âWhat the fuck did you do to me?â
      âI donât understand; of what am I being accused?â
      âStop,â Will prompted. Chilton didnât stop, merely fast-forwarded. Will despised hearing just how panicked and terrified he sounded.
      âIf I kiss you now, will you ask me for more?â
      âRun along now, Dr. Graham, before I make you stay.â
      âStop,â Will said again, harsher. That time, Chilton did. He clasped his hands on his desk, pleased to see Willâs undivided attention.
      âOne-sided connection indeed, Dr. Graham,â he said triumphantly. âAt first, I was happy to let this continue, learn as I needed on a psychological level as well as a soulmate level. Your horror in of itself was enough to satisfy me. After your last meeting with him, though, Barney informed me that through the cracks in the partition, it wasnât a mere conversation you were having with him. The silence on the audio was enough to convince me.â
      âItâs not illegal to have a soulmate,â Will said, but it sounded tinny, even to him. The back of his neck prickled, uncomfortable, and he was aware that about four hundred and fifty seven yards away, Hannibal knew something was amiss.
      âNot in the least, but I do have to protect you from yourself.â Chilton smiled, and it didnât reach his eyes. âI said he gets into your head, Dr. Graham, and I was correct.â
      Hannibal got into his head. Matthew Brown took one eye, Hannibal took another. Will thought of his dreams where he removed his eyes, fingers blood-stained and lips trembling as he tried to put himself back together. Whenever Hannibal tried to do it for him, he cringed away from it. He was in his head, he was in his eyes, he was in his fucking dreams.
      âWhat are you going to do, then?â Will asked, and this time his tone was far better controlled. Darker. Harsher. âHe has pertinent information regarding the serial killer that the FBI is currently hunting for, and pulling me from interviewing him would be seen as an obstruction of justice. He wonât speak to anyone else but me on the matter âlet alone you, who had to bug his room in order to glean any words from him in their entirety.â
      It wasnât quite smart to goad the one holding the key to his soulmate, but Will didnât back down, his eyes flicking up to Chiltonâs chin, then his two brown eyes that darkened at the challenge. Will wasnât afraid of becoming a soulmate to Chilton. Chilton would die alone because no one in the world would chemically bond to him. The thought made Will smile, a savage twist at the edges.
      âI have no designs on making this public, since his stacks of lonely hearts letters would only grow at the thought that he would potentially connect to any of them, too. He sometimes makes me feel more like a secretary rather than an administrator.â At that, Chilton sniffed. âAt the same time, Dr. Graham, we must look out for one another, mustnât we? Psychiatrists and all.â
      âPsychiatrists and all,â Will echoed.
      âI want you to keep him talking. I want you to get him to talk about himself. As fascinated as I am with the way heâs delved into you, heâs the one Iâm attempting to write a book on. If I tried to write a book about you, I think Dr. Bloom would fly down here in a rage with Verger lawyers at her back.â
      âIâm under no legal obligation to do that,â Will said. âIn fact, I can think of several laws put in place for the sole purpose of protecting soulmates against that.â
      âOh, come now, Dr. Graham; you know that the connection between the two of you isnât something you want.â Chilton propped his chin up and considered Will, fingers curling like hooks over his cheek. âI could all but feel your repulsion radiating from you every time you walked through my doors. We can help one another.â
      âIâm not going to let you use me.â
      âIf youâre not inclined to help, Iâm not entirely inclined to keep your secrets.â
      There it was. The blackmail on the table. Will bit down on the fat of his cheek, hard. He could just imagine the fury on Jackâs face, the horror and indignation at his secrecy and his mental state. Maybe if heâd come clean sooner, theyâd have simply removed him from the case, but this far into everything, itâd be seen as something worse. Jack would take it just about as personally as anyone was capable of âan attack of the worst kind, seeing as how the only person in the world Will seemed capable of connecting to was a cannibalistic serial killer.
      âIâll see what I can do,â Will said at last. He gritted his teeth. âLast time I tried to play him, though, Iâll remind you that my girlfriend was almost murdered.â
      âI have every faith in you,â Chilton said, pleased.
      He was given his partitions, whatever that meant. Will rocked from his heels to his toes, then back again as they were set up. Beside him, Abel leaned against the bars.
      âI saw what you did,â he said conversationally.
      âDid you, Dr. Gideon?â
      âYou got Matthew Brown sentenced here rather than prison. A smart move on your part, Dr. Graham. Now that his contacts are out, heâs just one of us in the end.â
      So am I, Will thought savagely.
      âI thought it was best, given his half-connection. The psychotic break alone wasnât something theyâd help him with in a prison.â
      âThat, and his half-connection to you is all the orderlies can talk about,â Gideon said gleefully. âDr. Graham, so entrenched in soulmates that people are connecting to him left and right. First Matthew, then Hannibal Lecter. Just what would it take for you to connect back, I wonder?â
      The knowing look on his face told Will that the question was rhetorical. He knew everything.
      ââŚYou tried to warn me,â he said at last, taking a step closer to the bars.
      Gideon tilted his head, regarded Will with a small, twitching smile. He looked around, like he was searching for someone else that may have been listening in, then shrugged innocently, leaning into the corner between the bars and the wall.
      âI may have been inclined,â he said slyly.
      Will stared at him, the faint stubble, the face soft rather than angled like Lecterâs. He didnât work out with a ferocity that Will felt Hannibal did, muscles aching in the aftermath. He was content with his bed and what little he was allowed inside of the cell. He had nothing better to do, Will supposed, than to try and stir the shit, rile him up.
      And yetâŚ
      âThank you, Dr. Gideon,â he said at last, sincere. âFor trying.â
      âAs I said, I do like it when people are polite. No reason or motive in the world other than the fact that you choose to be kind when you could be cruel. Enough people are cruel when they could be kind, I think.â
      Will nodded, rubbed his mouth to wipe away the small smile that threatened. He wondered what Abel Gideon would think if he knew that Will had intentionally found a way to lock Matthew Brown back into the BSHCI. Heâd been cruel when he could have been kind. Maybe though, maybe Abel Gideon of all people would see heâd only done it because people had a habit of just not leaving him the hell alone, like Alana and Will both wanted so damn much.
      âPrepare yourself, though, Dr. Graham,â Abel said when Will didnât speak. âYouâre not going to like what you see just on the other side of that partition. Not. One. Bit.â
      ââŚThank you for the warning,â he said, and at a nod from Barney at the partition, he turned and walked around it, leaving Abel in his corner, smirking with his secrets.
      Abel was right. He didnât like it. Not. One. Bit.
      He pushed down against the concrete, and it pushed back. There had been a time, when he was younger and far less in control of himself âhe steadfastly ignored the fact that he still didnât really feel in control of himself âwhen heâd dig his fingernails so hard into his palms that heâd break skin. It was that or shout, fists hitting dry wall as he tried to get the demons out from under his skin. There was a myriad of ways to try and control the sudden rush of fury, and he was sometimes an avid fan of counting backwards from ten, then twenty, then fifty. He did that now, staring. Hannibal studied his body language, gaze narrowed and curious.
      âThey took your things,â Will said after the silence felt too heavy.
      âA punishment for ultimately leading you into a wild goose chase, obstructing justice, and endangering lives, or so Iâm told,â Hannibal replied amiably. If he was troubled, he gave no indication. Will was absolutely troubled, though. The drawings on the wall were gone, as well as the books, newspapers, and table. Even the chair, bolted as it had been, had been taken away, holes in the ground where itâd been screwed into the floor. The pens, letters, and magazines were also missing, and it, for the first time, seemed like an honest, true cell.
      Apart from the initial shock, there was a dark part of Will that delighted in Hannibal having to live among the muck and the mire like the rest of the murderers and killers had to. What other serial killer could boast an extensive library and constant correspondence with psychiatrists and grad students? There was something righteously glorious about three grey, hideous cement walls.
      No, the only thing that truly bothered Will was the glass wall that separated them from floor to ceiling, nothing but holes along the top of the glass allowing air to circulate and speech to be heard. It looked to be a foot thick, a dense and formidable material. How Chilton had gotten it up in a day, Will wasnât quite sure âit was likely heâd had it at the ready when he was done eavesdropping on Will and Hannibal. The invasion of his privacy, of his weaknesses exposed in such a blasĂŠ manner â
      -It made him think an awful lot about how doing bad things to bad people felt really, really good.
      âIâd ask how youâre feeling, but itâs an extreme enough emotion that I donât have to ask. Itâs radiating in my pulse,â Hannibal said.
      âDr. Chilton is listening.â
      âYes, I imagine he is,â he agreed. âWhen you leave, he will likely filter in an evangelical broadcast to make me reflect on the things Iâve done. That, coupled with the glass divider; he does enjoy his petty torments.â
      âThat invasive, fucking-â He cut himself off. Chilton was listening.
      His head cocked to the side, curious. âDid you suppose Iâd be granted privacy?â
      âI supposed Iâd be granted privacy,â Will said. He thought about sitting down, but he tossed the idea. His blood curdled, livid.
      âIt made me curious about what youâd do next. Is this the end for us?â
      Will shook his head, and he walked to the barrier, the tips of his shoes brushing against the wall. In the reflection of the glass, he saw both himself and Hannibal, and he wondered dazedly if thatâs what it was to be soulmates âto see so much of yourself in someone else that you bled together. He swallowed with difficulty; he didnât want to bleed out, to become a distorted part of himself. His madness was like an oil spill, and he desperately wanted to contain it.
      âAh, I see; you take no issue in avoiding being so close to me as long as it is by your choice, but now that the choice was taken away, youâre upset.â
      âIs this funny to you?â Will asked.
      âYes,â Hannibal said, shaking his head no. Will tasted the thinly veiled fury that licked along his bones, and he wasnât sure anymore if it was his or of it was Lecterâs. It was possessive. Dark. âWhat are you going to do now, dear Will? Iâm curious.â
      âI donât know,â Will said. A lie, and Hannibal felt it as much as he saw it in the dark look beyond the plastic lenses Will wore to hide just what he was. A moment, charged with something smacking of sin, flickered between them. Hannibal licked his lips. They didnât need words, and Will wasnât sure how he felt about that.
      Will lifted his hand up, and he placed his palm to the glass, pressed his fingertips deep like he could break the barrier by will alone. He stared into Hannibalâs mismatched eyes, Hannibal stared back, and after a second that tasted like a thousand heartbeats, Hannibal lifted his palm and pressed back.
      Iâll play your game, Hannibal mouthed to him. Since you were so obliging to play mine.
      Will nodded, and he walked away, leaving Hannibal with his palm print and the sense of something on the horizon. His bones hummed, small sparks of electricity on his tongue.
-
      Jack Crawford was about as well-versed in the art of swearing as any other person. As he raged and paced in the confines of Willâs hotel room, he used every word under the sun that he could grasp onto in such a moment as that, palms hot and eyes blindingly furious. Will watched from the safety of the chair he sometimes slept in, a whiskey sour in hand, chewed-up straw dangling from his mouth. His eyes did not itch, nor did they convey a lie bought at the convenient price of $24.99.
      âAnd of all of the fucking, god damned, piece of shit âover a month, Will? A fucking month?â A deep inhalation. âMore than a month, quite a few fucking months?â
      âHannibal god-damned Lecter?â Will mouthed along with him, swirling his drink.
      âWhen I said âand I know I fucking said it âwhen I fucking said to come to me if you felt you were in too deep, did it occur to you that that was too deep?â
      A rhetorical question. Will made the mistake of not-quite catching that the first time, and heâd been verbally steamrolled. Hence the drink.
      Well over an hour took Jack to stopping mid-step and staring at the wall like it had the answers. The fight hadnât left him, but the ability to convey even his basest of emotions had. Like a balloon pricked with a fine-tipped needle, the air had to ease out of him sooner or later. Three drinks later, in Willâs case.
      âItâs not ideal for me, either, Jack,â Will said, turning the straw over and over in his hands. âItâs not been a vacation.â
      âYou lied to me,â Jack managed, still staring at the wall.
      âI told you I didnât want to do this, and you made me do this. I walked in there, and I got fucked over more than you did, I think.â
      âOh, you think?â Jack rounded on him, but seeing the empty glass in his hand seemed to shock some of the anger out of him âhe balked at the image of a too calm Dr. Graham.
      âIâm thinking, âIâve got a serial killer in my head, and Iâve got one at my back, scratching at it.ââ
      âThis has compromised this entire investigation,â Jack groused.
      âIt hasnât. I havenât broken any laws, and Lecterâs already imprisoned for murdering people, so his obstruction of justice isnât really going to bother him too much,â Will pointed out. âBesides, it gives you what you want, doesnât it? Iâve got a real bad feeling that I should linger right around this area, and you need me to help you catch your Red Dragon, right around this area.â
      âOh, no, the fuck you are,â Jack snarled. âYouâre on a plane to Molly âChristâs sake, Will, does Molly know?â
      âMolly knows,â said Will amiably.
      âHowâs she feel about that?â
      âIâm thinking, âI warned you this would change me, Molly. You wonât know me the same.â And she said, âIâll get to know you all over again.ââ
      âYouâre off this case, and I-â
      âThe fuck I am, Jack,â Will said, and Jack stopped at the sound of the glass falling out of Willâs hand, hitting the floor with an anticlimactic thud and rolling on its side. Will thought about leaving it, but he ultimately sighed, bent down and retrieved it, straw dangling from his lips. He thought about Molly and cringed.
      âI didnât hear that,â Jack warned him.
      âYou did,â Will retorted. âMolly almost died because of Red Dragon, and you dragged me out of a pretty god damn good life to come find him for you. Iâve got a maroon eye that belongs to a serial killer behind a glass wall, and Iâve got a pretty good idea to suss out your killer that you wanted so badly you wrecked my life to get him.â
      There were many things that Jack Crawford was, but kind was not one of them. Will felt his eyes, weighing and assessing, and he knew without having to know that heâd piqued his interest âenough to at least hear him out. In the end, no matter what he felt for Will, mercy wasnât one of those things. Heâd sacrifice Will for anything, and Will was counting on that.
      âWhatâs the idea?â
      âHe loves reading about Lecter, doesnât he? And now Iâve interested him.â Will shifted in his chair, getting comfortable. He rubbed his bad eye. âIâm thinking, âthe only thing worse than getting caught is your idol denouncing you.â Iâm thinking⌠âWhy donât we draw him out to me?ââ
      âBait,â Jack said, clipped.
      âFreddie Lounds is biting at the bit to get me to do an interview. Iâve got four voicemails. We get her to write about me, write about Lecter, and really make Red Dragon mad. Get Chilton in on it, too, let out some stuff about his inability to acquire a soulmate, his impotency, leanings towards things heâd feel as inferior to him âsexuality, appearance, you name it. Two doctors talking about it, one an expert in soulmates, the other an âexpertâ with criminal psychology? You want him to make a mistake, you gotta make him mad enough to do it, Jack. Weâve gotta make Red Dragon mad.â
      Jack started pacing again. This time, Will leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling rather than track it, letting his eyelids keep track of time. At one hundred blinks, his footsteps trailed to a stop, and Will pulled the straw from his mouth, tying aimless knots into it.
      âWe do this, Iâve got round-the-clock guard on you. Youâre wearing Kevlar.â
      âBullet wounds are headshots on the victims, Jack. He goes for the head.â
      âYouâre wearing Kevlar,â Jack snapped.
      âIâll wear Kevlar,â Will groused.
      âWeâll need to take pictures to make it believable. Will you take pictures?â
      Will sighed, like it was the most difficult thing heâd ever been asked to do. âIâll take pictures.â
      âYouâre a son-of-a-bitch,â Jack informed him.
      Will didnât have it in him to disagree. Somehow, the lack of fight made Jack anxious, and he shifted from one foot to the other.
      ââŚYou have killers in your head all the time, Will. Whatâs it feel like to have this one, now that itâsâŚchemical rather than psychological?â he asked when he found the words heâd been fumbling for. After yelling so long, the sudden curiosity was almost laughable.
      âLike putting my hands in black paint and pressing it over my eyes,â he said, and he finally looked at Jack, dropping the straw onto the table beside him.
      âIâm sorry,â Jack said, and it wasnât for the cussing.
      âMe too,â Will replied.
-
      Freddie Lounds handled herself far better than anyone expected. With the aid of an ecstatic Chilton and a resigned Crawford, Will sat down with her and answered questions no honest journalist would ask, phrased his words in a way no true psychiatrist would. Chilton added in a word or two on the matter, and it became a sort of banter back and forth, the two of them building off of one anotherâs âtheoriesâ on the âSoul Stealerâ.
      âHeâs certainly inbred,â Will said.
      âProne to homosexual tendencies,â Chilton added in.
      Willâs contacts remained in. Now that Jack knew, Will had no fear of Chilton. What little ground heâd hoped to gain ahead of Will for his book âBlood and Chocolate, heâd confided in Will âwas lost. Not that Will would tell him that, though.
      Hannibal was behind a glass wall, and Will didnât like it.
      When Freddie pulled out her camera, Will noted the tense stance and expression on Jackâs face, and he took great delight in posing as she directed, although he faltered somewhat when she asked about having a photo by the graveside of Mrs. Hess. That was met with a curt no. Chilton couldnât resist stepping in for a few photos, and there was a collective expression of pleasant surprise when Will put an affable hand on Chiltonâs shoulder.
      In the end, Freddie held her hand out to Will, and Jack almost fell out of his chair when Will clasped it firmly and thanked her for her hard work.
#LiaS scribbles#the fault in my code#hannibal#hannibal fanfic#hannibal au#hannibal soulmate au#hannigram#will graham#someone help will graham#not#someone protect people from will graham#huehuehue#Will graham x hannibal#soulmate au
18 notes
¡
View notes
Link
On Monday night, late in the program for the 69th annual benefit and student fashion show at Parsons School of Design, a group of graduating seniors stood onstage and extolled the talents of one of the eveningâs honorees. She was âinspiring.â Her style was âamazing.â Her brand was âamazing.â (There were a lot of âamazings.â) Who was this fashion paragon, role model for all of the young would-be designers in the room thanks to her creativity, philanthropy and talent? Not, as it happened, a fellow graduate who had fought her way to the top of the industry through perseverance, sweat and imagination. Not a retailer who had promoted and facilitated the growth of multiple businesses over the years. Rihanna. Yes, the Barbadian musical artist/entrepreneur â who has, it seems, officially made the transition from fashion plate to fashion force a mere three years after being crowned a âfashion iconâ by the Council of Fashion Designers of America. Or so her positioning on the same platform that has also honored alumni like Marc Jacobs, Donna Karan and Jason Wu would suggest. But is her trajectory from a good celebrity to dress to a serious creative a new paradigm or a paradox? What exactly is the lesson â it was enshrined in a quasi-academic setting, after all â of Rihanna? Someday there may be a course in the way she has pretty much rewritten every rule book about the relationship between celebrities and design and what it takes to have a successful career in fashion. But for now, letâs work with the crib notes. It began in 2008, when she performed at a benefit for Raising Malawi sponsored by Gucci and held at the United Nations, to the delight and discovery of the style set in attendance. Six years later, she received her CFDA award and set off a thousand flashbulbs when she stood onstage in a sheer rhinestone-spotted Adam Selman gown and white fur boa. In short order she signed a deal with Puma to become its creative director and design her own line (Fenty x Puma), took that line to the runways of New York Fashion Week and then to Paris (where she showed in the same site as Valentino), became contributing creative director of Stance Socks, received the Footwear News Award for shoe of the year (the first woman to do so) and dipped in and out of collaborations with Dior (on sunglasses), Manolo Blahnik (on shoes) and Chopard (on high-end jewelry). She did this all while maintaining her position as an ambassador for Dior and wearing clothes from a broad assortment of names â from Vetements to recent Parsons grads â with whom she has no contractual relationship. âShe has a quite unique ability to do it all at the same time,â said Burak Cakmak, the dean of fashion at Parsons. And he is referring not just to her own creativity, but also to her ability to get the global brands with whom she works to agree to her (very flexible) terms. This has never really happened before. A brief history review: Up to this point, there have been effectively three kinds of strategies for celebrity would-be designers. First, the âlicense your name and make a profit from your fameâ approach, one that has had varying levels of success: Jennifer Lopezâs Sweetface line failed and Jessica Simpsonâs namesake empire was a wild success. Second, the âhumble yourself before the industry and disappear into the atelier to pay your duesâ tack. This has been the favored mode if you want to be seen as a serious fashion person, as exemplified by Victoria Beckham, the Olsen sisters and (at least at the moment, a somewhat chastened) Kanye West. And third, the newest iteration: the pop-up rock collection gambit, as adopted by Justin Bieber, Lady Gaga and the Weeknd, and essentially an expanded, upstyled version of what used to be called âtour merch.â Rihanna, however, fits into none of the above. She is both serious about, and promiscuous in, her style. While she says she is heavily involved with her brand, she also freelances widely across the fashion world, often for competing names. Sure, she has the buffer of her social media fan base, a potential consumer bonanza to dangle in front of any brand, a weapon to wield and ensure her freedom. But thatâs only part of the explanation. There are a few different theories as to the rest. One has to do with the reputation she built as a risk taker who does not hew to a singular path but zigs and zags as she desires: musically, sartorially and professionally. In this hypothesis, her career in fashion simply reflects her career in music, and thus has its own authentic internal logic (authenticity being a big deal these days). Especially when you consider her evident delight in dressing up. And it is also possible that she is simply the most visible beneficiary of a battle that was fought first by Ms. Beckham et al., who took the initial heat for (we all assumed) daring to think that because they wore clothes well, they could make clothes well. âKanye paid the dues for Rihanna,â said Marina LarroudĂŠ, the fashion director of Barneys, referring to the fact that Mr. West, with all of his ambition, hubris and early attempts to show in Paris, softened us all up and made us willing to entertain the idea that celebrities can legitimately become designers, and that their work should be judged on its own merits. But what sort of message does that send to the rest of the fashion world? To consumers, for example, about where the value in their garments lie? To the kids sitting in the audience looking at Rihanna after going to school to learn exactly the sort of thing she never did? âAnything is possible!â said Fern Mallis, a fashion consultant. âItâs a whole new ballgame in this industry, and she shows that.â Thatâs one way of looking at it. Mr. Cakmak offered another. The whole serve-many-masters thing is a situation most design school graduates face, he said. They may start their own brand, but they also have to work behind the scenes for others to pay for it, and Rihanna models this behavior (even if she is not so much hidden as front and center in every scene). As for the notion that she swooped in without any training and was almost immediately regarded as a substantive player, he said that in todayâs world âthereâs a studio behind every person selling a product,â and you need both to succeed. Rihanna has, for example, her stylist, Mel Ottenberg. And Puma, which is owned by Kering, which also owns Gucci and YSL (among other brands). There is a lot of traditional know-how to back her up, and the need for traditional know-how equals jobs. âWeâre all rethinking the system, and Rihanna is part of that,â Ms. LarroudĂŠ said. She may be the most visible signpost of it. Certainly, onstage at Parsons in an oversize khaki suit (designed by Matthew Adams Dolan, a Parsons alumnus), she was impossible to miss. But whether the direction she signifies is up or down â or merely a big sideways hop â is not yet entirely clear.
1 note
¡
View note