#yes hannibal framed will for 4 counts of murder

[zer0expektation]

me trying to act normal and chill and cool when I see ppl try to say hannigram is enemies to lovers 😀

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 2

“Under the Knife” - Part 2

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 2,500-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Talks of murders, talk of crime scenes, cursing

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Tag List:

@fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

----------------

After your meeting with Jack, you filled out some paperwork and made it official: You were going to be his profiler for any case that he wanted to call you in for. And apparently he already had one building. 

“We have a suspected serial killer hitting close to home. Three killings in Montclair, Lorton, and Fredericksburg.” As he said the Virginian cities, Jack plopped 3 case files in front of you and moved to the board full of evidence that he had.

“Oh! We’re starting right now? O-Okay.” He turned from the board to look at you with a sort of incredulous way. 

“Do you have a problem with that?” 

“I mean, we literally just signed the papers. I thought I would have a night to prepare instead of being thrown right in.” You said the truth without seeming ungrateful or annoyed, which was good. But you instantly started to nervously ramble as Jack nodded and walked back to his desk. “But if we need to start right now, I can. I just wasn’t ready for--”

“You’re right. We’ll start talking tomorrow. For now, take those files, do your homework, and report here at 9AM. We’ll go to the lab and introduce you to Beverly, Price, and Zeller.” Jack smiled and motioned toward the door. 

“Thank you. I will see you tomorrow morning!” You tried to be professional but also show that you were actually excited to work with him. 

“See you tomorrow.”

After putting the files securely in your bag, you headed to your apartment. You put the files on your dining room table before you hung up your coat and work bag. You checked your watch. You had dinner plans with Hannibal in an hour and a half. You stood between your room and the table that the files were seated on. You fidgeted with your ring for a few seconds as you debated on whether or not to start catching up on the case now or after dinner. 

“I can read over the first one and then get ready for dinner.” You told yourself as you pulled out the semi-comfy chair and opened the file. 

Case: #566-A

This case was from 6 weeks ago in Montclair. Ballsy to be close to the FBI and kill people. There were two victims: Dr. Everet and his wife Whinnie. They were found dead in their shared bedroom in their upper-class house. A nice upper-class place thanks to being a doctor. 

Whinnie looked like a murder that you would find in an armed robbery case: Quick throat slit, not much thought or motive into it, left on the floor to bleed out. Dr. Everet on the other hand was what you assumed grabbed Jack’s attention.

Dr. Everet was in the middle of their bed. The autopsy report claimed that the cause of death was exsanguination which made sense considering he was in pieces. Everet was cut at every major joint. His arms were separated from his shoulders, his legs from the pelvis, his thigh from his knee, his forearm from the elbow, and so on and so forth down to his fingers and toes. The report showed that there was a high level of paralytics in his system. So you make him sit there while you cut him apart. That’s why there are no defensive wounds. He had to lay there and endure all of that...

Why was Everet presented like this while his wife was a simple throat slit?

You made some notes in your book, making sure to write out questions to ask the team when you met up with them tomorrow. With every note you made, you found yourself going back to the case file and trying to connect dots. You soon realized that you couldn’t begin to connect those dots until you looked at the other files. 

Without much thinking, you opened all three files, quickly skimming over each of them and writing out the main points that stood out. You were supposed to be at Hannibal’s at 7 o’clock and it was only 5:45. It didn’t take that long to get to his place.

All of the murders happened 2 weeks after the other, starting 5 and a half weeks ago. Dr. Everet was about 6 weeks ago, Dr. Chaseten was about 4 weeks ago, and Dr. Loriet was about 2 weeks ago. Which means this killer is bound to strike again soon if this time frame is important to him.

They all have at least one victim that is treated like a paralyzed piece of artwork like Dr.Everet and at least one victim thrown to the side and killed quickly. The ‘pieces of art’ were all doctors, the others were their husbands or wives.

They all were in different cities in Virginia but close enough to make a solid assumption that this is the same killer.

You were scribbling out a note to ask about if there were any particulates found in any of the bodies when your phone buzzed on the table next to you. You didn’t even look at the screen, you just hit the answer button and put whoever was calling on speakerphone.

“(Y/N) speaking.” 

“Good evening, (Y/N).” The thickly accented voice rang through your speaker and stopped your writing mid-word as you looked from your phone to the files that were now spread out across your small tablespace.

“Dr. Lecter! Hi! Good evening! Sorry, I was um...  caught up in something and didn’t even register who was calling!”

“No need to apologize. I was just wondering if I should still expect you tonight?” You dropped your pen as you frantically looked at the time on your phone. It was 6:15PM. You quickly started to shut the files and stand up muttering a few curse words as you did. “I take it you got distracted?

“Yes! I’m sorry! But I am still coming over as long as the invitation is still good.” You picked up your phone and walked to your room to start to quickly figure out a nice outfit that didn’t look too much like a work outfit or too fancy. “I am getting ready now!”

“As I can hear.” You could almost hear the slight smirk he most likely had on his lips from hearing you fumble around your small space. 

“I should be there right around 7 and I’ll explain myself, I promise.” 

“I will see you then, my dear.” Hannibal hung up while you were slinging your work shirt into your laundry bin. You couldn’t help the smile that spread as you thought about how he called you ‘my dear.’ You know it's probably nothing more than a common nickname for any woman in Hannibal’s life, but it still felt good to be called something other than your real name. 

~~~~~~~~

Somehow you had managed to avoid a lot of major traffic and pull up to Hannibal’s home right at 7 o’clock. He must have heard your engine or seen your headlights because as you got out of your car and made your way to his front door, it was already open with him waiting for you with a small smile on his lips. 

“Right on time.” 

“Did you doubt me?”

“Never.” Hannibal moved to the side to let you in. You were instantly hit with the scents of whatever he was whipping up in his kitchen. 

“One day you’ll have to teach me how to make something really fancy just so I can show off next time I have someone over.” You shrugged off your bag and went to hang it up in the closet, but Hannibal beat you to it.

“Someone like a partner?” He was so good at hiding any sort of inflection in his voice, but you could have sworn that you detected a bit of jealousy. You slightly laughed at the idea of having any sort of romantic partner right now.

“I was thinking more along the lines of my brother. You know I don’t have much of a social life outside work.

Hannibal motioned for you to walk towards the kitchen, you did so and he was right behind you. 

This was normal for the two of you. You tried to have a meal or at least coffee together once or twice a week to give both of you a break from whatever the world was dishing out to you that week. You had met as colleagues when you worked together on a project for the FBI. But now you both were in a comfortable friendship. There was a pang in your heart that wanted to explore the idea of being more than friends or coworkers with him, but you doubted Hannibal felt the same. If he did, he wouldn’t show it due to his connection with your brother and out of respect for you. So the two of you continued this dance of being extremely friendly but too scared to make a move or speak up.

You poured yourself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter as Hannibal reached into the refrigerator for lemon juice and finished up cooking. 

“How was your day today?” You ask him, as you take a sip.

“It was alright. Met with patients, got further in a drawing, figured out what to cook for a beautiful lady as a congratulation of sorts.” Hannibal quickly looked up at you as he said the last half of that before turning to the stovetop. You felt a very small blush creep on your neck, but tried to play it cool. 

“Congratulations?”

“On your new position. I hope you don’t mind that Will shared that with me today.”

“Did he now?” You couldn’t help the slight negativity in your voice as you looked away and played with your ring. “He is definitely not as happy for me as you are. I’m sure you’re aware that he did not want me to accept Jack’s offer.”

“I cannot tell what he said, but I can tell you that he was rather upset when he came in today.”

“Sounds like my brother.” You took another drink of water, not even noticing that Hannibal had plated dinner until he spoke up.

“Now, if you’d please.” You quickly looked up and saw that he was gesturing to the dining room. You tried to help by grabbing a plate or his cup or something to bring to the table but he just gently ushered you into the next room. He never let you help out when you were over as a dinner guest, but you tried every time. 

The two of you sat and began eating. It was a good minute or two of silence before someone spoke up. 

“This is delicious, Hannibal! I don’t know what vegetable this is exactly,��� you help up a swirly looking green piece on your fork, “but it is amazing with this sauce you’ve made.”

“That is romanesco broccoli. I thought you might like it. It looks intimidating but tastes like the typical broccoli that you normally eat. It's just a bit… Artistic.” He slightly smiled, happy that he could amuse you with new food. You took another bite as Hannibal reached for his wine. Before he took a sip, he asked something that had been on his mind.

“May I ask what grabbed your focus so much that you almost missed out on dinner tonight?”

“Oh, right! Jack apparently already has a killer he wants me to start profiling. He gave me copies of the reports to read up on before I have my first official day tomorrow. I told myself I was just going to read the first one, but then got carried away.”

“Is this the killer that has been targeting doctors?” You gave him a questioning look, unsure of how he knew about the case. “Jack asked for my opinion at the crime scene for Dr.Chaseten a few weeks ago. Considering they haven’t caught anyone, I’m assuming that is what he has you working on.”

“Then you would be correct. There are now three mutilated doctors that have no obvious correlation to each other other than the cause of death and the fact that they are doctors.” You sipped your drink and continued. “I know I’ve only been Jack’s official profiler for less than a day, but it's still biting at me that I don’t see anything yet.”

Hannibal reached over and put a hand on yours to try to rein you back in before you thought too much about the case.

“I’m sure you will have more answers tomorrow.” You smiled and patted his hand, ignoring the slight butterflies you got from the contact. You took a deep breath.

“I know. I shouldn’t get this deep yet. That insanity will hit me tomorrow when I have to brainstorm with Jack.” You smiled even though it didn’t fully reach your eyes. You knew Hannibal would pick up on it. 

“I think it was Oscar Levant that said that ‘there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line.’ Let’s just hope Jack Crawford won’t erase his line.” Hannibal gave your hand a small squeeze before removing his hand, causing you both to return your attention to your meal. 

“You know, we could have rescheduled this dinner if you felt the need to finish your work.” Hannibal was sincere. He understood your work was a major part of your life, but he did like to see you outside the halls of the FBI.

“No! I wanted to come by tonight! Honestly, I needed a mood lifter after today.”

“Oh? How come?” You finished chewing and then spoke your mind. You knew Hannibal was a therapist, but he wasn’t your therapist. So you tried to keep it friendly.

“I should be excited and happy to be starting this new position, but I’m more worried about Will. I don’t want this job to be what divides us, you know? We’re so close, and I am one of the few people that he can be comfortable around. I don’t want to take that from him.” You pause, unconsciously bouncing your leg and fidgeting with your ring slightly. You shook your head as if that would temporarily erase the thought. “I just hope that if I keep working cases, he will get more and more okay with it.” You cut off a piece of fish and ate, letting Hannibal know that you were done speaking.

“I’m sure he will be fine.” You look up to find him staring at you. More like watching you, hyper-aware of your movements that show your anxiety. “But enough about Will.” Hannibal held up his glass towards you. “Here’s to you and your new path in the FBI. May they see you as valuable and wonderful as I do.” 

You patted your lips with your napkin and smiled as you clinked your glass with his. Your heart swelled at his words. Why do you do this to me? 

The rest of the evening was spent finishing your meal and forcing Hannibal to let you help with the dishes. Afterward, he walked you to your car, as usual, opening the door for you like a true gentleman. 

Your drive home was peaceful and you found yourself smiling, thankful for your evening with Hannibal. It was nice to know that someone you cared about was happy for you.

[glenngaylord]

HOW SWEDE IT IS - My Review of MIDSOMMAR (4 Stars)

[Excerpted from https://thequeerreview.com/]

Getting dumped sucks.  Sometimes you feel it coming on like a slow moving train, unable to stop it, and when it hits you, you experience a long, drawn out kick to the gut.  The world feels incomprehensible, nothing makes sense, and you feel like it never will again.  You can’t avoid the pain, and you may not even want to anyhow.  It’s like watching a horror movie where you don’t want the protagonist to go in that basement, but you have a stronger urge to see what’s down there. Ari Aster, who made his startling debut last year with Hereditary, understands that the best horror plays with real human fears, be it disease, abandonment, or loss of control.  Reportedly based on a painful breakup of his own, his MIDSOMMAR uses folk horror as the spine on which to lay down his thoughts on a dying relationship, and it’s a delicious, morbidly funny, gore-filled, visually stunning, gorgeously designed, perfectly indulgent 2 hours and 20 minutes of sun-dappled, rainbow colored dread.  

Dani (the captivating Florence Pugh) experiences a tragic loss at the outset of the film, and her paralyzing grief wears down her emotionally incapable boyfriend Christian (Jack Raynor, whose schlubby stoner look from Sing Street has morphed into an almost Chris Pratt level of matinee idol looks).  Encouraged to cut ties with his needy girlfriend by his fellow grad students, Christian and his friends plan a summer getaway to Sweden to attend a once in a lifetime cultural festival.  His friends include Mark, a quip machine played to deadpan perfection by Will Poulter (Detroit), Josh (William Jackson Harper of The Good Place), an anthropological scholar intent on writing his thesis about European folk culture, and the gentle, soft spoken Pele (Vilhelm Blomgren), who invites everyone to his village commune for their once-every-ninety-years activities.  Unable to cut ties with Dani because of her trauma, he half-heartedly invites her along, and to his surprise, she says yes.  

This first act perfectly captures a pair in their death throes, where questions seem like accusations, and pauses reveal underlying truths.  Aster borrows heavily from Roman Polanski, as he did with his debut film, by allowing negative and offscreen space and holding onto shots longer than normal, to create elastic tensions.  It’s so refreshing to watch a filmmaker, who creates strong, classic frames with his cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski, take his time, avoiding the rushed cutting style of his contemporaries.  He also really thinks through his transitions, creating an unforgettable one where Dani, in an overhead shot, rushes into an apartment bathroom, only to reveal that she’s now on an airplane headed for Scandinavia.  I also savored the delightfully disorienting upside-down shots of the road as the group drives toward their destiny.  

Now most filmmakers, at this point would want to get to the gore and bloodletting, but Aster wants us to live with that sinking feeling for as along as possible.  So before our doomed Americans arrive at the proper camp, they stop just outside of it for an extended interlude where they imbibe hallucinogenic mushrooms.  This allows Dani, a bundle of uptight, frayed nerves to perhaps chill out, but it has the opposite effect. She has scars, and Pugh takes us on a master class of expressions.  Is she crazy or is she simply with a guy incapable of giving her what she needs?  Ahh, relationships can suck, even in a seemingly perfect environment where the sun barely sets and the villagers offer up the perfect embodiment of an ABBA tune.  Most horror films take place in the dark and freak us out with their jump scares.  This film operates in bright sunlight and terrifies with very few shock tactics.  Sometimes a misunderstanding can haunt your dreams more than someone shouting, “Boo!” Here we get a Swedish death cult that looks like a lot of ridiculous fun.  

Obviously this experience has far more to offer than maypole dances and giant feasts.  Henrik Svensson, making his feature debut as a Production Designer, has created the weirdest, most ominous storybook environment with an endless array of folk paintings lining the walls of his interiors.  They look cute until you take a harder look at the terrifying and carnal tales they depict.  Same goes for everything going on in the background of most shots.  The pleasant folk dress in white, classically Swedish garb, almost sprinkling fairy dust wherever they go, but look off in the distance and you’ll spy couples doing inexplicable things.  The genius of these scenes is that these people, called the Hårga, always appear to be kind and caring.  From their point of view, they never do anything wrong.  Bobby Krlic, who goes by the name The Haxan Clock, adds immeasurably to the tone of this film with his rich, evocative score.  

Aster mines most of this folk horror from the fact that we have a clash of cultures who don’t understand each other and often nod their heads to pretend that they do.  When something unexpected, something insanely disturbing and gory, happens, it had me questioning our American norms versus those in other parts of the world.  

At this point, many may feel the film stretches credibility, that our protagonists would get the hell out of this place right away.  But due to Pele’s sweet persuasiveness and maybe in small part to those drugs they keep imbibing in every cup of that mysterious tea, they stay.  Besides, we get an audience surrogate of sorts with an English couple who go crazy when the pagan rituals start to have a body count.  While many characters meet their doom, we’re on Dani’s journey, who travels from grief towards her own method of coping.  Aster may have a great time staging the bizarre rites of this cult, but he’s more interested in finding a catharsis for his heroine.  Where he ends up, in that perfect final second, proved thrilling and strangely real.  The violence, the crazy shots of throbbing, undulating meats, the Hannibal level of murder dioramas, however, will also stick in your head.  

While this film pings on the may themes found in Rosemary’s Baby, such as not really knowing your partner, suspecting an evil undercurrent lies beneath the people around you, and, yes, even drinking strange liquids, Aster reverses the roles at times and has a more avenging spirit.  This film would make a great triple bill with that film along with the recent remake of Suspiria.  The latter really felt similar when things go absolutely bonkers in the third act.  With copious amounts of nudity, sex, and bloodshed, both films use giggle-inducing absurdity to create its own form of horror.  You won’t soon forget what one character does to another’s butt, and I’ll just leave it at that.  

Many will lose their patience with this film, or find it more silly than scary.  I, however, loved every drawn-out minute of it  It challenges how we view death.  It allows for the possibility that it’s sometimes ok to be alone.  It makes you wonder if our own customs make any sense, and it may make you think twice about judging the basket case who seems to suck all the energy out of a relationship.  In the end, that person may be the only sane person in the room.  And isn’t that terrifying?

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

My Design V

---

“INSIDE THE MIND OF A HUNTER-KILLER: A profile of the unprofilable. By Freddie Lounds

I met her at a coffee shop in a small town in Missouri. There were normal, every day people all around us going about their business. Ordering coffee. Wiping their children’s hands. Typing a novel that will never come to pass. All without knowing they were within killing distance of the most enigmatic murderess in the United States of America.

Her name is Joanna Beth Harvelle. She is a blonde, 5″4 and 117lbs. She grew up in a small town in Nebraska as an only child, her father passing away when she was a child and her mother both caring and over-protective. On paper, her last known location was at the University of Nebraska where she flunked out of her arts course within six months.

On very special paper, deep within the confines of the criminal behavioural profiling unit at the FBI, her last known location - at least according to her - was in Massachusetts where she left three bodies decapitated and the heads subsequently burnt. Such description is in her own words, and said with a smile…”

Will did not get the chance to continue the article as a meaty hand slammed the top of his laptop down. Following the arm up, he was unsurprised to find the enraged face of Jack Crawford staring back at him.

“How is it that Freddie Lounds can get a face to face with that monster, and you, my prize profiler, can’t even tell me where to start looking for her?” Jack practically growled the words out, snarl upon his lips more animal than human.

Will rolled back in his chair away from the desk, hands dropping to between his knees as he dropped his gaze. It was hard to be impassive when he had been interrupted from reading about her, reading someone else’s take on the woman that followed him everywhere in the last year. He had been able to distract Jack for months with other cases, other profiles, other murderers. He had been able to pretend that her words didn’t haunt his mind the same as Garrett Hobbs when walking through a scene beside the other man. He had been able to hide her from the other - all the bits of her that followed him around, that twisted him about, and seduced his very senses from him. He had even been able to conceal her from Jack’s spy in Hannibal. Of that, Will was exceptionally proud.

“Freddie Lounds is an easier person for someone to reach out to.” He found his voice falling into a soft contemplation, as if mulling the words over in his mind rather than having rehearsed them the moment he saw the interview go live. It was true though, Freddie Lounds would have been the easiest person for her to contact if she simply wanted to speak with someone. Easier than having made her way into Will’s home, easier than having followed Will to crime scenes, than having convinced him to appear and speak with her. Easier by far than infiltrating Quantico and entering his classroom. “And you know Freddie, she would have been gnawing at the bit to publicise something like this.”

“Ah yes, Freddie and her love for a good story.” Will barely batted an eye at the tone from the other man, as Jack seemed to talk himself out of the fury towards Will himself and redirected towards the writer of the article. It barely bothered Will as he stood to leave, headed for the lab for the most recent case, that he was able to manipulate the other man as efficiently as he did. “Any leads on the new case?”

“Not just yet.” His reply was left behind with the other man as Will left the room.

—

“ ‘She orders another round of drinks for us both, and leaves a 25% tip for the waitress who brings them over. “I used to work in hospitality,” She says, the affectionate smile on her face that of someone who knows the hatred of customer service, “I know how much that work sucks.” I find myself nodding in agreement at that idea. “ Brian recited across the labratory as the trio worked over the most recent body. “Sounds like a woman after my own heart…”

“A woman who will rip your heart out of your chest cavity, you mean.” Beverly responded, hand currently working to clean off a cut across the throat of their current case body. “Definitely someone you should try to meet, Brian.”

“She has a boyfriend, or a husband perhaps by now. Regardless, she wouldn’t be interested in you Brian.” The words announced his entrance into the workspace, Will barely surpressing the desire to turn around and leave at the three sets of eyes turning to look at him. Before Beverly could open her mouth to ask, he held up a hand and moved towards the group. “She’s not that hard to read into, and if you’ve ever seen her crime scene photos theres always some sentimental jewellery on. Joanna Harvelle isn’t on the market.”

“You sound a bit dejected there, Will. You been profiling her and got beat to the punch?” Jimmy’s quip cut through the slightly awkward silence that Will’s observations had brought up, and got a laugh from the other two investigators as he moved to sit down on the edge of one of the metal desks. “Freddie Lounds really is cold hearted to take that interview, and expose others to that psychopath.”

“Pretty sure she’s not counted as a psychopath, Jimmy, that bit about family clearly meaning that there is human connections in her life.” Beverly corrected, eyes focussed on determining the depth of the wound on their current victim.

The three men fell into a contemplative silence as two of them refocussed upon their tasks and the third thought over the other man’s words. It didn’t need much thinking though, Will knew that he was dejected at the idea his bloody angel wasn’t something he could attain. That she was only for looking, but not for touching. She reminded him of Alana in that way, however the restriction was much harder to follow through with as he thought over when he would next be free to dive into Freddie Lounds’ website.

As he removed debris from the fingertips, Jimmy broke the silence. “ “I wouldn’t call them murders,” the woman said, a hand rubbing at the back of her neck, “I would call it a civic duty. Perplexing as that may sound. I mean, I love Batman but he’s wrong - if you kill murderers, the number of killers does change with enough gone”. The fact a lot of those victims of hers are unidentifiable… Makes you wonder who they are, doesn’t it?”

“Makes you wonder that a murderer is quoting a comic book like it validates her actions.” Beverly shot back, brow raised before asking, “Is there any perp tissue under those nails?”

“Nah, this is just dirt-gunk from the look of it.” The other replied, wiping the contents into a tube before starting on the next nail. “Batman is an interesting choice to pick though - a murderer quoting the hero who refuses to kill.”

“She doesn’t quote him because they are different, she quotes him because they are the same. She sees herself ridding her world, or rather her country, of those that intend to hurt it.” Will finds himself speaking aloud as much as speaking to himself. His eyes glaze as the pendulumn wipes for him, unaware of the pause of the other three in their work. He rarely empathised in front of others, and the trio had not seen him ever perform the task in front of them or about something other than crime scenes. “Jo is a fighter, she’s a vigilante driven to save those both knowing and unknowing of her work to do so. Like Batman. And like him, she has a secret identity, a secret life, a normal life…”

His voice trailed off, eyes raised to look across the labratory as he saw her approaching him this time - her coming to him, rather than him always chasing her - bare feet padding across the cold concrete of the floor. Her hair was mussed, pulled back into a pony tail but tendrils draping around her face which smiled warmly at him. She was dressed to sleep, he knew that, somehow, from the white man’s shirt that swallowed her frame and the bare legs that showed beneath it. His bloody angel left a trail of bloody footprints behind her as she moved her way to him.

She was in the midst of another of her killing sprees - on a hunt - and met Lounds just that morning. She had spoken with the redhead at length, laughed at the right times and made the right jokes to come off as approachable, and shared her psyche for the world in a way she would refuse to with anyone of a psychiatric profession. His lure shone brightly under the other woman’s light, and she had read the early edition of the story that night before she planned to sleep. She knew it would reach the person it was intended for, she knew he would see her. That through Freddie Lounds, she would be able to reach out and touch him after going silent from his waking life for three months.

The thought reached him as she did, hand outstretched to his cheek, and as Will leant into it the vision disappeared - the trio of investigators staring at him from over the body of their current case - he wished that it had been real.

---

The clock read 2:37 in the dark room when he woke with a start. There was the sweat that his nightmares always brought, but it was cold on his skin as the breeze blew through the room.

His family were still at rest, not disturbed by the disturbance that had woke him, and he could see them laying sleeping, dozing or relaxing before the fireplace. They were not what had woken him.

As he turned to the other side, the disturbance became clear - hair glowing white in the pale illumination of the room from his laptop, doe eyes staring back at him. The screen lighting her face still showed the article that had summarised her in all ways but the truth. He had poured over it all day, and fell alseep to the warm glow of it - before the truth he had been searching for it in had woken him to the reality again.

“Hi again.” Her voice cut through the quiet night noises, one hand tucked under her head as she looked back at him. It had been her arrival, her presence in his bed, that had woken him from slumber but it was her voice that woke him from his dreams. “How did you like my interview?”

“Freddie Lounds is a hack.” Will thought his voice sounded rough to his ear, crackled from sleep but harsh in intent as well. “She wrote you all wrong. Too sweet, too friendly, too normal.”

“Am I not sweet, or friendly, or normal, Will?” It was the question for the ages, and he rotated to lie facing her. Seeing her like this was almost like a dream, like he would wake up drenched in real sweat this time, longing for it to have been real. 

He shook his head at her question, mimicking her position as he whispered back, “You are, but not like she protrayed you. Her words were fake, making it out that you are not how you are. She didn’t want you to be dangerous, so she removed the danger from you.” His fingers twitched to reach out for her, fearing the moment they touched that she would disappear in smoke or blood like his nightmares. “Freddie Lounds was afraid of the real you, so pretended that it wasn’t there.”

“And are you afraid of me? I’ve told you who I am, what I do, why I do it...” Jo’s eyes blazed back at him, dark as the dark night around them, as she raised a pale brow back at him. “You’ve seen me as I am. But are you afraid?”

“You are not a monster...”

His words got one of those bourbon rich laughs from her, the scent of vanilla, metal and chocolate wafting over him as she rolled onto her back laughing. The smell clogged his senses, reminding him of the first time he found her in his home, on the very same bed. And that had been real. His dreams never quite managed to include the essential scent of her, and he found himself moving towards it, drowning in the intoxicating safety and danger that rolled off of her. 

“But you are mean...” Will found the words coming to his head as he caught sight of the laptop screen, her words written in pixels staring back at him, over the top of her profile. “That article was mean. You did it to poke Jack and the bureau - that you could speak to them but they couldn’t reach you.”

“I must be pickin’ up some bad habits from some friends of mine then.” Jo’s voice softened, the humor still evident as she glanced to him out of the corner of her eye. “But really I was meanin’ it for you. To remind you of what we discussed.”

“Those friends of yours who aren’t real - aren’t human - and those that you claim aren’t people at all that you kill.” He raised himself up on one elbow, eyes flickering between her face half in darkness and half in light - so like her being - and the screen. ‘ “People are afraid of what they don’t know. Of what they can’t explain. I live without that fear cause I know what’s really out ther” ‘ is in bold on the screen, highlighted by his mouse as he had drifted off.

The woman rolled to her side again to face him, those eyes beaming up at him as if they were staring straight into his soul and trying to split him apart. “You still don’t believe me, do you?” He wishes she had never said the words, squeezing his eyes shut at the hurt tone and the ache it stabbed into his chest. She believed him about Hannibal, and Abigail, and everything, but he couldn’t believe her about her world. His mind was cruel to dream this up tonight of all nights.

As he felt the bed dip slightly, as if she was moving to stand up, he found himself reaching out. Grasping. Tugging and pinning. His palms pressing her shoulders back into the bed as he hovered above her. Blonde hair spread across the spare pillow, spilling about her as she blinked up at him - the fear and uncertainty in other’s eyes when they looked at him missing. He could feel the cold breeze on his back again, where his shirt stuck to his skin, like icy knives but that melted as Will leant down to press against her and her lips.

There was a gasp, whether his or hers he couldn’t say, and then hands pushing to move him back, confusion on her face to match his that she was solid and didn’t disappear. That the smell of chocolate and vanilla and danger was still flooding his senses. “Will, what-”

He cut her off again, tugging at her, probing at her lips with his tongue and a hand sliding into the golden tendrils around her. She wasn’t disappearing like the figment in the lab. She wasn’t taunting him with bloody hands like the nightmares he would wake screaming from. She wasn’t even pulling away from him like Alanna had. She was pliable and warm and leaning back up into him like a vine into sunlight. 

“Shh, let me keep dreaming. Don’t let me wake up...”

He couldn’t let her ask her questions, break the foggy dream he was finding himself in with the reality that this wasn’t allowed. That he wouldn’t trust her like she trusted him, that he couldn’t do this, that she couldn’t be this for him. That they couldn’t be anything outside his dreams. He couldn’t wake up from the dream and have nothing to grasp onto again. 

All he could do was sink into her lips, her arms, her scent and pray that he wouldn’t wake up this time.

---

The alarm clock was screeching when he rolled over, the sounds of grunting and yips from his family at the disruption making him roll over to turn it off. The clock said 6:25.

Will blinked his eyes open blearily, sleep crust caught and rubbing at his eyes as he slumped back against his pillow thinking of the dream from the night before.

Normally his dreams were not so grounded - there had been no oninous stag-man outside the window, no twisted lighting, no blood seeping from behind her hands - yet so far out of the realm of reality for him. He was always driven to the line of insanity by the plague of dreams he had, but that one had thrown him far over the cliff and into the oblivion of madness chasing after her. 

Like he would if she was really in his grasp again, he thought. Will rubbed a hand across his face, before he rolled onto his otherside towards where she had laid in his dreams. Towards the laptop screen still angled straight at him.

His hand drifted across to where she had been, before pulling back like an electric shock at the warmth still on the side of the bed. Frowning, Will shifted over before being assualted by the scent of danger and safety, chocolate, vanilla and metal rust, as he sat upright swallowing down the lump in his throat at the reminder.

Will leant down to the pillow, finding several long, blonde hairs upon the pillow case before his eyes drew up to the computer screen.

Highlighted by the mouse, disjointed across the article but all able to be seen in order, were the words - “don’t” “Trust” “me” “we” “Can’t” “do this”.