#facts about nbc hannibal

[suchawrathfullamb]

controversial but I actually am always right so whatever but I kind of...think the whole "you only did that because I rejected you" scene is super duper misinterpreted heehee sorry but I am god so I'm right. no but seriously, it's because I don't think Will, who constantly showed just how he couldn't accept that Hannibal could love or have this type of feeling, specially towards him, could've predicted that Hannibal fucking Lecter would've surrendered to the fbi.

I think when he says that to Hannibal, in prison, he just meant "stop trying to get me to take you back, I know you only surrendered because I rejected you, you fucking flight risk, you won't let me have you unless I keep rejecting you and chasing", he literally says "I knew you would keep running if I kept chasing", but I don't think he meant oh yeah I totally counted on you FUCKING GIVING UP YOUR WHOLE LIFE TO PROBABLY GET THE DEATH SENTENCE like no guys hold up there is zero evidence for that in fact there's opposite evidence, being that Will just kept turning a blind eye to Hannibal's "better nature" as he said in his dream, "I wasn't aware you had one". Maybe he thought Hannibal would've settled somewhere but fucking surrender his whole LIFE? no and I think that fucking face Will makes and then just walks away is a fed up face like UGH WHY YOU FUCKING WHORE I MEANT FOR YOU TO SURRENDER TO MEEEE NOT THEM UGH FUCK YOU BYE

anyway this is my opinion law the absolute truth

[bodiesinthelake]

hannibal and will are literally two nerds except one of them tries their best to be socially acceptable and the other has no idea how to act normal ever and they like each other so much because they can say nerd shit and spend time in each other's freakish company without having to act like someone else. and they eat people

[honeygrahambitch]

I hope Bryan and some streaming platform owners know that nbc Hannibal has been trending daily.

[pebbles-scatter]

being into multiple things that involve main characters that are morally grey in very different ways is so interesting because. sure, jonathan sims isn't perfect but hannibal lecter and will graham are literally called "murder husbands." in the show. in comparison, the man is practically a saint.

[put-them-thangs-away]

caved in and watched the happy ending pilot/teaser even tho i always go in blind and this was a MISTAKE DDHJKJUTFGHH I NEED IT NOW NOW NOW obvs i am excited for jeff to get to be unhinged and covered in blood since that seems to be his happy place but i am somehow even more excited about getting to see barcode also be feral yhiiyhjkjbb

[eldritch-ace]

Hannigram is literally just Eat Your Young x Too Sweet

[mongooseundertheporch]

“Will, have you.. set a limit for yourself? On how much dogs you're gonna adopt per year? At this point I worry we have to give the bed to them...” maybe even the whole house..

[ hello from Faust! He's teasing of course @corxner ]

"........... We can get a new bed-"

[willgrahamsbecoming]

not to be ex-shadowhunters fan on main but i'm thinking about the parallels between magnus/alec and hannibal/will now

like these scenes kjdfls

magnus breathing on alec (not shown because i couldnt find that specific gif) vs hannibal smelling will 😭

also;

in one of the first interactions between alec and magnus alec is dealing with his repressed gay feelings and magnus tells him there's nothing to be ashamed of, to which alec says "i don't know what you're talking about" and magnus responds with "you will"

you know. like in aperitif. "i don't find you that interesting" / "you will"

their whole cat and mouse game is very similar to hannigram as well. alec is afraid of himself and his feelings and keeps pushing magnus away, just like will does with hannibal

which just goes to show how much will's arc is a metaphor for queerness lkjfldf

also these scenes are the same. to me

[borf-borfs]

ok but hear me out… matthew brown and chiyoh duo

[cultivated-man]

Back at it again writing my thesis and watching Hannibal- I haven't watched it while writing for long but picked it back up again

But today I paused it to get food and found one of very many shots of han staring at wills ass and I had laughed a bit too hard.

[mousfri]

when he says this, hannibal refers to will's life after his arrest. will's life is 'polite', as in a formality, something he has been taught but that will only follows because it is the socially acceptable thing to do. not only that, but he implies that accepting hannibal, accepting himself, is the natural, rational thing to do, while living his life of normalcy (molly and walt and will as the perfect template of a nuclear family) is 'maddening'. it APPEARS equal parts scathing remark and encouraging reassurance.

but while hannibal is pretty terrible at showing he wants what's best for will from a 'maddeningly polite' perspective, he's really done a stella job from his own perspective. if he's being cruel with how he frames molly and walt, it's only because he knows exactly why will felt the need to have them in his life at all. he says 'don't worry about me' but what he means is 'i meant what i said. you'll always know where i am and i will forgive you for making me wait'. he says 'think about me' because he wants will to come to his own truth about how he felt with hannibal vs. how he feels now with molly. is it snarky and presumptuous and demeaning? yeah. is it a genuine expression of care and gentleness? YEAH.

will and bedelia speak about decisions shortly after that scene, and will essentially tells her he hasn't been doing a whole lot of making those lately. it mirrors something he says to jack earlier in the season - he hadn't decided what to say to hannibal until he heard his voice, he just picked up the phone. bedelia spends this scene being increasingly correct in her analysis. will IS becoming pathological - that old behaviour of thinking very little and then whining about/ignoring/enjoying the consequences as if they're not his doing is becoming primary.

he spends a lot of s3b manipulating everyone as much as possible, so that they make choices on his behalf without ever having to make a premeditated choice of his own. encouraging the dragon to go for hannibal; positioning chilton as his pet and denying his part in it later; making hannibal's escape possible but not really doing anything to make it happen directly; letting jack assume will's with him but being largely neutral to the whole thing; implying hannibal will live to go after bedelia almost entirely to fuck with her. not only does it absolve him of blame in the eyes of the law, it absolves him of acknowledging his own predilections for being just as fucked up as hannibal.

i don't think the moment where will thinks to himself 'this is it. i've reached my limit. i'm going to go apeshit if i have to pretend to be this person any longer' happens after hannibal encourages him to consider it. hannibal says it not knowing what will's doing in the background already. i think that moment hit the second jack delivered him back into hannibal's orbit. will is ALREADY doing things that are just so completely unethical, at the very least. he's not killing anyone directly, sure, but what he is doing is just as scheming and subtle as hannibal's careful manipulations throughout the first two seasons. they swap roles: will is carefully and precisely manipulating everyone around him just to see what happens, while hannibal loses a lot of his finesse because he has no need for that person suit anymore.

this isn't the only role swap you can see. will is a character with a very clear vision of what he 'wants' for his future, an image of who he should be, a life he 'likes', with a wife and kids where he is caring and sweet. in contrast (as mr. mikkelsen has recently interpreted for us), hannibal is someone who thinks little of the distant future. in s3b though, they flip. hannibal knows what he wants, a life with will, acceptance for hannibal but also for will too. will's perfect future is disrupted by hannibal and by the dragon, and he loses sight of it entirely - everything he does becomes about simply seeing what will happen, that pathology taking root in the wake of instability. in fact, he puts effort into making as many possibilities as he can, rousing as many players into as many contradictory and beneficial courses of action as he can manage.

bedelia sums it up the best: "We assign a moment to decision. What you propose is so thoughtless... I find it difficult to imagine that moment exists."

not only does this line go HARD, she's also right - will ISN'T making decisions. and he keeps not making them until he's falling off a cliff with hannibal and letting fate decide if they live or die.

“Maddeningly polite” is one of my favourite expressions from the show tbh. Cause Hannibal is soooo fixated on politeness himself, killing people because they’re rude, his entire person suit being the embodiment of “polite”. “When life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me, Will” ??????? He’s saying the politeness he forced down everybody’s throats maddens him. He’s hinting at taking off the person suit with/for Will. He’s ready to stop the polite charade

[vivasity]

oops caught the hannibal brain rot bug again... *sips whiskey* haven't felt like this since high school

definitely gonna write some unethical fanfiction with this

[honeygrahambitch]

One of the most underrated and cute things Hannibal has ever said to Will is "I need you to smile."

I love it when Will as fucked up as he was, smiles. And then Hannibal smiles back so genuinely sjdkdkdkfk

[cece693]

Me, Jealous?

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: jealous hannibal lecter, reader is amused, not hannibal (nbc) canon,

A date at the opera was hardly what you would call romantic. The venue itself might’ve been grand—old, world architecture with gilded flourishes on the ceiling and plush velvet seats arranged in perfect rows—but everything about it felt like a stage set for egos. Brighter-than-necessary overhead lighting illuminated acres of expensive fabrics—lustrous silk gowns and tailored tuxedos that cost more than what most people made in a month—and you could all but taste the arrogance in the air.

It wasn’t your ideal location for a date by any stretch, but your husband had turned on his rare brand of doe-eyed pleading, sweetly murmuring “Please?” in that honeyed timbre that usually meant he had something up his sleeve. You should have guessed there was more to his insistence. In fact, you’d sensed an undercurrent of excitement radiating off of him from the moment you’d left your shared home. It became painfully obvious why he was so eager once you arrived and found him being whisked away by a woman whose understanding of personal boundaries seemed nonexistent.

You didn’t recognize her, and maybe she truly had no idea Hannibal was spoken for—or maybe she was fully aware and enjoying the attention anyway. Possessively, she clung to Hannibal’s arm, her manicured nails splayed like a decorative cuff on his impeccable suit sleeve. Her laughter at his every remark was irritatingly saccharine, the type that left you rolling your eyes behind the rim of your champagne flute.

Hannibal, naturally, glanced your way every so often. He had a certain glint in his eye—like a cat playing with its prey—anticipating your jealousy. A lesser spouse might have felt their heart clench, might have shot daggers at the other woman or stormed over to reclaim their partner. But you’d been through these small tests before. This was Hannibal’s game, and he loved to provoke a reaction just to study it, to taste it the way he might taste a fine wine. But you knew better than to give him exactly what he wanted without having him ask sweetly.

Leaning against a marble column, you let your gaze skim over the crowd. Most of the attendees were too busy boasting about their knowledge of obscure operas or discussing the perfect brand of caviar to notice you, but you still felt a few curious stares. Being Dr. Lecter’s husband was a precarious sort of prestige—people either hovered like anxious sycophants hoping to impress you, or they observed you from a distance with feline curiosity. Tonight, though, you simply had no patience for idle chit-chat. If Hannibal wanted to play, let him. It wouldn't cause a rift in your relationship like others might believe. Because that was the unspoken truth: no matter how many admirers clung to his arm, Hannibal’s nights were solely yours. It was you he felt anything akin to love.

Your eyes continued to roam the opulent hall: heavy drapes fell from high windows, shimmering under the bright chandeliers. The murmur of voices rose like tidal swells, and snippets of classical music drifted in from the stage where the orchestra had tuned mere moments ago. It was then that you caught sight of someone else—a man with neatly combed dark hair and a tailored suit that fit him so flawlessly it seemed hand-stitched. You recognized him vaguely; he’d been polite when you first entered, a quick hello exchanged in passing while the audience was still finding their seats.

Now, he stepped away from a small group he’d been conversing with and headed in your direction. Despite the chatter around you, his voice was pitched low when he finally spoke, creating a sense of intimacy amid the bustle. “Good evening,” he greeted. “I see we meet again.”

You inclined your head politely. “We do. Enjoying the performance?”

“I’ll be honest—I’m not much of an opera fan. But I make appearances when necessary.” He motioned around him, lips curving in a self-aware smirk. “Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

You let out a laugh—short, genuine, and surprising even to yourself. “I can relate.” You took a sip of champagne, feeling its effervescence linger on your tongue, and cast a glance across the hall to find Hannibal watching you. He stood a few paces away from his clingy companion, but his gaze was entirely fixed on you. You could practically feel the heat of his scrutiny.

The newcomer followed your line of sight. “Husband?”

You nodded. “That’s him,” you confirmed, swirling the champagne in your glass to give your hands something to do. “He’s…quite sociable tonight.”

“Lucky man,” the stranger said, his brown eyes gleaming with sincere admiration. He leaned in just enough to keep his words between the two of you. “I hope I’m not being too forward, but I’d much rather chat with you than half the people here. You seem—” he paused, searching for a precise term—“less rehearsed.”

Your lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

And honestly, it was. In a sea of plastic smiles and pretentious laughter, Adam was a breath of fresh air. He asked about you in a way that felt genuine—inquiring politely about the arts, about your tastes, about what you liked doing in your free time. The conversation flowed so effortlessly that you didn’t notice the time slipping by.

For nearly an hour, you and Adam talked, a soft bubble of quiet warmth in the midst of the bustling foyer. Eventually, the bell sounded to signal the final act was about to start. Adam extracted a slim black business card from his wallet and handed it to you, smiling. “Let me know if you ever want a less formal chat. I’d like that.”

You looked down at the card and then back at him, feeling amusement dance along your features. “I’ll consider it,” you said, inclining your head in gratitude.

He nodded his goodbye, rejoining the flow of people returning to their seats. Suddenly aware of how your heart beat just a bit faster, you turned and found Hannibal already at your side, the tension emanating from him as palpable as the hush that once again fell over the audience. He offered you a measured smile—overly polite. The humor never touched his eyes, and his hand came to rest protectively (or possessively, depending on perspective) around your waist.

As the two of you made your way back into the darkened auditorium, Hannibal’s grip did not loosen. It was as though he wanted the entire opera house to see exactly to whom you belonged. His free hand brushed down the front of his suit in an almost nervous gesture—though he’d label it a mere habit. The moment you settled into your plush seats, you could feel his gaze flicker to the business card in your hand. There was a storm in that glance, a controlled fury that might have burst into a full hurricane if not for the need to maintain civility in public.

Slyly, you slid the card into your pocket without breaking eye contact, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. You could imagine the wheels in Hannibal’s mind spinning: envy, curiosity, possessiveness, all swirling like a tempest. And you? You were calm—steady. His petty pageantry in parading around with another woman felt all the more transparent now that he watched you with such thinly-veiled anger.

Yes, Hannibal Lecter was a possessive man, a petty, petulant prince if ever there was one. But you knew just how to handle him. Smoothing the lapel of your own jacket, you let the lights dim around you. The orchestra swelled, the final act beginning, and Hannibal’s hand tightened over your own. You felt a rush of satisfaction that cut through the boredom of the night, a sense of triumph in how quickly the tables had turned.

By the time you and Hannibal exit the opera house, the swell of applause still echoing behind you, the tension between you is palpable. You trail after him through the opulent lobby—your pace unhurried despite the stony silence radiating off his shoulders. Outside, the Bentley gleams under the streetlights, and Hannibal unlocks it with a snap of his wrist that betrays his simmering mood.

He slides behind the wheel, and you settle in the passenger seat. There was no music playing, not even the subdued hum of classical radio that Hannibal often preferred. He eases the car away from the curb with smooth precision, but his knuckles stand out white on the steering wheel, his maroon eyes fixed ahead. In the hush of the Bentley’s interior, you can almost feel his anger swirl like a tangible thing. Where others might quake at that quiet fury, you find yourself quietly amused. You’ve seen the beast’s temper before; this is just another piece on the chessboard.

The drive home feels longer than usual, the only sound the rhythmic hum of the tires and the low purr of the engine. You steal a glance his way every so often, noting how his jaw tightens, how his lips press into a line. He’s stewing. But you allow the silence to remain unbroken, letting him feel the full brunt of his own jealousy. If Hannibal truly wanted this result—wanted to provoke or be provoked—he can drown in it for a while. A small, satisfied smirk forms at the corner of your mouth before you quickly wipe it away.

When the Bentley glides up the winding driveway to your home, Hannibal parks with more force than necessary. The headlights cut off abruptly, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You can sense him hesitating, perhaps wrestling with the possibility of speaking first. Then he sets his jaw and steps out, slamming the door behind him with quiet aggression.

Inside the house, the familiar warmth of low lamps and the faint aroma of polished wood greet you. You shrug off your coat and hang it neatly by the door. Hannibal’s own coat is flung onto a nearby chair with none of his usual precision. He’s already stalking through the foyer, shoulders rigid, making a pointed show of ignoring you. That’s how you know he’s furious: Hannibal never leaves his clothing in disarray without intending it as a message.

You follow him into the sitting room, where he has paused in front of the fireplace, one hand curled at his side. “Was it fun?” he asks without turning around. His voice is taut, every syllable thick with petty jealousy.

“Surprisingly, yes,” you reply, taking measured steps toward him. “Given the circumstances.”

He swivels to face you, maroon eyes narrowing. “I suppose I should be pleased you enjoyed yourself.” There is no pleasure in his tone—only an accusation, a reminder that his own orchestrations haven’t played out the way he intended.

You hold his gaze, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’m not the one who spent half the evening being clung to by someone who didn’t know how to keep her hands to herself.”

Hannibal’s lips twitch, and for a moment, you think he might admit to his mischief. Instead, he inhales slowly, as though collecting himself. His voice drops. “I want to see that business card.”

A short laugh escapes you. He’s come straight to the point, then—jealousy still raw. “What business card?” you ask innocently, already knowing he saw the whole exchange.

“Don’t pretend with me,” he snaps, more sharply than usual. “This—this Adam, or whatever he calls himself. Why would you need to keep his details if you have no intention of—?”

You step closer, crossing the room until you’re mere inches away, resting a hand lightly on his lapel. “I assure you—I merely think he could be a good friend,” you say, your tone calm, soothing. “And please don’t pretend it doesn’t suit you to have me cultivate connections. You’ve pushed me into social circles all this time; was it only acceptable when you pulled the strings?”

Hannibal’s eyes flick to your hand on his jacket, and in that micro-moment, you sense the conflict in him: the desire to shake you off versus his need to feel your touch. When he speaks again, his voice is clipped. “You don’t need a friend like him. I know his sort.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Considering you barely spoke to him, that’s quite an assumption.”

His expression darkens. “I’m not asking for your opinion. I’m telling you. Give me the card, and forget about him.” He’s trying to reassert control—like a child demanding a toy be taken away so nobody else can play with it. You let the silence stretch, your fingers sliding up to smooth the lapel of his suit. You’re not trying to antagonize him, not exactly. But neither are you in the habit of rolling over for his demands.

“Hannibal, you know that I love you. But no, you can’t have the card.”

His nostrils flare; he’s on the precipice between fury and something else—hurt, maybe. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, an unspoken assurance that all his insecurities don’t need to exist. He’s still yours, and you are his. “I’m not keeping it from you to be cruel,” you murmur. “But I do enjoy his company. Don't kill him just because you felt threatened."

His response is a quick, sneering exhale. “Threatened,” he repeats incredulously, as if the concept is beneath him. But the tension around his eyes says otherwise. You guide him backward until his legs meet the edge of the armchair, urging him to sit. He settles, still bristling. Standing before him, you slide one hand through his hair, letting him feel your affectionate calm.

“I don’t want to fight,” you say quietly, “especially not about something so small.”

“There wouldn’t be a fight if you would just—”

“—hand it over?” you finish for him, smiling ruefully. “Let it be, Hannibal. If you want to grill me about Adam, do so tomorrow. Right now, we’ve both had a long day.”

He looks up at you, and for a moment, the flash in his maroon eyes reminds you of a predator debating whether to lunge or retreat. But then his gaze softens, ever so slightly, and he exhales. You recognize this as a truce—a temporary surrender in a war of wits and possessiveness that defines your relationship.

Slowly, you lean down, capturing his lips in a quiet kiss meant to soothe. After a second’s hesitation, he kisses you back, and you feel the rigid line of his shoulders relax beneath your touch. The two of you remain that way for a breath or two—locked in a silent détente—until he finally pulls back. The storm in his expression still lingers, but there’s the promise of a calmer tomorrow.

You trace your thumb along his jaw. “Come to bed,” you suggest gently. “We can talk in the morning if you still feel so strongly.”

Hannibal nods once, gaze flickering with unresolved emotions. He stands, tugging you closer by the waist in a gesture that speaks of both affection and ownership. “Just remember,” he murmurs, voice low and controlled, “you belong to me.”

[sunrisetune]

[ID: Screenshots from several series that have the same theme.

1st - A screenshot from 'The Witcher' Netflix show. Jaskier and Geralt are sitting together on a mountain, looking out. Jaskier says without looking over, "We could go to the coast."

2nd - From 'Killing Eve', focused on Villanelle walking through Roman ruins. She's turned to the side and saying to Eve offscreen, "I was thinking, we should go to Alaska."

3rd - From 'Our Flag Means Death', with Ed and Steve talking to each other. Edward's turned towards Steve and the camera, and he says enthusiastically, "We could go to China."

4th - From 'Good Omens 2', a close-up on Aziraphale's face as he's speaking with Crowley. He looks upset, and is saying, "-- to Heaven. I'll run it, you'll be my second in command."

5th (posted in the reply) - From NBC's show 'Hannibal', showing Hannibal talking with Will. He says, "We could disappear now."

6th - Part of the transcript from The Magnus Archives episode 154. It says - "Archivist: 'Uh, I, I don’t know. I don’t – know. But… maybe it’s worth it? The risk – y-you and me, together, getting out of here –' [Martin sniffs.] Archivist: '-- one way or another.' Martin. 'John.' (He sighs.) "

/End ID].

I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending

[honestlydarkprincess]

okay so since my last one wasn't specific enough lemme try again, have some more facts about moi