#hannibal season 1 fics

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

My completely OOC headcanon is that Will is actually a really great and interactive professor. We don't ever really get to see him in the middle of a teaching session where he doesn't have so much shit going on in his life or someone else waiting to talk to him.

You could argue that in the first episode when it seems like he's bored and frustrated giving his lecture that he hadn't seen Jack right away, but what if dude was just having a bad day? What if Will is one of the best teachers at Quantico and he just really fucking dislikes interacting with the staff? He was just tired and wanted to get through that lecture that day but then Jack showed up and Will knew it was probably about his "imagination" so he was just feeling ugggghhh.

And yeah there's other instances of it seeming like Will is dismissive of his students, I get that, but pretty much after that meeting with Jack he was being put into the field that (at that point didn't quite yet fully excite him and) plagued him with nightmares and stress and headaches.

That girl that came up to him after class to ask a question? Most days he would've put down his papers and asked what she needed, but (I don't remember who exactly was waiting to talk to him then) someone was waiting to talk to him, and he had a "disinterested profiler" persona to uphold if he wanted to not be forced around. So he ignored her.

And the other times we see him teaching? Well he's trying to figure out what Hannibal means to him and how to care for Abigail and who the copycat and all these killer of the week murderers are, and that's enough to make even the brightest professors seem a little lackluster, especially given that when we see these moments, Jack or Hannibal tend to be watching.

But I love the idea that Professor Graham is a good professor who will go on random rants and show pictures of his dogs and maybe he doesn't make the effort to learn every student's name and face because that is a little too social for Will Graham, but during those lectures if you have questions and you seem genuine well that's exciting for him!

[graciereadshannigram]

Five Star Fics: Hannigram Edition

hey fam, welcome to the inaugural roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read over 60 fics total, and these were the cream of the crop.

the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

in no particular order, let's go!

~

Title: Veins As Fine As Rabbit Hair Author: lovetincture Word Count: 42,953 Summary: After their fall, the little yellow house Hannibal brings them to is a charmed space. It’s easy to forget there, when Will is in the mood for forgetting. In the Pennsylvanian woods, it’s easy as breathing to ignore the life he left behind. Simple to pretend they’re the last men on earth. Molly and Jack, the murder victims and the FBI seem farther away in the sea of tall, sweet grass—an echo from someone else’s dreams. That’s their life now: Will wants to forget, and Hannibal wants to let him. But reality has a way of asserting itself. No one can ignore it forever.

This was absolutely beautiful. And tender. And sweet. This is probably my favorite post-fall fic. I just get Will and love how they figure out their dynamic together. Definitely hit me right in the gut, but in a very very good way.

Title: Peccavi Author: Yggdrastiles (yoingle) Word Count: 30,067 Summary: After a terrifyingly vivid dream, Will realizes that he's going to need to pick a course of action, and the one he picks no longer involves betraying Hannibal. He knows he'll have to confess because if Hannibal were to discover the original plan on his own, it would tear them apart, and Will's not planning on letting him go anytime soon.

I'm a slut for a well-executed daddy kink, what can I say? Long enough to get really invested in the characters and top-notch smut. Nothing more to say here, folks!

Title: Demonstration Author: HotMolasses Word Count: 11,660 Summary: Will goes to a heat clinic a few days before he is due, to determine whether he wants to use the facility. But then he finds himself blindly following the scent of a delicious Alpha. Before he knows what's happening, he finds himself naked, bound, and gagged on an examination table that is being prepared for a medical demonstration, given by Dr. Lecter to a room full of students on how to properly treat an omega during heat. At first he is mortified, but Dr. Lecter's treatment soon has him enjoying himself to the point of begging for more.

This got five stars purely for the SCORCHING smut. If you're into the omegaverse and also enjoy exhibitionism, you'll enjoy this!

Title: Paragon Author: BloodyWar2411 Word Count: 552,462 Summary: When Hannibal met Will Graham (the man who had, three years prior, been mistaken for the Chesapeake Ripper), he expected amusement. What he got was his first taste of obsession. Dark and bitter in the back of his throat but achingly sweet on the tongue. He knew at once that this feeling, this Man, would consume him. And Hannibal would consume Will right back.

Need I say anything? I still don't have words for how much I loved this fic. The plot was excellent, well-paced, and I loved the characterization of Matthew so much! Bonus points awarded for making me truly understand the appeal of primal play.

Title: Realignment Author: HigherMagic Word Count: 23,120 Summary: Hannibal has a daddy kink. This was easy enough when he was younger - plenty of men were eager to take a pretty-faced, arrogant youth in hand. But as he got older, people started to see him differently, even though his own tastes and kinks never changed. He started to attract men who expected him to take the lead, and it just felt awkward to try and broach the subject. Then he met Will Graham.

As I said, I can't resist a well-executed daddy kink, but I was surprised to find out how much I enjoyed Hannibal calling Will daddy.

Title: Mark Me Not A Savage Author: KatherineKrawl Word Count: 401,953 Summary: When Will opens Hannibal's letter, it wakes something primal locked inside of him. He doesn't understand it, but what he does know is that he has to go to Baltimore hospital for the criminally insane, and he has to go now. Dear Will. He could still see the words, written in the curly elegance of Hannibal's hand, burning behind his eyelids. He breathed deeply through his nose to try and calm the unsteady flutter of his heart. A deep breath. One that clawed at his nose, one that penetrated his nostrils like a liquid, a smothering sting he felt intruding behind his eyes. One. Deep. Breath. And then it took him.

An INCREDIBLE omegaverse fic that convinced me hannigram was made for ABO dynamics. Not only was the smut incredible, but the author brilliantly incorporated their canonical mind melding and retooled it for the omegaverse. I think I also set a new reading record by reading this in under 48 hours.

Title: Kindling Author: gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe) Word Count: 10,281 Summary: “You should take a date to your fundraiser." “Yes, perhaps you’re right. It would be improper to invite someone under false pretence, mind, and for my patient to understand, the evidence would need to be… compelling.” “Perhaps an ex-girlfriend,” Will says, unsure why the thought makes him feel flat and remote. “That would be incredibly inappropriate.” “A friend then. Someone you can explain the problem to. You could take-” “You,” Hannibal interjects. The words belly-flop into silence. Will’s mouth opens, and then closes, and then opens again. When Franklyn's advances of friendship become too much for even Hannibal to politely ignore, he enlists Will's help.

Another favorite trope: fake dating. This fic just had me giggling and smiling the entire time and I loved it. I feel moderately bad for Franklyn as a character and yet... I love when Hannibal and Will flaunt their relationship in front of him. Sue me.

Title: Nothing For It... Author: phenobarbital Word Count: 11,360 Summary: ...not thinking to consult Hannibal on the matter, Will went ahead with venting his anger and he thudded the headboard against the wall again, before pressing his lips together and letting out a loud humming moan, which he trailed off into an ‘aaah’ sound as he parted his lips. He didn’t even glance behind him, totally missing the startled and intrigued look on Hannibal’s face as he made another humming moan and thudded the headboard lightly again.

GOOD GRIEF. This fic left me UNWELL. In the best possible way. We love making homophobes uncomfortable, and if it leads to accidentally having sex? Oh noooo. Also, Beverly makes an appearance at the very end and she's great. Love her.

Title: Transcendent Suffering Author: itsbeautiful Word Count: 484,659 Summary: Blue eyes closed suddenly against Hannibal’s searching gaze, sucking in a breath, body going rigid. “You can’t say things like that to me, Hannibal. You cannot glorify the dark impulses inside of me and call them… beautiful.” Will stared up at the ceiling, head thrown back as if struggling to breathe, fragile and bending against the sound of his voice. “You can’t. You just can’t say them.” “Only the celestial moon and I have truly seen you bathed in blood, savoring the darkness, embracing your becoming, and I can assure you it was truly breathtaking.”

I can't remember the last time I read a fic that was as deeply gut-wrenching as this one. I cried. Multiple times. If you like incredibly well done, character-driven stories, this is IT. And the author also wrote some of the most romantic stuff I've ever read, ever. I will be processing this fic for the foreseeable future.

Title: Love Is What You Make It – A two part series! Author: orphaned on ao3 Word Count: 181,771 (both parts combined) Summary: Will and Hannibal make their way to Hannibal's safe house in New Hampshire a couple days after their plunge off the cliff and plot their next move, Will coming to terms with the fact that he is committed to it this time.

A twofer!! And oh my god this was TENDER. I am a sucker for fics that really explore Will and Hannibal's emotional journey post-fall and I think this did an incredible job of realistically portraying that, while still being indulgent. The first fic is very character-driven, and the second part is more plot-heavy. Both are so good! I found myself actively taking breaks just to make it last longer.

And lastly, the honorable mention(s)!

Title: Hannigram: Cuts Unscene -- Season 1 Author: DBMars Word Count: 71,097 Summary: Cuts Unscene is a Hannigram fanfiction challenge – to write one scene for each episode of the series where Will and Hannibal have some kind of intimate interaction that builds their romantic connection. These stories operate on the concept that they were scenes cut from the original episodes, and the attempt is to make them fit into the plot in ways that are as plausible as possible while still having a good ol’ time writing them. The devil is in the details!

Okay WOW, this is the first of four (one per season, and then an imagined season 4), and I am so deeply impressed with how the author made these truly feel like cut scenes from the actual show. The only reason I'm not giving a full five stars is because I want to actually rewatch a couple episodes and pause to read some of the cut scenes to really assess how well they fit into the overall plot. I'll hopefully have an update on this at some point in the future!

~

And that's all she wrote, folks! Feel free to let me know what y'all are reading and what I should read next :)

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Pain Relief (Hannigram S1) - Shortfic

Explicit // M/M // Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham // Tags: season 1, sick fic, pain relief, orgasms as pain relief, masturbation, fantasising, masturbation interruptus, hand job, blow job, happy ending. Patreon prompt fill.

Will has a near debilitating migraine, Hannibal offers to help with pain relief.

Pain Relief (2.5k):

Will winced and rubbed his forehead, as though that was going to make any difference. 

“Is everything alright, Will?” Hannibal asked from where he sat opposite him in his office, their usual appointment for Will’s therapy - their conversations.

Will shook his head gently, causing another explosion of pain just above his eyes, “headache. Can’t shake it.”

That was downplaying it, he knew. He’d had headaches like this more times than he could count. The sort that rolled on and on for days until they finally became a migraine. And then, he’d only chug more pills and hope for the best. If he was lucky it would pass quickly, if not it would be another day or more of light and sound sensitivity, nausea, vomiting, shakes, and the skull splitting pain that flared with every movement he made. 

“I’ve already taken aspirin,” Will added, preempting that question, but unsurprised when Hannibal offered—

“I can prescribe you something stronger if you’d like?”

This time Will avoided shaking his head, “No, I have meds. They just… they make me foggy. I’m no good to Jack if I take them.”

Hannibal let out a light huff of derision that Will was coming to know well. Hannibal cleared his throat, but didn’t make his usual obvious comments, about Will putting himself before Jack and his demands. Before the job. Instead he continued—

“There are other methods that may offer you some relief. Ones that won’t leave you unfit for work. More so than you already are now.” There was a tease in his tone.

Will started to chuckle but stopped as his head throbbed, “Are you going to offer me some herbal remedies? Incense? Maybe the number of a good masseuse?”

Hannibal chuckled in return, humouring him. “Those things can help, as can natural methods of pain relief, anything that releases endorphins. Acupuncture, meditation, even playing music. And of course, reaching orgasm.”

Continue on AO3

[grahamcrackers4hanni]

So, a while ago in the middle of the night, I wrote the beginning of a shitty Hannibal fic. I decided to post the parts I have rn on here to see if it’s good enough to continue!

Carnival of Venice AU inspired by the Cask of Amontillado

- Blood, hannigram, main character death, m/m, murder, stabbing, drinking, masks, etc. I don't know how to do this. Alt universe, Will Graham POV, 1st Person POV, grammar mistakes, unfinished, the beginning of the story and then a small snippet of the end at the bottom of the post, and probably some mistakes in characterization. I mean I was half asleep when I wrote this. I would love ideas for costume ideas for characters if anyone has any!

Quick summary of the basic idea if you don't want to read it all:

Will goes to the festival with his friends for the first time, borrowing one of their old masks. There he met this man with a gorgeous mask; one as extravagant as an elk. He wouldn't normally be able to go up to the man with the intentions that he has due to society’s expectations to love a woman, but there he has freedom. They talk for a while and eventually, the man invites him to dinner. He told him to wear a mask with no bottom half but still hide your identity so that he’d be able to eat without taking it off. They meet again the next night and they have dinner. It all seemed pleasant and peaceful at first with the meal being like that of which Will had never seen much less tasted. It was all wonderful. Eventually, he realizes that the man nor the meat was as they seemed. The man was a serial killer and a cannibal. He had done the same thing with Will with that of many others. Yet in the end ‘I truly am sorry, William. You’ve been like no other…. For you, I think that I'll eat your heart first.’

Actual fic:

I was invited to a carnival in Venice by a friend of mine, Dr. Alana Bloom. Alana typically moves between Venice and Florence, so I wasn’t initially startled by her offer. However, I was very tentative. But, in the end, guilt weighed me towards the idea. I must admit, I’m not used to events such as this. The activity was… suffocating. She gave me a spare mask, a simple one that hides the entirety of my face. It was a golden knight.

As I found myself surrounded by a crowd of sharks, I heard the laughter of her voice grow further and further. At least she finds happiness. Eventually, I find refuge from the inane and mad near a few barrels of rum, wine, beer, juice, etc. Their unmarked property assures that it is not of a soul’s awareness, which barrel contains what. It was a gamble, but wasn’t also being at this carnival? A place to be whomever and act however without discomfort or fear.

I pour myself a handle of the second barrel’s contents. With a sip, I’m pleased to find myself consuming wine. As I stand near the stand, a stag walks over to me. His mask was black with golden accents and showed the lower half of his face. The beauty and detail left me in awe. I’ve never seen someone with such a mask. I nodded softly, readjusting my hood and mask as I stopped drinking.

“Tell me, what are you drinking,” the stag asked with an accent that left me feeling confused as I attempted to pinpoint its origin.

“Red wine.”

“I see. Which barrel? They never mark these barrels for some idiotic reason.” A scowl formed on the man’s face as he looked at the barrels with distaste.

I smiled under my mask, appreciating the stag’s scowl. “The second.”

“Ah, thank you. I appreciate your help.” He pours himself a wine glass of the drink before moving to stand next to me. “Have you come to the festival before? You seem… out of place.”

“No. This is my first time. I was invited by Dr. Bl—… the um… the woman in the bluejay mask.” I shifted uncomfortably, tilting my head towards her direction.

“Dr. Alana Bloom?”

My head perks up at the mention of her name, tilting lightly.

“She’s a friend of mine,” he explains instantly, “I would rather not provide any other details as they would hint at my identity, but please be reassured that I do know Dr. Bloom quite well. Do not hesitate to converse about her with me.”

I nod, although the fact doesn’t console me fully. I continued, “She asked me to come here. Provided my mask and everything.”

“Do you enjoy it here?”

“As you mentioned, this is not my scene.”

“Then pray tell, what is your scene, my dear?”

I hesitate for a moment looking in the stag’s mask. It was as black and dark as a nightmare’s soul or as a raven’s death. “What’s yours?”

He stays quiet, turning back to the crowd in front of them.

It stays like that for a while. The two of them together watching the others dance and drink. For a moment I see a moth attempt to court a red dragon before the dragon declines and turns away.

“Ballrooms.”I snap my head back to the stag upon hearing his newly sincere voice harboring a new emotion or maybe lack of one. “Or my kitchen,” he continues.

“Your kitchen? Do you cook? A stag like you, I would’ve assumed you to afford many maids and cooks,” I say, looking into the mask. I’m sure that the fortune it must’ve cost to make would’ve sent me to the slums.

“I can, but I prefer to make my own food. No one else would make it the way I prefer.”

I hum in understanding. “I see. I’m sure you are a wonderful cook.” He hums and nods his head.

“Would you like to find out, my knight?” My head whips around towards him, his words taking me by surprise.

“That’s impossible, stag. The masks.”

“We can eat with masks. Ask Alana for one which leaves the bottom half of your face open. We can meet again here, at the same time, tomorrow night. I will be wearing the same mask. If you do not wish to, then do not show up.” The stag looks within the crowd spotting a jester walking further into it, pushing a woman butterfly along as he laughs at her. “I’m afraid I must part. My hunger is only growing, and I must prepare dinner. I yearn to meet again, my knight.” The stag bows before making his exit, walking towards where the jester was previously, going after him. They must know each other, I conclude, watching as he leaves.

The festival was nearly closed, and the crowds had almost completely dissipated. Nearby, a bluejay waves goodbye to a woman in a pig mask. She began to trot over upon realizing my location. “Will, I’ve been looking for you. Where did you go?”

“Alana, I just went to get a drink. Who was that?” I walked over to meet her halfway.

“I don’t know, but she was nice. I wish I managed to get her name. Shall we be off?”

I nodded as she led me back to her abode. The building was in one of the many lantern-lit alleys. The walls only further reminded me of my home in Florence, causing an itch to form where the heart beats and the bones grow.

As we arrived inside, we stripped off our concealing attire. I laid my mask on the table and hung my coat on the coat rack. I studied her as she took off her costume. “Alana,” I hesitantly began, “could I attend alongside you again tomorrow night? Maybe in a mask that allows me better access to my mouth?”

Alana gave me a suspicious glance. “Oh? And what would you need it for? Don’t tell me you plan a night of pleasure for yourself tomorrow with some handsome lady?”

I felt my face tense as I turned towards the fireplace. I managed a quick shake of my head as I spoke, “No, no. Nothing of the sort. I just got hungry. It was difficult to get nourishment and quench my thirst with this mask; although, I do marvel at its beauty. It was just a little-“ I paused, trying to find the word, “suffocating.” would greatly appreciate a more appropriate mask.”

Alana nodded and went to her bedroom before coming out with a gorgeous mask in hand. It was detailed with a bone-white coloring and two things that looked like ears on the side of it. She handed it to me carefully. “I went to it as a lamb a few years back. It was…enjoyable. I hope you find the same outcome.”

I attempt to hand it back to her after feeling the hills of the lines and the cannons. “Surely you can hold onto it for me until morning.”Yet, she hands it right back.

“Keep it. You never know when you might need it.” She smirks and takes her stuff as she heads back into her bedroom. “You best be leaving for your inn. I hear that it will rain before morning.”

-

As I lay in my bed for the night, my mind kept trembling with restless moths of thoughts, crowding the lightbulb of my sanity. In the pitch of my room, my eyes kept trying to identify the white lamb mask on my dresser, but they were left to only imagine its curves and indents.

Eventually, I shut my eyes. My mind drifts off to the darker place it usually finds residence. The woods crackle and live soundly around me as I look past black, stretching trees. In it, I see a familiar suited man with a familiar black mask. He huffs as red coats his figure. A sickening cut is heard causing me to stumble on a branch, breaking it. He spins around to face me. The mask��isn’t a mask at all. It connects to its person, merging into an overwhelming beast. A black, tall, lanky stag-man stands before me covered in blood. He was something out of children’s horrific nightmares and warnings. It creeps towards me before offering a long, lanky hand. Its fingers were twisted like tree branches and as sickening as bloody organs.

“Would you care for a dance, my lamb in knight’s clothing?”

-

The next night I hesitated at the entrance. The sounds of laughter and enthusiasm were overwhelming to hear as he studied the grounds.

“Will? What’s wrong? You look nervous. You weren’t nervous last night.” Alana looks at me with a furrowed brow, rubbing her soft palms over my coat. I remember a time when I used to fawn over her touch, and frequently find my gaze drifting back to her, now I just enjoy the company.

“I didn’t- I didn’t have plans tonight. I may leave tonight without you.”

“You will?”

“I might,” I correct immediately. She raises a brow. “I’m ok.”

“You were just hyperventilating.”

“I’m- I will be ok.”

“Will, tell me what’s going on.”

I hesitate, glancing into the crowd, and catching sight of the barrels. They appear alone. A frown crosses my face without apparent reason.

“Will? Are you ok?” She takes ahold of my shoulder, trying to ground me.

“Yeah, yeah. I just-…I’ll be ok. I’ve got this. I’ll be seeing you.” I leave her standing aimless and confused as I make my way through the crowd towards the barrels.

Once I arrive, the place is lonely. Not a mask in sight, much to my dismay. I pour myself a glass of the liquid in the second barrel. My face scrunches in disgust at the taste of beer after assuming wine.

A hollow laugh erupts beside me, making me whip my head towards them. “I suppose the second barrel isn’t red wine tonight, is it?”

It was the stag. His appearance brings a smile to my face. “Stag.”

“My knight, I love tonight’s mask. A lamb, yes?” I nod. “It looks beautiful on you.”

I turn back to my drink, wishing the mask covered more of my lower face. “I believe you promised me dinner, Stag.”

“I did. How could I forget?” He offers me his arm. “Shall we be off? My home isn’t far from here.”

Hesitantly I link my arm around his, letting him lead me to his abode.

—

Test for ending:

Pain seared and burned like molten lava as the blade began to carve a slit into the folds of my skin, tainting them scarlet. The blade lifted for a moment before moving to the next area for an incision. My hands wrapped the wrist, stilling the knife as it pressed softly against my skin, eliciting a small bead of blood.

My eyes blur as I look past him… at him… the pitch, lanky figure carving me like dinner. “I see you,” I rasp, softly. My voice barely evolved to a whisper. The wind brushing branches against the panels of glass windows almost hid my speech.

My hand fell slowly as I watched the eyes above me. Crimson eyes studied mine as we held each other’s gaze. “I let you see me,” he corrected quietly. His voice hid an emotion buried deep like a skeleton in a ditch. If I believed that he cared about me any more than a random stranger picked as a victim, then I would've mistaken it for remorse or regret.

I felt as he fixed his grip on the blade, pressing it in again slightly. I didn't realize that it had faltered, previously. “I truly am sorry, William. You’ve been like no other…” He pauses for a moment, studying my eyes again, a new hunger filling them. “For you, I think that I'll eat your heart first.”

[jaded-quill]

Exhaustion, mistakes, and resolve.

[stranded-labyrinth]

every time i look back on the end of Season 1, all i can think of is how it so clearly was not the way Hannibal wanted things to go. a lot of fic writers especially seem to hone in on the concept that Hannibal was looking to frame Will from the beginning, but it really seemed to me even on my first watch like it was a last resort. he was hoping Will would grow to his own potential before discovering what Hannibal was, but Will was far keener than even Hannibal had anticipated and started putting two and two together way too fast. Hannibal needed to create a scenario in which no one would believe Will accusing him, because his own self preservation always came first, but it really didn't look to me like Hannibal was ever happy with that route. i know we tend to joke about "he framed Will then got sad about it", but i really believe he was sad about it from the start.

let's think about it for a moment. he kept trying to visit Will, he tried to testify in his favor, he asserted every step of the way that he believed Will to be his friend. the moment his plan wasn't turning out to have Will rescued, he killed the judge to completely end the trial. Hannibal keeps his apologies to a bare minimum, but he does perform gestures in their place.

every step of the way on their journey together, Hannibal was hoping for things to go much better between them. it never did, because Hannibal could never truly predict him.

[devouringbodies]

Hiiii I was wondering if you have a fic rec list 👉🏻👈🏻

Omg hi!!! I just went through my bookmarks and found some of my favorites!! Literally I had the hardest time narrowing down, I've got so many I love, also some I can't remember the Exact plot of that I'm sure I absolutely love and have just forgotten. So I definitely have more up my sleeve if anyone wants more. Head the tags for some of these.

The Enticement of Suffering by jonnimir - latest fic I just read, gory and sexy wound fucking coda to dolce. if you're into that it's SO GOOD

Not Quite Charity by @stranded-labyrinth - au first meeting between Will and Hannibal, hannibal leaves his car in a run down area of Baltimore and will, who's homeless, heckles him about it and Hannibal decides to pay him to watch it for him. I love this will sm!! It's a really interesting look at their dynamic, and is super in character and just a fun au study!!

Perda de memória by bleakmidwinter - amnesia!hannibal post fall fic. I'm actually a sucker for amnesia aus and love the angst in this. It adds an element to Will's struggle and decision making that makes his mindset post fall all the more interesting. And I love how much hannibal is still hannibal despite not remembering hardly anything.

Everything casts a shadow by @ghostforwhat - i looooove season 2 Will killing more people. I can't ever get enough of it. It's written so well and believably here, and the way it changes the course of the season is super fascinating. Currently a wip.

Wolf and I by t_pock - so so sooo fucking good. One of my favorites. It also has a Podfic as well and I love Podfics soo much and relisten to it often. Season 1 au that has more elements of horror, creepiness, symbolism and hands down the best, hottest, wildest forest chase sequence I've ever read. This fic feels more like a folk or fairy tale it's so good, especially paired with the beautiful art the podficer made, as well as the music they paired with the Podfic. Can't recommend this one enough.

A night off the record by barcharonte - season 1 au again, where on the way to Minnesota hannibal and will get snowed in and have to take shelter somewhere. Will is still losing time and hallucinating. Hannibal still tries to take advantage of course. Fun times to be had.

Between ease and foresight by devotional_doldrums - season 1 au (can you tell I like these? Lol) where wills and Hannibal's metaphorical conversations get a little too on the nose and Will finds out. SUPER good hannibal pov, I want to eat parts of this fic the writing is so good, and the author's notes are hilarious.

Sings to me nightly, sings to me brightly by serindrana - psychic connection phone sex what more could you want!!

The joy of creation by fkahersweetness - super dark mute!will post fall. I wouldn't say I think this is Actually how a post fall dynamic would be but in the universe of this fic it's so so sooo amazing. I love the surreality and implied shared visions/psychosis connection that will and Hannibal have here. Also the ending layed me tf out for days.

Radon and its daughters by @chaparral-crown - best most believable and realistic abo au ever. Nuff said.

Speaking of abo the one where Will smells like blood to hannibal, so good. I'll probably survive this by saintsavage

Pochée by ellopoppet - season 1 au! Also with a Podfic, Will's away on a case but is still getting closer to hannibal through texts and calls.

Mon chéri by sandyquinn - cracky Addams family au esque one shot. Just super cute and silly. I'm picky about my cute and silly but the Addams family morbidity fits comedy hannigram to a T.

Never let it starve by northern - another Will finds out in season 1, I truly can't get enough of these. Also bonus bug boy will!!!

Let the river rush in by several - Explores an actual psychic connection between the boys, again I'm a huge fan of this trope.

Hyacinth house by bluesyturtle - MY BELOVED!!!! One of my top top faves, season 1 au, cool cases, great relationship dynamic between the boys, and im obsessed with how this fic portrays Will's empathy and how it plays with his gender a bit. Love the story, love the ending. Also with Podfic!

Pattern break by thisbeautifuldrowning - dark Will au season 2 where he doesn't plot with Jack or go back to the fbi and deals with Hannibal himself. LOVE how this one plays out.

Bloodline by xzombiezkittenx - VAMPIRE AU MY LOVEEEEE this fic is an utter joy if you like vamp aus. The world building is great.

A consequence of consumption by ironlotus - straight up hands down my favorite fic in the fandom I think. It's still a wip, but it's one of the best characterizations, writing, plot, and just perfect outstanding everything I've seen in this fandom. It's an au where before all the events of season 1, Will is kidnapped by Eldon stamments and is kept alive and rescued eventually. It's peak "Will's milkshake brings all the serial killers to the yard" trope and the way everything is woven together, the storylines and character motivations, is just crazy good. Also one of my most favorite hannibal pov and characterizations out there.

Ok that was still a lot, I'm sorry if I missed tagging anyone, and hopefully the links all work!

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Forgive These Bones I'm Hiding (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Serial Killer Marcus Pike x f!Reader (Reader is a police officer with the nickname “Cricket”)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: This is a Spoooooooky fic for Halloween season. Please heed the warnings; this is not darkfic, per se, but it explores dark themes and contains elements of suspense and horror. The following subjects are mentioned in the context of cases that the reader deals with. I do not go into explicit detail about any of these themes and any violence is implied rather than seen, but please heed the warnings for: child abuse, domestic abuse, alcoholism, drunk driving, implied sexual assault, suicide, drug use, drug overdoses. Whew. Okay, for the story itself, please be warned that there is: derogatory language (someone calls reader a “bitch”), murders, body horror (corpses!), Marcus Pike being a bit unsettling, Very Enthusiastic Pussy Eating, unprotected PIV sex (this is fiction! use protection and also maybe don't fuck a serial killer!)

Summary: When five paintings are stolen from their frames, an unusual crime for your small-town precinct in Hannibal, Missouri, it's easy for you to project your insecurities about being a female police officer in a tiny, Midwest town onto the handsome FBI Agent from Washington who arrives to help with the case. But as your disposition--and the solid walls you've built around yourself--begin to soften, you quickly find you have bigger problems than the charming man you can't help but develop feelings for. One by one, bodies are starting to pile up. Bodies that all seem to share one connection… You.

A/N: This story is about Marcus Pike if he were a serial killer. If this concept gives you The Ick, please do not read this and then come to me telling me that you think it’s icky. You have been warned. Dead dove don’t eat, etc. I *have* taken pains to ensure that Marcus is not a bad man. He’s a murderer, yes, but he only kills the worst that humanity has to offer. He’s a serial killer AND he’s my perfect, unhinged baby. Cool? Cool. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for encouraging this nonsense, letting me scream about it on Discord from day one, and reading through it and helping me with the police procedural bits!

Masterlist

When the call comes to your desk at 8:30am on a Monday morning, you can’t deny that your initial response is excitement. 

Who could blame you? Not much happens here in Hannibal. 

The waver in the elderly museum docent’s voice reminds you to temper your eagerness. With a steady, even voice, you patiently repeat the information she gives you. You don’t bother pointing out that she really should have called 911, rather than the police station directly; she’s one of many older residents in this town who prefer to skip the middle-man, so to speak, and you don’t really mind being the first voice people hear after a crisis.

“Window broken… alarm power cut… five Norman Rockwells,” you murmur to yourself as you scribble down the details on a post-it. “CCTV nonfunctional… broken… cameras for show only… Yes ma’am. Yep, I know the place. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What was that?” Your CO asks from his office, not bothering to get up from his chair and come out into the bullpen. If you could even call it that. You’re the only regular inhabitant. 

“Mrs. Ingram from the Mark Twain Museum. Someone broke in last night and cut five paintings from their frames.”

CO Hubbard squints, taking off his reading glasses and perching them on top of his head and staring at you like you’ve grown an extra head. 

“Someone stole from the Mark Twain Museum?”

“Crazy, right? I’m heading there now.”

The older man grunts and nods, placing his bifocals back on his nose and returning his gaze to the Hannibal Courier-Post’s crossword. 

You don’t bother turning on the lights on your squad car. The streets are damn-near empty on a Monday morning. Most of the residents’ shifts began hours ago at the factories downriver, leaving the small town to appear almost abandoned. For being the famed birthplace of one Samuel Clemens, it sure doesn’t bring much tourist traffic to Hannibal, Missouri. 

Julia Ingram has been the Museum’s curator, docent, and gift shop operator since before you can remember. Despite her age, it seems as though she’s hardly changed from the time you visited the museum with your school group as a child. She greets you over thick wire frames kept in place with a whimsical beaded chain. Like most residents of Hannibal, she calls you ‘Cricket’–the nickname that’s stuck with you since your youth on account of your habit of sneaking out at night to stargaze. It’s hard to have much authority with the older citizens when they all remember you as a knobby-kneed preteen with a wild streak and a wilder imagination. 

You let her lead you to the gallery of Norman Rockwell art on the second floor of the old building. You walk past old editions of Tom Sawyer, a collection of Mark Twain’s childhood possessions, and a life-sized raft similar to what Huck and Jim might have used on their Mississippi River journey. 

The Norman Rockwell collection consists of fifteen paintings done for special editions of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Today, though, there are only ten. Five frames are empty; broken shards litter the floor where the thief bashed through the glass to retrieve the priceless papers within.

“Why did they have to go and break them?” Mrs. Ingram asks in a tearful voice as you snap pictures on your little point-and-shoot camera you take with you for cases.

“Takes up less space,” you shrug. “Framed art is conspicuous. The perp probably rolled the illustrations up for ease of keeping them hidden.”

Mrs. Ingram shudders at the mention of rolling up Norman Rockwell illustrations, and you give her a sympathetic look.

“I’m going to call in a forensics team from the St. Louis office,” you tell the elderly woman. “They’ll be able to dust for fingerprints. In the meantime, the museum stays closed. No visitors. And don’t go around touching anything, okay? I should be able to get a security guard to watch the crime scene until forensics is able to come in. If you need anything, you call me,” you tell her, handing her a business card with your cell number. 

You rush back to the precinct with the intent of calling an old schoolmate in St. Louis to try and expedite the forensics team, but Sergeant Hubbard is out in the bullpen for once, and seemingly waiting for you. 

“I promised Mrs. Ingram that I’d get a forensics team down there ASAP,” you say, trying to sidestep the man and get to your desk. 

“This won’t take long,” the Sergeant promises. “And actually, you won’t be needing to send a team. I’ve got that covered.”

“You do?” you ask, frowning skeptically.

“This case is of National interest,” Hubbard explains. “The FBI has a dedicated team of Agents that specialize in art crimes, and the State has all but ordered that we go through them.”

“You’re going to involve the FBI?” You try to keep your voice calm and even, but you can hear the volume begin to rise in indignation. For once you’ve got a case that’s different, interesting even, and it’s slipping through your fingers after barely an hour of being under your purview. 

“If we do this by-the-book–” 

“I can handle this myself,” you can’t help but interject. “And since when do you give a shit about ‘by-the-book?’”

“No one is questioning your capabilities–”

“Oh yeah? Is that why I’m always being stuck with every domestic violence case that comes through the precinct while you always handle the bigger shit?”

“You need to watch how you speak to a commanding officer,” Hubbard growls.

“Like it or not, I’m the one with a personal connection to both Mrs. Ingram and the head of Forensics in St. Louis. The FBI is going to come here with all the subtlety of a jackhammer, and–”

“It doesn’t really matter what you think, because I’ve already contacted the head of the Art Crimes Department in Washington, D.C., and someone should be here tomorrow morning to take the case.”

Your mouth is a thin line, your jaw tensed, and your eyes dark. “Anything else, Sir?”

“The precinct is behind state quotas for speeding tickets,” Sergeant Hubbard says. “I want you to try and catch people coming from Illinois on I-72.”

“Understood,” you bite out through clenched teeth. 

Armed with a coffee and bagel from Java Jive, you settle in one of your “favorite” hiding places along the interstate. After putting the driver’s seat as far back as it will go so you can stretch your legs, you take a long sip of your latte. You flip on your radar, but rather than watch for speeders, you instead scroll aimlessly through the news on your phone. 

Everyone’s gonna be going the speed limit today, you’ve already decided it. 

The Waterhole isn’t exactly a reputable establishment, but as the only bar in Hannibal, the options for getting a cold beer aren’t exactly pouring in. Every patron looks warily in your direction when you enter–it’s tough on your social life, being one of three cops in town–but you’re hardly in the mood for conversation. Everything about you says “Fuck off”: from your mud-covered work boots to the flannel you use mainly to take out the garbage in the winter. You can’t remember the last time you threw it in the washer, but there’s a chill to the air tonight, and everything else was either dirty or far too heavy for the weather. Your dour expression probably does most of the work, though. You scowl at the floor as you plod heavily toward the end of the bar and sit yourself on a rickety stool. The footrest is predictably sticky, and the bartop never looks clean no matter how many times the long-time bartender, Palmer, runs a wet cloth over top of it. 

You hold up two fingers in greeting to Palmer, who nods cordially and hands you your usual. 

The first sip is always the best–and dammit, you intend to enjoy it. You close your eyes, letting the liquid wash over your tongue before swallowing. It’s just cheap lite beer, sure, but this is the first moment you’ve allowed yourself to truly relax all day, and you can already feel your shoulders begin to relax and your jaw unclench. 

Casting your eyes around the establishment (a habit you can’t ever seem to get rid of), you take inventory of the patrons. Just about everyone you’ve known since childhood. There’s Ellis and Danielle Hewitt, high school sweethearts from the graduating class just above you, in the corner sharing a plate of sad-looking nachos and twin Miller Lites. Tommy Blevins, the high school quarterback who, if you were a betting woman, was probably in the middle of telling his Tinder date about that big game back in ‘02 that cemented his reputation as a Hannibal ‘celebrity.’ Most of the men playing pool were fresh off a day shift from the oil plant in the next town over. 

Yep, all of the usual suspects. 

Plus one anomaly. 

Once you see him, you aren’t sure how he evaded your notice from the moment you entered the bar. For one thing, he’s the only patron wearing a suit; everyone here only ever wears jeans. For another, he’s got that look of an outsider about him. You can always tell who’s from out of town: they have that subtle hint of insecurity with their surroundings that comes from being in a new place. His dark eyes look over the bar scene with a fresh, discerning gaze–seeing it for the first time, rather than for the three hundredth. 

Like you, the man seems to instinctively people-watch. He’s not obvious about it, or anything, but you can see his pupils flitting from the Rams game to scan the crowd as if he’s looking for something. 

Or maybe waiting for something.

Given this behavior, it shouldn’t surprise you when your eyes eventually meet. Embarrassed at being caught-out, you give him a crooked not-really-a-smile. He smiles back–a genuine one, that exposes a set of perfectly straight, white teeth and a small dimple on his right cheek. 

Your manners are hard to come by this evening, but you manage a friendly, albeit stiff nod, raising your beer bottle in a silent toast.

The man’s smile widens. 

A commotion from over at the pool tables draws both of your gazes to the group of men–now seemingly arguing about the score. The main agitator is, predictably, Bobby Pearson. You drain your bottle with a sigh, shoulders tensing automatically as you anticipate the inevitable way that this ends. 

You can see the glassy sheen to Bobby’s eyes from where you are, the way he’s swaying slightly as he gesticulates wildly with the hand holding the pool cue. You don’t need a breathalyzer to know that Bobby is way over the legal limit. Hell, all you have to do is spend more than a week in this town to know that this behavior is the norm, rather than the exception. 

You feel bad for the man, really. It’s no secret that he came from an abusive home. You remember the horrifying stories you'd heard about his father when you were his classmate in middle school. He was a nice enough kid-you remember him well–but when he grew up and got married, he wasn't ever able to escape the demons of his past. His erratic behavior was enough for his wife to leave with their two children. Last you heard, they lived in Maine. Probably about as far away as you can get from Hannibal without actually leaving the continental US. What he needs is therapy, but those types of resources are damn-near impossible to get out here. Everyone in Hannibal looks the other way as he drinks himself into a stupor every night. 

Occasionally, though, there will be an incident, and Bobby has to spend the night in the holding cells. You have a feeling you’re about to witness one of those incidents right now. 

The waving of the pool cue becomes more violent; he switches his grip, wielding the stick like a weapon as he continues to yell, spittle landing on his cheeks and his shirt as he slurs another insult. 

Getting up from your stool, you carefully approach the scene. 

“That’s enough, Bobby,” you state calmly. “I think it’s time to head home, how about you?”

“I think it’s time for you to mind your own fucking business, Cricket,” Bobby slurs back.

“Good one, Bob. Got anything else you wanna say to the off-duty cop?” You shouldn’t be taking the bait–you know it even as you say it, but you’ve had a shit day, and sometimes we all say things we regret, right? 

“Yeah. I wanna say… maybe you wouldn’t be such a fuckin' bitch if you had a good dicking.”

Several of Bobby’s pool buddies back away, eyes wide as dinner plates. 

“That’s enough. Go home. I don’t want to have to place you under arrest,” you say, trying to regain control over the situation.

“I could give it to you," Bobby sneers. "Give the uptight police lady a nice, hard, fu–"

With a heavy sigh, you retrieve your cuffs from the back pocket of your Wranglers and maneuver Bobby onto the nearest pool table. He's so drunk that he falls on his stomach without much effort on your part. 

"Aw, fuck I was only jokin’," he mumbles into the green fabric. 

"And it was real funny, Bobby. Hilarious even," you deadpan as you click the handcuffs into place. "Come sleep it off at the precinct, and you can apologize in the morning."

"M'shorry," Bobby groans as you manage to wrench him upright and guide him to the exit. 

It's only then that you notice the newcomer at the periphery of the scene–standing back, not intervening, but making it clear that he's on guard should things go south.

"Are you okay?" the stranger. "Need help?"

His nosiness annoys you. "Got it handled, thanks," you snap with a little more hostility than you mean to.

It's been a shit day.

You wrestle Bobby into the car and slam the door. On the way back to the precinct, you glower at the road in front of you while the man in the backseat begins an ear-splitting rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. On tonight of all nights, you grumble to yourself. 

He's asleep before he even hits the threadbare pillow in the holding cell. You nod to your nighttime counterpart, Evan, who gives you a sympathetic smile.

"What was it this time?" 

"Some argument over pool at the Waterhole. Get him something substantial to eat when he wakes up, okay?"

"Always do," Evan replies. "You all right? He give you trouble or somethin'?"

"Just a shit day."

"Go get a drink and relax."

"'S'what I was trying to do," you gripe. "In fact–shit–I skipped out on my tab. I'm gonna go back and settle, and try again in the comfort of my own home. Dunno why I even go out."

“Beer’s cheaper at home, anyways,” Evan comments with a wry grin. 

“Another excellent point,” you throw over your shoulder, giving him a crooked grin as you walk back out of the building.

Palmer is waiting for you with his hands on his hips when you return to the Waterhole.

“Not sure what you’re giving me that look for, Palm, you know I always settle my tab.”

“Better late than never,” he grouses.

You bark out a laugh. “You say that like it’s been a day, and not–” you check your watch, “–an hour.” You slide your debit card across the stained counter. 

“Not gonna have another?”

“Nah, I’ve got better shit at home than the swill you serve here.”

You and Palmer stare each other down for a few moments. You aren’t sure who breaks first, but it’s almost always Palmer. The bartender chuckles and sticks his hands in his pockets.

“Shit, Cricket, you know you can’t stay away from the finest establishment in Hannibal.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the only establishment in Hannibal.”

“And it’s a good thing you’re a good tipper, or I would have banned you years ago.”

“Doesn’t seem smart to ban any of your customer base, considering the local population. It’s shocking you haven’t gone under.”

“Beer is always in demand,” Palmer says with a wink. “No matter what the economy’s doin’.”

“You’ve got me there.”

You glance around the bar. The crowd has thinned out quite a bit; day shifts start early, so the nightlife is pretty limited past eight pm. A few stragglers remain, including… him. The stranger. 

The newcomer in the suit is watching your conversation with the bartender with an amused smile. When he notices you looking at him, he raises his glass in salutation and gets up from his stool to approach you. 

“Buy you another?” he asks with a smile.

“I just settled,” you say evasively. 

“On me,” the man insists. 

“Surprised you’re still here,” you comment lightly. “Shouldn’t you be back on your way to St. Louis, or something?”

The man lets out a surprised, pleased laugh. “You’re observant.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re not from around here.”

He gives you another one of those wide, toothy smiles as he raises two fingers to Palmer, who nods. 

“Well, you’re partly right. I’m not from around here, but I’m not from St. Louis.”

“Where are you from?”

“Let’s save that little nugget for later,” he suggests, sticking out his hand. “Marcus.”

You shake his hand, still feeling a little wary of the newcomer. If Marcus is bothered that you don’t offer your name right away, he doesn’t show it. 

“...Cricket, right?”

You laugh in surprise. “That’s what everyone calls me ‘round here.”

“What can I call you?”

“Officer.”

Palmer sets two bottles of beer down on the counter in front of you, and you shrug and take one of them. Marcus gently taps his own against yours and takes a sip.

“To new horizons,” he says with a smile.

“To doing the same shit every damn day,” you respond with a wry grin. 

“Do you do that every single day?” Marcus asks, jerking his head in the direction of the pool tables, referencing Bobby’s arrest.

You let out a huff of laughter and take another swig. “More than I’d care to, I’ll say that much.”

“He have a history of drunk and disorderly conduct?” Marcus asks.

“He’s got a history of that, and a whole helluva lot else,” you say with a sigh. “He’s mostly harmless, though. Doesn’t do much else but drink and cause trouble nowadays.”

“He did worse in the past?”

You shrug and wave Marcus off. “It’s a tale as old as time,” you say. “Grew up in an abusive household and then turned around and perpetuated it himself when he grew up. Pushed away his family, his wife, his kids, everyone really. But now the only one he ever hurts is himself.”

“He said some pretty awful things to you earlier,” he points out.

“If words had any effect on me, I wouldn’t have made it a week in the force,” you say. “Takes a lot more than that to rile me up.”

“Can’t really imagine you all riled up,” Marcus says, his eyes twinkling with playfulness.

He’s flirting with you. 

“I save it for special occasions.”

“So what, you just arrest this guy over and over again, letting him sober up in the holding cells until he does it again?”

Your smile fades. Tipping your bottle back and draining it in three large gulps, you set it down heavily on the table and give the man across from you a stony look.

“I don’t know what big city you’re from, Marcus, but this town is different. We take care of our own, no matter how difficult they’re being. We’ve done everything we can–tried to get him into rehab, into therapy programs, support groups… it never sticks. At this point, he’s spinning out, and the most I can try to do is to treat him with kindness and make sure he gets a decent meal while he’s sleeping it off in the drunk tank. Enjoy your night.” 

You get up, spin on your heel, and you don’t look back at the man again. 

You don’t know how you didn’t put two and two together until this moment–the minute you walk into the precinct at eight am sharp to meet the FBI Agent assigned to this case–your case.

The suit. The discerning, assessing gaze. The bravado. The big-city attitude.

Marcus is the FBI Agent.

His eyebrows raise for a moment when you walk into the bullpen, but other than that, he doesn’t appear surprised. He introduces himself as Agent Pike, sticking his hand out for you to shake as if it’s the first time he’s done so. You give him your last name–and only your last name–and grip his hand a little more forcefully than usual. 

It only causes his smile to widen. 

You exchange a quick conversation with Evan, who fills you in on the rest of the night (uneventful) and lets you know that Bobby is already out of the drunk tank and back at home. 

“Did he say anything?” you ask.

“Like what?”

“Like an apology.”

“Should he have?” Evan asks. “Did he do something last night?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s fine. He probably doesn’t even remember, anyway,” Turning to look at Marcus, you add, “Ready to head to the museum?”

He takes up all the space in the passenger seat of your squad car and then some. You do your best to ignore him as you drive, but your eyes keep returning to his dark, slightly mussed hair and the way his broad shoulders fill out that suit of his. It’s hard not to notice how attractive he is.

"So. Washington."

"Huh?" Marcus looks at you, questioning.

"That little 'nugget' of information you said you'd save for later. You knew, didn't you. You knew I was the cop on this case."

"Well, it wasn't hard to guess when I had a copy of the Hannibal city directory and there was only one female officer on staff."

"Guess you've got us all figured out, huh," you mutter irritably, and the car returns to silence.

“Mark Twain Lighthouse,” Marcus reads from a road sign, breaking the quiet. “Mark Twain Memorial Library, Mark Twain Museum.”

“Bet you can guess what this town is famous for,” you quip.

“How many guesses do I get?” 

“I mean, I’d hope you already knew about our claim to fame, if you read even one sentence of the case file we sent you.”

“You mean the case about the five missing original illustrations by Norman Rockwell from Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn from the Mark Twain Museum?” Marcus says wryly. 

You scowl at his nonchalance. You knew it; you knew the FBI would send some big city asshole who didn't give two shits about the town's heritage.

"I'm sorry," Marcus says, suddenly looking concerned. "Did I say something wrong?"

"This was my case, you know," you mutter, keeping your eyes on the road. "Finally, something besides domestic disputes handed to 'Officer Cricket,' and I have it for less than twenty-four hours before some Washington bigwig comes and takes it off my hands."

"Wha–hey, hang on a second. That's not what this is," Marcus insists. 

"Isn't it?"

"No. No, it's not like that. I'm here in a consulting role. You still get credit for being the lead officer on the case, but it'll be our forensics team and our analysts providing support. That's it."

You look sidelong at Marcus. His expression is open and unguarded, and you can't detect any dishonesty in his body language.

"That's it?" you repeat cautiously.

"Is that what all the animosity was about?" Marcus asks, without any malice in his tone. 

You mumble something about having a chip on your shoulder, and Marcus chuckles beside you.

"I wasn't always from Washington, you know," he says. 

"No?"

"Little town called Bastrop."

"Bastrop?" you laugh. "Never heard of it."

"Little place just east of Austin," Marcus says, letting a little bit of southern drawl slip into his voice.

"You're from Texas," you say, surprised. 

"Yes ma'am," he answers playfully. “I worked out of the FBI field office in Austin for almost ten years before getting promoted to HQ.”

“Congrats.” You give him a small smile as you pull into the museum parking lot. “This is it.”

Marcus charms Mrs. Ingram immediately, which doesn’t really surprise you at this point. The man seems to be made up of mostly charm, with a side of goofy jokes. The FBI’s forensics team won’t be at the museum for another hour, so Marcus takes inventory of the crime scene, snapping a few photos while you chat with Phil, the security guard. 

When Marcus’s team arrives, the scene is a flurry of activity. Evidence is bagged, frames are dusted, and more pictures are taken. True to his word, Marcus defers to you, letting you run the scene despite clearly having a relationship with most of the team. 

The day is a busy one–after spending the entire morning at the museum, you head back to the precinct to complete all the paperwork. Marcus buys the precinct lunch, and as you eat, he ends up launching into an informal, unintended lecture about art preservation, restoration, and how important it is to properly care for stolen art that his team has recovered. It makes you see him in a new light–not simply a representative of a faceless, uncaring organization that’s coming in to take over your case, but the leader of a team who cares deeply about every item they’re tasked with recovering. The man himself is painfully competent, every sentence out of his mouth demonstrating his level of experience and his love for the field.

Despite not knowing much about art yourself, you find his enthusiasm addictive. You can’t help but engage with him–asking about past cases he’s been on and listening intently to his stories, which range from the mundane to the incredibly dangerous. 

“...so a couple of us ended up going undercover and smuggling our own recovered artifacts back across the border,” Marcus is explaining, waving the remains of his sandwich in the air as he smiles fondly over what sounds to you like a harrowing escape from a Mexican cartel. 

You know you’re hanging off of every word, although you try very hard not to look like you’re hanging off of his every word. Still, the lunch break runs long, and suddenly you remember you were supposed to be back on patrol an hour ago.

“Shit,” you hiss, checking the time, making Marcus wince sympathetically.

“Listen to me, rambling on and keeping you from doing your job,” he says self-deprecatingly. “Seriously, tell me to shut up next time.” 

He stands when you do, offering his hand for you to shake. 

“Here,” you say, handing him your card instead, which has your work cell on it. “Just in case there’s any issues.”

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, looking into your eyes. “Thanks for entrusting this case to us–I know there’s always a level of territoriality that comes with involving the FBI, but I’m here to promise that the whole point is to work with you–not to come in and take over.”

You nod, and finally accept his hand, shaking it firmly. “We got off on the wrong foot, but I’m glad you’re here. You’re obviously more than knowledgeable about the field–more so than any of us–and I know I can speak for all of us when I say we appreciate the extra support.”

Marcus’s hand is warm against yours. The handshake might be firm, but it still feels as though he’s cradling your hand gently–as if he’s holding something delicate and precious in his palm. His eyes are endless; you feel as though you could read every emotion within them if you looked long enough. As you look, the corner of his mouth pulls up in an adorable, crooked grin.

“It was good to work with you today,” he says with finality. “See you bright and early tomorrow.”

You aren’t expecting the call that comes in the next morning–before you can even show up at the precinct to work with Marcus on the art theft case.

Bobby Pearson’s landlady, barely understandable through her hiccuping tears, explaining that she usually lets herself in to give him his mail, found the man hanging from the ceiling fan in his living room.

Your heart hammers dully in your chest as you notify the coroner and drive–lights on, this time–to Bobby’s place, with Sergeant Hubbard in tow.

“Cricket,” his landlady sobs as you get out of the squad car.

“I know,” you say soothingly, putting a hand on her shoulder to provide what little comfort you could.

“It’s awful. Oh, God, he’s just hanging there, and–” 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. Why don’t you stay out here and wait for the Coroner while we go in, ‘kay?”

You take a deep breath to center yourself, then open the door to Bobby’s little duplex apartment.

“Jesus,” Hubbard mutters behind you. 

You swallow hard at the sight of the man suspended from the ceiling fan. The inherent wrongness of witnessing a dead body never ceases to unsettle you. You think you could do this job for five hundred years and still never become desensitized to death. It’s the stillness that disturbs you the most; no one realizes how much bodies move until they aren’t doing it. 

You glance around the room, taking in the toppled chair a few feet away. Fuck. You knew Bobby was spiraling, but you had no idea it was this bad. You think back to the other night–were there signs that you missed? Something that could have alerted you to the fact that he was in crisis? 

The flash of a camera lights up the dim room, and you flinch.

“Sorry,” Hubbard mumbles. His face is grim as he snaps a few more pictures–the rope, the chair, Bobby’s puffy, swollen face–

Feeling nauseous, you look down at your shoes. 

Somewhere in the apartment, something beeps.

“Fuck was that?” Hubbard wonders.

“Sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.” You move further into the house to investigate. In the kitchen, nothing immediately stands out to you, until you realize the microwave timer is blinking the word “END” in perpetuity, alerting an occupant who can no longer hear that his food is ready.  

Frowning, you open it, taking in the reheated frozen dinner sitting–cold, but unfrozen–on the turntable.

“That’s weird,” you mumble.

“What’s weird?” Hubbard asks behind you.

“He made dinner, but didn’t eat it. If he was planning on killing himself, why make dinner? Why leave it in the microwave without eating it?”

Hubbard shrugs. “Forgot, I guess.”

Your frown deepens as you stare at the colorless potatoes and rubbery salisbury steak. Awareness tingles at the base of your spine–a little nagging voice whispering This isn’t right. 

The sound of the front door opening again makes you jump. 

“Hoooo, boy…” the Coroner breathes upon entering. “Dammit, Bobby.”

In your years as a cop, you’ve already learned that dealing with a body is an all-day affair. The day seems to pass you by as you deal with the fallout–phone calls, paperwork, and of course, the solemn affair of cutting Bobby down from the fan in the most respectful way possible. You don’t even remember to look at your phone until just before your shift ends–so the text message from Marcus that reads, “Time to jump on a quick call re: forensics?” is hours-old by the time you see it.

You tap out “Sorry, had a work thing come up that occupied the whole day. Connect tomorrow am?”

The reply is almost instantaneous. “Buy you a drink after a rough day?”

Your thumbs pause over the keypad. On the one hand, going out for drinks with Marcus makes you feel uneasy. There’s a mutual attraction there, you can tell that much, and you don’t trust yourself not to indulge in a little stress relief if Marcus tries to initiate it. 

And you have a feeling he might. Try, that is.

On the other hand, coming home to an empty house with nothing to keep you company but the image of Bobby Pearson’s oddly dangling feet that’s branded on your eyelids makes you physically recoil. 

“I’d ask where, but I think we both already know the answer.”

“I’ll be there around seven,” comes Marcus’s response.

At home, you turn the knobs in the shower until the temperature causes steam to fill the entire bathroom. The water burns your skin, but the pain is welcome, and you aren’t sure how long you remain unmoving under the stream until the hot water abruptly runs out. Yelping in shock, you hastily squirt some body wash onto a rag and frantically rub it up and down your body, then spin around under the stream three times as fast as you can to remove the suds before turning off the faucet. 

Shivering and dripping wet, you suddenly start to laugh. 

Marcus is already seated at the bar of the Waterhole when you arrive. The suit coat is gone, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows as he nurses a whiskey. You’re suddenly conscious of the fact that you’re dressed quite a bit nicer than you were on the night you met him–you even wore the non-muddy boots… and the jeans that you know make your ass look good.

“Hey,” you say by way of greeting, sliding onto the barstool next to him. 

Marcus slides an identical cocktail glass over to you. “Thought you might need something a little stronger than beer,” he comments.

You snort. “How did you know?”

He shrugs, a faint glimmer in his eye as he watches you take a sip and wince at the burn in your throat. 

“Had a hunch,” he offers.

“Well, it was right,” you sigh. “Might need a few more of these tonight.”

“Must have been one for the record books.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Not really. Just another fucking day.” You take another sip, and the burn is more welcome this time. “I think the fact that it’s so common is what so fucking depressing.”

Marcus doesn’t ask you what you mean, and for that, you’re grateful. 

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you grumble to yourself. “Suicides, or Fentanyl overdoses.”

Your companion is quiet for a long time. You aren’t in any shape to try and steer the conversation, so you take a few more sips of whiskey and stare into the middle distance.

“What made you want to become a cop?”

You snort again, even more unattractively this time. “Ten years ago I would have told you it was to help people and keep the community I grew up in safe.”

“What about now?”

Only one more sip remains in your cocktail glass, so you throw your head back and drain it, setting it down heavily on the counter. Palmer glances in your direction, a question in his eyes, and you nod. 

“I don’t fucking know,” you sigh. “Ask me tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a better answer then.”

Palmer brings over the bottle of Crown and pours another finger into your glass. 

“What about you,” you ask, only because it seems like the correct way to continue the conversation. “What made you join the FBI?”

Marcus grins, showing those perfectly straight teeth of his. At this distance, it seems less friendly and almost… predatory. You blink rapidly, shaking your head to dispel the thought. 

He tips his glass against yours, then drains it himself. “To make the world a better place, of course.” His smile is wry as he signals Palmer for another.

“How’s that going for you?” you ask. The question is tinged with sarcasm.

“Depends on the day, I suppose.”

“Ha. Fair.” You take another sip. “Guess it’s the same for me. Some days it feels like I’m making a difference. Other days it feels like I’m filling speeding ticket quotas so that the town gets enough fucking tax revenue for the year.”

“Hey now, getting the funds to fix potholes is a noble and worthy cause.”

“I dunno where it fucking goes, but judging by the state of 36, it ain’t going there,” you chuckle. 

“I happen to think you’re making a huge difference,” Marcus says soberly. “You get to do real, concrete things to help real people. One of the things I had to get used to in DC was that I didn’t feel like I was helping individuals anymore. It’s so much more high-level, sometimes I feel like all I do is send emails and have meetings. That’s why I like consulting,” he says, grinning at you. “I get to go to towns like this and actually talk to people.”

You pause with your glass halfway to your lips. “I… I guess I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

“You do good work,” Marcus tells you softly. His voice is full of sincerity; his eyes are deep, endless pools, and it feels as though they’re drawing you in. Licking your lips, you can feel the effect of the whiskey already by the way the skin of your tongue tingles slightly. 

“Thanks,” you say quietly. You aren’t sure what else to say. 

Your second glass is emptier than you thought. Had you really drunk it that fast? You huff a small laugh out of your nose, and swallow the last mouthful of whiskey. It barely even burns anymore. 

“‘Nother?” you ask, blinking hopefully at your companion. 

“If you like,” Marcus replies, giving Palmer a polite wave. 

“Ain’t nothing at the bottom of the bottle,” the bartender teases, refilling both of your glasses. “You two seem to be convinced otherwise, though.”

You ignore him and quickly take another sip, making Marcus laugh. 

“They say there’s only two kinds of people,” he says. “Those who drink to remember, and those who drink to forget.”

“If you’re about to ask me which kind I am, then you haven’t been paying attention to the conversation we’ve been having,” you tell him. 

“You drink to forget,” Marcus supplies. “You’re right, I don’t need to ask to know that.”

“Then what was the point of… of the thing you said?” you ask, frowning in confusion. 

“I drink to remember,” Marcus says quietly, staring soberly at his glass. 

“Remember what?”

“People. Old loves, old friends.” He takes a small sip. “The living, and the dead.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.

“What else do you want to forget?” Marcus asks gently. 

“So I dunno if you are aware,” you say, swaying slightly in your seat as you gesticulate, “but female ossifers–officers–uh, they’re often handed sexual assault cases, domestic abuse, fuckin’... fuckin’ child neglect, that kind of shit. And I’ve had… I’ve–” you break off with a shudder.

“Had your fair share of those, huh?” he says, covering your hand in his.

“Mmm, ’s'warm,” you remark, closing your eyes and basking in the feeling. “It’s… it’s the ones that weren’t brought to justice that keeps me up at night,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “Sympathetic judges who give rapists light sentences. Wives whose request for a restraining order went ignored. Kids who–” you let out a tiny sob, “–kids who are spending their childhood in foster care because both of their parents overdosed in front of them. I… I fucking tried. I fought hard for them, and in the end, does it matter? Does it matter, when they’ll be fucked up for life anyway?”

“It matters,” Marcus says, his voice suddenly firm. “It fucking matters, Cricket.”

“Every time they walk free, it eats at me,” you continue, emptying your third glass. 

“Tell me,” he demands softly as Palmer automatically pours you another. “You’ve been carrying their names with you for years, maybe this is how you let it go.”

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Round 1

Propaganda Under Cut

Alana Bloom

she kissed will graham in s1 and dated hannibal in s2 so you can imagine how bad the fandom is to her. fun fact she's in a canon lesbian relationship now tho <3

The show literally does the yaoi treatment of victimisation for the benefit of the male leads to her. And then the fandom mistreats her

I'm not sure if this even counts but...Literally a victim of Yaoi along with several other characters in-series, but she got it almost the worst. The entire show is just people dying because the two male leads are OBSESSED with each other and can't be normal about anything. Alana Bloom, actual PhD of psychology and consultant to the FBI, got kissed by one guy, fucked and fed people-meant by the other, and pushed out a window by the murder husbands' forced-surrogate daughter. Like. Actual victim of several crimes caused by yaoi. She's probably one of the few examples of a Yaoi Victim overcoming and evolving past her yaoi-related trauma into a stronger person/character, though: She gets an entire character overhaul and a hot, millionairess for a wife. She kills a man with an eel. She becomes head of the BSHCI, effectively putting her in complete power over her jackass cannibal ex-bf. She does quite well. Unfortunately, the rest of her screen time is spent trying not to get killed in the ongoing fallout of Hannibal and Will's fucked up courtship, but hey. Can't have everything. I don't even know if I'm saying anything valid here: the fandom loves her, but I supposed her position outside of the Hannigram relationship relegates her to a non-subject in a lot of Hannigram-focused fanwork. She's an 'obstacle' to their relationship only in the sense that Will had a crush on her once that went nowhere and Hannibal started an actual relationship with her SPECIFICALLY to piss off Will. I guess she's also a more literal obstacle as Hannibal's jailer and Will's friend who's constantly pointing out to him that Morals exist and he should try having some of those, maybe.

Gwen

She stands in the way of Merthur, by far the most popular ship in the fandom. I haven’t seen it as much in recent years, but back in the days of fanfiction.net she got slut shamed so badly for having been romantically interested in three of the male characters over the course of the show, which is just... normal straight woman behavior, meanwhile Merlin crushed on pretty much every woman who even looked at him in the early seasons of the show and got no hate for that whatsoever. I barely even read Merthur fics (not because it’s m/m, just because certain aspects of their relationship don’t appeal to me) but the “Gwen is a slut” attitude was so pervasive across the fandom, even fics that weren’t explicitly anti-Gwen would “jokingly” call her a slut. I even saw a few fics demonizing her for having an affair with Lancelot despite the fact that SHE WAS ENCHANTED when that happened, and surprise surprise, Lancelot (who was also under the influence of magic) got none of that hate, and neither did Arthur, who got enchanted to fall in love with multiple women over the course of the show.

Canonically Arthur Pendragon's love interest and an important and interesting character in the show who's completely shoved aside and ignored in favour of the medieval bbc yaoi ship. At best they put her and Morgana in Lesbian Timeout (ie make them get together and then reduce them to wingwomen at best because god forbid we focus on the medieval bbc yuri). Justice for Gwen right now!

She is prince Arthur's love interest (eventually wife). Arthur is MADLY in love with her. He tells his tyrannical father he would give up his crown to be with her (she's a servant in the series). He forgives her cheating on him with Lancelot (!), which in the show is caused by an evil enchantment, but the characters never find out about it. He chooses her time and time again. His love for Gwen is literally never put into question. Many fans insist to this day that there was no chemistry between Gwen and Arthur compared to Arthur and Merlin. Arthur isn’t even particularly nice to Merlin most of the time! The funny thing is that Merlin himself ships these two so hard and does everything he can to help them get together!! Gwen & Arthur are adorable and too many fans were drunk on the yaoi fumes to see it. ARTHUR WAS A SIMP FOR GWEN.

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Euphoria (Hannigram AU) - Shortfic

Explicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Tags: AU, Trans Masc Will Graham, therapy, sex therapy, inexperienced Will, kissing, clothed sex, nipple play, blow job (on a trans man), service top Hannibal, (anatomical words - t-cock, front hole, pussy), fingering, squirting, desk sex, front hole sex, Will is a good boy.

Will seeks out therapy and doesn't realise that Hannibal is a radical sex therapist.

Final installment on my @transhanniday Bingo card: Cop Will, Euphoria and Hannibal's Desk

Euphoria (6.6k words):

Will grew up in an environment where therapy just wasn’t something that happened. As a kid, it wasn’t something that existed outside of derisive comments on the sort of TV shows his dad watched. People who went to therapy were weak, it wasn’t something that men did. 

And that was the strange irony of it. That his dad held those beliefs - and many others Will might not agree with once he was grown and had a mind of his own - and yet had accepted Will was trans. 

Will had always been what they called a tomboy, he’d gone by the name Will as a shortening of his birth name for as long as he could remember. Once his mama died, his dad had let him do as he pleased as regards the clothes he wore and activities he partook in. And when he wasn’t at school, he dressed in dirty overalls and helped his dad at the boatyard. Hell, most of the customers thought the scruffy kid with a short mop of curly hair and dirt on his face was a boy. 

Truth was, Bill Graham had always wanted a son, so he had accepted it easily. With his wife gone - taken from him by cancer - it felt like the universe, or God, or whatever, was giving him something back. Making his kid into a real boy, like their own version of Pinocchio. 

And that had all been great for Will, he’d felt accepted for who he really was - affirmed - a word he learned many years later. His dad even bought him the bandages he used to bind his chest when his budding breasts started to grow in. But that wasn’t enough to counter the feeling of discomfort and disgust as his body started to change. As he went from being a little boy to a pubescent girl. Because there was no hiding it then, no escaping it or the way it made him feel. 

And, looking back, that would have been the ideal time for Will to seek therapy. But it wasn’t something men did.

Read on AO3!

[finitepeace]

3 months since I finished Hannibal tv show. Not moving on at all from hannigram.

and here are the fics that i read to soothe the pain and pretend that the mess that is hannigram relationship has been tidied up.

Personal favorites are marked with 🦌 <this is supposed to be a stag but then it turns out to be a goat???>

arranged by time setting.

11 season1 fics, 11 season2 fics , 2 season 3fics, 14 post/before canon fics, 5 fics AU, 2 missing scene fics, 2 collections.

Season 1 divergence

Kissable by FragileTeacup |2,5k words | A Season 1 AU ficlet which explores a simple premise: what would have happened if, after Will had gone to Hannibal's house and confessed to kissing Alana Bloom, he had ended up kissing Hannibal? 

Consenting to Dream by emungere | E, 38k words | A seduction through physical objects. It starts with a scarf loaned to Will on a cold day, but Hannibal, as usual, isn't satisfied with anything small.

🦌 Marriage of Inconvenience by FragileTeacup | 3,5k words E | When Will Graham hears that Hannibal Lecter has been threatened with deportation, he's far more dismayed than he ever thought he would be. But a flippant suggestion from Brian Zeller gives him an idea...

Beau Ideal by Gweezle | E, 21k words | will used to be a model -who might be attracted murder-

🦌 Dancing with the Beast by proser | E, 86k words | In order to catch a mediocre serial killer, Will must pose as Hannibal's date for a series of pretentious social events.

La Maison Rouge by Randstad | 2k words, Hannibal starts to show up at Will's house at the crack of dawn to make him breakfast, killing two birds with one stone: cooking is one of his many passions, and, honestly, Will Graham is climbing up the list.

Hyacinth House by bluesyturtle for Azremodehar | 80k, E,  It all starts with an injury Will sustains while sleepwalking. [Podfic] read by justbreathe

Kindling by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe) | 10k words, e | When Franklyn's advances of friendship become too much for even Hannibal to politely ignore, he enlists Will's help.

🦌 Separately to a Wood by emungere | 13k words, T, canon-divergence in which hannibal proposed to will on their 2nd day meeting. 

Demolition Lovers by thefangirlingdead | 76k words, E, hannibal got found out early, kidnapped will to run with him and will struggled with the usual ‘i love him but he is a murder’.. 

🦌 Small Repairs by Devereauxs_Disease | E, 20k words, divergence season 1, hannigram keeps finding reason to meet each other 

Season 2 divergence

🦌 The Fox's Wedding by thehoyden | E, 11k, post S2 finale fix-it, hannibal took will to japan

Amourette by Petronia | 3k words, E, divergence on season 2 

I shouldn't feel lonely when you're gone by Angelic_Disaster | 28k words, E, amnesiac Dr. Lecter,

Slip the Veil by ThisBeautifulDrowning   21,844  Post-Mizumono, Will heals, and thinks, and follows his heart. 

🦌 each according to its kind by chaparral_crown | 192k words | Season 2 divergence | instead of taking revenge and planning to expose hannibal, will drop everything and run away 

Where All Ladders Start by emungere | E, 43k, season 2 divergence, hannibal regrets and releases will from prison 

Pattern Break by ThisBeautifulDrowning | e, 72k | No, Will was going to deal with Hannibal Lecter on his own terms. The man deserved to reap what he'd so carefully sowed, didn't he? After his release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will doesn't return to work for the FBI.

🦌🦌🦌 if you will come all the way down with me by coloredink | 7k words, M, they left together with abigail, but at what cost??? 

Season 3 divergence

🦌 their beaks not yet turned red by chaparral_crown | M, 130K words, magical realism, baby lecter!! post 1st half of season 3, hannibal went to trial but his conjugal tryst with will brought a stork delivered gift | After Hannibal is arrested and the trial dates are set, the stork visits Will Graham. With it, it brings a baby, a legally binding birth certificate, and a hope chest full of gifts for her. Nobody except Will thinks this is weird.

A Postcard and a Knife by Canis_cosmos | E, 37k words, divergence from season 3 when chiyoh threw will out of the train to the past and met young hannibal 

post S3 / before S1

God and Glasses by purefoysgirl | 1,1k, G, domestic life of married hannigram 

Lean On Me by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles | 2k words | Written for the airport-related AU prompt: "I fell asleep on your shoulder and you were too polite to move or wake me up AU" with a Hannigram twist.

We Killed a Dragon Last Night and  Sounders of Three by  inameitlater | time travel/loop/groundhog day

🦌 Hear My Soul Speak by DarkmoonSigel | 130k words. WIP. Last updated early 2022.  | An AU about how Will might of met Hannibal differently since they both knew Alana. A dinner party gone wrong or terribly right. You decide. Not Beta Read.

🦌 When the Devil Smiles Back byGoldenUsagi | 26k words |  A remix of Silence of the Lambs, where Clarice finds herself occupied not only with catching Buffalo Bill, but with unraveling the mystery of what exactly happened to Will Graham. And Hannibal knows more than he’s letting on about both.

🦌🦌🦌Bigger than a Breadbox by KatherineKrawl | 4k words, E | Every day at work, Will's lunchbox is filled with decadent creations, prompting questions from curious coworkers. Hoping to solve the matter, he asks Hannibal for a 'simple' sandwich, but quickly learns Hannibal doesn't quite grasp the meaning of this. Or does his boyfriend have an ulterior motive for his lavish lunches?

TKO by sidnihoudini | 16k words Molly deals with the aftermath.

The Shape of Me Will Always be You by MissDisoriental | 279k words, 1st person POV, | post-fall, hannibal left will so will could return to his old life

A Discreet Madness by emungere | 4,4k words, M, post-fall | 

A Damn Slippery Life by Magical_Destiny | 2k words, T, post-fall, molly reacts

Something Else by HotMolasses | 2,1k, T, hannigram talking about that gutting scene...  

🦌🦌🦌 Say Cheese! by Devereauxs_Disease | 6k, M, murder husband’s vacations keep appearing in freddie lound’s tattle crime 

Cold Beds and Warm Cannibals by Devereauxs_Disease | E, 4,4k, smut and overcoming distrusts

🦌Fruitful by Everett_Harte An AU remix of 'Hannibal'. Where they both meet several years before the show, start dating, and get married. And bang, a lot.

AUs

🦌 the true kingkiller by ORiley42 | 41k words, M, there’s even a very well made podfic for it!, hannibal is a mummy and will accidentally freed him. consequence: will fell in love with him.

Ethics & Aesthetics by FragileTeacup | 106330 words, a Regency A/B/O romance | pride and prejudice au

🦌🦌🦌 Remember (that you are) to die by  13empress | 230k words, WIP last updated  2017 | ABO au, amnesiac will woke up with 13 years past experience including being a parent, a one half of murder husband, and a wrongly incarcerated FBI agent 

Oddbodies by toffeecape | E, 72k words | Will is an off-brand sentinel. Hannibal is a reputable guide. What could go wrong?

🦌🦌🦌 Overcoming by purefoysgirl | 547k words, E, A/B/O victorian AU, MY VERY FIRST HANNIGRAM FIC! brought me here and now i'm stuck

Howling Outside Your Door by nobetterlove | 14k words | Content to spend his days on the surgery floor, Hannibal is tasked to present emergency room policy to a Cognitive Science class. He's somewhat reticent, but a single whiff of air changes everything. The professor, Will Graham, is an enigma. A dark bruise covers his right eye and the ripe burnt-sugary sweetness is tainted by a tang of suppressants. How much can finding his true mate really change Hannibal? And when it comes to darkness, where does acceptance lie? 14k words

missing scenes

My Husband by VictoriaAGrey | G, 3,5k words, hannigram being sweet married couple

Mise en Place by WrathoftheStag for Devereauxs_Disease | G, 1,8k, outsider POV -one of the kitchen staff in hannibal’s dinner party- 

collections i'm checking out

In Which Loverboy Lecter Prostrates Himself at the Altar of Will Graham 

Fresh Meat Friday

Hannigram Extended Universe

Trope: From Sex To Love (Valhalla Enchanted) by TigerPrawn | 14k words | the omega prince Charmont is in need of an alpha to see him through heat until his betrothed arrives from a distant kingdom. The recently freed slave one-eyed mute is just hideous enough to be the perfect temporary alpha to service the prince.

Forgemaster by Llewcie | 11k words | Charmont, the newest Dionysus, loses a bet to his roommate Aphrodite, and is required by her to go on three dates with a god of her choosing. Before he even gets out the door, he scathingly insults the gentle, mute Hephaestus, and then must scramble to make amends.

Blood on Steel by MonstrousRegiment | Ella Enchanted/Valhalla Rising crossover, series of 24k words work

[jaded-quill]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Hannibal (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Abigail Hobbs Additional Tags: Captivity, Post-Season/Series 01 AU, Kidnapping, POV Will Graham Summary:

A post-S1 AU where instead of letting Will rot in the BSCHI, Hannibal steals him out of the hospital and keeps him captive personally.

Will wakes up on a comfortable bed, in a strange room, with a chain attached to his ankle.

-

Woo! Chapter 5!

[autarkiia]

My hannigram fic is now complete! Take this, all of you, and eat of it.

Do you know what it means to be loved by death? by autarkia

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Hannibal (TV)

Relationship:

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Characters:

Will Graham

Hannibal Lecter

Alana Bloom

Beverly Katz

Jack Crawford

Will Graham's Dogs

Brian Zeller

Jimmy Price

Freddie Lounds

Dr. Frederick Chilton

Additional Tags:

Angst and Fluff and Smut

Religious Imagery & Symbolism

especially in sex

Discussions of Morality

some heavy symbolism in this one

creative tableaux

book recs in social sciences lol

Blood Kink

they flip TM

dom/sub dynamics

Domestic Fluff

Murder Husbands

Non-Consensual Drug Use

non-consensual cannibalism

BDSM

Biting

light Knife Play

all they do is scheme have gay sex and lie

Codependency

mutual obsession

Breathplay

Dark Will Graham

Unhealthy Relationships

toxic old man yaoi

Language: English Words: 88,123 Chapters: 24/24

Summary:

A story in which Will Graham gets everything he's ever wanted and loses everything he's ever been.

Notes:

The story diverges from canon in multiple ways, it's roughly set at the beginning of season 1, albeit in more modern times. I've taken the approach of remixing different aspects of the original story and creating something new that suited my vision. Either way, it's an AU story, where Will is a teacher and a profiler, and Hannibal is his FBI-appointed psychiatrist who also happens to consult on the cases if it means spending more time with the object of his obsession. The works of the Ripper also diverge from canon; I've taken some artistic liberty with his history and introduced new killers for Will to catch, who serve as a reflection of his inner struggles.

[dinner-and-a-show]

Because Hannibal is clearly just a teenage girl dealing with her first serious crush, I raise you-

An early season 1 fic where Hannibal is still getting Abigail over on his side, pushing the ‘family’ idea, which means sometimes bonding. Hannibal also talks about Will a lot, mostly so Abigail is familiar with him, and Abigail, recognising this for what it is, asks if Hannibal likes him. Hannibal has a mini heart attack, but Abigail is already talking about the best ways to ask him out, and do they want the house to themselves, and if Will would let her dogsit if they went out for an evening.

When Hannibal says they aren’t together (he does not deny his feelings) Abigail pushes it. When Hannibal tells her Will is getting sick, she tells him he needs to take care of Will, so Will can see how good Hannibal is for him. When he mentions framing Will, she tells him that that means Will won’t be able to talk to him.

Basically, an au where Hannibal wins Will over by being charming and good to him. Will eventually gets to the cannibalism and murder, but is much more chill since he wasn’t being framed for it, and it’s all orchestrated by Abigail, who actually gets to know both of them through it instead of being idolised or martyred. End game murder family, and at least one scene where Abigail paints Hannibal’s nails.

[humanreuben]

new fic:)

Fandom: Hannibal (TV)

Relationship: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter

Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter

Additional Tags: Trans Will Graham, Endometriosis Pain, Menstrual Pain, Menstrual cramp, Painkillers, Morphine, Crying, Men Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 02, Will Graham Knows, Hannibal doesn't enjoy seeing him in that kind of pain, Hugging, Spooning, Endometriosis is actually hell on earth, this is a vent fic, No Beta, we die like i feel i am when my uterus is trying to kill me

Words: 1,162 Chapters: 1/?

[the-crooked-library]

Hannibal and Control

Alright so out of all the Hannibal interpretations out there, I don't think there are any that irritate me more than the idea of an unequal balance between him and Will. There's this opinion floating around - that he is so much of a control freak that he can never let Will make his own decisions; I've seen it in fic, in Tiktok videos, an occasional textpost, and it is just so grossly incorrect that I have to say something on the subject.

As early as season 2, we get this:

This is perhaps one of the most famous scenes in the series - in which Hannibal states, out loud, canonically, that the reason he is so fascinated by Will is because, unlike most other people, he can never truly predict him. No matter how much he may "whisper through the chrysalis," Will Graham will find a way to surprise him; he expressly doesn't follow the lines Hannibal has written for him, and that is a key element of their relationship throughout the show.

Now, I am not denying that control is a prominent element of Hannibal's life - it is indubitably important; but it is not everything - especially in this particular context. As much as he maintains that iron grip on himself, it does not reach nearly the same extent with Will; and it falls apart entirely by season 3, in which Hannibal explicitly gives up his control of the story, risking his life and freedom - both things he valued above all else earlier in Mizumono.

The message here is clear; as much as his control, his liberty, his own continued existence matter, Will Graham is infinitely more precious to him; and to suggest otherwise - that he would attempt to fully subjugate the man he views as his only equal, as the only deity he recognizes - frankly, he'd call it blasphemy.

Moreover, this interpretation of their relationship stems not only from a mischaracterization of Hannibal himself, but also from a rampant infantilization of Will. There is a tendency in some areas of the fandom to entirely absolve Will Graham of his guilt; and, with the culpability handed over to Hannibal in its entirety, he assumes the role of an innocent, redeemable, good person in the eyes of such viewers - which could not be further from the truth. Will Graham's agency is integral to the story; though he wrestles with some moral dilemmas throughout the series, he is ultimately responsible for his own choices, especially post-season 1. There is a clear distinction between circumstance and desire - for instance, Randall Tier did invade his home, which did force him into violence; however, it did not force him to throw aside his gun, or relish the brutality, or bring the body to Hannibal, or eat of it, or display parts of it, or store the rest in his freezer.

He did all that himself.

He knows that.

Will Graham's infantilization (no, he was manipulated, he was tricked, Hannibal tempted him into something he didn't want, he didn't want to be a murderer, he is a sweet darling boy) is rooted not only in homophobia, but also in the same sort of ableism real-world autistic adults face every day. His own desires and agency get overwritten by that ever-present bigotry; the same way that some people believe that autistics cannot give consent to sexual activity, or participate in nuanced discussions, or understand the harm or violence they do, the other characters assume that he is fundamentally an innocent right until the very end. Jack, Alana, Molly, even Chilton make that mistake; and Will does play on their ignorance within the world of the story - but it is truly discouraging to see the success of his act extend to the viewers, who should have the necessary context to understand it for the lie it is.

He has agency, and it is paramount to the themes of a series that explores queer desire, internalized homophobia, and the guilt that often surrounds this sort of experience.

As such, the story, from Hannibal's perspective, is about learning to let go of his otherwise unwavering control; it's about finding a common ground with someone that understands him, and allowing himself the final trust fall. From Will's perspective, it is a coming out story, with everything that entails - which also culminates in him taking a leap of faith into the arms of the man he loves. The reason why Hannigram is so enduring as a ship is because it is founded on that balance; to deny this equality, therefore, is to fundamentally undermine the theme of these characters' narrative, and twist them into caricatures of themselves.

In short, it does them a disservice.