#hannibal the pessimist

[thecoolestcowboy]

will: look! the leaves are falling! i’m excited for fall i love to wear sweaters.

hannibal: autumn reminds us that even mother nature brings her creations to death. she is not unlike God. killing brings power, even to the god of life. and are we not created in the image of God?

will: shut the fuck up

[love-songs-for-emma]

am i going to single-handedly create a fandom about jay holt from the video game "as dusk falls"? i just fuckin might

[crimsondinnerparty]

In Aperitivo, there’s a scene where Will envisions helping Hannibal cut Jack’s throat, which has a lot of interpretations. Many see this as Will fantasising about committing murder alongside Hannibal, but I think it goes deeper than that. By the time Will hears Hannibal’s voice on the phone, he admits that a part of him has fully sided with Hannibal. So, this vision? It’s more about Will contemplating what might have happened if he had made a different choice, rather than just indulging in a fantasy.

Chilton’s conversation totally sets this up. When he hits Will with the whole “this is your best possible world, Will. You’re not getting a better one” line? Yeah, that’s some heavy truth right there. Will is a pessimist, and what he’s really doing in that moment is thinking: "What if I had sided with Hannibal?" Somewhere, in another universe, Will went full dark mode and betrayed Jack, and Jack ended up dead. But here’s the thing—Will isn’t fantasizing about the act of killing Jack. He’s thinking about the consequences — the inevitable betrayal, horror, and pain Jack would have felt.

Let’s talk about that dinner scene. Will is flashing back to the “sacrificial lamb” dinner, right before the big showdown. Remember when Hannibal was like, “We can spare Jack, feed the dogs, and leave Alana a note”? If Will had dipped with Hannibal that night, Jack would’ve been fine, technically. But the betrayal would’ve still hit the same, and Will’s soul? that betrayal would have left him irrevocably changed, soulless.

This is why Chilton’s words carry such weight. The reality where Hannibal attacked, but they all survived, is the best outcome for Will. Hannibal made the choice for him — by stabbing him and leaving him for dead, Hannibal prevented Will from becoming the monster he wanted him to be. Ironically, Hannibal saved Will by keeping him from crossing the point of no return.

We all know Will becoming Hannibal would’ve been the worst version of reality for him. So yeah, this reality? As messed up as it is, it’s actually the least bad. Will’s vision of Abigail in Primavera is all about his desire to run off with Hannibal, but Chilton is there to remind him that there’s no “better” world out there for him. It’s bleak AF, but Will’s choices all suck, and he knows it. The idea that doing the “wrong” thing might actually have been the “right” thing? That’s a thought too dark for him to even process.

[defectivevillain]

this broken design ch9

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

notes: this is embarrassing, but i forgot to post chapter 9 on Tumblr... so i had chapters eight and ten up, but not nine... sigh. pls forgive me, everyone 😭

Since you’re dreading the meeting with Alana, it comes up impossibly fast. You fall asleep quickly the night before—for the first time in a long time—and wake to dread’s company. Your anxiety only builds as you get closer to the institute. By the time you reach the parking lot, you can’t calm your racing heart. Thankfully, you spot Hannibal’s car moments later and the two of you walk into the building together. Hannibal must sense that you’re not in the mood for conversation, because he remains a quiet yet steady presence at your side. 

Alana spots you the moment you cross the threshold of her office. She holds the door open for you with a kind smile. “Hello, Alana,” you say, trying to sound as normal as possible. You can only hope your apprehension doesn’t show through in your voice. 

“Hello,” Alana responds with an easy smile. Her hand falls back to her side, but Hannibal reaches out and deftly catches the door before it can slip closed.  The look on Alana’s face twists ever so slightly as she sees that you aren’t alone. She regards your company with fleeting interest. “Hannibal.”

“Hello, Alana,” he murmurs, a polite half-smile on his face. “It’s wonderful to see you again.” The slight smile on his face looks strained. Maybe it really isn't wonderful to see her again. You shake your head to clear your thoughts; you need to stop reading into these types of things. 

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you,” Alana remarks good-naturedly. 

“Yeah, slight change of plans…” You remark with a grimace, not desiring to disclose the true reasons behind Hannibal’s presence. You can tell that Alana is curious, but you decide not to provide an explanation. Somehow, you feel a bit cowardly at the thought of needing Hannibal to be here with you. Speak of the devil, you think to yourself as you realize Hannibal is staring at you with a chastising expression on his face. It’s as if he can sense your pessimistic thoughts. You quickly avert your eyes, only to find that Alana is looking between the two of you with a suspicious expression. This is going to be a nightmare, you think wryly. 

“Jack informed us that you were Abel Gideon’s psychiatrist,” Hannibal starts, breaking through the tense silence. Each momentary lull in the conversation feels like a knife to the back. There’s a faint buzzing sound emanating from the fax machine in the corner of the office and the small analog clock on Alana’s desk carves a constant rhythm into the air.

“For a time, yes,” Alana responds vaguely. You swallow any comments about the ambiguity of her answer and instead focus on the next line of questioning. 

“What information do you have on him?” You press on adamantly. Unfortunately, if you halted your questioning every time you noticed tension rising in the air, this conversation would never end. You take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose, before bringing a hand to rest on Alana’s desk. “I haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet.”

“Well,” Alana breaks off, inexplicably glancing at Dr. Lecter for a moment as if questioning his presence. You resist the urge to huff in amusement at the rather petty behavior she’s currently exhibiting. Although, you suppose her reaction is somewhat justified—Hannibal isn’t technically a federal agent, after all. However, Jack has pretty much ushered him onto the BAU—a feat not easily accomplished by any means. “Gideon is a sociopath and narcissist with psychotic episodes and homicidal tendencies.”

“But…?” You ask, noticing the way Alana seemed to momentarily falter after recounting the man’s diagnoses. The question seems to throw the psychiatrist off guard, because her eyes momentarily widen and you get a glimpse of her surprise. 

“Nothing slips by you,” Alana remarks with a smile. You’re somewhat uncomfortable with the fond tone of her voice. “For a person with the same diagnoses as him, identity is a rigid and unchanging mechanism. However, Gideon’s recent confusion and waverance about the Chesapeake Ripper speaks to severe borderline personality disorder.” Your eyebrows furrow. While you’re certainly not friends with Alana, you’ve known her for long enough to know that she doesn’t typically use such formal diction. What changed? Perhaps she feels pressured to speak in such a manner since Hannibal is in the room. You suppose that would make sense—he was Alana’s unofficial mentor. 

“That’s an interesting distinction to make, Alana,” Hannibal voices, bringing your attention back to the conversation. You feel the sudden need to avert your eyes from the two psychiatrists; instead of looking at either of them, you let your gaze wander about Alana’s office. You’ve been in here a few times, yet you’ve never taken the time to truly look around. Now that you’re looking, you can catch hints of Alana’s personality bleeding through the nondescript beige walls. She has framed pictures of various people—evidently, her friends— scattered across the four walls and her desk is almost impeccably clean. 

Your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth. You don’t want to speak anymore. The unspoken competition hanging in the air between Hannibal and Alana seems to distract them from your silence, as they continue to speak about Gideon. You allow Hannibal to ask the questions and, thankfully, you seem to share many of the same concerns. Alana continues to speak to Hannibal, but you can see her sneaking glances at you between her words. 

Suddenly, you hear your name and you’re thrown back into the uncomfortable present. Both psychiatrists are staring at you expectantly. You blink at them, waiting for someone to exclaim. Alana smiles at you. “I’d be happy to accompany you on your visit to the hospital.” She offers. 

You don’t know what to say or how to say it. How can you possibly begin to describe the tumultuous storm of negative emotions that rages through you whenever you catch even a glimpse of Alana’s face? How can you even begin to explain the days you’ve spent going through your memories of her, trying to pinpoint a moment where her feelings for you changed? Truthfully, you don’t think you’ll be even the slightest bit comfortable in her presence by yourself—especially not in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane of all places. You have to put active effort into fighting the urge to glance at Hannibal for assistance. You certainly don’t expect him to have an infallible solution to your problems (or even a solution at all); rather, you just need the reminder that you aren’t alone. 

Eventually, you’re forced to break the silence. “Thank you for the offer, Alana,” you start, trying not to take note of the way her smile starts to falter. You scramble to find a way to decline her offer diplomatically. “I spoke with Jack and he seemed to desire Hannibal’s opinion on things.” That may not be a word-for-word explanation of the conversation you had with him earlier, but it will do. Furthermore, Jack is a perfect excuse—since his word is practically law in the BAU. Alana won’t want to disobey his orders, so she should back off after the mention of your boss. Indeed, the psychiatrist frowns slightly but gives in. 

“Alright,” Alana surrenders, but not before giving you a strange look. You shrug helplessly, not wanting to admit that you would much prefer Hannibal’s company to Alana’s. She can take whatever meaning she desires from that gesture. Alana seems to do so, as she sends you a sympathetic look. You eventually work up the nerve to dismiss yourself and within a minute, you’re out in the hall and free from the overbearing psychiatrist and her far too small office. 

“Thank you for accompanying me,” you say to Hannibal as the two of you walk down the hall. You shove your hands in your pockets and continue to quickly pace down the hall, idly hoping that Hannibal will keep up. 

“Any time,” Hannibal responds from your side. There’s nothing but sincerity written in the lines of his face and the rather unexpected honesty of his remark catches you off guard. Hannibal makes it sound as if he would truly accompany you any time. Surely, that isn’t the case. Surely, you’re hearing things. You take a shuddering breath and lead Hannibal to your office to grab the paperwork you need. 

After grabbing the paperwork, the two of you head back through the institute and out to the parking lot. You offer to drive, since Hannibal has driven you several times and you feel the need to repay the gestures somehow. Admittedly, it’s a change of pace for you to be the driver; you feel a little self conscious, for some reason. You can’t shake the feeling that Hannibal is staring at you from the passenger seat. Whenever you glance to the side, however, the psychiatrist is staring out the window or straight ahead. You eventually forget the rather eerie feeling and focus on driving. The drive passes without event and, now, the two of you are walking along the path to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Your heart is racing in your chest as you come to terms with the fact that you’ll have to survive another conversation with Frederick Chilton. You aren’t so oblivious to the hungry look in his eyes or the subtle probing in each statement that leaves his lips. Speaking with the man is far from the first thing you want to do; however, you need to navigate a conversation with him if you want to speak with Abel Gideon. 

“Ah, back again, are we?” Chilton smirks as you enter his office. His gleaming eyes are practically dissecting you. The smugness radiating off of the man is suffocating. He anticipated that you would return. However, Chilton evidently performed some mental gymnastics to get to that particular conclusion—there’s no way in hell you’ll join him for a consultation. “Here to take me up on my offer?” You resist a laugh. 

“I’m afraid that isn’t the case,” Hannibal interjects for you, before Chilton can leer at you any longer. You’re once again grateful that you had the foresight to allow Hannibal to accompany you. He’ll serve as a buffer. Without him, you’re nearly certain that Chilton would make a meeting with Gideon rather difficult. “Dr. Lecter; a pleasure to finally meet you, Frederick.” You raise an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic greeting. Hannibal always introduces himself using his first name. Yet, he doesn’t give Frederick permission to refer to him in such a manner. 

“And you, Dr. Lecter,” Frederick responds, extending a hand. The resulting handshake looks to be uncomfortably tight, yet neither of the men comment on it. Then, Hannibal takes the proffered business card and places it in his pocket. You immediately realize that Chilton is going to be an addition to Hannibal’s rolodex of rude people. The thought brings you a little solace. 

“I’ve brought the necessary paperwork,” you remark, breaking up the impromptu staring contest that Hannibal and Chilton silently initiated. You place the aforementioned paperwork on the desk and Frederick stares down at it, before flipping through it with a scrutinizing gaze. You hold your breath and watch as he rifles through it. 

“I see,” Frederick then says regretfully, folding his hands on his desk. It seems he couldn’t find fault with your paperwork. You’re happy about that—there’s no telling what Jack would have done if you came back empty-handed again. “Such a shame. Would’ve loved to get into that mind of yours.” The man sighs with a click of the tongue. 

“I’m sure,” you mutter darkly, a remark that goes unnoticed by Chilton. Hannibal certainly does notice the statement, however, and his lips quirk in amusement. You take a deep breath and manifest more patience. You can’t be too callous with Chilton, because he could easily withdraw your access to Gideon. However, you are tired of this conversation. “Dr. Chilton, can you show us to Gideon?”

“I suppose,” Frederick acquiesces with a burdened sigh, as if your refusal to be manipulated is an incredible inconvenience. You’re sure that, to him, it is actually an inconvenience; the man makes a living off of manipulating people. You’ve heard the rumors swirling about the man—how Chilton profits off of the suffering and pain of others. Safe to say, you don’t like him one bit. “Please, follow me.” Frederick proceeds to lead you through the halls. You take a few turns before stopping in a rather large and open space, with tiny windows near the ceiling serving as the only sources of light. There are impossibly small cages lined up in neat rows. Your stomach turns as you see the dried flakes of blood stuck to the metal bars. Chilton hums to himself as he walks a few paces and comes to a stop in front of a cage. The look on the man’s face morphs from immature amusement to dark glee. You swallow past the premonitions in your chest and allow your gaze to fall on the man sitting in the cage—indeed, it cannot be called anything more than a cage. There is barely enough room for the man to stretch his arms and he remains hunched over with his head down. Chilton crosses his arms over his chest. “Abel, you have visitors.”

Abel Gideon’s head remains titled down. It’s clear that he doesn’t desire to speak with the administrator. Frederick makes an annoyed groaning sound before slamming his hand on one of the bars a few times, evidently trying to get his attention. The killer doesn’t give any indication that he has even heard the other man. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Chilton says resignedly, sending you a look that is clearly supposed to be intimidating. Fortunately for you, you’re far too used to being stared down by far worse people—criminals, serial killers, murderers, and psychopaths… Frederick Chilton has nothing on any of them.

As Chilton retreats, Gideon begins to stir. By the time Frederick is gone, Abel Gideon’s head has risen and his searching gaze finds you, before settling on Hannibal at your side. There’s a slight slip in his expression—a small twitch of the eye—before it is smoothed over. You wonder if this was a bad idea. Perhaps you should’ve come here alone. Unfortunately, there’s no use in regretting the decisions that led you here. You’ll just have to do the best you can. That will have to be enough.  

“I was wondering when you’d show up, Dr. Lecter,” Gideon says, his voice raspy from evident disuse. His hands grip the bars that keep him caged. You have to wonder if the design of this interrogation space was intentional—if the prisoners were meant to feel like caged birds—wings bound and stripped of all freedom. You’ve always hated the carceral state. You don’t realize that your thoughts have gone on a tangent until your companion speaks. 

“Indeed,” Hannibal responds blandly, as if Abel Gideon is nothing more than a pebble beneath his shoe. You suppose that Gideon probably is that insignificant to Hannibal. Besides, Gideon was thought to be the Ripper for several months—maybe Dr. Lecter didn’t take too kindly to the idea of someone else taking credit for his work. Indeed, Hannibal cuts the conversation off before it can even begin. “I’ll just be over here, if you don’t mind.” You raise an eyebrow at him, but the gesture goes unnoticed since his back is turned. You turn your attention back to Abel Gideon, only to find that he is already staring at you. Unnerved, you briefly pause before eventually regaining your composure. 

“Hello, Abel,” you remark cautiously. 

“Hello,” he responds warily. You don’t blame him for being cautious—from what you know, medical professions have consistently manipulated him. Fortunately for him, you’re certainly not a medical professional. 

“I want this to be a private conversation,” Gideon emphasizes, glaring at Hannibal lurking in the corner before looking back at you. “Just the two of us.” Your heart stutters in your chest. 

“I’d rather remain here,” Hannibal interjects, to your surprise. You look over to him, only to find yourself met with a fiery gaze. There’s something unspoken in the tight pull to his shoulders; there’s something unspoken in the tightly-coiled ferocity of his posture. You’re swimming with sharks, here—and your blood’s in the water. 

“I insist,” Gideon says, turning to look at you expectantly. There’s a scrutinizing sense to his gaze, as if he’s dissecting your every move. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, before turning to Hannibal. You know he’ll be easier to persuade than Gideon. If you want to get any information from the killer, you’ll have to pretend to play his game. 

“Will you leave us?” You ask. Hannibal’s gaze is set on Gideon with frightening focus; the two lock eyes and you can’t help but feel as if you’re missing something. Eventually, Hannibal looks towards you. You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Of course,” Hannibal acquiesces politely, turning around and leaving the room. You can’t bring yourself to take your eyes off of Gideon for even a moment. 

“You have him on a leash, don’t you?” The man remarks with a laugh, resting his hands on the bars of his interrogation cell. You have to look away from his grip, as you’re assaulted with thoughts of how easy it would be for those strong hands to wrap around someone’s neck and squeeze. “A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you respond stiffly, despite your heart absolutely racing out of your chest. Each piece of this conversation feels far more significant than you can currently comprehend. Each statement Gideon makes seems to be hiding an underlying message. You’re immediately thankful for your somewhat dubious morality—the recording device in your pocket will prove to be extremely useful for future reference. After all, the morals and ethics you prioritize aren’t the agency’s or society’s, but your own. You are self-governed. Plus, you know that the FBI’s strict interrogation policies would prevent you from getting any truly useful information. “Anyway, I’m here to speak to you about the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Hm,” Gideon says, suddenly looking entirely uninterested. It’s clear that the topic is well-exhausted already. You may have to approach this from a slightly different angle. You want to speak about the Ripper, but you will have to hide your questioning behind clever wording. You then realize that conveying trust may be most effective. Abel Gideon has spent years rotting away in this hospital, his words slipping into Chilton’s left ear and falling out his right. Perhaps the best angle for you to pursue… is trust. 

“I know you’re not the Chesapeake Ripper,” You assert. 

“No one else seems to think so,” the man says, in a tone that is more amused than spiteful. You can almost see the tension fade from Gideon’s body. Now, he looks less wary and more intrigued. His shoulders aren’t drawn as tight and his gaze looks slightly less murderous. Small steps, you suppose. 

“I believe you.” You assure him. Gideon doesn’t know your true reasons for believing him, of course. You don’t believe him out of some misguided sentimentalism or pity for his past experiences. Rather, you’ve stared down the real Chesapeake Ripper. Abel Gideon is a cold and calculated killer, but he will never measure up to the unimaginably dangerous, mirrored psyche that the Ripper weaponizes. The Chesapeake Ripper and Abel Gideon are two entirely different beasts. 

“Who are you then?” You tell him your name but he shakes his head. “What do you do?” He asks insistently. You decide to indulge him and explain that you’re a criminal profiler. You don’t give the man too much detail—as that could compromise your safety—but you manage to give him enough to be satiated. 

From there, you interrogate Gideon about several different things. Regretfully, Gideon isn’t as helpful as you initially expected him to be. Ultimately, he’s been in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for years now. You can certainly use him as a basis for establishing and better understanding the mind of a killer; however, you fear that Abel Gideon gives you very little new information on the Ripper. 

“I can tell you wanted more, but I’m afraid I’m not up to date on what happens outside these walls,” Gideon remarks with a sympathetic grimace. It’s hard to believe that he’s able to scrounge up any genuine pity; you suspect the display is more for your benefit. Still, you somewhat appreciate the gesture. 

“That’s alright,” you sigh resignedly. “Thank you for the conversation.” 

You’re barely able to take another step before you hear him call your name. Despite the dread stewing in your chest, you turn around to face the killer once more. Gideon’s eyes are gleaming and his mouth is twisted in a wicked grin. You can’t quite control your instinctive reaction of taking a half-step backwards. Gideon notices and his grin sharpens impossibly. The man sitting across from you suddenly looks positively sinister. The shadows around his form seem to morph and grow around him. Your hand inches towards the pistol at your side. 

“A word of advice…” Abel murmurs casually, his eyes trained on yours despite the fact that you’re now gripping the gun on your belt. “Stay away from Lecter. I was the same, you know—enamored with my wife. It doesn’t last long, trust me.” You swallow hard as you remember that Gideon is here because he murdered his wife and her family. 

“Goodbye, Abel,” you manage to choke out, turning your back on him and walking away. Abel Gideon lets out a loud cackle as you move to leave. Even when you exit the interrogation space and close the door behind you, you can hear Gideon’s twisted laugh reverberating through your ears. 

You find Hannibal lingering in a nearby corridor. You can’t find the words to say, so instead you just motion for him to follow after you. Hannibal joins you and the two of you walk out of the hospital. There’s a suffocating tension that settles in the air, but you can’t bring yourself to break through it. Gideon’s words are running through your mind and you can’t seem to get rid of them. Stay away from Lecter. You walk with Hannibal to your car, but not before opening his door for him with a cheeky smile plastered on your face. It doesn’t last long. You pull out of the parking lot and drive back to the main road. Trust me. You find yourself stopping at a red light and your gaze is almost unwittingly pulled to your psychiatrist. 

“What did he say to you?” Hannibal asks, clearly sensing your gaze. 

“Nothing important,” you say with a shake of your head, fixing your eyes on the road in front of you. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you remember the killer’s whispers. Few know the mindset of a killer better than another killer. Perhaps you really aren’t safe in Hannibal’s presence. That realization should not feel new to you. In fact, it is more of a reminder. Indeed, how long have you spent in Hannibal’s company, pushing down the knowledge that he’s a practiced killer? How many appointments have you had since that night you sleepwalked onto the road? You’re stuck in a horrible cycle of realization and suppression, yet… you haven’t once tried to escape it. You’ve allowed yourself to remain pliant in a killer’s tight grasp. 

“Are you certain?” Hannibal asks persistently. You raise an eyebrow. He isn’t typically one to push things in such a manner. Is he really so concerned? You push the thought aside. You suspect Hannibal simply doesn’t like the notion of lacking information. He likes to be in the loop. The thought of your private conservation likely disquiets him. 

I’m not certain at all, you laugh internally. “Yes.” You respond through gritted teeth. Hannibal must sense that any further interrogation would be pointless, because he falls silent—albeit while continuing to stare at you. It’s hard to focus on driving when there’s a murderer sitting in your passenger seat. Although, does it truly matter if you drive safely? Hannibal could end your life in a moment’s notice. Perhaps you should just veer the car to the side and-

“Stop.” The command is so sudden that you nearly step on the brakes, only to realize that Hannibal isn’t talking about your driving. Indeed, the open road stretching in front of you doesn’t have another car in sight. A choked breath leaves your lips as your heart races from the unexpected remark. 

“What?” You ask panickedly, feeling as if you were just drenched with cold water. Ambiguity does not mix well with driving—especially in the case of loud exclamations or commands without subsequent explanation. 

“Focus your attention elsewhere,” Hannibal demands. Surprised by the uncharacteristic commanding tone in his voice, you try to do as requested. You pull your attention back to the road in front of you. It takes you a few seconds to realize that Hannibal must’ve sensed your sudden spiral into suicidal thoughts. 

“How-” You try to ask. Hannibal looks pointedly at the steering wheel and you follow his gaze, only to find that your hands are gripping the wheel with an almost unnatural amount of force. When you loosen your grip, you feel bolts of pain slide up and down your fingers. You wince and try to regain some feeling in your hands. 

Safe to say, the drive after that is incredibly awkward. At least, you think it’s incredibly awkward. You have no idea if Hannibal feels the same, because he continues to stare out the window with a pensive expression on his face as if nothing occurred. Then again, he is your psychiatrist—you suppose he wouldn’t be surprised by dark thoughts. 

It isn’t until you’re pulling into Hannibal’s driveway that the tense silence between the two of you is broken. “Please, come in,” Hannibal remarks, not even reaching for your car door. His gaze is fixated on you with rapt attention. 

“I’m afraid I can’t stay for long,” you admit, already recognizing that you’ll have to step into his residence—even for only a few moments. You’ve learned the hard way that Hannibal is often needlessly stubborn when it comes to spending time with you outside of his office. You step out of your car and lock it behind you, before walking up the path with him to his front door. You’re incredibly thankful that you have your car today. It’s easy to feel stranded at Hannibal’s residence when you don’t have a car—or a means of escape, your traitorous brain supplies for you. 

You linger in the foyer awkwardly before Hannibal invites you into the kitchen. You’ve been in the kitchen many times now and you’re unsurprised to find that it looks completely spotless. Hannibal seems uncharacteristically focused on something, as he walks over to the corner of the counter and pulls the business card from his pocket. You huff in amusement as you realize your earlier prediction was correct: Hannibal is putting Frederick Chilton’s business card in his rolodex. 

“Building a collection?” You can’t help but ask, after the quiet begins to grow painful. The compulsion to voice the thought was itching at your skin. Hannibal finishes setting the card in place, before turning back to level you with a complex look. You try your best to manifest an expression of innocent curiosity. 

“Something of the sort,” Hannibal agrees, after an uncomfortably long halt in conversation. His attention falls away from the rolodex. You clasp your hands together and wait patiently, unable to shake the feeling that he has something to say. Indeed, Hannibal washes his hands before continuing to speak. “Frederick did seem rather interested in you.”

“As I said,” you say with a slight grimace. You feel remarkably out of place in Hannibal’s kitchen, as he busies himself with evidently planning for his dinner. Ordinarily, you’d be compelled to offer your assistance. However, you know damn well that you’re nowhere near as good of a cook as Hannibal is. You would only cause him further trouble, you tell yourself. “Chilton wants to get inside my head… see what makes me tick.”Incomprehensibly, that last remark pulls Hannibal’s gaze from the cutting board he’s handling. You lock eyes for a long moment. 

“I suspect he wants more than that,” Hannibal murmurs. You frown. It takes you a minute or two to process that statement, namely because you're shocked by the near mutter of his voice. Hannibal isn’t the type of person to speak his thoughts so quietly—he is a man of conviction. The thought nearly distracts you from the allusion he just made; when you mull over his words again, you begin to recognize the gravity of them. 

“Excuse me?” You ask incredulously. Hannibal’s attention is lasered in on the ingredients spread across his counter. It’s as if you imagined the remark—and you’re sorely tempted to believe that you did. The statement seemed rather out of character for Hannibal; although, the cryptic nature of it was very characteristic of the man. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s hard for you to proceed with normal conversation after that revelation. Your traitorous mind keeps trying to find significance in the earlier remark—in the unaffected mask Hannibal donned as he uttered those words. You need to get out of here—otherwise, your mind will continue to entertain foolish thoughts. “I should leave you to your dinner, Dr. Lecter,” you say, not giving him even a moment to argue. “Have a good night.” You nod at him before turning to walk away. Even as you drive into the dark night and away from his residence, Hannibal dominates your thoughts.

Hannibal watches you make your hasty retreat. He isn’t quite sure what spurred you to leave in such a hurry—although, he idly suspects that his allusion to Chilton’s… unprofessional interest in you was not welcome. You hadn’t given Chilton the time of day—all of his advances went entirely unnoticed by you. Hannibal must admit: it was rather amusing to watch Frederick stumble over himself to make a good impression, only for you to fail to even notice. 

Prying himself from his thoughts, Hannibal rolls up his sleeves and prepares for dinner. Franklyn Froideveaux’s lung remains motionless on his cutting board, a reminder of Hannibal’s escapade days ago. Truthfully, he intended on letting Franklyn live—if only to continue coercing and manipulating him. However, intention flew out the window the night of the opera. Now, Hannibal idly recognizes that your sudden departure actually works in his favor—he’s certain you would have grown suspicious if you had seen him treating the same organs that Franklyn’s corpse was missing. 

The saccharine melody of Apollo et. Hyacinthus 1 floats throughout the kitchen. The lights dim; when Hannibal turns around, he is standing before an audience. The crowd is listening to his every word with rapt attention. Each movement he makes is calculated with perfect precision. He moves with mechanical mastery. Admittedly, his thoughts are elsewhere today—Frederick Chilton’s business card continues to taunt him from his rolodex. As Hannibal prepares his dinner, he idly imagines sinking a blade into Chilton’s skin and harvesting his organs. Perhaps he’d sew his lips shut or cut off his tongue—the man is far too talkative for his tastes. 

His dinner that night is an enjoyable affair. Hannibal dines in the company of Franklyn Froideveaux, whose organs are settling rather pleasantly on his tongue. The meal is elegant in a way Franklyn never was; the irony of the sentiment is not lost on Hannibal. Inexplicably, your description of Franklyn on the night of the opera comes to Hannibal’s mind. 

“Franklyn is sort of… a shapeshifter, for lack of a better term. He’ll adjust and change himself to fit the situation best. When he’s in love, he’s dangerously obsessed. His unconventional actions are reassuring to him, though, because they give him a modicum of control—a control that he cannot possess over anything else.” 

That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts. 

Hannibal finishes his meal and muses on the events of the day for several moments. After the antique clock on the wall’s chiming of the hour brings him back to reality, he gets to his feet and stills. There’s a slight movement in his peripheral vision. Hannibal looks over at his kitchen, only to see his faithful rolodex with a card missing—slight scraps of paper left on the metal. He paces forward—prowls—until he finds the business card that fell to the floor. He squints down at it. 

Frederick Chilton  Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane  General Administration  chilton@bshci.gov | (410) -XXX-XXXX 

Hannibal’s lips twist upward in anticipation.

next chapter

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown

y'all... this is very embarrassing. I forgot to post chapter 9 on Tumblr 😭 so apologies for the sudden jump in the last two posts—this chapter was meant to be here to serve as a transition.

I've also gone ahead and made a master post, in which I will provide updated links for each chapter as they come out. hopefully, that will prevent me from missing any in the future.

[tayasui-mono]

It's not that Will is weak; he is vulnerable. There is a difference. In the first episode, when Beverly interrupts him, he is in the middle of putting himself in Hobbs' headspace. Because he has a vivid imagination, it's easy to lose himself to fantasies. And as Hannibal says, he has no borders between thoughts, so I suppose that Will needs very fine control, or at least need a sense of having control — confidence in his self — to work. This does not mean that Will is one step away from becoming a murderer. This means that Will is one step away from having a breakdown over whether or not he still has control. This doesn't make him less capable, it makes him vulnerable. He needs his own borders where he knows where everything is inside his head (his room, for example, perhaps a physical manifestation of this if I'm being pessimistic (and I'm sure someone can come up with a more optismistic explanationn for it as well, all about perspective)) so when he tells Hannibal that he feels as though someone moved around the furniture inside his mind, he is saying he is losing confidence within himself.

Later, when he finds out that it was Hannibal's manipulations that have led him astray, he acts with self-possession. He is alert because he has figured it out. He is confident. Angry. He is back with vigour. Perhaps this is worse because while he wasn't conscious during the first ride, he now willingly gets into the rollar coaster with Hannibal in order to catch him.

[once-in-a-blue-moon-rising]

just rewatched Buffet Froid, and there's that part where Will asks Hannibal to publish any research on him posthumously: 'after your death, or mine?' 'whichever comes first'.

And I just can't listen to that exchange anymore without being transported to the end of TWOTL, because in the end their death* was simultaneous, and together, and that contrast highlights how far they came in those years, how intimate that final scene on the cliff was, compared to their therapy sessions in s1. There's affection, sure, amongst the manipulation and the tension, but they're (person) suited and booted, they haven't yet lost the veneer of professionalism. They're too intimate, maybe, for the roles they inhabit then, but not really; there's no world in which s1 Will is nuzzling into Hannibal's shoulder, battered and soaked in his own blood, where Hannibal clutches at his shirt, where they murmur affirmations and save each other and kill together.

And yes, you could compare any two s1/s3 points, really, and say the same thing, but it's so striking for me here because, back then, they didn't think their deaths would be linked. Why would they? Even in the same situation, s1 Hannibal wouldn't have let himself be pushed. s1 Will wouldn't have gone down with him. But where death feels hypothetical and even pessimistic in Buffet Froid, in TWOTL it feels inevitable - beautiful. And it's all because of the evolution of their intimacy.

*shhhhh I know they survived, read this as a symbolic death

[cyclic-laughter]

SORRY I DIDNT POST YESTERDAY I FUCKIN FORGOT BECAUSE I GOT BUSY WITH OTHER STUFF BUT LOOK!!!!! I FINISHED THE SKETCH

i think here i'll actually explain who this guy is xero is a turquoise pearl who i made back in march of 2021, and his personality is heavily inspired by hannibal lecter! he's a very sophisticated slow-pace manipulator who possesses incredibly strict ideals for how other people should live and treat the world around them, and believes that gems who have primarily pessimistic or misanthropic views don't necessarily deserve life if they're going to just sit around and be a bitch yk

he really likes reading and is surprisingly not all that social, preferring to stick to himself and read good books :)

[idkhowtofindme]

I realised I haven’t properly introduced myself in here so let’s go :)

.•°✧ i'm neptune (yes, like the planet) and i like to think i'm a ghost. your fav pessimistic and nerd <3 (i happen to be silly sometimes)

.•°✧ i'm french (unfortunately). my pronouns are she/they/he, and i'm queer and asexual (on the spectrum). i'm INFJ 4w5. also a polyglot, babyyy >:) i speak french, portuguese, english and spanish (currently learning italian too….)

.•°✧ i relate to tori spring a lot, and i think that already says a lot about me. one of my favourite books is Solitaire :)

.•°✧ i like rain, books and cats. i'm like a HUGE music nerd, and would like to study music in the future. i like to sleep (literally the sleepiest person alive) and to blog (tumblr is becoming an obsession at this point).

.•°✧ i like to sing and to draw, too. i love riddles, enigmas, mysteries, psychology (and analyzing people, human nature is very interesting). i'm your local poet, tragic lover and hopeless romantic. also heavily delusional </3

.•°✧ fandoms are: marauders, the umbrella academy, hannibal (nbc), doctor who, ordem paranormal, teenwolf, lockwood&co, the last of us, life is strange, reverse:1999, genshin, alien stage, ORV, PJO, good omens, sherlock (bbc), genloss, kotlc, osmanverse, alice in borderland, harry potter, a bunch of animes, the owl house, lolirock, artemis fowl, six of crows and some other books.

[ciriceghostt]

12/01/22 day six of #studuingunderthefallingleaves

Do you study other languages other than your native one?

I am enamoured with languages.

It fascinates me immensly how through analysing a language one can understand the morals and social workings of a whole country, and in reverse how the history of a nation shapes the way a language works.

Example, did you know that to say "what time is it?" a German person says "Wie spät ist es?" meaning "how late is it?", this shows how being on time is felt as important and also how Germans tend to be more pessimistic.

.

Anyway, I study Italian (mother tongue), English, German and Russian but I'd love to know many others <3

🍂 productivity

attended two lectures (studies Yeats in one! Loved it!)

Continued with The Italian for class

Posted on my bookstagram

🍂 self care

finished The Character of Rain by Amelie Nothomb

exercised

journaled

🎧 song to woody - bob dylan

🎞️ hannibal

📖 Gulliver's Travels

[dandelionjack]

it’s half term week off which means i have time to binge a new show so i finally started watching true detective. not to commit the grave sin of describing media exclusively through its proximity to the themes and vibes of other media but holy fuck this is like if hannibal was cthulhu mythos but southern gothic and also kind of disco elysium. and it’s got an autistic alcoholic pessimist detective who straight up quotes thomas ligotti. no way cannot believe i did not bother to look into this earlier. only on episode 1 but apparently the later seasons aren’t worth watching. why have i never seen any fanmade art or web weavings for this show on here, like at all

[armandjolras]

Dumping an extremely long writeup of my thoughts about the IWTV series here. In case anyone does read it, tw for domestic abuse and rape, because it seems that’s the story we got 💀

The show overall

I absolutely loved the inclusive representation and how naturally the story supported the changes. I’ve distanced myself a bit from the books and film because I’m increasingly uncomfortable with their problematic elements, so it was great to experience the story without those. I loved how gay it was, at last!!! The use of Covid in the new framing story feels very 2021 lol but I think it’s an interesting idea, and the Dubai flat is soooo Armand (/neg).

That being said, if I had to look at the show objectively I would say it’s not very good. I don’t know enough about tv production to say what the issue was, but both the writing and direction felt awkward to me. The climax was too drawn out, and ending the show by revealing Armand’s identity will surely be underwhelming to anyone who hasn’t read the book or seen the film. I really disliked how desaturated and brownish the colour palette was, and I don’t think the mood matched the books. It wasn’t very gothic, but instead had a sort of sterility that reminded me of what I’ve seen of Hannibal. And finally, a lot of things seemed very silly to me. The way they hissed at each other was straight out of What We Do In The Shadows, and wasn’t that mind-reading scene, where everyone is thinking about food/sex, from Twilight??

Maybe this is overly pessimistic, but I have a feeling the show won’t be renewed for series 3. I really would love a decent adaptation of books 2 and 3, but maybe it is for the best, as the books get increasingly sillier, and because of the way Lestat was characterised so far💀

The characters

Jacob is so perfect as Louis. It’s refreshing to see Louis as he originally was, before he was flanderised in later books, and while I don’t think Brad Pitt is as bad as most people do, Jacob fits the character exactly and brings so much energy to the role.

I’m sooo obsessed with Bailey as Claudia, she was so much fun! I was never a huge Claudia fan before, but I love how her personality was portrayed in this, and how prominent of a role she was given, I cared about her so much. And Bailey masters that very creepy wide-eyed stare. I’m glad we got an adult actress as Claudia because of the intensity of the story (even though I did have to suspend my disbelief a bit when the show focused on how Claudia will look so young and 14 forever when she could easily pass as a grown up)

However, I HATED the rape plot. It served little purpose and could be replaced with some other plot point, and it’s such an upsetting, lazy trope to have a female character raped (especially a girl of colour). And I was excited to have an early fang gang cameo before that happened 😭

I’m a bit meh on Eric and how Daniel is written in general. I just think he’s too much of an asshole, and Eric delivers his lines in such a mean way. There’s definitely shades of Daniel’s personality there, and I COULD see Daniel growing up to be like that — I just think he’s a good guy, nicer than we’re shown here. And I really didn’t like the brief appearance of young Daniel, I don’t think he had the right energy at all.

And the new framing story means almost certainly no devil’s minion, but I doubt the show will make it that far anyway.

He was barely in it but I’m already obsessed with Assad’s Armand, his demeanor is perfect, and he really looks like an Armand! So excited to see more of him in series 2.

The minor characters were good, I especially liked having a bit of Louis sister’s arc in there!

I saved Lestat for last because I have a lot to say 💀. I thought Sam did a great job all things considered, so I don’t blame him, just the writing. Even before episode 5 i didn’t love this depiction of the character. There were some things I did like — he was fun, annoying, and impetuous, as Lestat should be. But I didn’t get the sense that he loved humanity, which is one of Lestat’s most important characteristics. Of course that wasn’t in book 1, but the framing story is supposed to be a revision of the original interview anyway. He enjoyed partying with people, but never seemed to care about any mortals. They could have given screentime to that, instead of the abuse. Or maybe they decided to base his characterisation on later series Lestat who does seem to abuse the people he loves /j

Initially, I didn’t know why they made him so abusive. From my perspective, the hard part of adapting IWTV is balancing Lestat’s abusiveness in that book with who he becomes in later books, blending the character attributes, so the audience will like him later on. So WHY would they make him MORE abusive??

I do wonder if it’s because they made Louis/Lestat an explicit romance. It’s a lot harder to believe that Louis would be complicit in Lestat’s death when he’s happily in love with him than when it was Brad Pitt acting numb and miserable. I wonder if they added this graphic and violent abuse to convince the audience, as well as Louis and Claudia, to hate Lestat in the span of one episode. And if so, that’s so lazy! They could have focused more on Lestat’s psychological control, convincing the others that they’re helpless without him, or Louis’s self-loathing about being a vampire and his resentment of Lestat.

And to be honest, while the beating scene was awful, I was more upset by the traincar scene with Claudia. I just watched The Shining last weekend and Lestat bursting into the train with the severed head of the conductor was so Jack Torrence. And if I didn’t misunderstand, i think he threatened to rape Claudia, and told her that if she let that happen, it would upset Louis. Please correct me if I’m wrong! Because that is horrendous.

i don’t think there’s any coming back from this for the character. In the series, the characters are willing to forgive anything over time because they’re all immortal, but I can’t see the audience forgiving. So if they do make it past series 2, it will be interesting to see what they do. (And maybe it’s for the best if not, not only because of Lestat, but also because I’d rather not see any screen time dedicated to Marius lol)

[blackbonnet]

wwdits really had me on stockholm syndrome like i was compiling a bunch of gifs with nandor & guillermo's romantic subtext from the recent seasons, from the tag on my blog and it was just so sparse??? compared to ofmd & gomens, it's so miniscule it's embarassing. (and it's not the fault of gifmakers.) but i remember being so feral about them like, over this? in a post-destiel post-ofmd world?! we had more material to work with hannibal 2014. like, am i being overly pessimistic sure. i'll eat glass if we do get nandor and guillermo romantically involved. as toxic and codependent as ever but ROMANTICALLY involved.

[thats-not-helpful]

Something for my Hannibal AU that is very old and has been sitting in my drafts for a while, thought I should post it.

Enjoy?

♧

August 25, 1999

The Vergers were no ordinary family, and they should never be treated like one. The things that Mason was taught about the world, people, livestock, women - including his ever melancholy sister, Margot - were never to be questioned in his presence. Questioning his Papa’s teachings was as bad as questioning the word of God, in Mason’s mind, at least.

Molson Verger, Mason’s father, never had the intention of raising a son. He only wanted to raise an heir to the Verger family business. Whether for better or worse, he succeeded. For better or worse, Mason, through nurture instead of nature, was groomed into a personality disorder, and no one ever wanted to be around him.

Still, Mason had more of a childhood than Violet.

They were from different worlds; Mason from one where he was conditioned to have everything he wanted with the flick of his wrist, surrounded by fabulous wealth at all times. Violet from one of never knowing true family and being dirt poor all her young life.

Orphans and foster kids fascinated Mason Verger. They were so fragile, yet so strong. Always denied the prospect of love yet always willing to fight tooth and nail for even the smallest chance to get it. They were always suspicious of everyone, yet also so trusting, hoping that this time things would be different.

Violet was different, yet the same. She wanted companionship, the exact opposite of what Margot wanted. Margot wanted autonomy, independence. Violet wanted love, she wanted to relax and be comfortable for once in her life. She’d never had it easy.

She was both energetic and jaded, both optimistic and pessimistic at the same time. Violet was intriguing, and that was the only word that Mason would use to describe her. From the moment he saw her, he wanted to know more. Wanted to know why she seemed so interesting, so hypnotic.

They sat on the edge of the dock looking out into the lake. There was silence, but it was a comfortable one. Silence that only comes when you are immeasurably content in each other’s presence, when you’ve been good friends for a lifetime. In actuality, they’d met yesterday.

Each felt like they knew everything about the other. Violet was sure she did, she was a psychoanalyst, knew his deepest desires from the moment they locked eyes. Mason was still intrigued, ever eager to learn every secret about his new plaything.

They were alone. Margot had gotten fed up with her brother’s antics and left long ago. They were almost at the reaches of the Verger’s property, perfect for Mason. He almost couldn’t keep himself away from her, he felt attracted to Violet, like he couldn’t breathe when she wasn’t near.

Why was she so silent? So unwilling to allow the truth of what was happening to wash over her? Easy, because she was an orphan. But that wasn’t the whole story, he knew that much, but even so, he knew nothing about her homelife. She was so unwilling to discuss the details of that part of her life, despite Mason’s continuous hinting. Now that they were completely alone, he could say - do - whatever he wanted.

“What’s wrong with you, Violet?”

The bluntness of the question startled her and she swiftly snapped her eyes to him. Mason was examining the lake water below the dock so intently when he said it, that Violet almost wondered if he’d spoken at all. Mason met her gaze with a knowing, shit-eating smirk, his eyes narrowing with anticipation of her answer. “I’m just dying to know.”

Violet averted her eyes in shame and dipped the toe of her shoe into the water below. There must have been something wrong with Violet. Her birth parents didn’t want her, her foster parents beat her, the foster care system turned a blind eye, and to her classmates, she didn’t even exist.

Being an orphan with no parents and having a painfully common last name at an expensive private school was practically insufferable. All of the students there were from prominent, important families. Most were rich or at least in the upper class, and Violet wasn’t. She painfully wasn’t. She was invisible everywhere, like a ghost wandering the Earth with no purpose to speak of. Margot was the first person to notice her, Mason was the first person to see her.

She felt an instinctual need to be around him, she almost couldn’t keep herself away from him, she felt attracted to Mason, like she couldn’t breathe when he wasn’t around.

So the question seemed to stab her, it was a gut punch in every sense of the word.

Mason was never taught empathy, lack of it was essential to life as the CEO of one of America’s largest meatpacking companies. He was blunt, assertive, steadfast; he had to be. That was all he was ever taught. Mason had three main emotions: amusement, anger, and boredom. He loved to see people upset or flustered and revealed in others’ suffering. That’s why he’d shown Violet the pigs.

Of course, that hadn’t done anything except make Mason even more curious. She didn’t run, didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t even look scared. It felt like a bucket of ice was poured on him and he froze in place. Right there, he’d questioned Papa’s teachings; he’d questioned the word of God.

“More than a few things, I’d expect.” Violet answered after a moment of deep thought. Mason’s head snapped in her direction, not wanting to show the shock that he felt in his face. “They hit me every day, my foster parents. My real parents don’t want me and I don’t have any friends.” She scoffed as Mason continued to stare at her with unwavering sincerity. “Not that you would know. I’m surprised that you’d even look my way.”

He wanted to laugh, did she have any idea of how interesting she was? How she made him feel? Even so, he loved it. She was like a drug that he’d kill to get his hands on. No, she had no idea, not even a little.

It was excellent. Violet was excellent. He needed her now, and he was far enough away from the house that he could do whatever he wanted.

In a flash, Mason was on top of her, gripping her collar in his left hand, holding her off the ground in her seated position. His right knee brushed the outside of her body and his left knee was pinned between her legs. His figure cast a dark shadow over her face, and the only thing Violet could see were Mason’s ice blue eyes boring into hers.

Violet felt her cheeks grow warm as Mason gently cupped her cheek in his right hand and put his gaze physically even closer to her own. His breath was hot on her face.

“You’re perfect.”

♧

Alright, just in case you were wondering, Mason was 13 in this one and Violet was 12, there’s no gross stuff after this or anything, Mason’s just being possessive and doesn’t know how to act on his emotions. Nothing happens after this scene. Nothing.

Just wanted to clear that up, ya’ sickos.

[4neversanemoments]

Horror/Slasher Ocs that I never speak about but I think of everyday

Hannibal Ocs:

First up we have my Hannibal Ocs aka the Heisenberg family.

Khan Heisenberg: Child Psychiatrist and an opera music enthusiast, Rakhani Heisenberg or as most call him Khan, is the first born of the Heisenberg Clan. He's 6ft5 but wears heeled boots in which he is 48, 6ft 7. He's dark brown skin, white hair (a birth defect) and has blue eyes (again a birth defect). He's morroccan born but was raised from age 7 up in England (Yorkshire)

Khalid Al Didh: Neuro surgeon, sassy and a bit of pessimist, that's how I would describe him (he's my favorite). Khalid is (obviously) the more down to earth Heisenberg. He changed his last name to have no association with his family and left his parent's house at the rough age of 20 (people of color would get how bad this is) to start a life in America (Baltimore). Khalid likes to drink and to mess with people mentally. He's 45, 6ft and has viltigo skin. His eyes are half brown half greyish blue.

Aight this is all for now (I'm lazy)

[wearelondonhq]

(ursie, 29, gmt, she/they) welcome to london, ALICE SMITH! did anyone ever tell you that you look just like MADCHEN AMICK (circa ‘90)? well, no matter, we hear that you are TWENTY YEARS OLD and working as an INTERN & THE NEWS STATION. we also hear that you currently DON’T HAVE your memories from RIVERDALE/ARCHIEVERSE and have a tendency to be MOTHERLY as well as VINDICTIVE. 

welcome to london, KENZI MALIKOV! did anyone ever tell you that you look just like KSENIA SOLO? well, no matter, we hear that you are TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD and working as a BARTENDER. we also hear that you currently DON’T HAVE your memories from LOST GIRL and have a tendency to be OUTGOING as well as HOT-HEADED. 

welcome to london, ALANA BLOOM! did anyone ever tell you that you look just like JESSICA CHASTAIN? well, no matter, we hear that you are FORTY YEARS OLD and working as a SELF-PUBLISHED AUTHOR. we also hear that you currently HAVE your memories from HANNIBAL and have a tendency to be DETERMINED as well as PESSIMISTIC. 

welcome to london, (MÅLINGEN) “MAMA”! did anyone ever tell you that you look just like MARGARET QUALLEY? well, no matter, we hear that you are TWENTY-SEVEN and working as a ENGINEER. we also hear that you currently HAVE your memories from DEATH STRANDING and have a tendency to be INOVATIVE as well as MELANCHOLIC. 

— WELCOME TO LONDON, alice smith, kenzi malikov, alana bloom & mama ! you look very familiar, do we know you from somewhere? anyways, take your time settling in because whether you want to or not, it looks like you’re going to be living here for awhile! // welcome ursie, please be sure to follow our checklist here. welcome to the group!

[wakethcdead]

ABOUT DELAINEY ||   ✸・.・― breathe kind words to a broken heart

general

full name:  delainey evangeline sweetwine

nicknames:  laine, lainey, lainey loo.

age:  22

date of birth:  march 9.

zodiac: pisces

gender:  cis female

pronouns: she/her

sexuality:  bisexual

physical

hair color:  light brown

eye color: blue

height: 5′4″

weight:  115 lbs

personality

aesthetics: cold hands brushing across the jagged tops of painted tarot cards, lavender and sage bound in twine burning in low candle light, pale skin gleaming under the soft, silvery glow of a full moon

morality:  chaotic good

meyers-briggs: infp || mediator

positive traits: calm, graceful, adventurous, kind, wise

negative traits: cynical, pessimistic, snarky, judgmental.

occupation: student at eilryn academy

family

grandparents: nana lucy sue thornton

parents: keaton ‘chet’ james thornton, tammy lynne thornton (nee. travis)

siblings: n/a

powers and abilities

powers: clairvoyance and telepathy

daemon: a large death’s head hawkmoth named hannibal. 

abilities and strengths: can hear and speak to the dead, can feel energies, read auras, and divine aspects of past, present and future, ability to read minds and sense other's thoughts. If she tries hard enough, she can force her way into someone's head and see everything she needs or wants to know. often, this creates a bridge that she can use to more easily delve into the same person's thoughts and senses. communication with spirits is at it's strongest during the Samhain, or the traditional end of fall  harvest around traditional halloween. equinoxes offer a boost in her abilities. the primary spirit she contacts is her father, chet, whose spirit is tied to the necklace he was wearing at his time of death, one laine wears often. meditation under the full moon acts as a psychic charge and can boost her internal signal.

weaknesses: overstimulation. too much noise will make her tweak to the ends of the earth. radio waves. for 'normal' people ghost hunters white noise is used to listen into the spirit realm, but for her it acts as a barrier. connection to the dead often means she's always freezing, and on occasion if she connects with a spirit whose death is traumatic enough, she can feel their pain. she can't escape the dead, so she's often running on 3 hours of sleep because she can't find silence. it's so constant and draining for her, she is shocked she knows how to function.

backstory and details - ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲ     ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ :                                      mentions of death, mental health issues                                                ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴    

(i’ll write a more fleshed out version soon, this is gonna be the placeholder for now.) 

laine fully thought magic was bullshit bc she grew up watching her mama and grandma hustle people by running a fortune teller's business out of their living room because their family 'had it in the blood'. one day her dad strolls into her room and starts talking to her like it's just another day except for the fact that her dad died right before she was born and her grandma can see him, too. that's when she starts to believe it's maybe not total bullshit, but also is under the impression that she's just being drugged at home. doesn't think about it at school until the day she takes a dodgeball to the head and she can hear EVERYTHING from EVERYONE. it's so loud she starts to lose it and winds up in a grippy sock hotel which makes it EVEN WORSE and the only one to calm her down is her father's ghost bc he's tied to a necklace he wore when he died so his spirit followed her around the hospital and taught her how to control it from the other side. she finds out that he died in a car accident because he could hear the thoughts of everyone on the road and also lost it and he doesn't want the same to happen to her. finally she goes home and her mom and grandma act like she's just insane from the power so she doesn't sell out the family's main hustle. eventually manages to find a place of solice both in eilryn and eilryn academy. now that she knows how to listen in, she's using it to her advantage and has internal dirt on everyone possible. she is here to get by by doing as little as possible, regardless of whether or not people know that's her goal. will sometimes talk to her dad alone in her dorm bc she brought the necklace with her. people probs think she's actually a psycho.

                                              ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴      

wanted connections

roommate: someone to share her dorm at eilryn academy

others: best friends, friends, people whose loved ones have passed on that she can see, she doesn’t like and that don’t like her, etc.