#this is like mizumono all over again

[stagicide]

just watched ‘i could not prevent it’ please no one ever speak to me again

[sarcastic-clapping]

sorry in advance for the person i’m going to become in a few hours. i could not prevent it.

[vixnovacoda]

The weather is hot, the wind is hot, the sun is hot, but you know what else is also hot? Rewatching all three seasons of NBC's Hannibal again

[achenetype]

Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” 

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment. 

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod. 

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out. 

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold. 

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off. 

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says. 

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly. 

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?” 

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil. 

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded. 

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed. 

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.” 

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said. 

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.” 

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this. 

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday. 

You think you’re going to die. 

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it. 

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all. 

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—” 

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

[richtkin]

wait shut up. i’m rewatching hannibal again and i think im being delusional (or like crazy slow.) but lemme cook rq.

in mizumono, when will sees alana on the floor, she tells him that jacks inside. and will INSTANTLY takes his gun out. and earlier at him and hannibal’s ‘last supper’, he said it was necessary for jack to die.

so could this be…will going in the home with the intention to kill jack and only jack? because i don’t think his gun is directed towards hannibal. wills already stated that if he were to kill hannibal, it would be with his hands. he wouldn’t hide behind the gun. besides it’s evident that will has strong feelings for hannibal at this point.

so if this is the case, it makes the scenes leading up so much more devastating. because will wasn’t there to hurt hannibal but instead to aid him. will is showing that he’s on hannibal’s side, he’s already made his pick. the fox has come to help, but not to help the rabbit. which makes everything so much more of a misunderstanding.

and it makes hannibal’s actions all the more heartbreaking.

hannibal is under the impression that will had chosen jack over him, but will has been on his side all along. hannibals just too blinded by heartbreak and betrayal to notice..

[ofteacupsandclocks]

I think one of the most interesting things about Hannibal is that even though he always talks about changing and becoming he in reality is very fixated on the past. He refuses to accept the events that happen and instead of trying to move on, tries to undo. He tries to rewind time and when that doesn’t work he gets disappointed like when a shattered teacup doesn’t put itself back together at his command.

The main example of this would be Abigail. First off the reason Hannibal started caring for Abigail in the first place was because she reminded him of his sister Mischa. Through caring for Abigail he wanted to revive Mischa and the feelings he associated with her.

Then when he was attempting to frame Will he faked Abigail’s death. He let Will grieve that death but he thought it would all be fixed if he rewound time and just gave Abigail back to Will. And when that didn’t work, when rewinding time didn’t fix everything he threw what was essentially the serial killer equivalent of a hissy fit. He got angry that he could not control something he thought he had control over.

Then there was of course that scene where he was literally trying to write formulas for time travel after rescuing Will and himself from Mason Verger. While I don’t think he actually thought he could reverse time it definitely shows how his mind works. How it immediately went to undoing as the solution, instead of trying to move forward.

I think another interesting example of Hannibal undoing what he did was Miriam Lass. He took her away from Jack, made him believe that she was dead and then gave her back. While this of course was very intentional and planned it’s still interesting in how it shows how consistent Hannibal is with his theme of rewinding time.

I think ultimately it goes back to Hannibal’s desire for control. Time is the one thing he has absolutely no control over and Hannibal hates that, hates that something is out of his hands, so he seeks that control in whatever way he can. He may not be able to will a shattered teacup to put itself back together again but he is able to rewind time in his own way. And that control over time itself makes Hannibal feel powerful.

Only after the disaster that was Mizumono does Hannibal actually understand and accept that he cannot change the past, that he cannot undo what has already been done no matter how hard he tries. Interestingly from that point forward he actually tries to move on. He tries to deal with his feelings for Will and forgive him - albeit in the only way he knows how (aka eating him).

And i don’t think in season 3 there is ever a point where Hannibal actually attempts to reverse time how he usually does. Even when he’s writing the formulas for time travel after escaping the Muscrat farms he quickly puts away his notebook as soon as Will wakes up. And the way I interpret it is that while it was his first instinct to try to reverse what has happened, he willingly gives up on that, puts that instinct away and instead chooses to focus on the present.

By the end of season 3 Hannibal and Will accept that the teacup has shattered. They accept it will never come back together by itself. But, through their actions they can glue it together. Maybe they cannot undo the damage but they can repair. The teacup will have cracks and it will be damaged and it will never be as it was but it will be. And so they begin again. The old them, metaphorically falling off the cliff into the ocean, and the new them moving forward.

[k-s-morgan]

Why did Will reject Hannibal after Muskrat farm? I see a few justifications saying that Will was tired after Hannibal almost eats his brain and is fucked up by Mason, but that doesn’t seem reason enough.

Will also talks about the rejection when he visits Hannibal in TWOTL, saying Hannibal would only turn himself in if Will rejected him. What was Will’s intent here?

Hi! So, this is a very complex arc that has many interpretations. This is how I see it - and I'll start from the start of S3 because it's important to keep track of the change of Will's attitudes.

In the first several episodes, Will is operating under the knowledge that Hannibal loves him, and his emotions come to the surface more openly. He can't and doesn't want to move on: the first thing he does upon waking up is voicing his pain at Hannibal leaving him to die, then berating himself for lying to him, then realizing Hannibal left him alive deliberately and that he wants to be found. Will begins to analyze their conversations and quickly figures out where he should go to look for him. After being released from the hospital, he starts building a boat to travel to Hannibal by sea. The nature of this action is romantic by itself - also, this scene is intercut with his Mizumono memories, namely, with Hannibal's face that emerges every time he moves yet another part of the engine. This is a vivid demonstration of Will trying to repair what is now broken. He openly admits to Jack that he wanted to run away with Hannibal.

Similarly, Will spends some time sitting in Hannibal's empty house. He is pining hard, his feelings are so intense that he no longer even bothers to hide them from Alana and Jack. The whole E2 is Will's love letter to Hannibal - he's reverent about him, he thinks about him non-stop, and he tries to find him very hard, even literally chasing him down. He even lies at the place where Hannibal left him his "broken heart," as if needing closer physical contact.

Things begin to shift as Will meets Chiyoh. I feel like Will starts drawing comparisons between them and comes to a conclusion that Hannibal doesn't love him after all. That if he abandoned Chiyoh, whom he was supposed to love, so easily, for so many years, without bothering to return to her, then maybe he's just not capable of love. Will's torn now, wondering if he was mistaken about Hannibal's feelings as well as about his and Abigail's importance because if Hannibal left his family so easily once, who’s to say he wouldn’t do it again? Will is insecure by nature, he often doubts himself, and textually, that's the first time when he starts considering killing Hannibal again. Seeing Bedelia as his replacement just reinforced this idea, so Will returned to his bitter and vengeful state, hence his half-attempt with a knife in Dolce.

After Hannibal reacts to this attempt by trying to (half-heartedly) saw Will's head open, and then the whole disaster with Mason happens, it all becomes a breaking point for Will. The initial excitement and determination he felt have passed. He has grown disillusioned, bitter, hurt and hurtful once again. He's tired, he's no longer certain of anything, and he needs to re-retreat. It's similar to how people often feel a boost of energy to do something daring, but at some point, they lose this spark. They stop feeling like they could move the mountains, and Will feels it, too.

He rejects Hannibal because of this, as I see it. He doesn't know what he wants again, he isn't sure Hannibal loves him, and he's no longer willing to break the fragile, shattered semblance of normalcy he has been cultivating for decades. He's clinging to what he's used to instead of jumping head on into something new and mysterious, even if it's much more exciting. Will has no strength for excitement and passion right now.

I never quite bought that Will knew for sure that Hannibal would give himself up if he rejected him. Yes, Will was probably lying when saying he wanted everything to be over, and maybe on a subconscious level, he hoped for some grand proof of love, but I don't think he could be actually sure that something like this would happen. For one thing, Hannibal's response is genuinely unexpected - just in Mizumono, he gutted Will after his betrayal; in Dolce, he attempted to kill him after Will betrayed him again. Giving himself up is something new - Hannibal has grown a lot during these months and days, but Will doesn't know it. Also, I don't think Will is nearly confident enough about his place in Hannibal's life to predict that Hannibal would give up his freedom for him. In addition, he just strikes me as surprised and pained when he sees Hannibal's surrender.

So, maybe Will was thinking about it a lot afterward, and during that moment in prison, he wanted to hurt Hannibal, so he exaggerated the depth of his manipulation.

If this is the case, then why did Will want to hurt Hannibal at all later? In my opinion, it's for several reasons. Will is feeling extremely petty. He's hurting Hannibal just because he can - he now fully realized the power he holds over him, and he's enjoying it. He's paying him back for everything he's still angry and hurt over. It's possible that he's also playing it up for the cameras, making Jack and Alana believe that he's leaving for good and wants nothing to do with Hannibal. That would make his break out plan easier. He lies not just to Hannibal here, he lies to everyone who's watching. He claims he had nothing to do with setting up Chilton, even though he took the responsibility for him with Bedelia; he claims he's going back to Molly, even though they broke up.

[deerabigailhobbs]

Alrighty it's ramble time. Hannibal/MCU crossover in which Abigail somehow ends up in the care of Bucky Barnes. Taken place during the Winter Soldier after Steve figures out his identity. Also Abigail is 17 here.

Mizumono. Abigail has just pushed Alana out of the window. And she knows what happens now. She isn't stupid. If she walks down those stairs it's certain death. Whether by Hannibal, Will or both, it's set in stone. So she grabs a small bag of clothes she had packed, along with some money and a book, "A Good Man is Hard to Find", and sneaks out. Luckily her clothes are dark enough to blend into the dark background, her body light enough to make barely any sound. And once she thinks she's in the clear, she runs. She runs until her lungs hurt, walks till they hurt less, then runs again

She ends up at a gas station. Some poor woman is being chatted up by a man who could be her father. But luckily for Abigail, his car keys are on the other side of the table they're sitting at. She swipes them, pointing them to the only vehicle that's there, and steps on the gas, the engine drowning out the yelling of a very angry truck owner.

Now, how does Abigail exactly go to the MCU? Idk. Magic probably. We'll put a pin in that.

So the Steve and Bucky fight has just happened. Bucky's mind is scrambled. He knows this stranger. Somehow. It's overwhelming. And so, as if on autopilot, he takes the nearest car and drives. He should be going back to hydra. To report his mission. And yet he can't find himself to turn the wheel there. He simply drives. For once, with no goal. With no purpose other than to get away. It's exhilarating. It's frightening.

He's not sure how long he's been on the road, but the once tall buildings have been replaced by vast forest. "Go back" he whispers to himself. "Report your mission." But it's futile. There isn't a thing that can take his foot off the pedal.

Unless a truck would happen to be crashed into a tree.

He stops and gets out before he has a chance to think. Knife in hand, he slowly approaches the vehicle, hearing faulty breathing. He stares into the driver's seat.

A girl. She couldn't be older than 18, slouched forward. Unconscious and bleeding.

He carefully takes her out of the car and into his arms.

What is he doing? Why is he here, feeling so compelled to help? He doesn't even recognise this girl. He certainly hasn't been ordered to kill her. He thinks anyway. He's not sure about anything anymore.

Tires hit concrete, dozens of them. He looks up to see hydra soldiers stepping out the vehicles, kicking making a circle around him, guns pointed. And out of that huddle, with a sigh, steps out Pierce.

"You ran away. That's not like you." He steps closer. "That's not like you at all."

Bucky doesn't move, but clutches the girl tighter to his chest. Pierce gazes at her.

"And who is this?" No response. "I asked you a question soldier, now give me an answer."

"I don't know" he mutters out. He should just drop her. Apologise and get back to the mission. But he just can't. He only holds her closer.

Pierce looks behind, nods, and before the bullet even left the soldier's chamber, Bucky drops to his knees, left arm covering the girl's head. For such a small move, he's breathing like he's run a marathon.

"Up on your feet." Pierce demands, and Bucky obeys. Just like he's always done. It felt right after a day of... Whatever all this was.

He can hear the other man snort. "Pretty little thing, isn't she?" Bucky looks at him. Silence.

"Say, how about we take her back with us. She looks like she could get cleaned up a bit. Then we'll talk about what happened today. How does that sound?"

Another long stare before he replies back. "Good Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Bucky moves into the back of one of Hydra's trucks, ignoring the stares of the other men. Once in, he checks over the girl once more, moving the hair out of her face. And then he notices. A scar and lack of ear on her left side. Considering the freshness, these wounds weren't caused by the car accident.

It appears as though they were both missing a part of themselves.

[dyke-will-graham]

My list of songs so Hannigram coded it’s insane and the lyrics that make them so:

Salt in the Wound- Boygenius

‘You put salt in the wound, and a kiss on my cheek. You butter me up and you sit down to eat’

‘Neck full of mockingbirds all calling your name…I’m gnashing my teeth like a child of Cain’

I’m Your Man- Mitski

‘You’re an Angel, I’m a dog. Or you’re a dog and I’m you’re man. You believe me like a God, I destroy you like I am.’

‘I’m sorry I’m the one you love, no one will ever love me like you again so when you leave me I should die. I deserve it don’t I?’

Famous Last Words (an Ode to Eaters) - Ethel Cain

‘Look at me baby, dead in my eyes. It’s the end of our holiday, but it isn’t goodbye. Carry me with you all of the time.’

‘Eat of me baby, skin to the bone. Body on body until I’m all gone. But I’m with you inside.’

It Will Come Back- Hozier

All I’m gonna say is first verse is Hannibal POV, second is Will POV talking to eachother I could write a damn essay on this song and Hannigram

Shrike- Hozier

‘The words hung above, but never would form. Like a cry at the final breathe that is drawn. Remember me love, when I am reborn as the Shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn.’

‘Had no idea on the ground i was founded, oh that goodness is gone with you now. Then I met you, my virtues uncounted. My goodness is goin with you now.’

‘Back to the hedgerow where the bodies are mounted’

Abbey- Mitski

‘I am hungry, I have been hungry, I was born hungry, what do I need?’

Butchered Tongue- Hozier

This one I think is Will when he married Molly and settling into his new life but still looking for Hannibal in everything.

UPDATE:

Talk- Hozier

Once again getting into the Greek mythology themes and Hannigram parallels. Orpheus and Eurydice as Will and Hannibal haunts me.

‘I’d be the immediate in Eurydice, imagine being loved by me.”

Paralleled with the scenes of Hannibal and Wills seperate “I forgive you”.

Me and My Husband - Mitski

‘At least in this lifetime we’re sticking together.’

This is a little cracky, but this song reminds me of the way Hannibal and Will are chasing potentials and scenarios where they can stay together. Teacups and all that and yes the world is on fire but Hannibal and Will are together so it’s okay.

Breezeblocks- alt-j

Enough said.

NFWMB - Hozier

‘Give your heart and soul to charity. Because the rest of you, the best of you Honey belongs to me.’

The possessiveness of Hannibal and Will over eachother is insane, we know this. And I think people forget that Will is just as bad as Hannibal about it. (Just see any interaction between Bedelia and Will for evidence)

Salvatore- Lana Del Rey

“The summers wild and I’ve been waiting for you all this time. I adore you can’t you see you were meant for me?”

“Catch me if you can…dying at the hand of a foreign man, happily.”

Once More to See You- Mitski

“But with everybody watching us, our every move. We do have reputations, we keep it secret, won’t let them have it.”

“If you would let me give you pinky promise kisses then I wouldn’t have to scream your name.”

Televangelism- Ethel Cain

No lyrics in this one, just piano and the sound of me crying softly. This song is EVERYTHING the Primavera scene was in Dolce. Please listen. The slow build, the melodic flutter of a heartbeat the rise and ascension when they see each other and smile at one another, the acceptance of fate, the knowledge of love. “You and I have begun to blur.”

anything - Adrienne Lenker

“I don’t wanna be the owner of your fantasy I just wanna be a part of your family.”

Savior Complex- Phoebe Bridgers

“Drift off on the floor, I drag you to the shore. Sweating through the sheets you’re gonna drown in your sleep for sure. Wake up and start a fire in our one room apartment but I’m too tired to have a pissing contest, all the bad dreams that you hide show me yours I’ll show you mine.”

“Baby you’re a Vampire, you want blood and I promised I’m a good liar with a savior complex.”

Pre-Mizumono to Post-Fall Hannigram can be found everywhere in this song.

OKAY OKAY THATS IT IF YOU STAYED THIS LONG THANKS IF YOU WANT MORE HANNIGRAM LISTEN TO MY PLAYLIST ITS CHALK FULL OF ANGST

[tayasui-mono]

I am sorry for the previous ask.😅 Actually I have seen previous people including Bryan Fuller himself i.e

‘We realize that neither Abel Gideon nor am Du Maurier are suitable substitutes for Will Graham. So he then, acknowledging that and talking it through with Bedelia, starts to set into motion the events that will draw everyone to him.’    -Bryan Fuller

make comparisons between Bedelia and Gideon. Many people say that Gideon took an identity which was not his to take i.e Chesapeake Ripper and hence Hannibal eats his leg. Similarly Bedelia takes an identity which was not her's to take i.e Hannibal's wife which belonged to Will. Hence Hannibal and Will eat her leg that way? What do you think?

I'd need the full context to understand what Bryan said... If you're asking me specifically about a comparison between Bedelia and Gideon.... firstly, I don't think Bedelia was a substitute for Will in Italy. Hannibal would not have taken her had Will went with him, sure, but it's not like he took her as a replacement for Will. It was a coincidence that she went at all. I think the comparison between Bedelia and Gideon exists more in the idea that Bedelia couldn't distract Hannibal from Will's absence, and neither could Gideon (re: Gideon telling Hannibal that Hannibal wishes he was dining with Will instead). So to say, Bedelia wasn't enough to satisfy Hannibal's loneliness, despite Bedelia's intelligence and keen observational skills, the way Will could, if that makes sense? In s3e1, Gideon and Bedelia are paralleled for this very reason: to compare how Hannibal fares in the company of interesting, strong, intelligent people, and how he still craves Will's company, and they both know he does. There is NO WAY he can move on from Mizumono, like he expected to have! And this results in him trying to lead Will back to him through leaving murder breadcrumbs for him to follow. I think that's what Bryan meant maybe, of course, again, I'd need the full context. As for Hannibal eating Bedelia... Bedelia "belongs" to Hannibal the same way Alana, and by proxy, Margot and their son "belong" to Hannibal. They each entered his orbit, and he likes them, so he will eat them. That is the finale he has chosen for them. It is an expression of his control over their lives. Basically, he controls when and how they die, and what happens to them in their death. That is his expression of "affection".

[chronicroderick]

Post-Fall

Hannibal and Will are together once again, peacefully undisturbed, and in a moment of intimacy and affection, Hannibal reveals how he dealt with their separation after Mizumono.

Fluffy Fluff, Post-Fall, Light Mentions of Canon Violence, Light Mentions of Smut

-----

“I went ahead and searched through all of time. There is only you,” Hannibal said, caressing the loc at the forefront of the other man’s scalp. “There is only you. Some people produce a soft echo from their soul that may sound like you on occasion, or hum a funny little tune that tastes like something you would sing, but there is only one you. He sits here before me.”

There was the cooing of a dove somewhere outside the window. Spring had greeted the Earth as it did every year, washing the room with yellow light, a combination of the blue morning and the foliage in the garden. A breeze, gentle, warm, swept the lace curtain inwards, as if the house was taking a breath at the same time the men were. It carried with it the sweet scent of the hyacinths, cascading on some invisible river.

“There was a man,” He started again, tracing small shapes on Will’s chest, “nothing like you. Not in wit or in tongue. I did not long for him, ache for him, like I do for you. Nevertheless, I had spent so much of my journey on my own, searching for someone who could compare to you, who could fill this hole in my chest that screamed only your name, that when I came upon this blue eyed man, who looked all for naught like some cherub version of my Dogfox...”

Hannibal paused, moved his hand against Will’s cheek, forefinger gently rubbing the stubble, as if he couldn’t get enough of the sensation, and turned the brunet’s face towards his. Will, who had been peacefully listening with his eyes closed, opened them, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Oh how I missed that oceanic gaze.” Hannibal whispered, maroon eyes darting back and forth as he focused on one eye and then the other, his face sharp and intense for a long moment of glinting pupils.

“Are you attempting to memorize my eyes?” Will whispered back, a twinge of humor in his voice.

“I never forgot them. I simply find comfort in confirming it is really you in this bed.” His jaw flexed as he swallowed, “If you’ll permit me to finish my story I will. The last thing I want is to upset you or cause you jealousy.”

Will shook his head, “I’m jealous, but I’m not that jealous. We had parted ways. There was no way to know we would find our way to each other again,” Will absently rubbed the center of the sideways scar that ran across his belly, a phantom pinch manifesting itself as he spoke, “Plus, you already buttered me up to soften the blow, might as well keep going.”

Those dark eyes flickered to where Will’s fingers drifted over his skin. Hannibal made no attempt to grab his hand, but he could use their love language to convey comfort.

“Before I continue it might be helpful to know the man I speak of is dead. Never was there a time I was compelled to take his life for any reason other than to consume him.”

Will nodded once, “Playing with your food. Tsk tsk,” the slightest curve of the corner of his mouth all the permission Hannibal needed to go on.

The breeze blew inwards once again, the change in air pressure causing the closed door to the adjoining bathroom to rattle quietly against the doorframe. This time the wind carried the sound of a moped horn, polite in its short spurts, yet assertive.

“I sought a place I had not been in so long in the limbs of a body that was no more comforting than the empty halls of a hospital,” a pale hand ran over Will’s bicep, into the dip of the inside of his elbow, “though it may have brought physical excitement, and though even now it is with great shame that I retell such a sordid encounter in your presence,” his hand ran down the swell of Will’s forearm, “hiding from you has never been my instinct.”

He turned Will’s hand palm up, and began running his thumb back and forth over the veins on the inside of Will’s wrist, in exactly the spot where Hannibal’s skin was pulled together in a long apricot colored scar.

“I called him by your name, Will.”

Then a deliberate silence, filled with all the sounds of a lovely morning. Agitated tweeting of chickadees in the apple tree. A lawn mower in the deep distance. Even the sunbeams seemed to exist with an elegant hum.

“He grit his teeth then chuckled,” Hannibal continued. “There seemed to be no resistance to the name. I realized what I'd done, almost struck to apologize, but I withheld that apology. Then, the amoeba that he was, told me to say your name, to call for you, and I did. Over and over it was your name through my lips, your skin I wished to have beneath me, the whisper of your hair that I smelled in the back of my mind. I can not live without you, Will. There is nothing except you.”

Will glanced slyly at him when he finished speaking, “That story makes you sound incredibly pathetic. Desperate, even, for a shred of me.”

“Pathetic indeed,” Hannibal agreed with wide, insistent eyes, “you occupy every part of my memory palace. Every minute without you was an eternity. I lament fate for not bringing us back together sooner.”

Warmth streaming in from outside. Everything is hazy. Their hair does not seem to have edges, only obscure clouds of curves, and their limbs do not have a beginning or end when it comes to each other or to the way they form white snakes beneath the sheets. Electricity buzzes, sparked by the honesty from Hannibal, sustained by the acceptance from Will, who leans upwards to press a soft kiss onto his nose.

To anyone else, there may be an assumed hostility in the idea of a lover telling his man of old conquests. Fortunately for us these are no ordinary men. The time they spent apart was hollow for Will, was he not sharp enough to know that Hannibal was a hot commodity? Was there not a worm of wonder, no matter how much Will tried to squash it, as to where Hannibal would be and who he would be with in his time in Europe? Now he had his answer; in his mind Hannibal was always with Will, he was just as hollow, enough so that he fucked someone with Will’s name spilling from his lips. Someone with low enough self-esteem to allow such a thing. Someone weak. Someone Hannibal could never love. Will is charmed, as is evident from the soft look in his eyes. He had had a wife after all, a screaming, purposeful, opposition to all that Hannibal was, in an attempt to pull a cloth over those burning, burgundy irises.

“We both tried to survive separation,” Will said as Hannibal lays back down, “why tell me now?”

Hannibal is quiet for a moment, “I was curious what you would think. I'm always curious what you think.”

Will chuckles, “I like the idea of you using someone else as a surrogate for me. It's kind of… bittersweet.”

“Like when you killed Randall Tier.” The older man suggested with a smile.

“Yes, like when I killed Randall.” Will rolled over, one leg thrown over Hannibal as he laid his head on his shoulder.

Hannibal only hums and pulls Will closer. Another moped horn sounds, farther this time, softer. The wind becomes rhythmic, bursts of flowery aromas fill the lungs of the house, so strong you can almost see them, and a lazy bee tries to figure out what a window pane is. The two men do not stir, though they lay awake, adorned in this Italian spring. Their heads are not empty, never empty, but their scars remain healed. We must retreat now. This intimate moment is theirs and theirs alone. If you do not understand it then I will not judge you, but we must go. Let them enjoy this bliss. They've been through so much.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

While talking to @menciemeer, something came up re: Jack’s motivations for being in Italy in season 3 that I haven’t seen discussed much - and that is that he’s explicitly there not to catch Hannibal, but to save Will. Here’s his dialogue with Pazzi in Secondo:

Jack: If he hasn’t already, Il Mostro will return to Florence. Pazzi: Come back with me. We have a chance to regain our reputations and enjoy the honours of our trade by capturing the monster. Jack: I’m not here for the monster. Not my house, not my fire. I’m here for Will Graham.

This is even more striking in light of the context for his character that the very next episode gives us - his conversation with Chilton in Aperitivo establishes that he’s been forced into retirement with the FBI, but he’s not interested in regaining his standing or reputation. (Very odd in light of the fact that come the Red Dragon plot, he seems to still have his old job in Behavioral Science). Chilton tries to get him to use Will as bait to find Hannibal:

Chilton: Will is going to lead you right to him. Jack: Oh, no, he’s not. Not to me. I’ve let them both go. I’ve let it all go. Chilton: You dangle Will Graham and now you cut bait? You’re letting Hannibal have him hook, line, and sinker. Jack: You’ll excuse me, Dr. Chilton. I like to be home in the evenings when my wife wakes.

What stands out about this exchange is Chilton’s “letting Hannibal have him” phrasing. It foregrounds not subduing Hannibal, but preventing Will from succumbing to his worst impulses, as a central motivation for Jack in 3A. It’s also significant that it’s his need to care for Bella that leads him to defer pursuing anything relating to Hannibal or Will, because her death is framed within the episode as the impetus for his investment in following Will to Europe - as he tells Will in the funeral scene, “you don’t have to die on me, too.”

So much of Jack’s character arc in the first two seasons is juggling his repeated sacrifice of others for the greater good. His guilt over what befalls both Will and Miriam features prominently in season 2, and during Will’s trial, he’s already prepared to put his career and reputation on the line to stand up for Will and atone for what he feels is his role in Will’s downfall. Both the traumatic events of Mizumono and Bella’s death bring about more of a full turnaround in that direction - Jack becomes less invested in apprehending killers in service of public safety, and more invested in saving the specific person who’s been harmed by that project.

I think this motivation doesn’t always stick in people’s minds because these exchanges get eclipsed by Jack beating Hannibal to a bloody pulp a couple episodes later, as well as his inexplicable return to working for the FBI in 3B. But even in the former altercation, his fight with Hannibal feels personal, more about venting anger and grief than actually apprehending Hannibal. In Dolce, when Will asks why Jack didn’t kill Hannibal, Jack responds “maybe I need you to” (in the same exchange, of course, as “you need to cut that part out”). That scene also establishes clearly that Will and Jack are, like Pazzi, “outside the law and alone.” As in Mizumono, they’re effectively vigilantes - and Jack’s mission is not serving justice for the FBI, but in saving Will from Hannibal’s influence.

This is why, despite the fact that Jack is once again embroiled in FBI business in season 3B, I always envision his role post-canon as being a continuation of what haunts him in the first half of the season - less about catching or killing Hannibal than about rescuing Will. It’s a lot more compelling to me, at least, than him simply continuing to be the face of law enforcement.

[a-pigeons-soliloquy]

oouugghhh hannigram either 7 or 45. maybe even combine the two.

ok so it has been. a while. this one got, uh, more than a little out of control lmao (almost 3500 words holy fuck). but it's finally finished! i'm not sure if it exactly fits the prompts anymore but i tried to combine them both :) i hope you like it! (even if it did just end up as yet another mizumono fic lol oops)

***

"You were supposed to leave," Will hisses, and his voice is a devastated, furious thing.

There is blood soaking into his shoes and the scent of iron hangs heavy in the air, and the worst part is that Will doesn't even know whose blood it is anymore, but the question is lost to the back of his mind. Because in front of him stands a dishevelled man whose shirt is a mess of shiny red stains, a knife dripping in his hand.

A man who isn’t supposed to be there at all.

"I didn't want to leave without seeing you one last time," Hannibal says. The words one last time should be ringing alarm bells in Will's head, but he can’t hear them over the overwhelming chorus of thousands of other alarms, because everything is going wrong. There is blood on the floor and on the walls and Alana and Jack lie dying among shards of glass, and there is a SWAT team likely only minutes away, and yet Hannibal is still here.

They both are.

And now Will doesn’t know what to do, hasn’t known what to do for the last 3 months and hadn’t known what he’d do next when he’d made that phone call, telling the Chesapeake Ripper that they know. All he’d known was that he didn’t want Hannibal to die, didn’t want him locked up in a cage by his own hands. But here he is, faced with the consequences of his own actions, and once again Will doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to feel, or even what he is feeling beyond the adrenaline and desperation and horror and relief and confusion. He doesn’t want to feel the overwhelming guilt and sense of responsibility that has been steadily building behind his ribs since this whole scheme began. Yet that guilt now tears at the lining of his chest and crushes his lungs and holds his throat in a chokehold, and it’s just all too much and all he can think is none of this was supposed to happen and this is all my fault and what if?

Seeing Hannibal alive, he’d been struck by a sudden wave of relief that had almost caused his knees to give out beneath him. But now, as Hannibal’s eyes meet his, the awful look that greets him makes a pit suddenly form in his stomach, and the relief gives way to guilt again. And Will can’t take it.

None of this was supposed to happen.

This is all my fault.

What if?

And then it hits him: none of this was supposed to happen. And it hadn’t needed to. This awful mess of glass and blood and ruin could have all been avoided if Hannibal had just listened. If he’d trusted Will when he’d picked up the phone with shaky fingers and told him to run. But he hadn't. And this realisation comes with a sick sense of understanding, because for the whole time Will had known him, Hannibal had always had to have something hidden up his sleeve, always had to keep secrets from Will. Always had to know better. Feel superior. At last the final veil falls from Will's eyes, and all at once he can see how foolish he'd been to ever believe that they could be equals. How pathetic it was that, for those few long weeks they'd spent together, he'd actually believed that they were.

(Will fiercely forces back the voice in his head that whispers that he hadn’t exactly given Hannibal a reason to trust him.)

Heart hammering against his ribs, all of that guilt and fear melts together and stretches and twists and is reborn as deep, righteous anger.

Because no, all he’d wanted was for Hannibal to be safe and free and far from here, even if it meant Hannibal hated him, even if it meant they could never be together, even if it meant that one day Hannibal would come back and rip his still-beating heart from his chest without remorse. But instead here they are, highly armed police likely mere minutes out. And all because Hannibal hadn’t listened. Bitterly, Will thinks to himself that maybe he couldn’t change Hannibal in this way after all.

As if hearing the war cry of bitterness and anger, the resentment he’d kept locked away over the last year begins to bay and claw at its cage too, and, with no reason left to hold it back, Will finally opens the latch and lets it loose.

His next words come out as a growl. “Well now neither of us might get to leave at all”.

Hannibal looks at him, and before he can hide any emotion behind his mask Will can see surprise and deep betrayal warring behind his eyes. It should make him stop and consider, that surprise - that indication that he is behaving in a way that Hannibal did not quite anticipate. But the look of betrayal is like a knife to his chest, and so Will grips his resentment tightly and fumes.

What had Hannibal expected? For Will to be small, desperate? Cowering? Begging for forgiveness? His lip curls in derision. As if he would give him the satisfaction. No, mongooses have teeth and claws, and may whatever god he believes in help Hannibal if he thinks Will won’t use them.

Hannibal manages to force the emotion all behind a mask of icy indifference, and now when he looks at Will his gaze is blank. Though it is not his usual blankness which Will has become familiar with. It is an empty, unsettling kind of blank, the sort of blank he’s only ever seen in the eye of a shark. When Hannibal speaks his voice is cold, colder than Will has ever heard it.

"Forgive me for having doubts about the sincerity of your warning when you've been lying to me for the last month. Forgive me for wanting to see the truth of where your loyalties lie."

The acknowledgement is agony. All the guilt Will had been trying to force down suddenly rears its monstrous head again, and he finds his voice suddenly drying up. His throat feels tight.

He whispers. "My loyalties lie with you'

Hannibal only scoffs. It is ugly. Will has never seen Hannibal ugly before.

"A last minute change of heart is hardly loyalty, Will," he says. “What does Uncle Jack think of your loyalty, lying bleeding out in my pantry? Alana, shattered on the street? How can I be sure you do not still intend for me to join them?”

Hannibal takes a step towards him, adjusting his grip on the knife. Will’s heart pounds. He forces himself not to take a step back.

“Because I chose you, Hannibal, I was always going to choose you, I just needed time to accept that.”

But Hannibal just looks away. “If that is what you truly believe, then you haven't just been lying to me, you've also been lying to yourself.”

It’s so wrong, yet Hannibal had said it with such certainty and disdain that all Will sees is the arrogance with which Hannibal always assumes himself to be right. He dares to presume to know what Will is thinking better than Will knows himself? It turns out Hannibal Lecter really is just like every other psychiatrist Will has ever met, and a sense of grief rises up within him at the loss of something he’d never thought he could have until meeting Hannibal.

He hates himself for mourning what he shouldn’t want.

Will smothers the voice in his head whispering that Hannibal may in fact be correct, that he really does know Will's mind better than Will does his own. Instead he lets anger take over again, and this time it burns.

“You know nothing,” he hisses. His hands shake. Deep waves of indignant resentment roll over him, the roaring of the waves matching the blood in his ears.

He doesn’t know what he expects Hannibal to do next, but it isn’t for Hannibal to hum to himself, then huff a mirthless laugh and concede in a tone both melancholy and angry, “Perhaps you’re right.”

Once again Hannibal meets his eyes. “You know, I've never fully been able to predict you, Will, but this time I had hoped. It is a mistake I will not make again.”

He prowls closer still, and this time Will steps forward to meet him. Fight has won over flight and as the rising fury makes it hard to find words Will’s body seems to have decided to speak for him. The ticking clock of the impending arrival of the FBI ignored in favour of the burning, all-consuming rage within him.

But the fear of their time running out is still there, forced down as it is, and between that and the anger it’s only getting harder to think, and Hannibal is only making it worse. Every word that leaves his mouth brings fresh waves of intense emotion and it’s rapidly reducing Will to a state where there is nothing in his brain except pure animalistic rage-fear.

He just needs Hannibal to stop talking for one moment so he can think.

With what little coherent thought remains in his brain, Will decides to tell Hannibal in the only way he can manage anymore.

“For once in your life can you please just shut the fuck up”.

Hannibal's eyes flash dangerously. His lips curl up into a snarl, and the part of Will that still understands anything knows that he’s made a mistake - he’s only succeeded in confirming for Hannibal exactly how his words are affecting him, and getting him to stop now won’t be achieved without consequences.

Hannibal is quick to recover, a cruel grin taking over his face. His head tilts condescendingly. “Terribly rude, Will,’ he taunts.

The fire inside Will soars higher. He can feel it scorching his insides.

“Fuck you, Hannibal.” He spits.

Hannibal begins to loom over him, moving closer still in a manner that can only be called predatory, until all that separates them is an arm’s length. The knife still glistens in his hand.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself, Will? Childish comebacks? I’ve come to expect better from you. I'm disappointed.” There is a gleam of self-satisfied malice in his eyes and the shape of his lips. He looks dangerous. He looks beautiful.

Will hates him.

Will loves him.

Fuckyoufuckyoufuck-

And suddenly Will can’t take it any longer.

Before he knows what he is doing, he’s grabbing Hannibal by the bloody shirt and crashing his lips into his.

Time seems to stop, the world narrowing into a millisecond of time in which Hannibal’s hair brushes against Will’s forehead, breath warm against his mouth, their noses pressed almost painfully against each other. A moment where the cooling blood on Hannibal’s shirt soaks into Will’s palms and stains his fingers red. A moment where Hannibal stands deadly still, as if frozen, and Will feels as if he’s been frozen too.

There is a distant pressure in the corner of Will’s abdomen, then the vague sound of something clattering to the ground. But Will’s lips are on Hannibal’s and it is as if everything everywhere is inconsequential other than the feeling of Hannibal’s teeth against his, just as he’d imagined on so many a lonely night.

The moment seems to last an eternity before Hannibal’s hand finally comes up to grasp the back of his shirt tightly, and Will feels the sharp pull of the fabric against his skin, the pressure of Hannibal’s knuckles firm against his flank. A breathy gasp escapes his burning lips, and he can’t help the animal noise that subsequently tears its way from his throat. Luckily it seems that is what it takes for Hannibal to finally move his mouth and kiss back with equal force, teeth scraping sharply against Will’s. They gravitate closer and closer until Will’s arm is wrapped around Hannibal’s neck and their hips are pressed tightly together.

Eventually, Hannibal lets out a deep growl before he at last pulls away, dragging Will backwards until there is an arm’s distance between them. Will’s eyes flutter open and he gazes up at Hannibal. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins and setting him alight, but this time it is not with anger but something wholly new.

As they lock eyes, Will realises that Hannibal is finally allowing Will to see, without barriers or veils, the full breadth of emotion in his eyes. There is still frustration and betrayal, yes (indeed, Will hadn’t let go of his either) but there is also - and Will’s heart skips a beat when he recognises it - pure and all-encompassing adoration. A wonderful warmth blossoms within his core, rendering him both weak and solid and light as a feather, and it is unlike anything Will can ever remember feeling.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be loved.

Then those wonderful, expressive maroon eyes flicker downwards, and Hannibal’s brow furrows, lines around his eyes deepening. Confused, Will follows his gaze, and is surprised to see a growing deep red stain on his shirt, though any reaction he distantly thinks he perhaps should be having is dulled and seems to float just out of reach. It’s strange; there isn’t any pain, just the memory of an odd pressure that he’d ignored at the time and a peculiar sense of unreality.

For a moment he just stands, uncomprehending, but as the adrenaline finally starts to wear off he becomes increasingly aware of a dull ache at the site of the wound, and it isn’t long before that dull ache blossoms into a terrible burning pain. Hand instinctively falling from Hannibal’s shoulder to hover protectively over the wound, Will looks back up at Hannibal, a mix of confusion, surprise, pain and betrayal written across his face. An involuntary whine slips from his suddenly dry throat.

The vocalisation appears to spur Hannibal into action. He takes Will gently but firmly by the arms and quickly guides him to a nearby sofa, helping him lay down across its seats before sinking to his knees beside him and pulling up his shirt to inspect the injury. A moment passes, then a near-imperceptible line of tension seems to drop slightly from Hannibal’s shoulders and he pulls Will’s shirt back down.

“It is as I thought: due to the angle and the quick loosening of my grip on the handle, only the tip of my knife entered your body. The wound is not so deep as to require immediate attention, but it will certainly require stitches.”

He guides Will’s hand back to his injury and helps him to apply the right amount of pressure. It hurts, and when Will winces and lets out small pained noise, Hannibal brings a hand to his hair and cards it through the damp curls. It feels nice, it feels so very nice and right, and Will’s eyes slip closed for a moment, enjoying the feeling. When he opens them, Hannibal is looking down at him, face once again carefully blank.

“There is likely very little time left before the FBI arrives,” he begins, “and I will soon be leaving for Florence. I will offer you this once and only once, and you will have until I return with our passports and a select few other items to make your decision.”

He fixes Will with a heavy look. “One last chance, Will. You can come with me to Florence, and I will show you the city where I became a man. We will leave immediately, take up new identities, and likely never return.

“Or, I can leave you here. You can wait for the cops to arrive and take you to a hospital. Your reputation will remain intact, and you can go back to your job and your house in the woods, your life as you know it, and you will never see me again.”

An almost undetectable pause, and then, “This is your final decision, Will. I suggest you make it wisely.”

With this he climbs to his feet and leaves the room

For a while Will sits thinking, but deep down he knows his mind is already made up. The myriad of complicated feelings he harbours towards Hannibal still plague him, and a part of him still wants to lock the man up and throw away the key, but he’s finally willing to admit that it’s all inconsequential. He knows now he can't live without Hannibal, for better or for worse, whether he loves him or hates him, or a twisted mix of both. He’ll miss his life terribly for the isolated comfort it brought, but he’d miss Hannibal far, far more.

There is only one choice to make.

The moment Hannibal reappears in the doorway Will is speaking.

“I want to come with you.”

Hannibal’s face remains carefully blank. “You understand there is no going back from this. I will not change my lifestyle and you can never return to the false life you have led. You will be shedding your sheepskin for good this time, and the world will be on our tail for as long as we-”

Will cuts him off.

“I want to come with you,” he repeats firmly.

A long pause, and then a small but genuine smile graces Hannibal's lips. With a dip of his head, he seems to accept the decision. “Very well,” he says, though Will can hear the unspoken relief that lies beneath it. He lets himself smile back, tired but overjoyed and honest. It feels right.

Hannibal comes back to where he lies on the couch, and helps him get up, his touch firm yet gentle as he holds Will against his side.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asks.

Will’s breath catches as the shift to being upright pulls sharply on his wound. While it could have been far deeper - and Will doesn’t want to imagine what Hannibal’s initial plan for him was - it is still painful, and increasingly so as the last of the adrenaline wears off. Plus, he’s losing a fair amount of blood, and the change in angle temporarily darkens his vision and sends stars dancing across his eyes. Grimacing, he closes his eyes and waits for the pounding in his head to stop. Hannibal lets him lean against him, steadfastly taking his weight, and says nothing.

When the stars fade and he feels steadier on his feet, Will considers Hannibal’s question, and after a moment of assessment nods - he’s been shot in the shoulder before, he can handle this - and lets Hannibal lead him out of the house and down the street to an unfamiliar car.

Alana is unconscious now, and Will catches Hannibal’s eyes lingering on his jacket where it lies over her body. He looks at her, the person he’d once imagined sharing a life with, and thinks of how important she had always been to him, even after everything. A pang of bittersweet nostalgia hits him, accompanied by a longing for a simpler time when maybe it could have been possible. But ultimately he allows Hannibal to help him into the passenger seat of the car. This is the life he’s chosen, the person he’s chosen, cannibalism and all. There is no going back now, and nothing to be gained from contemplating what ifs.

Then the car door closes, and Alana is hidden from sight.

There is another noise as Hannibal gets in the car from the other side, and after fiddling with some dials and buttons, he starts the engine.

“I will drive us to the airport where our flight awaits. When we are a safe distance from the house we will stop and I will clean and suture your wound. But for now I suggest you sleep - you will need the rest if you are to recover well.”

He must notice the lines of discomfort on Will’s face, as he adds, softening slightly, “There are some painkillers in the door.”

After taking the pills as directed, Will lays his head back against the headrest and allows his eyes to close. The last of the adrenaline has left his system, leaving behind a sudden bone tiredness that makes his lids heavy and breathing slow.

With the sound of the vehicle lulling him and the comfort of Hannibal’s presence beside him - alive, together - sleep comes quickly, and the last thing Will knows before the darkness claims him is the feeling of a warm hand gently coming to rest upon his own.

[honeygrahambitch]

WHATS A HANNIGRAM CODED TAYLOR SWIFT SONG

The perfect ask doesn't exi-

I have prepared for this my whole life. Here is a list of hannigram coded taylor swift songs.

Look what you made me do

it's sexy and petty and it's the perfect Will Graham in salmon shirt revenge song but it's also very Hannibal in Mizumono coded.

2. I did something bad

perfect for both of them and especially for Will discovering that killing people makes him feel stuff that he shouldn't

3. Back to december (I am feral about this one)

perfect for them. chef's kiss. You can listen to it and think about Mizumono or about Digestivo, depends what kind of pain you want.

It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you

Wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it alright

this is so Will Graham thinking about Mizumono and also Hannibal surrendering to the FBI cause he doesn't need freedom if he cannot have Will.

But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right

I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't So if the chain is on your door, I understand

This lyrics too because it's the tea cup motif, turning back the time, which is exactly what Hannibal wanted to do in digestivo. And also related to Will's regrets about Mizumono.

4. Mastermind

Perfect for them both, from beginning to end. Nothing to add than some very fitting lyrics.

I knew I wanted your body I laid the groundwork, and then Just like clockwork The dominoes cascaded in a line What if I told you I'm a mastermind? And now you're mine It was all my design

5. Better than revenge (more as crack if you want to think of it from Hannibal's pov towards Molly lol)

6. Right where you left me

season 3b coded, breaks you to pieces if you imagine them and the glass wall in between.

7. Wonderland

I reached for you, but you were gone I knew I had to go back home You searched the world for somethin' else To make you feel like what we had And in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad

them in season 3a, Hannibal trying to replace Will with Anthony but it was in vain.

8. Come back, be here

Will grieving after Hannibal left

9. Hoax

there is so much to say about this one, I find it very fitting

My only one My smoking gun My eclipsed sun This has broken me down My twisted knife My sleepless night My win-less fight This has frozen my ground

(...)

My best laid plan Your sleight of hand My barren land I am ash from your fire

(...)

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart You knew the password, so I let you in the door You knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart But what you did was just as dark

you can think about all the pain they have inflicted into each other and each time they have betrayed each other

10. I almost do

11. Sad Beautiful Tragic

so so so hannigram coded

We both wake In lonely beds In different cities And time Is taking its sweet time erasing you And you've got your demons And darlin' they all look like me

12. Ivy (which is considered to be a very queer song)

I wish to know The fatal flaw that makes you long to be Magnificently cursed

13. Willow (a lil more cheesy)

14. The lakes

hannigram coded because they don't fit in the normal world. And the lyrics sound like something Hannibal would say

15. Vigilante shit

as petty and sexy as Look what you made me do

16. Bad blood

doesn't need any explanation

17. No body, no crime

for the whole arc of Will trying to convince everyone Hannibal framed him

18. Getaway Car

Mizumono coded

19. The Great War

twotl coded

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War

(...)

It turned into something bigger Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed Your finger on my hair pin triggers Soldier down on that icy ground Looked up at me with honor and truth Broken and blue, so I called off the troops That was the night I nearly lost you I really thought I lost you

and this part very Mizumono coded

20. Peace

they are both problematic for each other

21. The Alcott

describes the Uffizi Gallery scene. Like, in perfect detail.

22. My tears ricochet

23. Illicit Affairs

Look at this idiotic fool that you made me You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

24. Last kiss

for when Hannibal is locked up

25. Haunted

26. Cowboy like me

especially because Will is from the south lol

I've got some tricks up my sleeve Takes one to know one

Hope this helps!

[mustlovewillgrahamsdogs]

WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!! it’s actually so crazy that hannibal doesn’t just retaliate right after he smells freddie lounds on will. because like… their little dinner?? the one where hannibal was almost giggling and blushing and kicking his feet???? was a LIE! i would’ve snapped will’s neck tbh like wow the restraint on him

THEN THEN THEN not only that. but he’s actively trying to be like ok then fuck it, let’s not kill jack. let’s feed your dogs, leave a note for alana, and leave jack alone. who cares about them?? let’s just go. i know you’re lying to me. i know you’re working with jack behind my back but fuck it. let’s leave. here’s your out where you can prove to me this is where your heart really lies.

and will takes this and tries to make it upsetting like aw this’ll be our last meal :( and hannibal is just so… sad. he’s like of this life. meaning there’s another life, another plan, and really who cares about this life where he’s had to be fake and hollow, where he hasn’t been known and loved?? he’d leave it all behind for will because will sees him and there’s no going back from that.

will tries to be cute and says you served lamb. it’ll be sacrificial. and hannibal again deflects and says i don’t need a sacrifice, do you? and after this, will even makes a face like he didn’t expect hannibal to say that but pushes forward with how he needs to see jack’s face when he learns the truth. AND HANNIBALS FACE AFTER THAT IS SO!!!!! devastating.

then he raises his glass like welp ok then, to the truth and all it’s consequences. and he knows, he knows how the night will end. it’s over. but he continues with the charade. until jack comes early :/

anyways. all of that is fucking insane. and maybe he would’ve retaliated either way. but he was trying so hard to get will to change his mind because he did NOT want mizumono to go down like that. he wanted his fantasy 😭

[daisies-on-a-cup]

hannibal's philosophy about fate is one of the more complex and interesting things about his character in the show. the two quotes that come to mind in particular for me when thinking about that is "Nothing happened to me. I happened." and "I can feed the caterpillar, I can whisper through the chrysalis, but when it hatches, it follows its own nature and that is beyond me."

hannibal's idea of things happening but not causing is very interesting to me because it implies a strong belief in an internal locus of control. yes, things might have been done to you, someone may have said things to influence you, but ultimately it is your own doing, your own actions/thoughts that determine who you become. the trauma hannibal faced as a child were things that happened around him, things that were mostly out of his control, but he firmly believes that how he responded to those events were in his direct control. he decided what to do from then on, he decided to continue to eat people, not because of a trauma response, but because he liked to do it

but, intriguingly, hannibal also implies that he does believe in a small thing of fate. "Fate and circumstance has brought the teacup back together." all his life, hannibal has insisted that he has the control, he has the power, nothing is done to him- what happens happens because he allows it to happen. and yet, hannibal suggests a belief in god (though not a typical faith in god) as well as fate. when he says that fate has brought the teacup and them together again, he is trying to say that this was always going to happen. he was waiting for it to happen, hoping for fate to intervene, to show its face, despite his own iron grip on any control he has over the entire narrative

i think this outward insistence on control is a trauma response to what happened to himself and his family. if he truly believed that things were completely out of his reach of influence, then that would mean there was an ultimate fate guiding every aspect of his life. it was fate his family would be slaughtered, it was fate he and his sister would starve in the bitter winter, it was fate that the soldiers chose his sister instead of himself to eat that night, and it was fate that hannibal would continue to live. fate would then seem impossibly and irrevocably cruel then, and hannibal is a master of what cruelty and intimacy is. replacing "fate" with "i happened" is how he takes back that control, which is also interesting when reanalyzing mizumono

he says in the beginning of their confrontation "The teacup that I shattered did come together." but then a few moments later says "Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment where the teacup shatters." it's an interesting switch, again, for hannibal to deny himself a true part in any of this devastation, to deny himself the heartbreak of this outcome. he removes himself from will's betrayal while also playing benevolent god, forgiving will in the same breath he accuses him of ruining their family, their future. he gives will forgiveness just as he takes abigail's life, all the while hiding behind "fate and circumstance" as the reason for their rended ending. hannibal denies causality and detaches himself from everything once again, just as he did with his sister, only his time it is reversed

time literally did reverse for hannibal, except it has gone the other way and he can only find comfort in that it was fate that did this to him and will, not will's or hannibal's or anyone else's fault