#the reunion is Here...

[playerkingsley]

meanwhile, at the home of exandria's most eligible paladin—

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heartfelt Reunion.

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[lucabyte]

"So what's the weirdest possible first (second) impression Loop could make on the party in postcanon?" "Yeah, that, probably."

+ Bonus

theyre just standing there in direct party order while this happens. normal tuesday.

[sammysamstuff]

I think that the people who are disappointed in Hugh’s answers are new to the fandom and really don’t know him and how he operates and communicates. It’s the only explanation to this ridiculous circus.

Because he’s acknowledged the love and romance between Hannibal and Will many times in the past. The uniqueness of their love. He did that in serious interviews. Just go through the dozens of interviews he’s done through the years and you’ll see. I’m not going to do the homework for you. I’ve been here long enough to know he ships Hannigram and that his acting and collaboration on the show are the actual reason we have some of the most romantic and beautiful scenes on the show.

Also, Hugh loves to take the mick. He’s sarcastic and ironic and on the other hand, can sometimes be very literal in the way he expresses himself (e.g. explaining what he meant by Platonic love, he meant it in the philosophical way).

He won’t say what you’d like to hear. He’s British after all. Moreover, British actors are not famous for doing fan service, quite on the contrary. (PS: if you come from the Johnlock fandom, you know what I mean).

This is a man who was speaking to someone at a Halloween party and that person was dressed as a Pokémon and he pretended he didn’t know what Pokémon was. For the duration of the conversation. Simply to take the mick. He also lied and said he didn’t know the ship was called Hannigram and that he had never read fanfics. Only for Mads Mikkelsen to later tell a fan “he’s a liar, he sends me Hannigram fics all the time”.

He knows what y’all want to hear and he won’t give you that because he’s British, he’s sarcastic, and his personality is not that of fan service. So get over it.

He collaborated and acted beautifully on the show knowing what he was conveying with his scenes: “it’s beautiful”, putting Mads Mikkelsen’s hands around his waist, looking lovingly into Mads’ eyes… those were all his choices because he was conveying the love Will felt for Hannibal. That’s that.

[marciliedonato]

DID YOU COME TO STARE... OR WASH AWAY THE BLOOD?

Credit (📷: Ashley Mar)

[soapyakships]

reunion

[orangehalfpeeled]

drawing skizz is so much fun hes so loveable

[morganbritton132]

After Eddie’s Tiktok circulates and everybody see Nancy’s text about Steve staying at her house, people start (jokingly, mostly) calling her a harlot for trying to steal his husband.

Nancy responds by tweeting a picture of her, Steve, and (surprise!) Jonathan since Jon’s in town for work. They’re all in her bed and in their pajamas. There are snacks and they’re getting ready to watch a movie. All three of them are doing peace signs because they are bisexuals.

She captions the picture with “Ms Steal-yo-man” and tags Corroded Coffin and Argyle.

Eddie responds with a tweet from the Official Corroded Coffin twitter account like, “This is exactly what everybody thought was going on in high school.”

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 198

Now Bruce was not expecting to reincarnate upon his death. At least he thinks he died, he’s pretty sure he did. There wasn’t any other reason for him to be a well, literal baby. Around two he thinks, which fits well with the fact that it’s around that time that babies start forming memory recall, if he, well, remembered correctly. 

But while he knew about reincarnation thanks to Shayera and Carter, he’d never exactly given it much thought towards himself. Because seriously, what were the chances of such a thing as him being given another chance? 

So he was quite surprised at his situation, experimentally opening and closing pudgy hands that looked well, just a tiny bit off. He’d never been that pale before, he thinks, even back when he never went outside like, ever. 

He turned his gaze towards the mobile above him with a sort of idle curiosity- a mixture of bats (ha) and other trinkets he wasn’t familiar with. It also caused him to get his first good look at his parent, asleep on a rocking chair right next to the crib. 

Huh. They had the same pale skin he did, albeit in the light it looked like it was slightly tinted blue, and while their hair was white they didn’t exactly look old. They looked surprisingly well rested for raising a toddler too, unless they had a nanny or something similar… He rolled over, managing to very shakily push himself to his feet with the help of the crib. 

Why was standing so hard as a toddler? And why did he have his memories of everything except how he had died anyway? 

His head whipped up from where they were staring at his feet when he heard a snort, finding his parent awake and standing. Somehow silently enough that he hadn’t noticed- or he was that easily distracted by the unfamiliar giddiness bursting in his chest. 

“Morning little bat,” his parent easily picked him up and held him while he inwardly sighed at the nickname. Of course his bat motif would follow him into this life. A low rumbling almost caused him to jump, his body relaxing before he could fully register the sound. The… purring? 

Oh. 

He wasn’t human this time around. 

[theghooligan]

bloodraven being a tree and giving his great great grandfather sleep paralysis demons all season courtesy of harrenhall and alys:

[lastcellontheleft]

We didn’t get a S4 announcement, but you know what the absolute best thing about today’s C2E2 Hannibal panel truly was? 

For almost the first time since the show ended, Fannibals showed how profitable Hannibal can still be. 

C2E2 sold out of their remaining VIP ticket packages with guaranteed panel seating within 48 hours of the reunion announcement. Paid PopVerse subscriptions to stream the panel spiked with previously untapped demos (if socials are anything to go by). The largest event hall at C2E2 was overcapacity 45 minutes before the panel; while that’s normal for cons like SDCC and NYCC, in my experience that’s less common at C2E2.

Not to mention Mads and Hugh making bank with autograph and photo-op sales; a huge component of drawing in good talent to table at cons as well, making sure they make enough over the weekend to justify their presence beyond panel appearances. From a talent booking/event management perspective, this is the absolute dream scenario.

So, here’s the super fun part: ReedPop, the company that owns C2E2, also owns/operates New York Comic Con (NYCC), one of the highest-profile US entertainment conventions after San Diego Comic-Con. Now that ReedPop is aware of the viability of Hannibal programming, it would be extremely surprising if RP didn’t attempt a run at a larger, proper reunion panel at NYCC.

Honestly, great job, team. 2024 could very well be the year we get real buzz going again!

[foreststarflaime]

Yes hello I just wanted to say as a massive sword nerd ily square for making Genesis actually use Rapier like a rapier—you do tend to do a lot of stabbing with rapiers because they’re so long (although you can cut with them too, but he doesn’t really have great rapier cutting form with Rapier so can’t win em all ig, video game limitations) and they actually draw attention to it in this little cutscene. Rapier is also quite a notably long and thin(er) weapon, like an actual rapier. Awesome little details that made me very happy!

Also, I think it’s perfect that they chose a specifically one-handed weapon for him, since as the resident swordmage it leaves his other hand always free to cast spells when needed without dropping his sword’s defense. And I don’t know how to describe it really but he really has a rapier person personality (fondly, ily my more rapier focused friends lmao)

[housecow]

so. covid happened and i never saw some people from high school again. i have this dream of being unrecognizable..

like. we run into each other at the local grocery store, which is normal. i’m using one of those scooters and spilling off either side, fat wobbling as we wind through each aisle. i struggle reaching to fill the cart with my food so my feeder does it for me, even though he does like to see me move a swollen, jiggling arm out to grab another box of brownie mix (“we haven’t tried this one in a shake!”). we hit a drive thru before so i have a 32oz milkshake in the other hand, of course

my friend tries not to look at the fatass rolling by. the cart makes a noticeable noise and it takes up an awful lot of room—but i say “oh my gosh, is that you?” and then we make eye contact

they’re a little horrified, and it’s amazing. eyes widened noticeably, a sharp intake of breath, maybe even something like an “oh!” or “jesus!” but they school their expression quickly and we exchange pleasantries, asking about each other’s life. i pretend not to notice the double take at my size

i tell them i graduated with my bachelors and then met him, my feeder (though i don’t announce exactly that, it’s very obvious). i was in a phd program and doing well, but, lol, he knocked me up. we don’t mention it, but i was getting pretty fat by this point and having his kids was the perfect excuse to put everything else away. i promised myself i’d go back but life happens! my friend totally gets it, or that’s what they say at least.

the first were twins and when i mention that, my feeder’s hand, laid on my shoulder, tenses and squeezes the soft fat there. he promised to do that again last night, though this time his goal is to get me bed bound.

i take a sip from the shake before we continue talking and my old friend is probably wondering how far gone someone has to be to have a milkshake at 10am. but they’re still pleasant and by the time we move on they’re shell shocked. at the enabling, at the changes in less than 10 years, and for just how far gone he’s made me

[personinthepalace]

absolutely obsessed with the little noises that guildford makes while they're kissing

[hyunpic]

june 2024 with hyunjin