#gif[hannibal]

[rocktheholygrail]

Hannibal (2013-2015)

[linusbenjamin]

Hugh Dancy as Will Graham Hannibal Season 1 / April 4, 2013 - June 20, 2013

[sweet-precious-dumbass]

And you KNOW if it was anyone else this would have been considered rude....

Will sitting on Hannibal's desk

Hannibal 1.02 Amuse-bouche | 1.05 Coquilles | 1.08 Fromage | 2.09 Shiizakana

[evie-carnahan]

HANNIBAL 2.09 "Shiizakana"

[cece693]

My Vampire

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader is a vampire, takes place after they fall off the cliff, nursing back to health, hannigram feel jealous, but everything is resolved, just something silly I came up with

You’d never planned on crossing paths with Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. In truth, you avoided humans whenever possible, preferring the deep shadows of the forest and the quiet hours of the night to any bustling crowds. But that unspoken, secret life you lead—sustained by blood and centuries of solitude—proved itself impossible to hide when you found the two men collapsed at the rocky bottom of a steep cliff.

In the silvery glow of the moon, you saw them: Hannibal, impeccably dressed even in disarray, and Will, painfully crumpled, a halo of curly hair matted with blood. They had fallen—or been driven—off the edge. Your acute hearing picked up the faint beating of two frantic hearts. Against your better judgment, you acted swiftly.

The moonlight guided you as you carried both unconscious men to the safety of your home, deep in the forest. Turning on the lights revealed modest furniture, shelves of ancient texts, and the paraphernalia you’d collected over centuries: strange artifacts, historical relics, a few odd trinkets you found comforting in your long life.

You prepared beds for them in separate rooms. First, you stabilized Hannibal—a fractured rib, sprained wrist, cuts along his temple. More concerning was Will: several bruises, probable concussion, shock. With careful touches, you cleaned and dressed their wounds. Under the same roof with two delicate, thrumming pulses—it took everything in you to keep a tight leash on your most primal instinct. But you did. You always did.

Their condition demanded something more than standard human medication. You whispered ancient incantations under your breath, letting the faint threads of supernatural energy flow from your fingertips to their broken bones. Even as your thirst roared, you continued your strange, secretive healing, pressing over bruises and fractures with hands that never seemed to warm.

Days passed. You listened to the soft stutter of Will’s pulse and the steady cadence of Hannibal’s. At first, they roused only in fleeting moments, eyes glassy, speech slurred. You offered them water and soups thick with herbs that carried subtle restorative properties. They ate without protest, too weak to question anything. Eventually, Hannibal’s eyes found yours in the dimness of his room.

“You saved us,” he murmured, voice quiet yet controlled. There was a ripple of curiosity beneath the gratitude. You simply gave a small bow of your head, your lips curving in a gentle, almost secretive smile. He studied you: your unnaturally still posture, the unearthly pallor of your skin that seemed to glow faintly in the low light. You turned away from his searching gaze, easing a blanket higher over his chest with a careful gesture. There were questions you expected, but for now, Hannibal simply closed his eyes, content to rest in your presence.

Will took longer to regain consciousness, drifting in and out of feverish dreams. When he finally startled awake, he looked around with wide blue eyes, instantly on edge. You carefully stepped forward so he could see you—a kind face, arms raised in a gesture of peace.

“It’s all right,” you soothed, voice soft and resonant. “You’re safe here.”

His gaze flickered around, searching. “Hannibal?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

“He’s here as well,” you reassured him, stepping aside so he could see the figure through the open doorway. “He’s recovering.”

Will’s tension ebbed, replaced by relief. He slumped back onto the bed, nodding to himself. Then, quietly: “You saved our lives.”

You nodded, pressing a cloth damp with cool water against his forehead. “I did what needed to be done.”

Over the next several days, you stayed close, quietly tending to their needs. You brought them more comforting meals, teas laced with your own subtle magic, and changed their bandages as their injuries healed at a pace slightly faster than normal humans—your clandestine influence, though you never openly acknowledged it. As Hannibal and Will grew stronger, the two men observed you in unspoken unison. They’d share glances from across a room, as though exchanging telepathic notes about you. Eventually, curiosity overcame them.

One afternoon, while preparing more of your herb-laced soup in the cabin’s small kitchen, you found yourself under Hannibal’s direct stare. The man approached with a measured step, Will close behind. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Hannibal started, voice like velvet, “but I must admit, your hospitality is extraordinary.”

You allowed a smile to cross your lips. “I live alone. I have the space to share, and you needed help.”

Will glanced around at the eclectic collections on the walls and shelves—maps older than any living memory, candelabras that looked straight out of an antique store from centuries past, and your library of old texts. “You’ve traveled a lot?” he guessed.

“I’ve wandered,” you answered enigmatically. The silence that followed was taut.

“We’re grateful,” Will said softly. “We want you to know that.” In return, you simply nodded. You didn’t expect anything from them beyond eventual departure. Yet something stirred in your chest—an unaccustomed warmth of companionship you hadn’t felt in decades.

The days slipped by like dusk over water. You found yourself engaging in quiet conversations with Will in the evenings, while Hannibal read through your old tomes. Sometimes, you’d glance up to catch both men looking at you with an intensity that made your long-dead heart flutter in a dangerously human way. One night, you were startled when you heard Hannibal and Will murmuring to each other by the fireplace:

“He’s different,” Will said. “I can feel it.”

Hannibal’s voice was thoughtful. “Yes, there’s a presence to him. A calm and hunger, perhaps. Subtle, but there.”

Hunger. You swallowed. The faint thirst you spent centuries controlling was, indeed, always present. They were so perceptive.

Soon, little signs around the cabin began to raise suspicions: the heavy, iron-bound chest in a dark corner that you never let them open, the wine bottles you kept in a locked cupboard (though the contents were not wine at all). Once, Hannibal caught sight of you striding silently across the moonlit porch late at night, eyes glinting, your form almost inhumanly poised. Then there was the evening Will found a solitary pale figure in the forest, sipping from a small deer’s wound. You vanished before he fully comprehended the sight.

But what truly fueled their jealousy—though it blossomed in them before they knew the truth—were the small hints of a partner. A second set of clothing in a trunk, a pair of shoes that didn’t quite match yours, an engraving on a ring hidden in a wooden box. They caught glimpses of these things and exchanged wary looks, uncertain if you belonged to someone else. And why did you keep such personal belongings locked away?

Neither man dared to confront you outright. Yet their longing to be near you, to share these stolen pockets of tenderness, was obvious in every word, every gesture. When you approached either of them—asking about their injuries, smoothing the hair from their faces, offering small, tender assurances—you could feel their hearts quicken.

It happened one late evening, on the porch overlooking the forest. The sky was clear, starlight bright. You stood beside Hannibal and Will, who were both healed enough to walk carefully outside. They sipped from porcelain cups of your herbal tea, scanning the tree line where the moon gilded every branch.

Hannibal spoke first, voice low and calm, “We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Will added gently. “We owe you so much. But we can’t keep burdening you.”

A pang flitted through you at the idea of them leaving. In them, you felt the pull of companionship, even desire. You’d seen the way their gazes lingered on you, felt the gentle brush of their hands when you passed something between them. They were drawn to you in ways neither had dared say.

“You don’t have to leave,” you murmured. “At least not until you’re fully recovered.” You paused, eyes searching the forest. “My home is safe if you need it.”

Hannibal watched you closely, seeing something in your eyes. “There’s more to you than kind hospitality, isn’t there?”

A fleeting grin tugged at your lips, an age-old secret behind your eyes. “I’m not like you,” you admitted softly. “I’m something else.”

Will shifted, the memory of seeing you in the woods late at night still burning in his mind. “I’ve seen glimpses,” he ventured. “But I—I don’t understand.” You inhaled, feeling your chest tighten with apprehension. Never, in all your years, had you willingly revealed your nature to humans. Yet these men—there was something about them that felt like an inevitability.

“I was born human once,” you started quietly, “but that was a long time ago.” You steeled yourself. “I’ve lived many lifetimes since. Surviving on blood, fighting the thirst, wandering from place to place.”

Hannibal’s expression was one of fascination rather than fear. “A vampire?” His tone lacked the disbelief you’d grown used to. Instead, it was curious, tinged with admiration.

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yes.”

Will set aside his cup, stepping closer, his eyes flicking over your face. The moonlight made him look almost otherworldly himself. “You saved us from that cliff. You healed us. And you never...took our blood?”

“I’m not a monster,” you whispered. “And I found your lives worth preserving.” You paused, swallowing the remnants of your fear. “The items you found—those things that made you think I had a partner—are old memories of someone I lost centuries ago. Not a current lover.”

Hannibal and Will exchanged glances, a faint bloom of relief apparent in both their eyes. Will exhaled a soft laugh, pushing a nervous hand through his curls. “We thought…We weren’t sure.”

Hannibal’s refined voice cut in, “We may have been jealous.” There was a wry, knowing smile curving his lips. “A foolish notion, given your generosity.”

Heat—or the memory of it—rose to your cheeks. “There’s no one else now,” you said quietly.

As the truth came to light, the shift in your relationship was palpable. Neither man showed fear or disgust. Instead, an unexpected acceptance lingered, twining you closer. Will still found you in the kitchen late at night, but now he’d quietly slide in beside you, leaning against the counter, eyes full of curiosity. He’d ask about your life in hushed tones: your travels, the centuries of knowledge you’d collected. You answered in half-truths or occasional full confessions, depending on what you felt ready to share.

Hannibal, too, found ways to join you in your quiet moments. He appreciated your old texts, marveled at the archaic languages you could read. Something in his own brilliant mind was stimulated by the very notion of a creature who had lived through so many eras. He’d ask you sophisticated questions with an almost reverent tone, and you’d see the faint glint of desire flicker across his features—desire, not just for your body, but your timelessness.

And between them, there was a synergy you’d never witnessed among humans. You caught it in how Will would pass Hannibal a knowing look or in how Hannibal’s fingers would gently skim the small of Will’s back. They were bound to each other, yet somehow, they extended that bond to include you.

After dinner one evening, the three of you lingered around the fireplace, sharing a bottle of fine wine Hannibal had found in your cellar (the real wine, not the blood you kept hidden). The conversation drifted, warmth glowed across your faces. Will was the first to break the comfortable silence. “We’ve been talking—Hannibal and I.”

“Oh?” you prompted, resting your forearms on your knees.

“We feel drawn to you,” Hannibal continued, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “When you saved us, nursed us, you offered an unspoken intimacy. We have begun to care for you in ways that aren’t entirely platonic.”

You set the wine glass aside, heart beating in a way you hadn’t felt in ages. “I care for you both as well,” you admitted, voice quiet. “I was prepared to let you go, if that was what you wanted.”

Hannibal’s hand slid across the small couch to cover yours. Even after all your time in the darkness, the tender heat of a human touch could still set your veins aflame. You felt the weight of both men’s gazes, their presence so near, so achingly real.

Hannibal’s voice was a low murmur, “We have no intention of running away from this…from you.”

Will’s shoulder brushed yours, and you turned to see him looking at you as if you were some delicate miracle. “Stay with us,” he whispered. “Let us stay with you.”

[willgrahamsadface]

My headcanon is that over time Hannibal grows out into kind of liking the Verger brand as a constant ugly reminder of the fact that he could have killed the love of his life if it wasn't for the intervention of Mason's henchmen. He's almost grateful for that.

After that impulsive attempt to "forgive" Will for the love he makes him feel, Hannibal's attitude significantly shifts and he doesn't try to fight that sentiment anymore. It's only fair he has to bear the physical mark of his regret.

[flock-of-cassowaries]

To be fair, I’m pretty sure you’re not the only one.

For example, Bedelia? She sees it.

[Just finished berating him.]

…I think she just also knew that she didn’t have enough of a hold over his imagination to fully leverage that side of him. (Because, you know, he was still totally into Will. And also, gay. So, so gay.)

Will is, as usual, slower on the uptake than Dr. du Maurier, but I’m pretty sure he also got there, eventually:

I saw someone caption this as—

“Help me, bitch, I’m bleeding to death.” / “Then we fucking on the autopsy table tonight.”

Which… yeah.

[juicebox-titties]

[jackinthepantry]

[linusbenjamin]

Hannibal 1.07 / Sorbet

[mssophistication]

And what if i said im a Frederick Chilton x will graham shipper

[cece693]

hello! i absolutely adore your writing for hannibal!! i was wondering if i could request yan! hannibal x reader who is aware of hannibals facade he puts on for others but not of his true nature. perhaps reader feels insecure in their relationship as they have a hard time telling whethe or not the facade his kept up between them as well? reader does not understand how deep hannibals devotion truly goes... perhaps with smut if youre up for it!! thank you so much, apologies if this was a bit of a loaded one!

Are We Real?

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader tags: themes of sex/smut but nothing too graphic, hannibal's half truths and lies, reader is blind to hannibal's hobbies, they do love each other, hannibal isn't ready yet to reveal his whole self, will prolong this because he kinda wants the reader to stay away from his darkness

You know the exact moment Hannibal’s eyes settle on you from across the room. There is a certain gravity to his gaze that no amount of polite banter or refined charm can hide. You sense it even when he’s smiling benignly at a colleague or glancing at a passing waiter. Your relationship with him has been a series of carefully choreographed dance steps—fluid, hypnotic, and still somehow laced with an undercurrent you can’t quite name.

What you do know is that Hannibal Lecter puts on a facade for others. He presents himself as a well-mannered gentleman, the perfect host and brilliant psychiatrist. There’s an elegance in his every step, a graceful precision that makes you wonder if his entire being is a meticulous composition. You’ve seen him entertain guests in his lavish home, that impeccable façade never faltering. You admire it, even when it disconcerts you.

And yet, you sense something more behind his polished exterior—like smoke curling beneath a locked door. You’ve been close enough to feel the heat but have never glimpsed the flames that feed it. It leaves you in doubt. You’re not naïve; you realize he is a man with secrets. Still, you don’t understand how profoundly they run. You only know that the devotion he shows you—beautiful, patient, and intense—feels real, even if your insecurities whisper otherwise.

Tonight, the firelight in Hannibal’s study paints warm hues against the walls. You sip a drink from an ornate crystal glass as Hannibal’s fingers trace a light path along the nape of your neck. There is no one else in the house; the last guest left hours ago, no doubt charmed by the evening’s tasteful conversation and exquisite meal. You can still feel the buzz from the wine, or perhaps it’s from the press of Hannibal’s body close to yours.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, voice carrying its usual gentle confidence.

You tilt your head, leaning slightly back so you can see his face. His eyes skim over you carefully, always reading and analyzing, though you know he’d never say it so plainly. “You,” you admit softly. “I can’t always tell when you’re being genuine. You have this…way about you.”

His expression doesn’t flicker; Hannibal’s composure is as still as a sculpture. “In what way?”

You hesitate. “I know how you are with other people. It’s like you put on a mask. I just—” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Sometimes I’m afraid that mask is there when we’re together, too.”

He moves behind you with such grace you barely sense the shift. His hand drifts from your shoulder to the small of your back, fingertips ghosting along your shirt’s fabric. You exhale shakily, aware of his presence more than ever. Hannibal’s voice resonates in your ear, low and sure. “I would never insult you by offering anything but my truth. Perhaps my truth is simply more guarded than most.”

He turns you by the shoulders to face him. The proximity makes your breath catch. “I do wear masks,” he confesses, “but only so that I can navigate a world that might not appreciate the depths of my true self.”

It’s a strange, cryptic admission. Part of you wants to probe further, to question him about what he truly means. Another part is appeased by the sincerity in his gaze, the gentleness of his voice, the way his hands settle on your hips.

Before you can formulate a response, Hannibal’s mouth brushes over yours. The kiss begins soft—testing, almost cautious. It’s as though he wants to ensure you accept him, which you do without hesitation. Your arms slide around his waist, drawing him in closer, wanting that reassurance that he is here, truly with you in this moment. He tastes of fine wine and the lingering spices from dinner. Each movement of his lips is smooth, meticulous, yet surging with an undercurrent of passion. Hannibal is skillful at everything, and kissing is no exception. Your head reels, heart pounding in your chest. For this small window of time, you are the only person in his universe.

Your insecurities fade ever so slightly, replaced by a warmth that starts in your chest and flows through your veins. His lips move along your jaw, pressing small, heated kisses down to your neck. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms ghosting across your skin in a way that sends shivers rippling through you.

He whispers your name, soft and reverent, against your throat. You lean into the sound as though it might slip away if you don’t hold on tight. “Come with me,” he murmurs. It’s not a request; it’s a promise. He takes your hand and leads you down the darkened hallway to his bedroom, a space usually locked from the prying eyes of visitors. The door closes behind you with a quiet click, and the rest of the world disappears.

Your breaths mingle in the dim light as Hannibal slips out of his jacket, hanging it neatly. Everything he does is methodical, a routine so practiced it’s almost ritualistic. You begin to unbutton your shirt, but his fingers stop you. He looks at you, and for a fleeting second, the mask he wears for everyone else seems to vanish entirely.

“We can shed more than our clothes tonight,” he says, voice laced with meaning. “If you’d allow me.”

You swallow, unsure whether that statement should comfort or unnerve you—but something inside you wants more. You nod, letting him take the lead. His hands are gentle but firm as he undoes each button of your shirt. You watch his face; for the first time, you catch the glimmer of something undeniably fervent in his eyes. It’s an unsettling intensity, yet you feel no fear—only fascination, arousal, and a sense of being deeply wanted.

He slides your shirt off and leans in to kiss you again. Slowly, languidly, Hannibal makes sure every inch of you is kissed, touched, worshipped. His mouth travels down your chest, pressing reverent kisses along your skin. You’re guided onto the bed in a graceful dance: Hannibal’s arms cradle you, preventing any graceless stumble.

Beneath him, you can’t help but arch your body upward, craving any ounce of contact he’ll spare. When his hand slips beneath your waistband, the sharp inhale you take betrays your excitement. His fingers brush the sensitive skin there, and you gasp at the electric spark.

He is thorough—everything with Hannibal is thorough, from the care he takes with each article of clothing to the methodical way he traces over your skin. In his eyes, you see desire, yes, but also something that looks alarmingly like possession. A part of you wonders if you should be afraid of that fierce devotion. Another part finds it dizzyingly irresistible.

Hannibal kisses you deeply, swallowing your soft moans, his own breathing labored and intense. The space between your bodies narrows with every shift of his hips, until there is nothing but heat and friction. You cling to him, nails lightly digging into his back as he angles himself in a way that sends delicious sparks coursing through your core. There is no doubt about his passion—his unspoken devotion. With each thrust of his body, each exhalation of your name, he offers wordless proof that, here in this moment, you and he are the only reality.

When release finally comes, it washes over you in a shuddering wave, your lips parted in a silent cry against his shoulder. You feel his grip on you tighten, as if he’d fuse your bodies together if he could. His own climax follows, and for a few long, breathtaking moments, you can feel the steady hammer of his heart racing as wildly as yours.

The room is dark and quiet. Your breaths gradually even out, and your limbs feel pleasantly heavy under the silky sheets. Hannibal presses a tender kiss to your forehead before sliding away just enough to meet your gaze. There’s a charged silence, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside. You turn on your side to face him. Your mind stirs with questions—about him, about the future, about the masks he wears for the rest of the world.

Hannibal studies your features, a peculiar softness in his expression. “You have always seen more than most,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Yet you do not run. For that, I am grateful.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he raises a hand to gently cup your cheek.

“I will not ask for your blind trust. That would be unfair.” He sighs, a small, almost weary sound. “My nature is complex. But you must believe me when I say my feelings for you are entirely real. I would sooner do harm to myself than allow harm to come to you.”

His intensity stirs something deep within you. Part of you is still in the dark about what lies at the core of Hannibal’s being. But you see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. You remember the evenings spent in quiet companionship, the affectionate gestures he bestows with careful intention, and the unwavering attention he grants you in crowded rooms. You nestle closer to him, pressing your body against the warmth of his. You choose to believe in his words—for tonight, at least. You will let yourself feel assured that his devotion is genuine, even if it’s wrapped in the many layers of a man who is far from ordinary.

As Hannibal slides an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, you rest your head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart lulls you into a sense of peace. With each breath, you begin to let go of the nagging doubts. In the end, you decide, whatever mask Hannibal wears for others, the version of him in your arms feels achingly real. And for now that is enough.

[wiredlaynee]

happy valentines day

[transhanniday]

Two weeks left to submit!

Tagging a few more folk who may be eligible to submit and might be interested!

@purelyforscience @ftm-will-graham @mooshishoomi @sweatydogman @bowiespawan @cannibalsurprise @cephaloghost @a-deed-without-a-name @twohornycannibals @eileensdress @sapphothemself @thecannibalcowboy @devilboydogman @therealsolomon-writer @divinetheatre @kittyarbuccal @dancedanceinferno @countlesboula @will-graham-crackerss-blog @crypticnite @thefictionnerd @somekindofhannibalcannibal

(apologies to anyone we've tagged that have already submitted, been tagged elsewhere, aren't interested or this doesn't apply to 💖)

Adapt. Evolve. Become.: The Genderqueer Fandom of NBC's Hannibal - SECOND EDITION!

In 2023 we released a fan-led volume of fanworks by and about trans non-binary, genderqueer and otherwise non-cis Fannibals. Now we're back by popular demand, to create a second edition and YOU can be involved!

We've extended submissions! You can now submit until February 28th 2025!

We'd especially love to see more:

Essays

non-fiction

personal pieces

memes

cosplay

fanart

We're still open to fanfic but as we have quite a lot on that front, we'd love to see other types of submissions.

SUBMIT HERE

NBC's Hannibal has resonated with many queer fans, and we know that being in the Hannibal, Hannigram and Hannibal Extended Universe fandom, and the support of Fannibals, has been part of many people's gender identity journeys. We want to capture that in a fandom led volume of non-fiction, featuring essays, creative nonfiction, personal accounts and art.

You may have even seen that Hugh Dancy was gifted a copy and had a very thoughtful conversation about the interpretation of Will Graham as a trans man.

IF YOU WISH TO SUBMIT WE URGE YOU TO READ THE EXISTING EDITION FIRST! You can read or download free here!

WHO should submit: Please ONLY SUBMIT IF:

you are aged 18 or over. For the sake of legalities, we are only accepting submissions from those legally considered adults in the region of publication - UK.

you are transgender, non-binary, genderqueer or otherwise non-cis. 

OR you have a close relationship (sibling, partner etc) with someone who is transgender, non-binary, genderqueer or otherwise non-cis.

NB: The reason for the edition of cis creators is as a result of the feedback on the first edition regarding how much it spoke to people who had trans relatives or a trans partner and how it resonated with them and their (often) non-fandom partner/relative. We wanted to give them a chance to voice the impact of the show and fandom on their lives as people with close relationships with trans people.

WHAT submissions do we want:

Fanfiction (100 to 5000 words)

Fanart (including comics)

Personal piece / statement / testimony (pref. under 3000 words)

Creative non-fiction (up to 5000 words)

Essay (up to 5000 words)

Cosplay (photos of yourself in cosplay and/or instructions/tips on how to make trans friendly cosplay)

Other (any form of art, photography or writing not covered here including crafts, memes, playlists???)

Theme:  Via one of the above mediums, we want you to share with us in as much or little detail as you’d like, your journey as a non-cis Fannibal in the Hannibal fandom, and/or the impact NBCs Hannibal has had on your gender journey. 

A few points for consideration you may wish to explore: 

Has the show and/or being part of the fandom helped you explore your gender, or made you feel more confident in expressing it - even if only online. 

Has the fandom helped you with your transition and/or medical needs, such as donating for trans-clothing or surgeries? 

Do you want to write an essay exploring the connection between NBCs Hannibal and non-cis fans? Or explore the trans-coding of Francis Dolarhyde?

Do you want to submit fic or art of Hannibal, Will or another character that expresses how you feel about your own gender identity?

PLEASE NOTE: if your submission is successful you are welcome to use your real name or an online handle for authorship, but you will have the option to publish anonymously or under a pseudonym if you would prefer. 

YOU CAN submit multiple works. We may publish up to two pieces from each person if they are different types, e.g. one fanart AND one essay.

Timeline:

Submission period: ENDS 28 February 2025

Editing: March 2025

Final edited copies for proof by 31st May 2025

Publication: July 2025

Compensation: As a fan-led project we do not have any funding and so cannot offer monetary compensation. All contributors will receive at the least an e-copy of the collection. If we are able to establish funding (potentially via Kickstarter) we may be able to send each contributor a print copy, but will not be able to confirm until further in the process and cannot guarantee this.

If funding is not available, we will be able to offer contributors reduced cost print copies by charging only cost price. However, given the quality of the art printing of the print copies, this will still be a significant cost.

Content Restrictions: 

Contributors must be transgender, non-binary, genderqueer or otherwise non-cis, OR in a close relationship with someone who is transgender, non-binary, genderqueer or otherwise non-cis.

Contributions must relate to NBCs Hannibal, HEU and/or the fandom

The contribution must be original. Previously published works may be considered, such as existing fanfic and fanart.

ABSOLUTELY NO GENERATIVE AI.

Explicit works welcome, but please give details in the sign up form, especially for any visual media.

It should go without saying, but we will not accept bigotry and hate speech: We may consider works that feature these things but do not glorify them. For example, we will consider works that discuss transphobia but not works that are transphobic.

FAQ under the cut!

What is Trans Hannigram Day? Trans Hannigram Day or TransHanniDay is a day of celebration for trans* fanworks and creators in the Hannibal, Hannigram and Hannibal Extended Universe fandom. On this day, old and new fanworks are shared with the intention of filling the timeline with trans* love!

Originally this event was Transcendence Fest, first held in December 2020. The first TransHanniDay was held on 8th April in 2022 in reaction to the release of a certain movie on that day.

Is this edition also for charity? We were thrilled to donate the profits from the 23-24 fiscal year to The Okra Project, and we're already on track for a similar donation to this year's nominated charity - Gendered Intelligence.

Will this collection only be focused on Hannigram? Technically the focus is on the fans, but we know the influence of NBCs Hannibal and the fandom itself goes beyond Hannigram. Both in written works and in art, other characters are accepted including those from NBCs Hannibal and those from other Mads and Hugh projects (Hannibal Extended Universe). 

For example, if Bedelia De Maurier or Adam Raki resonated with you as part of your gender journey, we’d love to hear about it. 

How can I prove I’m Trans*? We aren't expecting you to and in no way expect you to out yourself either online or in real life. We will take on trust that you are who and what you say you are, including if you are questioning, between labels or do not like to use labels. 

As noted above, those who would feel more comfortable doing so, can have their work published under a pseudonym or anonymously. 

Who is publishing this collection? This collection will be edited and published by Max Turner. Max is a gay transgender writer based in the UK, a Fannibal and the publisher of small indie press A Coup of Owls Press. This publication will not be associated with A Coup of Owls Press directly. 

[decayles]

Do you ship...

This ship is everything but platonic—not even in a parallel universe would they be platonic lol

pirate divider @firefly-graphics 🦜