#the most mentally stable hannibal fan

[zarstarss]

“tell me will, do you wish to be saved?”

[house-of-slayterr]

Waking Up From Wonderland:

Hannibal Series Pt. 3 for: @myers-meadow

Meadow's POV:

A gentle shaking of my shoulder woke me from my slumber. A leather-clad hand was the first thing I noticed. Dr Lecter.

“How are you?” He asked.

“How am I?” I scoffed.

“How are they?” He corrected.

“They still haven’t woken, but the doctors said they’re stable.”

“Physically, at least.”

“Don’t do that.” I said, calmly.

He raised a brow.

“Don’t try to read them while their out. They wouldn’t like it. You don’t know them like I do. Nobody does.”

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend. I came to tell you, agent Crawford will want to speak with them when they wake up.”

“That’s an awful idea, they don’t-“

“Like authorities? I could guess as much. Which is why I heavily suggested they should speak to a therapist before the police. We’d relay any important information. Agent Crawford will allow either myself or my college Alana Bloom to speak with them first.”

“Thank you Doctor Lecter, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Do you mind?”

He asked, gesturing to the empty chair in the room.

“How are you in all of this? That’s a lot for the average person to witness.”

“I’m not particularly average”

He smiled at this. A wry smile, one that wasn't quite real but not in the realm of pity.

"This Alana, is she good? Is she nice, I mean. Frances doesn't like men very much, I think they'd rather have a female therapist if they have to talk to anyone."

"Yes, Miss Bloom is very good. She's one of my most trusted colleagues. Frances would be in good hands."

We sat talking for about an hour, about the case, about random things. I realised I like hearing the sound of his voice. His accent was strange, but it was more than pleasant.

"What?" He asked.

I gave him a confused look.

"You're thinking, and by the looks of it, pretty hard."

I chuckled.

"I was-" I paused thinking it over.

"You know your secrets are safe with me right?" "I'm not a patient." "No, but I do keep my acquaintances secrets as well, free of charge." He joked.

"You've got jokes?" I asked amused.

"Not many."

"I was thinking that I like the sound of your voice. The way it echo's in my head after you speak feels nice."

A real smile this time. It looked good on him.

"Well, thank you. I quite like the sound of your voice as well Miss Meadow.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Frances was stirring. We both turned our attention to them. Their movement got bigger until their eyes finally fluttered open. But they were quickly screwed shut.

"It's too bright," I told Hannibal softly.

I didn't want to speak too loud. Hannibal was quick to turn off the lights.

"Should I-" He began.

"No stay, we can call a nurse with the button if we need."

I watched Frances fumble to place her hand protectively over the call button.

"No nurses then, you sure."

They nodded.

"Doting." They whispered.

"You are in a hospital, people are allowed to take care of you, you know that right?" I laughed.

"How are you feeling."

"High."

I laughed once more.

"That would be the morphine."

They calmly tried to reach for their IV site but I guided their hand away.

"No way, I'm willing to wait to call the nurse in, but you're not doing that."

I knew Hannibal was watching out interaction intensely.

"Don't like it."

"I know you dont." "Head fuzzy."

"That's the part most people like," Hannibal said.

"Most people are idiots."

They sat up and winced a little.

"Mentally, how are you feeling." He asked.

I gave him a look, I thought Alana was going to be questioning her.

"How should I feel? I don't remember much of anything. I went to work, this fan came into my dressing room with flowers, then after that its all kind of-" They paused.

"He grabbed my arm, at first I thought maybe his nails accidental dug into my skin. But I felt a prick, it was hot. Then he told me to smell the flowers. I thought it was an odd request, but They were quite pretty."

I held my hand up to Hannibal as he tried to speak. I knew better than to interrupt their train of thought. especially now when they were so vulnerable.

"Sanguinaria Canadensis... Bloodroot. Causes vomiting, fever, organ failure and a hypnotic-like tired state. I know this. I KNOW THIS!" they raised their voice.

It was clear that they were becoming stressed.

"Do you want me to phone Alana?" Hannibal asked.

I nodded.

"Frances, can you take a few deep breaths for me?"

"Meadow, I let this man drug me! I'm a sodding idiot! But why can't I remember it? What did he make me do?"

"I think you should wait until Miss Bloom gets here. The police have agreed-"

"The police???"

"Don't worry, Alana will get a statement and we'll convince them to drop any charges you might have against you." Hannibal tried to calm them.

"Did I hurt anyone?" They looked past me, right at him.

They knew I would lie if it meant keeping them safe. Even from themselves.

"Not that we witnessed. No. Other than yourself, you aren't responsible for anything that happened."

"And what exactly happened Hannibal?"

I wasn't aware they knew him. He must have caught the look of confusion on my face.

"I send some of my favourite dancer's flowers after the show. I sign cards with my first name. People get intimidated when they see 'Doctor' on things."

"Nobody other than you has ever brought me flowers. I guess I assumed they'd be harmless. He... looked harmless."

"So you remember what he looks like?"

"I remember his eyes. I was trying to be polite so I forced myself to look at them. That was my first mistake."

They shivered.

"They were soulless. No life to them, just dull iceberg blue. His iris in his left eye was blown wide, but the one on the right never dilated. I prefer his left eye."

"Perhaps he was under the influence of something?"

The monitor started to beep rapidly again, and their heart rate is climbing.

"Frances, what's wrong?" I asked.

They chuckled a little.

"The bloodroot, I can feel it in my veins. I won't last much longer."

"Don't say that."

They finally looked me in the eye.

"My organs are shutting down Meadow. My pancreas and gallbladder are already gone, but I can live without those. The hospital won't find enough organs to replace the ones I'm losing. Not in time anyway. But I'll tell Alana everything I remember. I wasn't to help catch this guy. He isn't very nice."

"I'm not letting you die," Meadow said defensively.

"And I'm not going to let you waste your time. You should spend it with Hannibal. He's a nice man Dow."

"When you see the nurse, please ask her to turn down my IV" They added once I didn't speak.

"You're going into multiple organ failure Frances, and you want to get rid of the one thing keeping you stable?"

"Not stable, Doctor, It's numbing, I prefer to feel Doctor Lecter. Proves that I'm real." They looked out the window. "The two of you are wasting time. Don't you know, there's a crazed killer on the loose."

Hannibal escorted me into the hallway.

"Are you alright?"

"You're asking if I'm alright when I just found out my friend is dying and they don't care?"

"That's not going to happen. There's a cure for every poison. I'll find."

"They're right, that's not going to replace any of the organs that are already too far gone."

"I will handle it, If money is the problem I can cover any of the costs the hospital might have."

"You don't have to do that." "I want to. I assure you. Alana will get their story, You and I will search for a cure. And the FBI will catch this man, hopefully before he comes back for you, his White Queen."

I shuddered at that.

"I hate that name."

****************************************************************************

Frances POV:

I was glad Meadow had someone, Doctor Lecter seemed like a good man. I could feel the blood in my veins growing sluggish. It wasn’t much a difference, but I could always tell when something was wrong. It’s made me feel itchy, like my skin was crawling. I probably have a week at most.

I laughed dryly, my throat sore and cracked. I wondered how long I was already out. So much lost time, such a shame. I tried to remember what happened that day. Really tried. But my walls were up. That damn trauma response, forgive and forget. Sometimes I swore it was a curse. I knock at the door brought me out of my thought.

“You must be Doctor Bloom.”

She gave me a polite smile.

“Please sit, we don’t have much time.”

“So Doctor Lecter told me. You’re being cynical.”

“Cynicism never killed anyone.”

“Neither did positivity.”

“Positivity, naivety, they grow from the same seed, reside on the same tree. Do you suppose the man who poisoned me was thinking positive thoughts?”

She sat down in the seat next to my bed.

“You know what you’re poisoned with, the doctors can find you a cure.”

“Total organ failure doesn’t have many cures Doctor Bloom. But would you like to know what does? Murder. The cure is justice. I want to find the man who did this before he hurts anyone else. The others don’t deserve this.”

“But you do?”

“I’m not perfect.”

“Nobody is.”

“I’m far… from perfect. Believe me. Meadow is kind, honest, pure. Doctor Lecter is cunning, ambitious, protective and pious. And you Doctor Bloom are hardworking, loyal, sincere and compassionate. But you struggle to balance to skepticism and optimism.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“I as you said, am cynical, untrusting, obsessive, and self-destructive. Now we can sit here and run through the basics of therapy and you can tell me how I’m living my life wrong and have a multitude of unhealthy coping mechanisms. Or you can help me remember what happiness that day so the man who did this to me is behind bars.”

“If you think that is going to help. Tell me what you do remember. Start at the begging.”

“I was early to work as usual…”

I smiled at that guard as he let me through the doors. We never talked, I saw no need. I let him use his words but kept mine close to my chest. A simple nod. A “yeah” here and there. It was easy, a relationship of connivance.

I made my way to the dressing room, stripping out of my street clothes. It was a ritual, I always took everything off in a particular order. Shoes then pants then socks. Jacket, then shirt and undergarments. I let my hair out of its ponytail and slipped into my tights and leotard.

I say in the chair and painstakingly brushed every hair back into my bun. It was flawless and smooth, my hairspray smelt like old shoelaces and boysenberries. An odd, but comforting combination. I applied my makeup slowly, being sure to perfect each stroke. Last was always my shoes, my Pointe shoes. I felt incomplete without them.

I was startled by a sudden knock on the door. Nobody else ever came in this early. Maybe it was just the guard. I was confused when I opened the door to a man. He was taller than me, scrawny, not much muscle. Obviously not a dancer. He stood clunky, like a soldier. ROTC perhaps, maybe young marines. Drop out.

“Umm, sorry to bother you miss Darling. I’m a huge fan and I-“

“How did you get in here?”

“The guard let me in.” He mumbled quickly “I’m not able to make it to the show tonight, so he offered to let me give these to you now.”

I raised a brow at him. He produced a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

“May I come in?”

“To my dressing room?”

He blushed slightly.

“You’re already dressed.” He pointed out.

“Then I suppose that just makes this a regular room then.” I said flatly.

I stepped aside to let him in. I wasn’t sure why. There was something about him that was alluring, toxic.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there tonight. I’m sure the performance will be head turning.”

He emphasised the last two words of the sentences. The hung lazily on his tongue, yet held an air of excitement.

“Hmm” I hummed. “I suppose you’ll be wanting an autograph or something?”

“Oh. Yes!” He dug through his bag and produced what looked like a manuscript.

I took out the red pen I kept neatly on my dresser. I signed it and thanked him for stopping by, pointing to the door. I could set aside a few moments for a fan, but I didn’t get as many as the others who’d been with the company longer. I was younger, and less experienced, and still had to prove myself to them and the audience. Any more delays would throw off my whole routine. As I went to shut the door he spoke one last time.

“The flowers… you really should smell them. They’re lovely.”

He plucked one from the bouquet I had set beside the door, not having a vase ready for them. Before I could respond he held one up to my face. I thoughtlessly took a breath. Before meeting his eyes. His eyes, they were crazed. There was something dark in them, lurking just below the inky black and the icy blue. What an odd shade of blue. How long had I been staring, why was I staring.

That was the first time I felt it. The fuzz, the static. Like how I imagined it felt to be crossfaded, high and drunk. Two things I’ve never wanted to experience. I enjoyed being sober, sober was safe. Sober people didn’t make as many mistakes.

“It works quickly.”

“Huh?”

“I said, you work quickly. I mean you’re already dressed and ready before anyone else gets here. Surely you have more time for your biggest fan.”

He pushed the door open more.

“Yeah, my biggest fan. How lovely.”

How lovely. I never say shit like that.

“I need your help with something amiss Darling.”

I didn’t feel the need to correct him about my pronoun preferences. It didn’t seem important.

“My help?”

“Do what you do best, when the police get here, you’ll put on a performance, won’t you?”

He gripped my chin and made me look in those sinful eyes again.

“Police?”

“For the art. They’ll come to see my art. Our art!”

Art. He saw my work as art? Truly and simply. Pride, I think that’s what I was feeling. One of the seven deadly sins, but why did it feel so good?

“And if I cannot keep their attention?”

I knew I could. There was someone in the audience whose eyes were always on me. One Hannibal Lecter.

“Then, My Hatter shall never Futterwacken again. You’ll break those pretty legs of yours. I wonder, can the ballerina follow a script?”

He rubbed his thumb against my ear. Placing a small headphone like device in it. He tapped it for good measure.

“You tell them what I tell you, nothing more, nothing less. You won’t need to bother with the rest. I’ll release you when you’re of no use to me. And then you won’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”

“I won’t?”

“No miss Darling, you’ll be too crazed to remember. Like miss Sayer at the end of Black Swan. She bleeds to death at the crescendo, and the White Swan gets her happily ever after. Well in this story, My White Swan, more aptly My White Queen, she falls victim to a much more gruesome fate.”

He pulled a strand of hair out of my perfect bun and tucked it behind my ear.

“But I won’t let them forget about the little Black Swan, my very own Mad Hatter.”

He snapped something in place around my neck.

“Now up to the roof with you, wait for my signal. Don’t let anyone see you until then.”

I nodded my head and rushed to that rooftop. There was a glass section in the roof, a skylight we could open and close depending on the needs of the performance. The first day I got here I stayed late and watched the stars through it. An hour went by and people started to pile in, I watched and I waited. For the show.

And oh, what a show it was. There was red, red everywhere. I watched as they ran and screamed and broke. The building looked tight and our day guard was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he already got rid of the obstacle.

He was graceful now, unlike earlier when his movements were clunky and robotic. He killed with ease. Slicing through skin and bone without hesitation. And they each fell into place. I stayed to watch as he arranged them. Like the instruments in a symphony, all blending together in a beautiful display. I couldn’t look away, no I might forget if I do.

He said I’d forget anyway. But something I wanted to remember. I need to. And when the time came I played my part. I jumped off the roof, not an ounce of fear in my body. I felt giddy, unstoppable. Manic.

“His face wasn’t real” I concluded.

“What do you mean by that? You’ve made great progress in the past few hours, why doubt that detail.”

“Because, it was vivid. It wasn’t muddled.”

“You saw him before he drugged you.”

“Before I know he drugged me. He had to have been in there before me. Fans aren’t allowed before hours, it’s not safe. My hairspray, the boysenberry scent was fake. Chemically, it faded way too quickly. I use it everyday, It would be hard to miss.”

“You think there was something in your hair spray, like a smaller dose to make you more suggestible.”

“I saw what I wanted to see. The memory of him is all jumbled. He looked like-“

I took a deep breath, scoffing at the idea.

“He looked like my father.”

“Your father?”

“Yes. But that’s not possible. My father's been dead for a while now. Buried next to his wife. The two of them rotting underground where they belong.”

“Perhaps you miss him, somewhere deep down.”

“Deep, deep down then. You want to know the first time I genuinely smiled Doctor? The day of his funeral, when I put him in that box, and put that box six feet under.”

She shifted comfortable in her seat. I felt a sting in my heart. The poisoned leaking it’s way in once more, cell by cell. I coughed, trying to clear my throat.

“But you can be sure of everything else. I made sure to keep those memories safe. I didn’t like the way he made me feel. I keep the things I don’t like bottled, the seal on those is impenetrable.”

“And how exactly did he make you feel?”

“Powerless, and used and wasted. But most of all, I feel angry. Anger is not an emotion you feel lightly Doctor. It’s hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but guilt and regret and sorrow in its wake. It cannot survive on its own so it leaches onto all your other emotions until you cannot distinguish one from the other. It is toxic and it is deadly. I do not like being made to feel such a thing. I thought I felt it for the last time when I buried my parents, and this miscreant has dug it up again. And for that, he will be sorry.”

****************************************************************************

Hannibal’s POV:

Meadow was distraught, that much was obvious. I entrusted her in the hands of Will. He was efficient in finding things most others couldn't. He could help her find a cure for Frances. But Frances was also right. I allowed them to use my office, a place William was plenty familiar with.

Frances would need organs, something that wouldn’t be easy to come by. Unless of course, there was a fresh supply. I’d collected a sample of their blood with my hanker-chief as they were loaded in the back of the ambulance. I could smell it, AB positive. I’d have to work quickly, night fall would come soon. Meadow and Will would grow suspicious of my wear abouts.

The victim wasn’t hard to chose, a man I’d met earlier this week. He’d spit at a waitress in a restaurant. I did nothing at the time because I was in public. People these days weren’t hard to find, they posted their whereabouts on social media. But that was too obvious, the police could follow it. So I posed as a cabbie and drove him home. I offered him a drink, laced with enough drugs to knock him out.

He wouldn’t feel it. What I was doing to him. He wouldn’t feel me saw unto his chest cavity and carefully remove each organ one by one as he watched. Going in order form least vital to most. They would have to go on ice immediately and be delivered to the hospital. An anonymous donation, not typical but I knew for a fact the head surgeon at the hospital was corrupt. He’d do anything for extra cash, even use black market organs.

I had confiance in Meadow, she was smart, she cared. As I removed his heart, watching his lungs fill with one final gasp of air before deflating, my phone rang. I took off my gloves and picked it up.

“Dr Lecter.”

“Hannibal we found it, I know a guy we can get it from, can meet him in an hour. But we’ll have to get back into their room, the drug isn’t legal int he US, so one of us will have to give it to them without the nurses knowing”.

How interesting, she was so willing to break the law for this friend.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Take Will with you, just in case this guys doesn’t have good intentions. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

I cleaned up my mess, casually arranging his body where the FBI was sure to find it. Another victim of the Chesapeake Killer. Tragic. I left the organs where the front desk receptionist would find them on her smoke break. With a note, insinuating they were a gift from our newest serial killer. Of course, they would later be used as evidence, but it’s not like the cops could remove them from Frances body.

I paid off the night nurse on her floor to let me come visit, claiming I was worried for them. I wanted to observe them from a psychological standpoint. They looked much worse than the last time I’d seen them. Some of their hair had already begun to pass out. The poison was working faster than it was supposed to. It pained me, seeing someone so… undeserving, be in this position.

They seemed nice. Neurotic, distant, but they held genuine compassion. The once strong ballerina looked weaker then a cancer patient on chemo. It was disturbing. I lightly shook then awake. Their hand shot out to grab mine, and they used the other to wipe sleep out of their eyes.

“Hannibal? What time is it?”

“Nearly two in the morning.”

“You haven’t slept?”

“You seem concerned.”

“You’re patients deserve a well rested therapist.”

“Meadow found a way to help you. She’s on her way.”

“The hospital won’t let her in after visiting hours- wait how did you even get in here?”

“I’m a high profile Doctor.”

“Right.”

“And I paid off the nurse to let them in.”

“You spent money on me?”

“I have been, the flowers.”

“Flowers can be plucked from the earth by hand Doctor Lecter. You did not pay for those, they’re from your own personal garden. You use expensive fertiliser and there are no bug bites on any of your leaves and stems. Money, money is earned. I have done nothing to be deserving of yours.”

“Then perhaps it was pity pay.”

They scoffed.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Meadow would want me to.”

This brought their attention back.

“You know nothing about her!” They snapped.

Protective. Fascinating.

“Hey earlier you were trying to set us up.”

“She deserves a man like you Doctor Lecter. But do not pretend to understand her from one day of psychoanalysis. She’s a complex creature, one with seemingly infinite layers. It has taken me months to dig deep into her skin, push past the epidermis. Yet still I am stuck between layers of muscle and fatty tissue. Take your time with her, treat her well and she’ll open up. But your surface level perception will not taint how either of us… appreciate her.”

“I apologise, I wasn’t aware it was a triggering topic”

“Meadow is my best friend, my only friend. I will keep her close until the day she realises I am not good enough for her. She is all I have, and all I will ever know. There was no before and there is no after Meadow. There’s just me, a once promising dancer who tragically lost their skill due to a crazed lunatic and raging murder investigation.”

“I take it you remember.”

“Alana has told the FBI all they need to know.”

“You think you’ll never dance again?”

“Unlikely. I cannot feel my legs Doctor Lecter. The were so mangled after I jumped, that even the surgeons didn’t know how to put them back together. Walk, maybe. Run, highly improbable. But dance, if I cannot bare my soul on stage, then I shall cower in the wings. People will forget about Frances Darling. My name will now be tied to this atrocity more so then it ever was to my passion. I will become nothing more than a series of rumours whispered around town until everyone grows bored of my name.”

They took a shaky breath.

“Some will flinch, or cross thé street when they see me, hide their children because they will blame me for what happened to my fellow dancers. And others will stop me with video cameras and red ink, ‘hey look, it’s the killer ballerina’ and I will simply smile and nod and accept my title. Because that’s what people do in the face of horrific tragedy. But I’m sure you understand that very well Hannibal.”

“You’re over thinking.”

“It’s all I have left. My body is decaying, rotting from the inside out. My blood, it itches and it’s taking everything in me not to tear off my own arms right now. The room is hot and sticky, yet I shiver like I’ve never known warmth before. But my mind, it still there, loud as ever. He tried to take that from me, but I’m stronger then he anticipated. If you say Meadow find a cure, then good. I’ll be here to see this man burn.”

As if on que, I heard the distinct foot falls of Meadow’s heels. Followed by Will’s awkward gait. The entered the room quickly and shut the door behind them.

“You’re awake!” Meadow said.

“I informed them you were coming.”

“Who’s the third Musketeer in your merry band of misfits Hannibal?”

I offered a chortle.

“This is Agent Graham.”

“Come to question me?”

“No, my boss has what he needs from You from Miss Bloom. I owed Hannibal a favour.”

They ran a hand through their hair, pulling out more chunks.

“This won’t work, even if you kill the poison, my body is too far gone. It can’t heal itself.”

“I spoke to the head surgeon, he has agreed to operate on you in the morning if you’re stable throughout the night.”

“Great, now we just need organs to magically fall from the sky.”

“You’re AB positive, correct? There was a death recently, he says your blood type and plasma match.”

“He doesn’t know which organs I need.”

“They’ve offered the whole body to you first.”

“There are others who have waited longer.”

“You are part of an activate murder investigation, you get top priority.”

They growled under their breath.

“Fine. But I don’t have to be pleased about it.”

“You’re upset we’re saving your life?”

“No, I’m upset that she’s choosing me again. You both wouldn’t be standing her if not for Meadow. Beautiful, charming, Meadow. Tell me, will you choose me a third time when the Red Queen comes back for me? Or will spamming ‘a’ get old?”

“Don’t do this right now?”

“What, be honest? At least I don’t lie to protect people feelings. You should do what’s best for every body. Think with your head, not your heart.”

The paused, coughing.

“He’s not going to stop until everyone in Wonderland is dead besides him. He thinks I’m both Alice and the Hatter. Imagine that. I guess that means I get to die twice.”

They started coughing more violently, their small body shaking with each jerk. They pulled their hand away from their mouth and their was a string of blood hanging from it. They stopped to look Meadow in the eyes for the first time evening.

“I don’t want to be the protagonist” they whispered.

Tears brimming in their eyes. Their eyes began to flutter and I lunged forward, gently laying their head back on the pillow.

“Give me the antidote.” I commanded will.

He handed me syringe, filled with a strange smelling clear liquid. I injected it into a vein in their neck, knowing it would reach the heart more quickly. But their pulse was slowing. I began CPR to try and get their blood flowing faster.

“I’m going to get the nurse.” Meadow said. “They’ll perform emergency surgery right?” She asked neither of us in particular.

Frances wasn’t going to die tonight. That wasn’t part of my plan. And this man who calls himself The Red Queen, would soon be meeting the Ripper. Something told me to protect these two, and it was obvious now they came as a pair. You couldn’t have one without the other, they were unstable apart. And now Will had witnessed it too. He actually looked worried, this man had witnessed things much more graphic then the display in front of him. Yet he actually looked concerned for once. I’d have to discover the reason for this interest later, now my priority was them.

An: Italics is flashback. This chapter was so much fun to write. I love suspense and angst, even when I’m torturing myself In story form 😈

[darling-i-read-it]

Comfort

Will Graham x reader

Word Count: 1.2k 

Warnings: talks of murder, mental health issues, spoliers for hannibal 

Author’s Note: Writing for Will is not only fun but its therapeutic and also everything I write for him seems to be him being comforted and happy because its what he deserves 

Summary: based around season 1 episode 10 mostly Wills health 

Genre: angsty fluff

Song: the night we met by lord huron 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

“Can I speak with you?” 

You looked up at Hannibal who was giving you a look that you didn’t like. You weren’t a fan of that face. You could tell that something was wrong and the only thing you and Hannibal really had in common was your boyfriend Will. Which made you extra worried when he asked to speak.

“Sure.”

You stood up from your seat, leaving Jack and a few others who were in a conversation. Will had gone to the bathroom which gave Hannibal an out to talk to you alone without raising suspicions. You were all having dinner at Hannibal's home, celebrating a win on a case that had been particularly hard.

You followed him into the kitchen and he leaned against the counter.

“You know that Will is sleep walking,” You nodded stiffly, mentally preparing yourself for anything that you didn’t know about Will that you were about to be told.

“Hannibal if this could break patient confidentiality I don’t-”

“It doesn’t.” You nodded and clutched the ends of the island, your knuckles white.

“I’m worried about his state. I figure you know enough about his behavior to know that what Jack Crawford wants from him is not something he is prepared to give, mentally.” You nodded.

“I’ve tried to talk him out of it-”

“I’m leaning on the edge here but I need to show you this.” He grabbed a notebook on his counter and brought it over to you, opening it to a specific page. “I asked him to draw me a clock.”

You looked down at it, number strewn, nothing in the right spot inside the circle. You put it down carefully, staring as though you couldn’t quite understand even though you understood perfectly. 

“Hannibal…” 

“I’m telling you this because he trusts you.” “He trusts you too,” you muttered.

“He trusts you more than anyone else. He trusts you to live with him. He trusts you to be there when he comes home. If anyone can cushion his time until I figure out how to properly deal with the problems it’s you.” 

You shut the book slowly and nodded. The two of you simply stood there for a moment in secret as though you had shared a big secret and you supposed he had. The real truth on what you knew Will was going through.

You handed him the notebook back and walked back to the dining room. Will had returned and he looked fidgety, not having you or Hannibal there. Something was bothering him but the second you and his friend walked back into the room. You gave him a smile and he gave you a strained one back.  

You walked over and sat down beside him, putting your hand on his knee. He placed his hand on top of yours and you squeezed.

“Wanna go?” you whispered. He nodded. He had only just told you that he was losing time and often you wondered if in the moment you were beside him he was on autopilot. The way his eyes were now, you knew he was with you. He just wanted to be gone.

“Lets,” he muttered.

You gave Hannibal a look and he nodded, smiling at Will.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nodded. 

“7:30 on the dot.” 

“Of course. It was nice seeing you too Y/N,” Hannibal said, shaking your hand. You nodded and in your eyes you thanked him for the information he had shared.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

It was a long drive back to Will’s but you spent most of it in silence, the music from the radio playing softly in the car. Will watched the trees as you drove up to his house. You were both quickly greeted by the dogs whom you petted softly. 

Both of you started to get ready for bed but it was itching at you. Wondering where he was.

“Will?” You peeked your head into the bathroom where he threw on a shirt. 

He gestured for you to come in and you did, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. He relaxed into your touch as you stared at each other in the mirror.

“You feeling okay?” you whispered. He scoffed.

“Sure.” 

“Really.” He escaped your grap and walked in the bedroom, sitting on the bed. You followed him but stood a few feet away, against the wall.

“It’s been rough. In my head,” he told you. You nodded.

“Is there anything I can do?” He shook his head. “You wanna talk about it?” He took a deep breath and you walked over to him, putting your hand on his.

“I lose track of time, like I told you. I just don’t know how to…” He tried to find the words. “Feel stable.” You nodded. “Sometimes I see the bodies and wonder if I did it. I know I didn’t but it feels like I did.” 

  You turned to him and grabbed both his hands.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“It isn’t your fault,” he told you, fidgeting.

“I just want you to know that you’re my best friend and I’m sorry that you ever feel that way.” He put your head on his shoulder and you put an arm protectively around him. “And I love you and I will do anything I can to make you feel stable,” you whispered. 

He buried his head in your neck and breathed heavily. You thought he might cry. You put your feet up on the bed and held him for a moment as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. Stability. 

Will Graham was in desperate need of stability.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“You won’t go? Even if I’m..” he thought about his wording, “..wrong in the head.” You shook your head.

“I would never.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief and loosened his grip on you. 

“Let’s sleep,” he whispered. You nodded and brushed his hair out of his face before getting under the covers. Usually because of his dreams the two of you weren’t near each other when you slept but tonight was an exception. Stability.

Will outstretched his arm and you rested your head on it so that your faces were level. You smiled gently at him and he kissed you gently once.

You both closed your eyes shortly after, tangled in each other falling asleep.

[voxofthevoid]

Taking It Up The Ass Isn’t Character Growth - A Rant

So, in response to an ask a while back, I said I had a rant brewing on fandom and sex positions, and well, a lot of you wanted to see it, so here you go. You literally asked for it.

Disclaimer: This is going to talk a lot about top/bottom roles in slash fic and fandom attitude towards them and is heavily filtered through the lens of my own tastes and experiences with fandom. I’d also like to be upfront that I am 100% in favor of people writing whatever fictional content they want, and it’s not what fandom does with characters that bothers me but rather how that translates into attitudes towards real, live people. Also, this is the essay version of a slow burn AU because I regurgitate my entire fandom history before getting to the point. Beware.

I discovered fan-fiction around a decade ago, had no clue what the hell it was, got hooked and dived deeper. I started participating in fandom circa 2013, and I was fairly young and also completely inexperienced both sexually and romantically. The fandom in question was Hannibal and my ship of choice was Hannibal/Will. It was/is a very chill fandom in general, but we had our drama. And chief among the contentious topics was—you guessed it—the top/bottom debate. I can’t actually remember any other topic that was discussed and argued for so ardently in that fandom, at least in those days. Even after I drifted away, I came across a few posts on the matter.

Generally, you had two camps—people who supported strict roles and those who were in favor of switching*. And because we’re a society plagued by illogical assumptions, the strict role camp mostly had people who thought Mr. Big Bad Cannibal in the Fancy Suits wouldn’t take it up the ass because he’s older, more experienced, more mentally stable, and of course, more ‘dominant’ in personality. Yes, that sentence is chock full of problematic shit. I am aware. Lots of people were aware and argued strongly against attributing top/bottom roles to personality. I don’t remember anyone arguing as enthusiastically for Top Will, but those voices were also there. But the general idea was that assigning strict top/bottom roles to a male/male couple was casting them in a heterosexual mold and thus, the progressive option was to make them switch. Strict roles also garnered comparisons to “yaoi” and uke/seme stereotypes, which was of course bad and fetishizing and we, the Western media fans, of course had to do better. Stealth racism is fun to untangle.

Anyway, I lapped up the woke juice. Partly because I was a baby queer from Buttfuck Nowhere, Asia, who had zero exposure to LGBT+ communities and what queer folks did with each other. Partly because it was the stance taken by most of my favorite writers so it seemed like a good position to emulate.

Emulate it I did. Most discussions I had about this happened in private with the handful of close friends I had in fandom. Where it really showed was in my writing. I made sure to write switching—maybe not in every fic, but then I alternated between fics. Thing is though, I did have a preference. I liked Top Will. I created and consumed a ton of Top Hannibal, and sometimes it was okay, sometimes it was not, but I couldn’t pinpoint why it made me uncomfortable. Back then, I thought I was a cis questioning/bi girl and once again, the impression I got was that not being MLM, having a preference was automatic fetishization. So I tried my best to justify my preferences, to my friends at least. I think what I said was that fandom was skewed towards Top Hannibal, and I liked the opposite because I’m a contrary fuck. Which I am, to be fair, but this was just me desperately trying to figure shit out without being offensive.

That’s the line I touted all the way until 2018, which was when I fucked off to grad school in A City, finally freed of Buttfuck Nowhere and able to actually date. At this point, I was settled in my sexuality (girls only) and questioning my gender (non-binary or trans guy). I had also tentatively figured out during undergrad that I’m an exclusive top and a Dom. Actual attempts at dating cemented that, yes, those are my preferences, about as flexible as a steel rod. Cue motherfucking epiphany over my fanfic tastes.

And see, over these years, I was engaging intermittently with fandom. I dutifully wrote switch couples. I also continued to have rigid tastes and continued to explain it away as being a contrary fuck—to be fair, until Steve/Bucky, my preference did seem to be the opposite of the larger fandom preference. But correlation, as we know, isn’t causation. Until Steve/Bucky, I continued to write versatile couples because I honestly didn’t have the guts to just say I liked it just one way. I do now but even then, I feel compelled to add that it’s because I want to see my own taste reflected in fic, so I write/read the character I relate to as a top, it's not that deep etc. Would I be as forthright if I didn’t have that reason? Would I have such strict preferences in fic if I didn’t have strict preferences IRL? The latter’s a mystery, but the former isn’t—I wouldn’t be because fandom is still entrenched in the same ideas that got me to this point to begin with.

In every fandom I’ve been in, I’ve seen some version of this debate go around. Sometimes, it’s one party saying “why would you write Character X as a bottom, he’s so Reason A” and a reblog chain that insults the OP and/or extols the virtues of switching. Sometimes, it’s a general-ish message that says they don’t understand why people have strict preferences when we all know real gay couples switch. Sometimes, it’s blanket statements that accuse anyone with preferences of fetishizing. Sometimes, it’s the same reasoning that gets you “Character Y is a top because of Reason B” transposed on versatile couples except this takes the form of “they switch because they’re equals.”

Ya’ll, I’m fucking tired.

I have long since lost count of the number of stories I’ve seen where an exclusive top learning bottom and liking it is character growth. Where a character who prefers to bottom taking a turn on top is empowering.

Isolated, these are fine. But I’ve seen enough of such stories that it’s distinctly discomfiting and a major squick. Sometimes a trigger, if I'm too immersed in the story. I’m not going to try and burn an author at the stake because they pissed me off. I am just going to close that window and quietly handle my shit. People can write whatever they want. But this one theme hits too close to home, as you can see from this 1.6k rant.

My friend (also my ex-girlfriend) and I had an all-out bitching session about this the other day. Both of us are kinky fuckers who have rigid, complementary roles we prefer and we have both had our grueling days of struggling to reconcile our sexual tastes with our ideologies precisely because of how these things are frowned upon in conservative and progressive circles. Seeing that in fandom, of all places, is both insulting and exhausting. Topping and bottoming aren’t personality traits. Neither is D/s. It’s sexual preference and power play. It really does not have to be that deep. I am not exorcising childhood trauma using the bodies of women. My partners, former and current, have not been brainwashed by the patriarchy. We will not become better, more complete individuals once I magically stop being a stone top and my partners embrace the joys of a strap-on.

I have, with my own two eyes, seen someone say that in a really committed relationship, of course the couple will switch.

Bullshit.

It’s transparent bullshit. This does not get attributed to cisgender M/F couples. Even when the automatic assumptions of woman = bottom and man = top get addressed, switching isn't presented as the default. No one’s saying “oh, if you really love your husband, you’ll peg him”. I do know butch/femme sapphic couples get their own share of shit. Because it’s all heteronormativity, right? Can’t have any other reason for top/bottom roles.

You have two extremes with “so who’s the woman” on one end and “it’s woke only if they switch” on the other, and as far as I’m concerned, they’re equally damaging. There shouldn’t be a pressure, however subtle, to conform your taste in fiction to some arbitrary idea of progressiveness. People are going to like whatever they want anyway; all this does is create an atmosphere where those likes can’t always be freely expressed without a lot of mental gymnastics. We’re seeing so many versions of this in the pushback against so-called problematic content, but smaller, subtler versions exist too.

Fictional characters aren’t real. They can be whatever you want them to be. And yes, other people will often want them to be the exact opposite of your ideas, but that’s just how things work. Meanwhile, the people behind these usernames? They’re real. No one should be throwing real people under the bus to ‘protect’ characters that don’t exist. Hannibal Lecter doesn’t care whether he gets fucked or dismembered in Author B’s fanfiction, but the discourse that surrounds the dick up his ass? That does affect flesh and blood people.

I am not claiming that this is the only attitude in fandom. Middlegrounds do exist. Plenty of people abide by fic and let fic and there are folks who pipe up to say not every RL queer couple switches. But it’s often the extremes that reach most people. That was certainly my experience, and I’m not the only one.

I don’t really know how to end this post. It is 100% a rant and one that’s been building up for a while. Bottom line is that people’s sexual behavior varies wildly and whenever you attack sexual tastes in fanfic by saying it’s unrealistic - or worse because let’s be real, that’s a very tame word choice - please remember that there’s likely someone out there who practices it.

* I’m using switch and versatile synonymously in this post. It’s mostly concerned with top/bottom debates. A lot of what I’m saying is also echoed in portrayals of and discussions surrounding D/s dynamics, but I’m not addressing that as much for now.  

[fandompitfalls]

Fandom, Misogyny, and the Struggle for "Clarice"

Originally posted 2/24/21

There’s a quote that, summarized, says, in order for a woman to be seen as an equal to men, she has to work twice as hard. And never more what that brought to light outside real life than Valentine’s Day weekend when CBS aired the premiere of Clarice.

In 1991, Silence of the Lambs, a runaway hit thriller staring Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins came onto public consumption and introduced the world to the phrase “quid pro quo” and the name Hannibal Lecter became a well-known name.

In 2013, a series by the name of Hannibal staring Mads Mikkelsen and Hugh Dancy premiered on television and was immediately embraced by the fandom community.  Dating long before Silence of the Lambs, the show features a BSU consultant by the name of Will Graham who is called into service because of his unique ability to profile serial killers.  He develops a professional and later, a personal relationship with Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

In the beginning the question of Will’s mental state was brought up, the reason Lecter was introduced into the series, he was hired on assess Will Graham after cases to make sure his fragile mental state was not deteriorating.  It allowed Hannibal to get close to Will and manipulate him in an attempt to turn Will into a killer like himself.  The show ended after three seasons and during those seasons, the show’s creator, Brian Fuller, made cinematography magic with his sets and scenes, a lot of them gruesome yet exquisite.

Hannibal became fandom’s gory darling, the relationship between Will and Hannibal being the main fodder. This was furthered by the support of Bryan Fuller’s comment in Collider stating that he saw Hannibal as being in love with Will Graham. https://collider.com/bryan-fuller-hannibal-silence-of-the-lambs-interview/

Just this past week, a new twist on the Silence of the Lambs timeline premiered with Clarice. Clarice takes place a year after Silence of the Lambs and the Buffalo Bill murders. She is pulled from the BAU and sent to a task force run by Ruth Martin, the mother of Buffalo Bill’s only surviving member, Catherine.  Created by Alex Kurtzman and Jenny Lumet, Clarice is not affiliated with Hannibal, the Series, in any way, rather, it is a telling of Clarice Starling’s story after the events of Silence of the Lambs.

Here’s where it differs. And remember, this is only the first episode.  By the time I post this, there will be two episodes out.

In the opening scene, Clarice Starling is sitting in a therapist’s office.  The therapist, a man with no name as of yet, is trying to get her to tell him about her feelings regarding the one-year anniversary of the Buffalo Bill murders.  He even has a copy of a magazine that features her on the cover with the title “Bride of Frankenstein.”  The more he pushes the more she holds back, telling him the rots answers that most FBI therapists want to here.  Finally, she mentions the magazine was bought by him as a trigger to see if she would break and he tells her that he thinks she’s not stable enough to go back in the field because she refuses to use to the “survivor” in relation to her encounter with Buffalo Bill.  She is not a survivor, she was never kidnapped, she was an FBI agent doing a job.  He also cites her relationship with Hannibal Lecter, insinuating that it was more personal in nature than he thought necessary.

Before he can put her at a desk, she is called back into the field by Ruth Martin and put under the team led by Paul Krendler, a man who Clarice “upped” in the movie when she was a trainee.  He doesn’t want her there, insists on a profile after seeing the first two bodies and when she can’t give an accurate one because she doesn’t have all the evidence, he tells her she had to tell the press it’s a serial killer.

It’s already shown that Clarice has a bit of trauma with press conferences and this is something that keeps coming back.  The press want Clarice and Paul Krendler just wants her to be the face of his team and tells her that she will say what he tells her to say.  Clarice is not taken seriously by Krindler, by anyone else in the office, (there’s a scene where men from the other unit that share an office, coat her desk drawer with lotion and leave that lotion and a basket in the drawer and then laugh about it).  Clarice is blocked at every turn by men, even her therapist calls Krindler and tells him to bench her because he’s worried about her mental state.

The first time we meet Will Graham, his mental state is mentioned as tenuous, yet the FBI have no problem throwing him right out into the field.  Clarice was a trainee who managed to catch a serial killer, and somehow she’s considered too “fragile” to be put on any cases other than desk jobs.  In fact, throughout the entire first episode, the only person on her new team to take an interest and believe what she says is Thomas Esquivel, an ex-special forces soldier turned agent who believes in what she says.

From the first moment of this show the misogyny was right out on view, there is no hiding that all of the men in this show do not like Clarice because she’s young, she’s a woman and they are intimidated by her talent.  Her only support comes from Agent Esquivel and her friend and former trainee Ardelia Mapp.

I mention the misogyny because it’s not all on the show. It’s from the fans as well. The first time I was reminded the show was on was when I noticed Hannibal was trending on Twitter. The day and time frame Clarice aired its premiere, Twitter was lamenting that they wanted a season four of Hannibal.  While researching for this blog, I used IMDB to get names and plot points.  And came across this comment about the premiere:

“Can we bring back Hannibal, please?

12 February 2021 | by [redacted]

And by that I am of course referring to the excellent series featuring Mads Mikkelsen's amazing portrayal of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. That series had great style, fantastic atmosphere, and stellar directing, editing, and acting. They planned to tell the ultimate Hannibal Lecter story but only were able to make three seasons out of a seven season plan. So, here we have a Clarice Starling series that had been in the works for years but didn't get the train running till now. So the premiere - Meh. Rebecca Breeds makes a very good Clarice but nothing else is up to her level. The cinematography isn't bad but the atmosphere is lacking, the characters are none too memorable, and the storyline isn't attention grabbing enough. I give it about a season at least.”

I don’t know the time when this posted, but I’m not surprised by the comment at all.  Comment and review bombing seems to be the way that fans express their “disappointment” about their old shows not getting anything…or rather, their favorite male characters not getting more screen time.

On the same page, the below link was posted.  This was one day after the first episode of Clarice premiered:

Clarice: Season Two? Has the CBS TV Series Been Cancelled or Renewed Yet? 13 February 2021 | TVSeriesFinale

A freshman series about a female criminal profiler who is pushed down, ignored, harassed because of her sex.  It’s almost a case of life imitating art.

I was going to leave this post as it was and post it today but last week the second episode aired which showed Clarice pushing past childhood trauma to face down a cult leader and a corrupt government system thereby earning Krendler’s respect and her position on the team.  And while Thomas Esquivel told her that a team is only good if each of its members understand that they can trust and support one another, thereby hopefully foreshadowing that this team will eventually accept Clarice as one of their own and in turn she will do the same, it took her risking her life by going back inside the compound, disregarding orders and singlehandedly getting the information needed to put both the cult leader and head of the County Sheriff down for the count for Krendler to finally see her worth and decide to keep her on the team.

I liked Clarice.  It was hard to watch at times, not only because of the trauma she is dealing with as well as the survivor, Catherine, calling her and harassing her, but because of the anger I felt watching Clarice get stepped on time and time again by the men in this show, only to get up and do her job.  Her final speech she makes at the end of episode one about her grandmother is inspiring and gives the viewer a bit of a “in your face” to the men behind her, especially Krendler…even though we all know he’s going to make her life a living hell when they get back to the office because she didn’t follow his rules.  That said, this show is very much a procedural, much like CSI or Criminal Minds. The series follows the format of the movie.  This is not Hannibal.  It’s not trying to be Hannibal, It is trying to be Clarice.  And, as the quote goes, it’s going to have to work twice as hard to even get one half of the respect it deserves.