#slowburn hannigram

[thelaurenshippen]

ao3 wrapped simulator

you read for 67,680 minutes. that's 47 days straight.

you read 812 fics total, but you read 76 of them more than 4 times.

for a total of 35 million words.

you showed the love by leaving 704 comments on 297 fics. your most common comment was "AKLDDASKFJLKSDFJHAJSHFIUELNAKDCNAGKDH!!!!!!"

you love to revisit. you hit the "kudos" button not realizing you'd already left kudos there 1,304 times

your top tags were:

pining

slowburn

hate sex

fluff

major character death

you're a night owl. your reading peaked between 11pm and 4am

you were an explorer! this year you read 4 tags for the first time: A/B/O, gen fic, praise kink, crush at first sight

there was one ship you loved most of all: for the ninth year in a row, your top ship was hannigram

but you're not monogamous. you also read a lot of stucky, scully/mulder, and animorphs

and you were in the top .01% of readers in The Expanse (TV) tag

and you were in the top .001% of writers for a ship our automated system can't even find because it doesn't have enough tagged fics

you wrote 17 fics this year, for a total of 1.4 million words. 16 of those fics were explicit.

wow! you're passionate! you created 85 bookmarks with the book mark tag "i wanna die"

your fic town is nome, alaska. no, we're not going to explain this.

thank you for spending another year on ao3 <3

[pastelwell]

Hiiiii 💜 long time no see! Missed you guys x

Just popping in to say I have written a slowburn hannigram fic 🫢 with plot and everything! Rest assured there will still be pastelwell-typical levels of ust and yearning :)

Here’s a little summary ✨

~

Hinterland

Rating: E

He remembers the blood, inky black on Hannibal’s face, and his eyes ferocious with hunger. He remembers the chill of the night biting at his fingers as the plasma dries and becomes tacky. He remembers pressing his face into Hannibal’s chest and waiting for death, falling through the darkness towards an ocean that roars, the waves a welcoming maw to eternal nothingness.

When they crash into the water he believes it’s over. He followed his final impulse to do the right thing by his friends, his family, the world. The last flutters of morality within him had guided him, even as he looked into the eyes of a murderer who had somehow compelled his fall from grace. Here, in the frigid deep waters, their chapter is closed and their story is concluded. Except it isn’t. This is just the beginning.

His next conscious thought is the recognition that he’s dizzy and in pain, his body burning furiously despite the cold that surrounds him. There’s seawater in his mouth and he’s lost in a seemingly endless abyss of nothingness when strong arms heave him through the gloom towards the surface. The first thing he sees is the stars, glittering above him in a carpet of spilled ink. Hannibal’s hands feel hot even through his clothes, palms against his chest before they curl into fists and hold on tightly.

Will’s awareness slowly comes back to him, as if waking from a dream. He feels sluggish and heavy in the water, rocked by the waves but anchored by Hannibal, eyes still ferocious in a way that Will finds indulgently captivating. It takes a few long moments for Will to realise that they survived. That this is real and unending.

Continue reading…

[ruumirmir]

Sobbing at the thougth 💕😭 He really do be floating around in our heads. No name. Only vibes. My dude has such jobs on his resume: Be gay, help boss do crimes, Become sad wet little mop after nearly dying twice, and serve cunt while doing so. Imstealing this immediately for a headcannon rn. Modern AU pants absolutely has his name as "Loverboy" in his contacts. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH LOVE OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH LOVERBOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY WHATCHU DOING TONIGHT (the loverboy in question: trying not to disintegrate everyone within a 5 mile radius bc Bossman gave him very maths paperwork) putting Killer Queen and Old Fashioned Loverboy coded ppl right next to each other? ohmygod you're gonna explode me. KQ being from husbando's pov, looking at the epitome of evil capitalism and lowkey being 😐😏 And now that i mention it,, surely there's gotta be like a. certain marination period for the snezhnayan people recruited into the fatui to go from regular normal people to different variations of evil bastards. Theres no way good ppl don't undergo several degrees of microwave spinning in the Human Morales department after joining the fatui. Dont mind me the just sprinkling in some hannigram (from hannibal NBC) dynamic into this 😋✨🤏🔥💥 50k enemies to lovers slowburn pining where the regrator looks at loverboy pre- bastardization arc and sees a fun lil boytoy,, and then looking at him post- ✨character development✨and is immediately seduced to see husband material right there.

Idk how interesting this information would be to anyone else but in my notes all of my reader characters have names so I can keep track of which one the notes belong to. There's only one exception and it's Pantalone's husband— he's just Loverboy 😭

[elfnerdherder]

Opus Dei: Chapter 9

[Join the Patreon Squad] 

[Read Chapter 9 on Ao3]

One of these days I’ll be able to just sit down and post all of these here with the right formatting...but that day is not today. Chapter 9 of Opus Dei is up on Ao3! Happy Sunday, Fannibals. <3

[morganofthefairies]

Me, when I’m reading a slowburn fanfiction and the characters get together in chapter 12 of 30: oh no. I am AFRAID

[diankn]

Slow burns are good but it's also like being slowly tortured

[incorrecthanniballecterquotes]

Will: I hate you!

Hannibal(in his head): Enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst with happy ending, 300k+ words.

[rogue-jill]

[hannigramficrecs]

Specific Tropes

(aka a list of really specific asks people have sent me lol) 

Bottom Hannibal

Breakup with happy ending

Confident Will

Courting

Cuddling

Dark and possessive Hannibal

Different First Meeting

Dinner Party

Hannibal dresses Will up and shows him off

Hannibal is smitten

Hannibal is smitten and Will is oblivious

Hannigram together before show started

Hate sex

Jealous Murder Husbands

Kid Fics

Missing Scenes

Opera

PG fanfics

Praise Kink

Relationship is revealed

Serial Killer Courting

Serial killers love Will

Slowburn Canon

Stockholm Syndrome

Teacher/Student

Wedding

Wedding Proposal

Will confesses his betrayal to Hannibal

Will finds out

Will helps himself

Will is Hannibal’s alibi

Will is obsessed with the Ripper

Will leaves after release from BSHCI 

Will knew the whole time

Will wears Hannibal’s clothes

Will realizes his feelings 

Will’s students

[phantomrose96]

No joke, my name is John Watson and I just realized the amount of crime I can probably do because of Superwholock encrypting my identity

(this post)

cant BELIEVE you walked into my inbox with a direct translation for the Hannigram joke.

You're safe forever because if any FBI agent tries to google "John Watson crime" all they're gonna get is "Johnlock crime AU. Criminal!John. Power Bottom!Sherlock. Sherlock is facing his toughest case yet, and when he's narrowed down the suspect list to only one possibility, he's faced with a terrible dilemma. #slowburn #enemiestolovers #lightbondage #PWP"

[majorbitchwillgraham]

"They’re so connected on a mental and a spiritual level that even when it’s ugly and destructive and someone is bleeding out all over the floor it’s beautiful. It’s beautiful because it’s so rare for two humans to connect in that way. It’s beautiful because it’s raw and real and vulnerable and so earth shattering that nothing, not an ocean or years spent locked away behind glass in an asylum or a new family, can keep them from coming back to each other."

That was my favorite part.

i've had many great otps in my shipper life but especially since the end of s3, i've been thinking: "how could i possibly love another otp as much as i love or m o r e????" anything can happen right but i dunno how it could cause honestly those two have ruined be very deeply. their love for each other's been shown to us in such a unique and subtle way. no need for a kiss/sex scene/ily. i can't fucking cope with them!!!!! so yeah good luck for another show for making me enjoy a pairing that much.

I’ve actually been thinking a lot lately about why it is that I ship Hannigram, especially since I very much did not ship them for the first two years the show was on air, and I’ve been asking myself why this sudden change, and how I could go from “but hANNIBAL IS SO BAD FOR MY PRECIOUS MUFFIN” to “they’re soulmates destined to be together in this life and in all other lives to come and nothing, not even death, can ever untangle them from each other” once season 3 rolled around…

And I’m not sure if I just started seeing things from a different point-of-view, or if I finally understood that Will was just as in love with Hannibal as Hannibal was in love with him, or something else entirely, but I know that this pairing that I very much closed myself off from for the longest time has torn my heart and my soul wide open and has made me feel things over these past 5-6 months that I oftentimes have no words at all for.

But I’ve really tried to pick the dynamic apart in my head, what is it about these two men that’s so profoundly special that I find myself sobbing into my whisky at 3am having a borderline existential crisis over firefly metaphors? I think the simplest explanation of it all is what Bryan himself has said of them, and it’s that they truly SEE one another right down to the core. They’re so connected on a mental and a spiritual level that even when it’s ugly and destructive and someone is bleeding out all over the floor it’s beautiful. It’s beautiful because it’s so rare for two humans to connect in that way. It’s beautiful because it’s raw and real and vulnerable and so earth shattering that nothing, not an ocean or years spent locked away behind glass in an asylum or a new family, can keep them from coming back to each other. 

It’s not just as simple as falling in love, people do that all the time, it’s a connection so deep it reaches right down to the fabric of who they both are as individuals. These are two men who were very lonely before they were pulled into each others orbit and filled the empty spaces they were always meant to occupy, and discovered themselves within that connection. They didn’t change one another, instead they brought out things in each other and in themselves that had always been there, they were just waiting for their other half to drag it up from the deep.

I could ramble on about them all day, I could try to find words that properly express the profound and tragic beauty of their love, I could try to explain this all to the people who shame us for shipping them but it would be a waste of time. Words will always be too banal and too simplistic when it comes to them. They truly are one soul occupying two bodies

two halves of the same whole

and I definitely think it’s safe to say that they and this show in general have ruined me for most other shows and most other pairings at this point…

[sourweather-fics]

Preview, College AU Hannigram, Pining, Slowburn, Cigarettes (Part 3/9)

The front door opens. Immediately, Will shoots out of his chair. He tosses his notebook and pen onto the counter, tugs at his flannel, pushes the loose curls out of his face.

Hannibal smiles at him when he walks through the door. For the first time, he bypasses his usual table, heading straight for the counter instead. "Hello, Will," he says, and Will's face breaks into a lopsided grin.

"Hi."

He looks Will up and down, and Will straightens his posture self-consciously. "You're looking much less dour than the last time I saw you," he notes. "Feeling better?"

Will laughs, once again fussing with his hair. "Uh, yeah, actually. Much. I managed to get some sleep before my shift, so that always helps." He places his hands on the counter, leaning his weight on his palms. "How about you, is your night going alright?"

Hannibal sighs, allowing his shoulders to sag slightly. "I'm a bit behind on my assignments, I'm afraid. I'll likely be spending quite a few hours here tonight."

"Oh, that sucks," Will says, trying hard to disguise how pleased he is to hear that Hannibal is going to be sticking around. "Well I'll let you get to it, then." It's the exact opposite of what he actually wants to do, but he can hardly say that.

The other man just nods, casting Will another dizzying smile before heading for his usual table. Will takes a deep breath, seizing control of his rabbiting pulse.

The feeling of eyes on him makes him flush. "What is it now?" he hisses, turning to find Beverly staring at him with a horribly amused smirk on her face. The expression is enough to make him groan. "Actually, fuck you, I don't wanna hear it."

Bev just laughs, and Will's ears start burning. She brings a hand to her mouth, covering her snickering while shaking her head at Will.

Will rolls his eyes. "Don't you have work to be doing? Christ alive, mind your own business."

"Sorry," she manages, though she doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. The laughter has subsided but she's still wearing that shit-eating grin. "You're right, sorry, it's not my business." She passes by him, Manila folder in hand, and as she brushes his shoulder she whispers. "He's hot, though."

[asublimehimbo]

@chibitabathasloves posting this in honor of getting caught up on your amazing fic :) everyone who hasn't read Let Us Waltz From the Dead go read it, it's lovely gothic hannigram slowburn

[elfnerdherder]

Opus Dei: Chapter 4

[Join the Patreon Squad] [Read on Ao3]

A warm, genuine thanks to my patrons: @sylarana @evertonem @starlit-catastrophe @frostylicker Duhaunt6, Superlurk, Mendacious Bean, and Laura G.! <3 May your Friday be fun and fucking fantastic.

Chapter 4: Extemporaneous

It always began with questions. The drugs prescribed made it difficult to handle the questions. Fog that spread, a head that dipped to whichever way the mind wanted to take him. It made lips glue, though, emotions difficult to handle in hands that didn't know how to hold them.

"Are you having nightmares?"

Will stared at the point fixed just beyond their shoulder. Dr. Lattic was their name, and they were as pleased as punch to have an intelligent psychopath like Will Graham in their clutches. They liked to tell them that whenever they appeared to witness him take his medicine.

"One of the orderlies thought they heard you crying out in your sleep." They made a note on their legal pad and observed him over their reading classes set to perch just at the edge of their nose. "Are you dreaming of the illness, or the things you've done?"

Jared Freeman paced behind Dr. Lattic, and Will tracked where he supposed he'd wander if he was stuck in such an interview as this. That they'd presume to understand him, that they'd suppose they'd ever seen into a mind like his...

"Dreaming of what he did while you slept under the blue," Garrett Jacob Hobbs whispered, just beside the doctor's ear. He was a rat. "What did he do to you whenever blue lights made you sleep?"

"I can't say that your cooperation will ease your sentence, given the things you've done, but if we can make you come to terms with some of the things your troubled psyche made you do, there might be something we can do to ease your experience here," Dr. Lattic said, tilting his head. A different tactic.

"Fool's gold," Jared snarled.

"The things done to you," Garrett Jacob Hobbs corrected. "You only enjoyed hurting the ones that tried to hurt you first."

The bloodstains on Hobbs' shirt never came clean. Will dreamed of washing it in a cold stream of thought, but it never came clean because you can't wash away bullets once they've been fired, and he'd learned that the hard way. He wondered if Abigail would have helped, if the monster under the bed hadn't decided to eat her, too.

"Silence for another session, I see. Perhaps we should lower the dosage. Your eyes are unfocused, and I wonder where your thoughts are directed today."

He was wheeled through two security doors before he's dumped into his cell, the cuffs released from his hands and feet only after he's laid back onto the bed. It's degrading, but emotions are fog. He can't grip one enough to feel it, and he lays in the damp of the low-budget facility midst the screaming of one of the other inmates whose lunch wasn't delivered at the right moment pertaining to their OCD.

-

Will visited Wolf Trap National Park when the body could only fix so much of the house. Things had to be taken slow, no matter how much his mind raced. He wondered if the ideas had begun to fester yet, if Hannibal had taken his bait. 

He sat at the park and did as he often did, as he often had to do. It was a flat, open area with small spattering of oaks and sugar maples. Some Bradford Pears  lined to the right threatened to stink the entire place up soon. A few people walked, mostly young adults or the elderly with small children. The playground nearby entertained the children as their guardians gossiped and caught up on old news. The latest body found was suspected to be the second body in the new Chesapeake Ripper wave. Much of the gossip, it seemed, circulated that, from hands that gripped and folded the newspaper article to mouths that puckered and pulled. Hard to talk about death at a park. Things were cheerful, there.

He thought about calling Molly, but it seemed in poor taste to call someone just to waste their time. Dating was commitment, dating was honesty and vulnerability and hands clasped just to walk down the grocery aisle. Still, she'd smiled so brightly when she realized he wasn't trying to be condescending. She looked like the type to like dogs. 

He thought about time and hobbies and let his fingers idly scroll through his limited contacts on the phone. The Chesapeake Ripper probably wouldn't want him to date. Maybe he'd kill anyone that got too close to Will like he did last time. Maybe he wouldn't only until Will's guard was down.

It was the bird that caught his eye, even though he was supposed to be people-watching and letting the time pass. It limped along, not like the other birds around it that hopped for the worms bursting from the earth fresh from Spring rain. He stared for a moment, then another as it registered. When the bird tried to hop again, he stood from his lonely bench and slid his jacket off.

It was a male cardinal, bold and ruby red against the green. Its leg was bent oddly, and when it fluttered in panic at his approach, he stilled. "Easy," he murmured, and he wished it could be so easy as that. Say something, and it come true. Easy, and the bird was eased. Catch him, and the killer was caught.

He tossed the jacket and made the clumsy effort of scooping the bird up, all awkward elbows and quick hands. Its plaintive cries were muffled, and he straightened the arm of his jacket to try and give the bird some air flow. 

"H-hey, hey," someone called, and Will turned to see a small-statured man with narrow shoulders and an uneasy expression. He stood hesitantly on the sidewalk, and he gestured once he had Will's attention. "I saw the bird...are you gonna h-help him?"

"Do you know how to help him?" Will asked. "Or do you know someone that can?"

"I-I can help him," he said, and his face brightened.

"You can?" Will smiled, and the cries of the bird didn't bother so bad.

"Follow me, I can help the bird..." 

And just like that, Will found himself in the care of one of the stable hands that worked with the horses at the park. He managed to catch as much as they worked their way past the park, past the stables, and back towards a quaint white house whose trim matched the stables perfectly.

"Back here," he said, and the closer they got the brighter his face became. Behind the quaint white house sat a barn, and when Will ducked inside, he was greeted by the sound of dozens of birds, a disarming cacophony.

"Here, y-you can set him here." He gestured, and Will complied.

"Do you take care of all of these birds?" he asked, turning around. Now that the surprise of them wore off, their calls seemed more interwoven, less chaotic.

The man carefully unfolded the jacket and made quick work of securing the bird. "Yes." 

Will smiled. "What's your name?" 

"Peter." He glanced up, then away and smiled, his hold on the bird careful and gentle. 

"I'm Will. I'll let you work...can I see him when you're done?"

"Ye-yeah, just wait out there...I'll call you in, he'll be okay."

Will headed out of the barn and gave Peter his space to work. A bale of hay sufficed for a seat, and he listened to the trailing calls of the birds inside, each secured in their own cage. Chickadees, scrub jays, a pigeon, doves, robins; maybe a caretaker on the grounds. Will had made a point not to look at the dent in the back of his head when he'd followed him.

Bird casts were delicate things, and Peter Bernadone took delight in Will being fascinated by it. He was humbly surprised by the care Will took in waiting, and they sat outside of the barn for awhile. Will felt a gentle disposition in him, as well as a genuine kindness.

"I love the animals, they...they don't do harm."

"They can do harm," Will said, thinking of Winston. He hadn't done harm until Agent Crawford decided to find out just who his previous owners ha been.

"Not like us...n-not like humans," Peter disagreed, and he watched a horse in the corral just across from the barn. "Humans are the only...the o-only ones to intentionally do h-harm. Animals don't have that, but we do."

Will couldn't argue that. If the latest killing was the Chesapeake Ripper, that artist hadn't stabbed himself in the chest before removing the kidneys. At least the animals wouldn't have let it go to waste.

"Is that why you work with animals? Because they're better than people?"

Peter laughed and looked down at the cage where the cardinal rested. The small cast dwarfed his stick-thin leg, but he'd assured Will it would heal. "Gotta p-protect them from people."

"We also have to protect people from people," said Will. "I think you're onto something.

He left the park a little while later, but only after asking Peter if it was okay if he came back.

-

The news could be savage when it wanted to be. When it couldn't speculate farther on the latest killing to hit DC, it ruminated on the infamous Will Graham and how he was now alive and well and on the roam. Was he truly innocent, or an acolyte, the news wondered? Could he return to his life after four years of incarceration? Would he begin to amass a wealth of death to rival the Ripper's before the jury was out?

Insomnia was a bitch. When he dreamed, he dwelled on the shadows filling the hollows of Hannibal's cheeks. Awake, he lay in a half-coherent doze on the couch and let the TV drone, anything to keep him from thinking too much. He was tired, but not tired enough. The news speculated on his absence from any media outlet. A month free, and the victim wasn't ready to start talking yet. If he started getting cold calls, he'd have to change his phone number. He wanted his story to be as old and stagnant as a standard traffic stop.

Work was easy, mindless, and the house was looking great. University classes for credits were pending, and should he get accepted he'd be allowed to swing right into a summer semester and begin getting his degree. A GED in the cell wasn't as impressive as a diploma across a high school stage, but he'd take what he could get, should they let him in. At the end of the day, bosses just wanted to see a degree. How you got it was irrelevant.

"--membered, displayed, I mean, if we analyze this realistically then the only indication that it could be the Chesapeake Ripper is because their kidneys are missing!"

"So you're saying that you don't think it's the Chesapeake Ripper's latest kill?" the newscaster asked.

Their interviewee fluffed their coif lightly. "I'm just saying that it's a bit presumptuous this early to say. It could be, but normally this form of psychopath is a tad more...violent in his attack. A single stab wound?"

"A single shot," Will corrected her in the otherwise quiet living room. As if he could have stopped at one, should he have decided to pull the trigger.

"The kidneys are a tell-tale sign, though. Our analyst, Brice Hoey, can confirm that there are currently no other known serial killers in the area that take organs as trophies."

"It's too early to tell," their guest pressed, and they shook their head. "If there was more information on the crime scene, we could confirm if the Chesapeake Ripper's other calling signs are there, but until the next report is released, I can't put my stamp on the case."

"We could always ask Will Graham," the newswoman joked.

"I think any information from him would have to be verified before it could be taken as fact," they replied. "Encephalitis is a serious illness, and coupled with the other traumatic things that happened to him at a young age, it's difficult to say if we can trust--"

Whenever the topics steered towards his mental state, Will would find it in himself to let the silence of the house keep him company, instead. The expanse of it yawned, and there were no repairs to be easily made. He needed a distraction.

-

Maybe that's why Will found himself pouring two cups of coffee one Friday morning a week or so later instead of one. Part time ensured he'd have time for some classes before Summer arrived and let him begin college in earnest. Hobbies. Busy hands. He'd called Molly and had the brutal pain of leaving a voicemail. All that courage, wasted in the face of a busy schedule. He'd stammered once before hanging up. Likely she'd been watching the news, too.

"You won't return my calls," Jack said, accepting the cup. 

They sat out on the porch while Winston trotted about the yard, sniffing through the hesitant grass. Spring was trying its best in Wolf Trap.

"I won't," Will agreed, sitting down in the chair next to his. He'd re-stained them one evening, and they looked better than new.

"Have you watched the news recently?"

"I have," said Will.

"Then you know there's another body."

Winston was older, and it was apparent in how he didn't wander too long before trotting to Will and laying down at his feet. What was he, seven or eight? Will reached down and rubbed his ears affectionately.

"That's a nice dog you've got there, Will," Jack tried again.

"Same dog as the one you branded me a killer for," Will said curtly. Then, throwing somewhat of a bone, "he's a good dog. I didn't expect him to remember me."

Discomfort sat stupid between them for a time, each one sipping their coffee with grimaces. It was uncertain if it was the strong coffee or the silence that made it bitter. Will knew exactly what Jack wanted, only it was the very thing he didn't want to give. He had busy hands, only they didn't want to be busy with something like Jack and his manipulations. His mind was trying to confuse the two, though. It reasoned how much it wanted to do already.

"You see this person the way no one else does," Jack tried for a third time.

"I just interpret what I see in front of me."

"So just interpret something for me."

"Am I the only poor bastard you could corner on such short notice?" Will wondered incredulously. "Seriously."

"Who else would I ask?"

"Specialists, therapists, hell; ask Alana Bloom."

"I have gone to specialists, detectives, therapists, doctors, and every behavioral analyst known to hell and creation. None of them see him like you do. None of them saw the others like you did, Will. Otherwise I'd have never used you." There was a catch in his voice, something that seemed to surprise even Jack. "I'd have...never asked you to look if I didn't think you were saving lives."

"You think maybe I see him like no one else because I've spent the night at his house?" Will wondered. Ever thought it was because I've fucked him?

Jack ground his teeth. "I think it's because you look at things from a perspective uniquely yours. I think you pay the price for it, but you do it."

"And don't you wonder if I ever get tired of seeing things that way?" he asked, ashamed at how his own voice betrayed him. "Maybe I'd just like a simple life where I don't have to feel that way all the time. Shouldn't you care about something like that?"

"He's hurting people, Will," Jack needled, and it's there that Will was forced to feel the sunburn ache of Jack's guilt. "The longer I take to find him, the more people he hurts."

Winston made another round in the yard, and Will watched him halfheartedly chase a bird. "I'm not leaving this porch," he said. "And I don't want to see pictures, either."

Jack snatched the bone offered. "Okay."

He set his empty cup down and left Will to his own drink, the grounds fine enough some had seeped through the filter. He wasn't too experienced with making coffee, but he was trying. Learning adulthood was one step at a time and one Google search with each failure. He hadn't had a lot of people-watching in the hospital. He didn't have a lot to go on when he was learning how to get the stains out of a white t-shirt or timing the coffee grinder to keep the beans from turning to dust.

"The body was found in their workshop," Jack said, and he looked out across the field. Will wondered what memories Jack held of this place in comparison to his own. Ones no uglier, that was certain. "The victim is an artist, Sebastian Bibee, displayed in front of his work station. A young artist, one up-and-coming. No criminal history apart from one minor-in-possession."

Will thought about it; the news hadn't gone much into detail on how he was displayed. He was glad he'd had the thought to forbid pictures. Pictures would have made him see, and he didn't want to see Hannibal's wrath after being threatened in his own home by something so artlessly tasteless as a gun. "How was he displayed?"

"A single stab wound to the chest and a small surgical incision in the back. He took the kidneys."

"How do you know it's the Chesapeake Ripper, then?" Will asked dubiously. 

"That's what I'm talking to you for. The media's looking for answers, but I won't give them one until I know for sure."

Will stood up and took Jack's empty cup, using that as an opportunity to think as he went through the motions of making another one. When he set it down, he leaned against the post on the porch and frowned, cramming his hands into his pockets. 

"Could have been someone harvesting organs," he said slowly. He thought of one of the late night guest speakers on the news. "Normally they leave them alive, though, don't they?"

"Yes."

"Could've gone wrong."

"The painting on the easel was Jael and Sisera," he said, and his expression sobered as he looked Will over. "Does that mean something to you?"

"Should it mean something to me?" 

"I'd show you a picture if I thought it'd help," he offered.

"I'll look it up later," he promised.

Jack looked out over the field, and if his memories of those awful days haunted him, it didn't show on his face. Only time did. Time, and a bitter sense of wounded pride. Will wondered how much crow he'd had to eat when the time came that he'd realized Will wasn't the killer. A dark part of him wished he'd lost his job over it, but the FBI takes care of their own. The good old boys club, and Jack was just trying to be a good, old boy.

"It's a bible story," he explained. "Jael promises aid to a defeated Canaanite leader, Sisera, and while he sleeps she drives a peg through his head. One of my guys said it's pretty symbolic."

"Pretty something," Will grimaced. 

"You think you're in danger, saying it's him?"

"No," Will lied, only it was the kind of lie he'd practiced in the hospital, the kind orderlies didn't think to look for. "I'm not the only thing that revolves around this guy, Jack. He was killing long before me, and he'll kill long after if he's not caught."

"I don't think that's necessarily the case," Jack argued.

"Who says he's not threatening to kill you? Lull you into a sense of security, then drive a peg through your head just when you think you're getting close."

It was like being at the crime scenes again, only Will wasn't eighteen and sick and terrified and naive. Age didn't feel like wisdom, but it made it easier to talk back to Jack, to pick up his ebb and flow of speech and accidentally mimic it. He wondered what they'd done with the FBI jacket he'd used to tote around--likely rotting in an evidence locker somewhere.

Jack scowled, and he sat on that for a bit. "...What's that mean for the body?" he asked the coffee mug.

"Fuck all about the body, it's just another tool to him. Humans are tools to him."

Winston trotted back once more and laid down.

"Who's he trying to direct it at, then," Jack mused. "Me or you?"

"I bet he's hoping you ask me that, and you did." Will grinned. "What's that say about you, Jack?"

Jack stewed on that, and he didn't finish his second cup of coffee. They watched the breeze tease small shoots of tall grass out in the field. 

"How's he choosing them?" Will murmured, more to himself than Jack. 

"Don't you know?"

"If I knew, I'd have found him a long time ago." Will chewed on his thumb, stewing. Some symbolic, some close, some far away and strangers. "I wonder what connects them."

"We're looking for connections, but apart from the ones that all had relationships with you they don't have any correlation. Seemingly random, even before you came along."

Will had nothing for that. He thought about the artist, and he resisted the urge to ask for a photo.

When Jack left, he didn't promise not to call, but he didn't say they'd be in touch soon either. Will took it as a bit of a win, and he went back to mend a bit of fence he'd noticed needed repair while they talked.

Will looked up Jael and Sisera on his phone long after Jack left, and he stared at it for awhile, thinking. Thoughts leapt like the fish in the river back behind the house, plentiful and  distracting, and he supposed that if it was the Chesapeake Ripper's response to Will pointing a gun at him, it was time that he toss the line in again. He had a fish ready to bite.

Jael, knelt, poised, her lap the pillow Sisera lay his head to sleep. The expression on her face was not violent as she pressed the nail to his ear. For a moment, he saw it much like her carving thoughts, ideas, beliefs into him. He blinked, and the hammer just above would surely strike too hard to be of any aid once she had finished crafting his mind. Surely the mallet would strike, and her creation would be obliterated? Surely everything would be destroyed in the aftermath of her actions?

An artist recreating it, only they were interrupted. Had he finished the painting? Was Sebastian stopped halfway, a single stab wound to the chest the only thing keeping him from finishing his work? Jael's mallet never striking the nail, dust never again beaten from the marble. Frozen on the canvas, she looked to Will much like Hannibal, carving secret things into whatever dark crevices he could find. Had Will killed him that night, would Hannibal's creation have been considered finished? Or would Jael's hammer have fallen and taken Sisera with her in the end?

Will couldn't have said, but he thought about it long after. Insomnia was a bitch, and so was Jack Crawford. 

[min-kit]

I will never lose hope for Buddie until the show literally ends People can scream queerbait all they want. Buck and Eddie can hook up and have girlfriends all the want, but I just feel something here. My writer (and I’ve been writing since I was 12 so like 15 years) senses are tingling but also

This has happened in a fandom of mine before. Hannibal. People screamed “queerbait”. Both leads kissed and hooked up with women. The show was supposed to be 7 seasons long but unfortunately got cancelled after 3. However. However--in the final episode of season 3, Hannibal/Will was CONFIRMED canon. The show confirmed it, the cast confirmed it, the show-runner confirmed it. And that was dealing with yells of “queerbait” from people for 3 years but watching it, I and others KNEW it was heading in the direction of canon. And you know why it became canon? Because fans loved it and the chemistry was THERE and it NATURALLY went in that direction.

So no. No matter what people scream, I’m not giving up on Buddie. I can sense the storyline in the works. Buddie does not give me the same feeling that Destiel gave which a lot of people compare it to.

It gives me the same feeling that Hannigram gave me for three years, right up until it was made canon. So no, I’m never giving up on Buddie becoming canon cuz I honestly and truly believe it’s a huge possibility based on the writing choices (and directing and acting choices) made, especially this season.

These things ARE done on purpose you know. And sure, things like this can be platonic in real life, but they usually never are in television/film--that’s just the way things are. Buddie is slowburn. It just requires patience and a bit of hope, but I will always believe in it, right up until the last ep.

But even on the chance it never becomes canon, Buck and Eddie’s relationship is beautiful. It’s one of the most gorgeous relationships (especially between two males) that I have ever seen on TV and tbh... that’s worth it to me too.

[paperplanechemtrails]

i’m reading your slowburn fic to my spouse at night and it is delightful. A++ on marital harmony & getting unsuspecting people into hannigram through the medium of Good Writing

🥲🥲🥲

I love y’all