#possessive will graham

[entropicquilibriumofchaos]

nfwmb

Imprinting: any kind of phase-sensitive learning (learning occurring at a particular age or a particular life stage) that is rapid and apparently independent of the consequences of behavior.

Leda Darling was abducted at age 18. The only person she saw for what felt like ages was her abductor until a new face peered through the darkness and reached out. Nine years after being kidnapped, she is rescued by a curious FBI profiler, Will Graham. With Hannibal Lecter overseeing her return to society and Will Graham there to protect her from any threats, Leda's life seems to have turned for the better.

But some people are not who they seem, even to those who know them best.

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character

READ IT ON AO3

Chapter 1 - Someone to Watch Over Me

“Please,” he said evenly, “come in.” He stepped out of the door frame and ushered the woman into a large open study. His voice was smooth and inviting, but it didn’t stop the girl from flinching away and casting her eyes downward as she crept into the dark library-esque office. 

She followed the doctor’s directions and slowly lowered herself into a gray leather chair as he followed suit in an identical chair across from her. Her eyes stayed trained on her shoes, a new pair of boots that didn’t quite fit her and felt awkward on her feet. It had been so long since she had needed shoes; she couldn’t decide if they made her feel free again or reminded her of confinement. 

“Ms. Darling,” his voice made her flinch slightly once more, “you’re looking better than when we first met.”

She inhaled sharply remembering his cold scrutiny from their first meeting at the BAU.

The doctor sat with his hands folded in his lap, looking at her with curiosity. 

“I understand that you haven’t spoken since being found,” he said, grabbing a pen and notepad from the table beside him. He put them in his lap and leaned forward slightly. “Trauma like you went through can cause a condition called psychogenic mutism. It’s not something that can’t be treated.” 

She raised her head slightly, meeting his eyes for the first time. He didn’t smile, but his face softened and his eyebrows raised minutely. Warmth bloomed in her chest momentarily: she had done something right.

“Do you know any sign language, Ms. Darling?” he asked.

She shook her head no. 

He nodded and jotted something down. “Are you able to write?”

She nodded, her body becoming less stiff as they talked. He saw this as a good sign and wrote more in his notebook before setting it aside. He pulled his chair closer to her and pulled out a smaller notebook from the inside of his jacket. He handed it to her along with his pen and sat down.

“We’ll start with something simple. I’d like you to write your name and when you were born.” Dr. Lecter instructed.

She grasped the pen gently, the object feeling foreign in her hand. It had been years since she had last written something; truthfully, she didn’t know if she could still write, but she was praying that she hadn’t lied to the doctor.

Shakily, she put the pen to paper. Her writing was slow and deliberate. After what felt like forever for her, she handed the notepad back to Dr. Lecter. 

“Leda Darling January 8th 1998”

The doctor nodded and handed it back to her. “That’s right. Do you know what year it is now?”

She wrote more confidently this time. “ 2023. Agent Crawford said .”

“Very good,” Dr. Lecter praised. A warm feeling welled up in her chest and a ghost of a smile past her lips. He noted how she responded to the praise and made a mental note of it.

“I’m going to ask you some harder questions now. If you ever want to stop, just put the pen down,” he explained. “Don’t hesitate to stop if something becomes too much for you to handle. Our sessions will only work if you feel safe here; do you understand?”

She thought for a second before nodding.

“I’d like to put you on some medication to help with your anxiety,” Dr. Lecter explained, “Is that okay?”

Leda nodded, and Dr. Lecter nodded before looking at his watch. 

“I’ll send a prescription to your doctor and ask Agent Crawford to pick it up for you,” he said, getting up and walking over to his desk and rifling through a couple of papers before seemingly finding what he was looking for. He made his way back to Leda, who had stood up as well. She looked up at him with big eyes, and something akin to regret passed his face for a moment. A memory of something, or someone.

“This is my office phone number, and my personal cell is on the back. If anything happens do not be afraid to call me.”

She took the small paper card from him and tucked it into her jacket pocket. She stood up and held the notepad out for him to take back, but he just put his hand over hers. 

“It’s yours to keep. I have more than enough paper here,” he explained, gesturing to his desk. He wasn’t lying.

Leda nodded in appreciation. 

Dr. Lecter led her gently to the door and as soon as it opened, the slightly cooler air flooded over her and her demeanor changed instantly. Her shoulders tensed and her gaze dropped back down to her boots as she caught a glimpse of Agent Crawford waiting for her outside. 

“Good afternoon, Agent Crawford,” Dr. Lecter greeted the man outside, who had stood up from his spot in one of the chairs in the waiting room when the door opened up. 

“Dr. Lecter,” the FBI agent nodded, “Ms. Darling, are you ready to head back to the house?” 

Not making eye contact, Leda nodded slightly.

Dr. Lecter cleared his throat. “Leda is suffering from psychogenic mutism. It may be a while before her brain believes it's safe enough to speak again. For now, we’re going to communicate by writing.”

Agent Crawford nodded in understanding. 

Dr. Lecter turned to his patient once more. She had retreated back into herself and was viewing the outside world through a veil of fear. He put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her and she brought her head up slowly, her eyes meeting his gaze. His brown eyes seemed to pierce through her veil. 

“I’ll see you soon, Ms. Darling,” he said before turning his attention to another figure in the waiting room. He had snuck in quietly, not wanting to interrupt the debrief happening before him. 

“Good evening, Will.” Dr. Lecter greeted, drawing all eyes to him. Leda’s eyes snapped up and she froze.

Why was he here? 

Will Graham was the first face that Leda saw when the door to the cellar was opened. It was he who had wrapped his arms around her and helped her step into the light for the first time since she was abducted. His hand had touched her face so gently, brushing away the tears from her eyes.

“You’re safe now, Leda,” he had consoled, holding the broken woman in his arms as she sunk down into the wet leaves beneath their feet. “You’re safe.”

“Hello, Leda,” Will said softly. His eyes were weary, but he smiled at her softly nonetheless. 

Her nod was almost unperceivable, but Will noticed it along with the slight relaxation of her shoulders. She didn’t smile, but her face softened and he could see the relief in her eyes at the sight of him. 

Agent Crawford watched this interaction with interest. Leda seemed to relax around Will, perhaps in time he would be a key element to get her to open up and help them catch her kidnapper. 

He broke the silence, making Leda flinch slightly, “We best be on our way. Thank you, Hannibal. It’s good to see you, Will.”

The two men nodded to the older FBI agent before he led Leda out of the building and to his car. 

“She looks better,” Will commented, following Hannibal into his office, “Still not great, but better.”

Hannibal took a seat behind his desk and looked through some papers as Will sat down. “She’s incredibly malnourished. I’m surprised she’s walking on her own without any mobility aids.” 

“Jack offered them, but she refused,” Will explained, sitting forward in his chair and perching his chin on his fists. “For someone so beaten, she’s very resilient.”

Not looking at him, Hannibal replied, “Her resilience is what saved her from dying in that cellar.” He found what he was looking for and stood up before making his way to the chair across from Will. He sat back and put the notebook in his lap, setting his hands on it and crossing his legs. “She seems to relax when you’re around.”

Will sat back. “I noticed that.”

“A newly hatched bird will imprint on the first thing it sees. It’s instinctual and vital to their survival that they learn to hunt, walk, and even fly. Many times, if it imprints on the wrong thing, it will never be able to survive in the wild,” Hannibal explained. “Euthanasia is oftentimes the only answer.”

Will bristled slightly. Ever since he pulled Leda out of the cellar, he felt somewhat protective of her. At Hannibal’s mention of euthanasia, he felt a surge of uneasiness and anger wash over him. Hannibal noticed this and jotted something down in his notebook. 

“Our little bird will be fine,” Hannibal reassured, “As you said, she’s resilient. She made good progress today and she’s looking much better physically as well. Where are you with finding her abductor?”

Will relaxed his shoulders, which he hadn’t been aware of tensing. Back to business, he thought. 

[maynardotheratman]

I love how Bedelia is like “If you release Hannibal he is going to kill me and a bunch of other people” and Will is like “Tehee I know” 🤭

[thegroundhogdidit]

possessive hannibal is like. okay. yeah obviously. but possessive WILL???? oh hannibal is PREENING under the attention he adores every time will grabs him in public or pulls him away from a social gathering because he's WILL'S man and he wants everyone to know it. there's nothing hotter than when will kills someone for keeping hannibal's attention for too long

[pyxilz]

I’ve posted a cropped version of this before but here’s the whole painting

[unumsomnium]

Just daring Alana to start something with those eyes

Hannibal 2.10 Naka-choko

[woeswrites]

Yandere Will Graham

Warnings: Yandere themes, Obsessive behaviors, Brief mention of rape/rapist, Dubious consent (mention of sex while under the influence), etc.

Notes: I am trying to be active again (fingers crossed). Headcannons are a really easy way for me to get the creative juices flowing. Don't be surprised if a few more come out after this one lol.

You were a recent survivor of an attack

No, it wasn't the Chesapeake Ripper

It was just some other wannabe serial killer trying to get his rocks off

He had a dumb, stereotypical name too

The midnight slasher? midnight butcher?

Something like that

The media wasn't very creative with it

Whatever his name was, he'd clearly had a type

Young men

All of a similar stature

With the same hair and eye color

All known to known be up at all hours of the day

It was a pretty open and shut case in Will's eyes

He was a plain and simple lust killer

Most likely white and in his 30s-40s

Classic closet case turned homicidal

He hadn't seen why the FBI was so stumped on the whole thing

The only real trouble was the lack of DNA evidence

He'd been real good at cleaning up after himself

Will knew he'd slip up eventually

This wasn't the type of guy to be so well organized for long

Well--

Does being murdered by your most recent victim count as a slip up?

Because that's exactly what happened

He was called to the scene with the rest of the team

The sight of you trembling, covered in blood, and standing over top of that creep was his first impression

You met his eyes and he was unable to pull away

Something about your tear blotched face held him captive

Jack tasked him with asking you questions about the events at hand

Normally this would have annoyed Will

He wasn't the talking type

Let alone someone sensitive enough to make such a traumatized person feel comfortable

But something in him didn't mind so much

Maybe it was the way you looked so vulnerable

Or the fact that no matter how much he pushed the idea away, he saw himself in you

An innocent man turned murderer under the right circumstances

"I'm Will Graham and I'll be asking you some questions."

"God, okay. I'm Y/n. Can't really say it's nice to meet you."

Will tried to start off slow

Ask the basics before moving onto the more pertinent information

You'd answer to the best of your abilities (considering the circumstances)

It took Will a second to jot down your responses

He'd get a little too caught up in your features to notice you'd stop talking

"Sorry, what was that? You got off work at 9?"

There was something admirable about your attempts to infuse your story with a bit of dry humor

Likely a coping mechanism

But Will found himself smiling a bit at your quips

By the time he'd finish up with you he'd felt a little attachment form

Sure the case was over on his end

But it didn't stop him from asking Jack about you

At least a couple times a week

"How's things going with that self defense case? Y/n's...?"

Will showed up the next day with your case fill on his desk

The sticky note stuck to it warned about annoying Jack with too many questions

He'd spend all night re-reading the details

Without noticing he began slipping in and out of re-enactment mode

Imagining you on top of him

Knife in hand

Crazed look in your eyes

He tried to shake the image away

He shouldn't be doing this

It wasn't right

You could've died that night

His guilt ridden thoughts did nothing to lessen the tent that had formed in his pajama pants

He tried to push the idea of you out of his head

Usually he'd have more control over himself than this

His resolve was strong at first

He'd hidden the manila folder away in the depths of his lower drawer

Telling himself he'd drop it

That worked for a couple of days

That was before he started dreaming of you

Events that he hadn't preformed himself took ahold of him

He became your attacker that night

He chased you

He ripped apart your clothes

He was the one who you fought off

He's the one who you thrust that knife into

And he loved every second of it

Wait--

No, he couldn't

This was just his empathy disorder

Yeah!

He was just in character

This definitely wasn't him

He would never want to do any of that stuff

And he'd prove it

He had memorized that file from front to back at this point

It wouldn't be weird that he'd known your address

He was an FBI consultant

It was basically warranted

Will found himself picking out his best clothes that night

His newest jeans, tailored shirt, the works

Not for any particular reason

And his bed was definitely not littered with rejected articles of clothing

This was just going to be a simple checkup, it's not like it really mattered what he looked like

He showed up on your doorstep with the nicest bottle of wine he could find

"Will? Is that you?"

"Uh, yeah it is. Would I be able to come in?"

You welcomed him in, albeit a little confused

"I thought my case was cleared..."

"That's not what I'm here for. I just wanted to check in on you."

You smiled at this

And Will felt his heart ache

You'd invite him to join in on your sorry excuse for a dinner

He'd never accepted anything so fast before in his life

It didn't take long before the two of you got into the wine he'd brought

It was innocent enough at first

Just drinking and talking

You'd mention how life was after the attack

Will shared a little about his experience with GJH

Its the first time he had ever felt so utterly connected with another person before

But then the two of you got a little more than tipsy

And Will found himself leaning in

One kiss turned into another and another

Will felt a sense of static overtake him

Every touch between the two of you sent shivers up his spine

He felt the strong urge to consume

Before either of you knew it your clothes were now in a heap on the kitchen floor

You woke up the next morning with a splitting headache

Oh-- and an FBI agent in your bed

Shock was an understatement

That was when the memories of the previous night flooded back

Will woke up at the loss of warmth

Last night was the best he had slept in years

You wrapped tight in his arms, bodies perfectly intertwined

His heart sank at the look of regret on your face

"We definitely shouldn't have done that. I think you should leave Will..."

He couldn't just leave now

Not knowing what he did

That you two were made for one another

He'd try to calm you down

"Y/n let's talk about this."

You weren't having it

Mentioning how inappropriate this all was

You'd shove his clothes into his arms

Will tried to console you

Not realizing why you were so worked up

You both did just have the best night of your life after all

You'd back away but he'd continue approaching

"C'mon I know you don't really want me to go. Let's just take a second before we make any rash decisions"

"We aren't doing anything. I want you to go. Now."

Something about him coming over while you were still recovering from your distress and it all leading to this...

It just didn't feel right

Will tried to approach once more but you pushed him away

He couldn't help the smile that made its way onto his face

"Push me. Go on, make it hurt."

You were absolutely bewildered

He reached out and grabbed ahold of you

His grip was almost crushing

Like he was holding on for dear life

"I won't leave you alone that easily. Fate brought us together for a reason. You feel it too right? We're one in the same. We're each other's destiny."

He looked crazed, sweat slipping from his brow

It felt just like that night all over again

The knife in your hand as your attacker bled out

Only now Will took his place underneath you

[coochiequeens]

There's something satisfying about when an abusive man is called out by other men. Or at least one man.

Rest In Infamy, You Haunted Castle

Why I believe the Neil Gaiman accusations

By GRAHAM LINEHAN JUL 19, 2024

I only met Neil Gaiman once, at an upscale dinner party where Derren Brown had been hired to do magic tricks like in the old-timey days. Between astonishments, Gaiman and I withdrew to a quiet corner where I pretended to be pleased that he was giving me a signed copy of ‘Sandman’. One of the unexpected advantages of being cancelled is telling people who took part in my harassment what I really think about their work, but this was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, so I said the right things and we went back to being bamboozled by Brown’s invisible craft.

To give credit where it’s due, I later read Gaiman’s ‘Coraline’ to my kids which had them simultaneously terrified and hooked, and thanked him for it. Whatever my feelings about his earlier work, he was a real writer, practising his own invisible craft. From the evidence of that book, I thought he was probably a decent person too, an impression that continued until 2022, when we started to get into it over The Issue.

I may have asked why he wasn’t speaking out on behalf of JK Rowling, who was undergoing one of her regular cancellations for refusing to pander to the spoilt brats who loved her books but missed their meaning. A big name like his might have shifted the conversation and given her some much-needed support. He might perhaps have persuaded some of his fans to give the matter another look. This was when I assumed people like him acknowledged biological reality but worried about ‘coming out of the closet’, as it were. It took me years to realise that almost every celebrity mate of mine believed, or was pretending to believe, in the fashionable, American mind-cancer of ’gender’.

But back then, I was still astonished to find that he was a carrier of the virus, the mass delusion that by sheer coincidence, turned up after the arrival of the Internet. Whether it was Bill Bailey or Neil Hannon, Robin Ince or Matt Lucas, Arthur Mathews or Jimmy Mulville, it was always the same story. A sudden cloud of amnesia would form around my celebrity mates, a real peasouper, from which they suddenly could not see why we need female-only spaces, or why unhappy teenage girls will not find a miraculous cure for their woes in a double mastectomy. Far from sharing any of my urgency in the need to stop children from being irreversibly harmed in gender clinics, they instead downplayed, deflected and dismissed. “I never ask you to join in with my animal activism” grumbled Neil Hannon on one of the occasions I begged for his support.

“Couldn’t you pretend women and children are animals?” I thought.

My usual trajectory during these conversations saw me shifting from gobsmacked disbelief to fury and despair. The disloyalty made me angry, but knowing my friends did not care about their own daughters, wives, sisters and mothers was, and continues to be, destabilising in the extreme.

Gaiman went one step further. I can’t find the tweet, so I may be paraphrasing, but he said

"I hope you're kinder if your daughter ever hopes to transition."

I can think of no uglier thing to say to a parent. For girls, ‘transition’ means double mastectomies in their teens, hysterectomies in their mid-twenties, early menopause and a four times greater chance of having a heart attack than males of the same age. To have this decaying goth wish that horror on my daughter was more than I could bear. I wanted to rip his throat out.

Like a pair of grappling cowboys falling off a rooftop, our fight spilled into email. I sent Gaiman this article about the Tavistock. It was clear when he wrote back that he hadn’t absorbed it Like most celebrities in this fight, he appeared to have lost the ability to read.

“As I said before Graham, I hope that you'd be kinder if it was one of your kids who wanted to transition. “

He actually said it again. The piece was right there, detailing exactly what was happening to the children unlucky enough to wander through the Tavistock’s doors, and he chose to repeat that disgusting thing. Why?

That same year, just months before Gaiman was advising me on the value of kindness, a 22-year-old woman (‘Scarlett’ in the podcast) arrived at his Waiheke Island home in New Zealand for a babysitting job. Upon her arrival, she discovered that Gaiman’s wife of the time, Amanda Palmer, had suddenly remembered a sleepover, an appointment the child was apparently eager to attend.

So she and junior drove out of view, leaving the 23 -year-old Scarlett alone with Gaiman for the night. Within a few hours the 61-year-old man, without warning or invitation, appeared fully naked and slipped into the other end of her bath. Scarlett alleges that over the next three weeks, they embarked on a semi-consensual relationship, where Gaiman routinely ignored the boundaries she set. She alleges that he became angry when she would refuse these demands, used a belt to beat her, insisted she call him ‘Master’ and once sexually assaulted her so violently that she lost consciousness.

“… (the sex) was so painful and so violent that I fainted. I passed out, lost consciousness, ringing in the ears, black vision, the pain was celestial, you know, which is a strange word to use, but I couldn't even describe it in language. And when I regained consciousness and I was on the ground, I looked up and he was watching the rehearsals from Scotland of whatever they were filming, I don't fucking know. And he didn't even notice that I was passed out. And you know…there was blood. It was so so, so traumatic, and I asked him to stop. I said it was too much.”

Scarlett is a compelling witness despite, or because of, her contradictions. Certain things paint a picture of consent—she sexted Gaiman, to which he would send careful replies—and she laughs nervously when she talks about the alleged abuse. But when Gaiman’s side of the story is put to her, she turns cold as a knife and shows flashes of fury that she—in her telling—young, inexperienced and dazzled by Palmer and Gaiman’s fame and lifestyle, was used so casually and so brutally.

A few years back, I wrote about becoming a sort of Jessica Fletcher figure on Twitter. ‘Murder, She Wrote” but with paedophiles and predators. “Just as murderers seemed drawn to any location Jessica presented herself, “ I said. “My opining about women's rights and safety on Twitter appeared to attract the kind of men who can't sit still during a spelling bee.”

Among my adversaries was Peter Bright, the Ars Technica writer now doing twelve years for trying to buy two children to abuse. Luckily the children didn’t exist and the parents were actually FBI agents. Our exchange was brief and concerned safeguarding. I’m sure you’re all astonished to discover that he was against it.

Then there was ex-Labour MP Eric Joyce, who argued with me about the safety of mixed-sex loos in schools and was done for possessing the worst kind of child abuse images. More recently, I tangled with ‘Lexi’, who is now serving time for rape.

They all had one thing in common. They couldn’t leave alone those of us who were actively opposing the trans movement's assault on safeguarding, an assault that chimed nicely with their plans for the future. Each was returning to the scene of a crime not yet committed, each picking at a scab on their own character.

In 2018, at the height of #MeToo, Gaiman tweeted “On a day like today it’s worth saying, I believe survivors. Men must not close their eyes and minds to what happens to women in this world. We must fight, alongside them, for them to be believed, at the ballot box, and with art, and by listening, and change this world for the better.”

Well said. I certainly believe the women in ‘Master’. During my Jessica Fletcher period (a period which continues) no-one except Gaiman ever mentioned my kids. I think he knew it would cause me distress, and the second time he said it was just a twisting of the knife. Many of my colleagues in the media joined in with the trashing of my reputation, but Gaiman went that extra mile. I believe this is because he is a sadist. I think he is a man who finds pleasure in the suffering of others, and a man who does not see women and girls as fully human.

This was my final letter to him.

Dear Neil

I notice you’re still pretending you can’t read the Tavistock story. If you ever try and lay that curse on my kids again I will certainly share our exchange. Your privileged beliefs are harming children so to paraphrase Will Smith, keep their names out of your fucking mouth.

Thank you for giving me one last chance to say that JK Rowling will be remembered as a hero and you as a traitor to the kids who loved your books.

Rest in infamy, you haunted castle.

All the best,

Graham.

[godwardesqueprincess]

Liver in the mailbox? More like you’ve got a De-LIVER-y amiright

[doortotomorrow]

LEON + ASHLEY - Ashley successfully fighting back against Saddler's will, saving Leon.

[graciereadshannigram]

Kinktober Day 29: Branding

did this end up really similar to my knife play fic earlier this month? maybe. shhhh. pretend it's 100% fresh and different lmao.

At a gallery brimming with art and elegance, Will Graham forces himself to play the role of the civilized partner alongside Hannibal Lecter—a performance that leaves his nerves raw and his temper barely restrained. But when he returns to find another man lingering too close to Hannibal, something feral and possessive surges to the surface. What follows is a dark, visceral descent into Will’s primal need to claim, a reckoning with the fierce desires Hannibal has nurtured within him, and an intimate reminder of just who belongs to whom.

enjoyyyyyyy <3

[entropicquilibriumofchaos]

nfwmb

Imprinting: any kind of phase-sensitive learning (learning occurring at a particular age or a particular life stage) that is rapid and apparently independent of the consequences of behavior.

Leda Darling was abducted at age 18. The only person she saw for what felt like ages was her abductor until a new face peered through the darkness and reached out. Nine years after being kidnapped, she is rescued by a curious FBI profiler, Will Graham. With Hannibal Lecter overseeing her return to society and Will Graham there to protect her from any threats, Leda's life seems to have turned for the better.

But some people are not who they seem, even to those who know them best.

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character

READ IT ON AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Sunlight

The home that Leda was staying in was alien to her. Her family’s house had been cozy and lived in; trinkets and photographs everywhere. The kitchen was outdated, but everything worked well enough and her dad was an adamant follower of the “if it’s not broken, don’t fix it” mindset. This house was newly furnished with brand-new appliances and furniture. It felt almost sterile; like it was for display only. 

The hardwood floor was cold under Leda’s feet as she made her way to the couch and wrapped herself up in a blanket. It was comfortable and for a second, she could hide away in a cocoon of warmth and forget everything that had happened to her. Hiding wouldn’t help her get better though, so she sighed and grabbed the notebook that Dr. Lecter had given her. 

Jack had dropped her off and left two other agents to guard her safehouse; a constant reminder that her abductor was still out there. Since they had yet to figure out the motive behind her kidnapping, Jack decided that it would be best to keep Leda in an FBI safehouse with guards at all times. The agents were quiet. They talked between themselves more than they talked to her; not that she minded. She kept herself busy by writing down the different thoughts in her head. She thought it would help with her anxiety to get her thoughts into words on paper. She also wanted to get more comfortable writing again so she could speak to Dr. Lecter more effectively. For some reason, she wanted to prove herself to him; to show him that she wanted to get better. 

It was around nine o’clock when there was a knock on the door. One of the agents, Greggory as he had introduced himself, put a hand up to her and made his way slowly to the door. Leda tensed and brought the blanket closer to her, trying to sink further into the couch. After looking discreetly through the door he sighed. “It’s Will Graham.”

The door opened and sure enough, Will Graham was on the other side, holding a box of some sort. His curly hair was wet from the autumn rain, sticking to his forehead like it was holding on for dear life. 

“Thanks, Greg. Sorry if I startled you,” he apologized, setting the box on the kitchen island before taking his jacket off and hanging it on the coat rack nearby to dry. “Hannibal made dinner and asked me to bring Leda some of the leftovers.” Leda watched intently as he avoided eye contact with the agent. Even so, the two agents seemed to respect him.

Greggory nodded to Will before he and the other agent went out onto the porch. Leda had noticed that the other agent, Sam, was a smoker and she wasn’t surprised when she could smell the faint, acrid odor seeping beneath the door and into the house.

Leda stayed where she was on the couch, still startled by the sudden intrusion. Will opened the box and took out a plate of food, which he brought to the microwave. As he heated the food up, he looked back at her. 

“I was going to call, but my phone died. Hannibal was worried that you weren’t getting proper food so he sent me over. Please, come eat,” he coaxed, “Hannibal is a surprisingly good cook.”

As much as she wanted to stay curled up in her blanket cocoon, the smell of the food heating up in the microwave was mouthwatering. And she was starving. 

She slowly got up, wrapping the plush blanket around herself as Will grabbed a glass of water and set it down on the island for her. She sat down on the stool and watched as he set the plate of food in front of her with a fork and knife. It was some kind of roasted meat with potatoes and small green vegetables that she didn’t recognize. 

“Leg of lamb with garlic and rosemary paired with roasted potatoes and sauteed fiddleheads.” Will read from a card that had been tied to the box he had brought in. 

“Thank you,” Leda wrote on her notepad, before delicately cutting into the meat. 

He read the note and placed it back by her plate as she worked on her dinner. He had eaten with Hannibal back at his house, so he was perfectly content just watching over her as she enjoyed her meal. 

Leda put a piece of the lamb in her mouth and instantly relaxed. It was tender and flavorful, and she had never experienced anything like it. She ate the meal slowly, savoring every bite as if it might be her last. 

Will watched her reverently. He could see her restraining herself and he wondered how often she was fed when she was in the cellar. Not nearly enough, he thought, as he looked at how the blanket fell over her gaunt frame. She was deliberate with every move she made, her delicate hands holding the silverware gently. “You should drink some water too,” he instructed, pushing the water glass closer to her. She did as he asked.

“Are you comfortable here?” he asked as she finished the last of the food in front of her. 

She nodded, setting the fork and knife down onto the plate before Will grabbed it and set it in the sink to wash later. 

“Good,” Will responded, turning back to Leda. She had wrapped the blanket around herself once more and was looking towards the front door. He leaned on the island counter and asked, “Do you feel safe?” 

Leda hesitated this time, looking to where the two agents had left and gone outside. They were confident that Will would keep an eye on her, and she appreciated not having to be watched over like a child. The agents were doing their best to make her feel safe, but knowing that the man who abducted her was still out there made it hard for her to let her guard down. She pursed her lips slightly and nodded again. The FBI had already given her two bodyguards to protect her; she didn’t want to be any more of a burden. But Will caught on.

“Is there anything I can do to help you feel safer?” he asked, pushing himself off of the counter and moving around the table to sit on the stool next to her. 

The way Will made eye contact was different from Dr. Lecter, or even Agent Crawford. Their gazes were inquisitory; always wanting to dig deeper into her psyche. However, while there was nothing but questions behind Agent Crawford’s eyes, Hannibal’s gaze was different. She remembered how he had put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her soul at the end of their meeting, sending shivers down her spine retroactively. Looking into Hannibal Lecter’s eyes was like staring down a hungry wolf. But Will was different. His eyes were soft; the dark circles underneath contrasted the bright green of his irises. Being under his gaze was like being in the sun; it made her feel like a real person again. He looked at her as she was, not as a piece of evidence. 

After a moment to make up her mind and summon the confidence to do so, she grabbed the pen and paper. “Stay for a bit longer?”

“Of course,” Will nodded and moved to the living room with her. 

With a sigh of relief, Leda sat down on the couch and sat next to her. “I can stay for a while, but I’ve gotta feed my dogs so I can’t stay too late.”

She perked up at his explanation and he smiled at her. She loved dogs; she loved all animals in general, but dogs were near and dear to her heart. They were so pure and gentle, uncorrupted. 

“You like dogs?” Will asked.

Leda smiled widely and nodded fervently. 

Will chuckled. It was the first time he had seen her actually smile, and he instantly knew he would be addicted. “I’ll ask Jack if you can come out and meet them soon. They love meeting new people.”

It was an odd feeling for Leda, to look forward to something. For the first time in nine years, she was looking toward her future.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Will asked, grabbing the remote for the TV off of the coffee table in front of them. 

Leda shrugged her shoulders in a way to say “sure”, and Will nodded. They flipped through Netflix for a couple of minutes before Leda put her hand on Will’s arm and motioned to the one he had stopped on. 

“Brother Bear?” he confirmed with a smile. He knew the movie; he had watched it when he was younger. It was a kid's movie, but that didn’t bother him. He could see the joy in her eyes as she nodded to him and curled into the couch. He pressed play on the movie and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. 

There was something about Will that made Leda feel safe. She couldn’t explain it, but being with him was like coming home. He felt like a warm campfire on a cold winter day or the cool shade of a large oak tree. After years of being alone, it felt nice to feel a warm body by her side. 

The way Leda slowly moved closer to Will made his heart ache. He couldn’t resist putting his arm around her and guiding her head to rest on her shoulder. It was as if she was melting into him. The feeling was intoxicating; better than any drug that existed. He knew as she slowly fell asleep on his shoulder that he would do anything to protect her and give her the closure that she needed. No matter what happened. 

Will stayed until the end of the movie, even though Leda had fallen asleep about halfway through. He wanted nothing more than to stay on that couch forever, with Leda resting her head on his shoulder and her hand on his thigh. He ran his fingers through her short hair absentmindedly, thinking about everything she hadn’t experienced because of her abduction. Just the thought of someone inconveniencing the woman in his arms was enough to make him seethe, let alone hurt her. He looked down at her sleeping face and studied it intently, not wanting to forget any detail. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in and her lips were scarred from years of starvation and dehydration. He traced the line of her nose and jaw with his eyes, carving it into his memory. Her blonde hair was soft and fine, sliding through his fingers like silk. 

When they had found her, it had been so long and matted that it needed to be cut short to inspect for any head injuries. He wondered if she missed her long hair or if she was relieved to be free of it. 

He wondered a lot about her, but now wasn’t the time to pry. She needed to heal first, but in time Will decided he wanted to know her more. He wanted to learn her deepest secrets, her darkest fears, her highest highs, and her lowest lows. He wanted to be there to show her the things she never got to experience. He wanted to give her every last bit of his attention and never take it away. His scarred and broken heart was in his hands for this woman who he barely knew, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Will sighed quietly before gathering her up and carrying her bridal style to her bedroom. He laid her down gently in her bed and covered her up with the large puffy duvet. 

At this moment, Will could forget what had happened to the both of them. He was just a guy and she was just a girl. In another world, this could’ve happened after a date or maybe they had been lifelong friends. But this was the real world, and nothing about the situation was ideal. 

Trying not to dwell on the what-ifs, he brushed her hair out of her face. He smiled as her eyes fluttered open momentarily.

“Thank you for staying,” she said, her voice hoarse and gravelly from disuse. 

Will smiled before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Anytime, Ms. Darling.”

[imagionary]

Graham losing his absolute shit on Twitter cause he didn't place first in the popularity contest

[wreckedmascara]

a hannibal mood board because i love being aesthetic.

[nhescio]

Okay I have a visceral need for a hannigram time travel fic but instead of the typical Will or Hannibal fix-it, the person that time travels back is none other than Frederick fucking Chilton. Like imagine Chilton wallowing around all crispy and stuff after being human torched wondering what he’s done to deserve everything he’s been through. And when he’s finally okay enough to be discharged from the hospital to go home, an anvil falls on him or smth. And as he’s lying there incredulously, he’s like, yknow what? Im not even upset about this. I think Ive suffered enough near death experiences. Please just let this one put me out of my misery. And as his eyes finally drift shut, he hears an alarm blaring in his face. An alarm from his phone. His phone which, when he goes to shut it off, displays an impossible sequence of numbers— the plastic screen shinning with a date from four years past.

So after freaking out and confirming that he is indeed in the past, (and weeping in joy over his unmutilated body) Frederick does the obvious— he packs his bags, pays a visit to the bank, and gets on the next available flight out of the country.

And then his plane crashes and he dies.

But of course he doesn’t die because that seems to be a common theme in Frederick Chilton’s life!

So he’s jolting out of bed again to that same alarm and he tries not to tear his own face off (not that he would ever actually do that cause he knows how easily he could lose that precious face). And (after a few more tries) since this time loop bs isn’t letting him run away, he does the next best thing— phoning the FBI with a tip so that they would investigate Hannibal Lecter and put him behind bars for good. But of course Hannibal somehow finds out and discretely shakes the FBI off his trail while simultaneously sending one of his murderer protégés after Frederick. And so not even a month passes by before Frederick finds himself dying and waking to that infuriating alarm again.

And he keeps going through different loops trying to avoid being “murder tableau of the week”, but failing miserably every time. After dying for what feels like an infinite number of times, he’s realized two main consistencies. Number one, he can’t personally expose Hannibal Lecter as the ripper if he doesn’t want to be gutted, and two, the sooner Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter begin their weird courtship, whether from Frederick’s deliberate meddling or from ripples of unrelated actions, somehow he’s left with much less blood and chaos in the aftermath. In one incredible timeline, Frederick even managed to only sustain one life threatening disembowelment for three years before accidentally making a rude comment about Will Graham’s lack of a social life, thereby leading to a cold death in the Atlantic.

After this revelation, he vows to get Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter to bang each other as soon as possible for the sake of his own self preservation— going through elaborate plans like befriending and recruiting the FBI’s forensics team, or snapping Jack Crawford out of his obliviousness so he’d bluntly give them a nudge, or even once flirting with Will Graham himself to get Hannibal Lecter jealous (note: that attempt did NOT end up well).

And one day, after a shocked text from his “Sassy Science Matchmaking Squad” group chat proclaiming that Hannibal and Will, lovingly dubbed Hannigram by the group, had spontaneously quit their jobs and run away to Europe together, Frederick suddenly realizes he hasn’t been stabbed or burned or maimed or drowned or disemboweled once! He thinks back to his early success in this timeline— silently high fiving with Beverly and Jimmy (Zeller, the spoilsport, had refused to partake) while voyeuristically watching Will and Hannibal shyly having their first kiss in the shadows of a filthy crime scene. In fact, he didn’t think anyone in their immediate circle had been stabbed or burned or maimed or drowned or— well you get the point.

And as one year turns to two to four to eight with no word from Hannibal or Will except the occasional postcard, a sort of cautious optimism starts building in Frederick’s heart. The years continue to fly by until one day, Frederick finds that his hair has turned a snowy white, and that his legs are too weak to support his aching body. He tries to take in a breath to laugh but it comes out as a wheeze. He’s at the end of the line once more, but this time at the end of a healthy, fulfilling life. His only wish is that he’s finally allowed to move on. And as he feels his life slowly drifting away from him, Frederick wonders if he’s accomplished whatever divine mission that godforsaken time loop had wanted him to complete. It really feels like he did the best he could this life, preventing every possible death on the East Coast by sending Hannibal and Will packing early. Sure, he feels bad for the poor suckers in Florence or Paris that were probably flambéed for a pretentiously fancy brunch, but realistically, those two would always leave a body count no matter where they went.

All Frederick wants now is to pass in peace. With a heavy sigh, Frederick willingly closes his eyes one last time, content to move on into whatever lies in the beyond.

And he dies. For real this time. Woohoo!

The End

[thegroundhogdidit]

hannibal: you're the most jealous man i've ever killed for

will: you've killed for other men???

[mooredanxieties]

Okay, but can we talk about how Will engineers bad things to happen to the people who are interested in Hannibal, who Hannibal is interested in, or who involve themselves in their relationship.