#you do not ignore Hannibal clapping

[chloesolace]

The Lakes - Hannibal Lecter x Reader

summary: You are a promising young actress currently cast as the leading role in an Italian opera. When Dr. Hannibal Lecter, an admirer that has been visiting you occasionally, invites you to his house for dinner, you accept, not knowing the emotions it would evoke.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter x F!Reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: some making out, age gap

a/n: Another part of my Swift series! Where I write one shots based on Taylor Swift songs. This one is based on the song of the same name. And I have decided to do a similar series but with Florence + The Machine songs after finishing this one, so stay tuned!

Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info - Taylor Swift Series

Take me to the Lakes where all the poets went to die I don't belong and, my beloved, neither do you

You smiled as you took a deep bow, a bouquet of roses in your arm. Applause erupted from all corners of the theater, and headlights blinded your view, causing the audience to merge into a single sea of darkness. Some people threw single flowers at your feet, and you kneeled to pick some of them up, adding them to your bouquet.

The long gown you wore made it hard for you to move much, but you had spent enough evenings dressed in dresses like this one to navigate the tight corset and voluminous skirt that hung from your waist, stretching to the wooden floor of the stage.

Scanning the sea of standing people in front of you, you could only distinguish those in the first row, but the person you sought always sat as close to the stage as possible.

Your smile softened when your eyes landed on the man who had attended every one of your shows for weeks. Your fingertips rested against your lips before you extended your arm towards the audience and blew them a kiss, not coincidentally in the man’s direction.

His face was darkened by shadow, his sharp features accentuated by the little light that shone on the audience as he turned his head towards you. He was clapping, his sole attention lying on you. Although a thousand faces were staring right at you, you met the man’s gaze only until the curtain closed before you, separating you from the audience.

“That was beautiful, (y/n),” Antonio, the director of the opera you had performed, said as he approached you, his face brightened by a toothy smile and his hands clasped in excitement. “Truly beautiful. A magnificent ending to a tragic story.”

You turned to him, handing your flowers to an assistant who passed by. “How many times do you want to say ‘beautiful’?” you chuckled. He always became very articulate after a successful show, which amused you.

“I believe your admirer will be waiting for you in your dressing room,” he said, shortly before turning his attention to a tech person behind you. “No! No! What are you doing? We need those lights for the encore!”

You watched as Antonio maneuvered around you, his eyes set on the man carrying a headlight in the wings. You sighed, trying to ignore how your stomach tingled at the thought of who was waiting for you behind the stage. You brushed it aside and left the stage, raising the skirt of your dress with your hands so you wouldn't trip and fall.

He stood in front of the room, its door slightly ajar. You could barely make out the large mirror of your dressing table behind it, the lights on it barely illuminating the otherwise darkened room. Dressed in a suit with his hair slicked back and a bouquet in his hands, Dr. Hannibal Lecter smiled at you, his gaze finding yours when you came to a halt in front of him. The gown suddenly seemed to weigh you down; it was somehow heavier than before.

“Miss (y/l/n),” he said, offering you the bouquet. It was made of white lilies and lots of green. You had told him weeks ago that they were your favorite when he first asked for you after the opera. Ever since Antonio had allowed him behind the stage to express his admiration for your singing, you had been keeping in touch here and there. Almost every evening you could count on seeing his face in one of the first rows. Usually, he would have sat in the rear seats, wanting a moment to simply enjoy the music— a private moment amongst a crowd. Ever since he had come into contact with you, though, he chose to sit as close to the stage as possible. It honored you.

“Dr. Lecter,” you nodded as you took the bouquet, a vase inside already prepared for it; he always brought you flowers when he had time to pay you a visit backstage. “They are lovely.” Smiling, you pushed the door open and left it so, allowing him to enter if he wanted. He only stood in the doorframe, watching as you placed the bouquet inside the vase on your dressing table.

“I would like to invite you to dinner, Miss (y/l/n),” he then said, causing you to stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. He had never properly invited you out before; his company had always been limited to his aftershow visits. Color rose to your cheeks.

After a pause, you replied, “Let me know when and where, and I shall be sure to clear my schedule.”

“Tomorrow at eight,” he said almost instantly. “My place. I would like to cook for you.”

You stood there, a bit taken aback by the abruptness of his invitation. However, you could not deny that you had dreamed about this at least once in the past weeks. There was something about the man that compelled you, that drew you in despite the fine hairs on your neck standing on end almost every time you laid eyes on him. He was quite a bit older than you. You had only finished musical school a few years ago while he was already an established doctor. His profession intrigued you too, as he had told you that he aids his psychological knowledge to the FBI at times.

Then, your lips curled into a smile, hands clasped together in front of your abdomen. “Send me the address, and I shall be there.”

—

You stood before the house with an umbrella in your hand, shielding yourself from the pouring November rain. The house almost resembled a small mansion, and you wondered just how wealthy he really was. You knew he used to be a surgeon, and his work in psychiatry was revolutionary for the field, but you had not considered the materialistic aspects that came with it.

Two pillars held a small roof above the front door, allowing you to step underneath and keep dry as you closed your umbrella, rustling the excess water from it. You pressed the doorbell, and did not have to wait long before Hannibal opened it for you, greeting you with a smile and stepping aside to let you in.

“Good evening,” he said, taking your coat and hanging it on the coat rack next to the door. “Please, do make yourself at home. I am only finishing up in the kitchen. Dinner will be served soon.”

You smiled in response, entering the room he gestured towards. It was the living room, you quickly realized, decorated with large bookshelves that stretched from the floor up to the ceiling and had almost no empty spots. Rows and rows of books had been placed inside it, together with curiosities and pictures.

You approached one of the shelves, your eyes drawn to the bird skull displayed on the right, before studying the titles engraved into leather spines. A few of them you recognized, but others rang no bell.

“I see you are a fan of classics,” you remarked when you felt him enter the room. A quick glance over your shoulder told you he was still wearing the white dress shirt and black vest, protected from oil by an apron which he was now taking off.

“No wonder then why you visit the opera so often. Although I must admit, I was beginning to wonder whether you enjoyed Tosca that much or my singing. You have been to almost every performance.”

“It is a favorite opera of mine,” he admitted. “But your performance was intriguing. I have never seen a production of Tosca quite like that before. Your vocals have such depth—it's riveting. I wanted to properly enjoy it before it is taken out of the theater’s repertoire.”

You half-smiled, running your hand along the bookshelf to your right. There was not a single hint of dust anywhere. It was clear this man took care of his books, which told you just how much he valued them.

“Well, I hope you thoroughly enjoyed the performances. Tonight was the last one.”

Hannibal turned his back toward you to take a bottle of wine and pour two glasses. You watched him approach you, one glass in each hand. You took one of them as he offered it.

"You're still relatively young," Hannibal said, raising his glass as he kept his eyes locked on you. "I find that as an opera singer approaches the peak of her career, the performance becomes more poignant; the voice becomes more seasoned and rounded. I imagine you have a long, flourishing career ahead of you."

“To flourishing careers,” you proposed a toast, raising your own glass to meet his, stopping mere millimeters before they could touch.

“To flourishing careers,” he repeated, clinking his glass with yours before taking a sip from the wine.

The taste of the bitter-sweet liquid filled your mouth, and you raised your brows in surprise at the quality. You were by no means an expert on wine, but you did not have to be to recognize how much finer this quality was compared to the wine you usually drank.

“Château Haut-Batailley. It is a French wine, one I keep for special occasions.”

“Well, in that case, I am honored, Dr. Lecter.”

“Please, no need for such formalities.” He chuckled a little, taking the apron from the chair he had hung it over. “I will finish up in the kitchen. In the meantime, please make use of my book collection if you wish.”

You watched him exit the room, leaving the door open behind him before you turned your attention back to the shelf, browsing the various titles one by one. You mainly looked at the fiction section and noticed that although he seemed to have a fondness for the classics, there was some modern literature as well, namely thrillers and historical fiction.

A while later, Hannibal entered the living room, his eyes finding you sitting in one of his leather armchairs, a copy of the Iliad in your hands. You had taken off your shoes a while ago to avoid getting dirt on his carpet, and they were standing behind you where the carpet did not cover the wooden tiles.

You had become so engrossed in your reading that you did not notice him at first. Your lips were slightly parted, and your breathing was even. You did not see it, but the faint hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. He cleared his throat to get your attention.

You looked up, the book still in your hands as you met his eyes. “I do enjoy Greek myths a lot. This is a beautiful copy at that,” you said, raising the book a little to underline your words before you closed it and set it aside on the glass table next to you.

“It is a rare copy. Dating back to the 18th century,” he mentioned, wiping his hands with a white paper towel before tossing it into a garbage can nearby. You swallowed, pulling your hand back from the book as if it had burned you.

“That is very fascinating,” you said, standing from your seat and rubbing your palms against each other. You left the empty wine glass and the precious book behind on the glass table, approaching him. “I hope you are not bothered by me touching it? I didn't mean to pick such a valuable one.”

Hannibal chuckled, his eyes watching you in an almost predatory way as you showed a sign of uncertainty. You flinched a little when you saw him reach out, his hand ghosting over your cheek as he observed you. “Not at all,” he said softly. “It is not as fragile as its nature might suggest. The book is meant to be read, not locked away.”

“As music is supposed to be heard,” you added, letting Hannibal lead you out of the living room and past the kitchen until you reached the dining hall. The table had been elegantly set, one plate at the very end of it, and one to its left. You looked at the plants hanging from the wall to your right, touching the leaves gently to see if they were real. A classical piece played, though you saw no speakers anywhere. Hannibal invited you to sit, holding the chair out for you.

You thanked him and lowered yourself into the chair, in awe of the beautiful floral decoration that had been placed in the center of the table. The plate, you realized, was decorative only; it was golden and large, framing the white one Hannibal brought from his kitchen like a halo.

You looked at the carefully placed meat and the salad that accompanied it, the smell enveloping your nose. He poured you a new glass of wine, and you thanked him, waiting to ask about the dish until he had taken his seat.

“Venison backstrap with blackberry sauce and Italian salad. I hope you enjoy,” he said, holding his knife and fork, waiting for you to take a bite before doing so himself. There was a satisfied smile on his lips when he watched your eyes widen. It tasted truly divine, unlike anything you had ever had. It was savory, sweetened by the blackberry sauce, and just the right amount of well-done to still keep a juicy softness to it.

“You are truly an exceptional cook,” you said, cutting another piece of the meat before tasting the salad. It, too, seemed to have been made with the freshest ingredients available. The salad was crunchy, and the tomatoes were too. 

He smiled as he cut off a piece of the meat himself. “I am glad you enjoy it. I can give you the recipe if you like.”

You only shook your head as you took a sip of your wine, laughing softly when you placed the glass down. “Oh, no need. I fear I would only butcher it. I have never been an exceptionally good cook.”

“Yet your singing would make Orpheus envious.” He met your eyes as he said the words, causing you to suddenly feel a bit warmer than before. Swallowing, you lowered your head for a moment, the comparison making you somewhat nervous. You were used to compliments, but you knew men like him did not give them lightly. They weighed more than what critics and other admirers had to say.

When you finished your meal, he put the dirty dishes in the kitchen, leaving you alone to wander around the dining hall. There was a painting on the other side which you had not noticed when you entered; an image of the sea in the background, and white sand in the foreground, framed by single branches that were scarcely adorned by any green.

You only noticed Hannibal behind you when you heard his voice. The deepness of it, the vibrations and warmth of his breath on your naked shoulder, revealed by your off-shoulder top.

“Windermere,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The largest lake in England. William Wordsworth wrote many of his poems overlooking it.”

You tried to ignore how your heartbeat increased when you heard his deep voice right in your ear, goosebumps appearing on your skin. He was so close you could smell his cologne, an earthy, musky scent.

“Do you always surround yourself with so much poetry?” you asked, your breath almost catching in your throat as you stared at the painting in front of you, not daring to move even the slightest bit. You could feel his chest against your back simply by doing as much as breathing.

“I like to surround myself with beautiful things,” he replied. A pause followed. “Momento Mori.” He read aloud, and you instinctively touched your shoulder blade, right where the words had been pierced into your skin by a needle. You tensed. He leaned even closer to look at it, and you felt his finger ghost over the delicate tattoo. “Remember you must die. Quite morbid, is it not?” 

"It serves as a reminder to live each day to the fullest," you explained, turning your head slightly to watch him from the corner of your eye.

"A certain reminder, yet so unnecessary." There was a subtle cruelty in his voice you barely picked up on as you furrowed your brows, sucking in a breath in response to his thumb brushing over your bare shoulder, just above where the tattoo started.

"Unnecessary, how?" you asked with a hint of edge to your voice, which quickly faded as you felt his thumb on your skin. A shiver ran through your body.

"Death is a constant, something you can never avoid. It seems senseless to remind yourself of something inevitable," he said softly, his thumb running in small circles on your skin. He knew his touch was making you shiver, and he was enjoying every second of it.

"Or perhaps it is a way to ensure one is never foolish enough to forget." You pressed your lips together to prevent a sigh of pleasure from escaping you. You did not know why you did it. Perhaps you were embarrassed by how little it took for him to make you produce such a sound. Nevertheless, you turned your head in his direction so that you could look into his eyes, your lips mere inches apart.

“I suppose that depends on whether one is afraid of death,” he whispered, his voice laced with a deep, sensuous tone. Briefly, you saw his eyes drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. 

“Well, I am not,” you said, just before pressing your lips to his softly, your hand burying itself in his neatly brushed back hair. You felt him respond almost immediately, gently trapping your bottom lip between his teeth, which made you moan against his lips. 

Not breaking the kiss, you turned to face him, hand wandering down his face until you rested it on his shoulder. He had now taken the lead, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place as he deepened the kiss and you parted your lips in response. 

You could still taste the wine on his lips, the bitter-sweetness having an almost intoxicating effect on you as you pulled him closer to you by the shoulder. It was then that he dared to be a bit rougher, pushing you against the wall with the painting hanging just above your head. He had grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking it back, though with a certain gentleness as if you could break in his embrace any second. He pressed kisses on your now exposed neck. You gasped when he bit you, sure it would leave a mark tomorrow. 

“Perhaps, we should continue this elsewhere,” Hannibal whispered against your neck with a raspy voice. You searched his gaze, smiling once your eyes locked. 

“Lead the way.”

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry I'm setting off, but not without my muse

[mynameisjag]

For anonymous: Prompt: Nicepool crushing hard on Weapon X.

Author's Note: If given the chance, I will write Logan as the embodiment of a feral cat unless specifically told not to.

-

The usual thing about the TVA force hiring Deadpool and Wolverine to help handle cross universe dilemmas happens. Which was usually solved with a good fight, quips, and hauling their blood covered bodies back home for a greasy dinner.

Handling the situation with words…was abit more…problematic…

No one wanted to get near Weapon X to demand the variant go home and Deadpool, well, he had his own issues with his variant.

“The forces of fanfiction are against me, why are you fucking here?!”

“Good to see you too buddy!”

“Fucking how!”

Nicepool just shrugged and did a little wave over at Logan, who waved lightly back, “The forces of the multiverse are a mystery, death and life is at it’s own whimsy command. Much like love.”, and the man was now dreamily sighing and staring lovingly at the pissed off Wolverine variant.

Who was currently distracted by Wade’s Logan.

Logan was steadily just watching the other black clad mutant circle around him, both bristling.

Wade ignored that whole situation, they could take care of themselves like the big girls they are.

“You can not “Pretty Woman” this situation, Miss Lola over there is a man eater in the way Hannibal Lector is.”

“Oh, their name is Lola? That’s so pretty…Lola…”

“Is this what everyone back home feels like dealing with me, shit, I’m going to have to some apology letters or flowers when we get back home.”

“I should get them some flowers, what do you think they’re favorite is?”

“Lily’s, like the ones they use at funerals because that’s what is going to happen.”

Both Wolverines were on all fours and doing great imitations of cats now, hissing and teeth baring included.

“Awe, they are making friends!”, Nicepool clasped his hands in front of himself, sighing deeply again.

“Just fucking stick your dick in a trash compactor, it would end the same!”

“I can give them a better life, I can save them from the streets, I can be their hero.”, there seemed to be actual anime sparkles around the man…Wade waved it all away like a bad fart.

“Lola” was now purring and rubbing up against Logan, both chittering away like the ferret cousins they were.

Deadpool was just staring at his variant, his face being covered did not deter the aura of his annoyance being projected full force at the other, too bad Nicepool paid absolutely no attention to the waves of hatred sent his way, “You know what “Mr. Salt is too spicy for me”, go on, go confess your love,” he dramatically pointed over to the Wolverines, “go on, go-wait, where’s the other one?”

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, “He left.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he went home.”, he pointed at one of the doorways usually made from the TVA for dimensional travel, “I think he wants me to follow him.”

“Nope, I kidnapped you fair and square, we have a dog and rent together now, so you are not going anywhere. I’ve gotten too used to stealing your body heat at night. I’ve got no body hair to keep me warm, Lo, you’ve got too much, it’s a perfect balance, we can’t mess with the balance.”

Nicepool took a deep loud breath, interrupting the other two as he placed his hand on Wade’s shoulder, who just shrugged it off, “I know what I should do now, wish me luck,” he then turned and went through the gateway like a soldier on a mission, the entryway closing behind him in a zip of light.

“Wow,” Deadpool clapped his hands together once, “he is going to be murdered. Violently. Lola is going to use his thighs and squeeze his head like a watermelon in absolute viscous glee…I’m sorta jealous that’s how that cheery fuck will go out this time,” he turned toward his partner, “will you-“

“-I’m not getting your rotted out brain shit all over my crotch.”

“Fucking damn it!”

-Lola comes from the lyrics, “Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl.”

[hannibalcatharsis-zero]

When fanfiction is better than many published books

Aka, the small post I’ve been wanting to write about Shingeki no Kyojin fanfic “Dresden” by @hedera-helixwriteseruri 

Yes, small (well I fucking tried). I write essays but will try to keep this as straight to the point that I want to send across.

Although I assume there’s few people who like Eruri that don’t know this fic (and those who know but haven’t read yet, please), I actually want to recommend this to readers in general. Fans of other pairings, fans of other anime and manga, fans of reading. And the reason for this is in the title.

Dresden is an historical AU set in World War II. If you had absolutely no idea what Shingeki no Kyojin was, who Levi Erwin Isabel Farlan anyone else was, you’d experience this novel with the same pleasure - granted, probably not as much pleasure as a fan, because we get to see the wonderful in canon characterizations, but don’t let me digress. WWII stories are complicated and many people don’t like them, but when they are good, they’re memorable.

Finding an author that takes time and care to do research without spoon-feeding this information to the reader is hard to come by. To construct this complex story, to have these interactions between these characters, to write about such a dark and complicated time of Human History and to write about any form of war and the greyscale of human nature are all attributes I personally have to give praise to, and all examples portrayed in great quality of writing in Dresden. The descriptions in this, both surroundings, settings and most of all emotions and human interactions, are hard for me to put into words.

Yes, it’s a very long novel. Yes, it does feature romance between two men (and man, thank goodness it’s good romance. I’m sorry but I have to add this tiny really personal remark - this is good romance to me, a relationship that grows and evolves, starts off as strangers and rather complicated ones at that, rather than a *holy shit he’s hot I’ll ignore all common sense just cause wow I’m in love right now without knowing a single bit about this person wow* type of trope, thank fcking goodness for careful writing and in my opinion realism)  YES it’s fucking beautiful and emotionally draining and rewarding reading.

That’s what I wanted to say.

Here’s an amazing playlist made by @smooshieboosh you can listen on 8tracks or kaseta and see the gorgeous edit. (I hope it’s alright to post it here) Perfect soundtrack/ambience for Dresden.

Here’s some fanart too around this tag! and insight from the author too.

TL DR / So the whole point is to say: Dresden is an amazing novel, a memorable historical fiction book that’d be a wonderful read if you bought it from a bookstore and you’d LEARN STUFF too, history and writing skills alike.

 But that it also so happens to be a Shingeki no Kyojin fanfiction. Just our luck.

And you’ll hardly regret it if you invest your time reading. It’s wonderful.

So yet again thanks to @hedera-helixwriteseruri and @maavalas

[slashyrogue]

AU-gust Day 4 Alt: Soulmate

They said to find your soulmate was the most amazing experience a person could have. That your whole body explodes with wonder, happiness, and life just looking into their eyes. 

Hannibal’s parents were soulmates, met in high school and married just out of college. He’d watched them, calculating every touch, and their soulmarks they always touched before leaving to be ‘alone.’ 

He knew there were some who never found their soulmate. 

It was a very rare phenomenon. 

Which was why when he found his he’d been a bit…disappointed. 

Talia Trent was beautiful, no doubt, and her mark was identical to his. Her white blonde hair and sparkling green eyes stared at him in wonder. He’d frozen as she came up to him, her excitement catching the eyes of those around them at the symphony, and when she reached out to touch he’d almost recoiled. 

The crowd clapped, patting them on the backs, and Talia had spoken all night words he’d barely listened to. 

This was his forever person? 

It didn’t seem quite right. 

He’d gone to bed that night with a sigh, promising Talia he’d call her tomorrow, and woke to head right for Jack Crawford’s office. He’d asked him to look into someone, a consultant who struggled with empathetic issues while looking into murder cases, and he was eager to meet his patient. 

Hannibal barely thought of Talia the next morning, more eager to meet Will Graham. 

The moment he turned and saw Will Graham his heart leapt. 

This. 

This was what he’d been supposed to feel. His body felt warm, almost hot, and he desperately wanted to look under Will Graham’s forearm to see his soulmate mark. 

There had to be a mistake. 

This was his soulmate. 

He knew it more than anything. 

Hannibal couldn’t help himself from following when Will angrily left, ignoring Jack’s voice calling out to him, and found Will by the elevator. 

“I’m not dealing with…all this,” Will said, sneering at him, “I can’t believe…” 

“Do you have a soulmark?”

Will blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Please, I…do you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Hannibal felt as if his heart shattered. “I…I see.” 

“Do you?” Will asked, frowning. 

“I…yes,” he said, “I just…I met my soulmate recently.” 

“Oh.” 

“She…she’s…” 

Will sighed. “Dr. Lecter, I have to go.”

“Of course.” 

Hannibal had stared at Will as he stepped into the elevator, his body still burning, and resisted the urge to join him. There had to be a mistake. 

There just had to be. 

The doors closed and he’d taken the stairs, hardly paying attention, just as his cellular phone rang. 

“Yes?”

“Hannibal?” Talia’s voice rang out from the phone, making him sneer. 

“You did call my phone, Talia.” 

“Oh, yes, I…I was just…you said you’d call.” 

“I have a job, Talia, and I…I’m currently occupied doing it. I’ll call you when I can.” 

“Hannibal, wai…” 

He ended the call, angrier than ever, and by the time he got to the bottom floor of the building his body felt normal again. Hannibal went home, bereft, and made a set of cupcakes. 

Cupcakes were not his food of choice, not at all, and he knew when he was done that he’d made them for Will. Will, who he knew not at all, and currently despised him. 

Hannibal frowned, staring at the cupcakes, and picked up his phone. 

“Yeah?” Jack answered, sounding as if he’d rather do anything but. 

“Jack?” 

“Dr. Lecter?” Jack asked, “Oh, sorry I didn’t look at the name. I’m in the middle of heading out to view a body so…”

“Your killer has struck again?”

“Yes.”

“May I be of service?” 

“I don’t know, Will really didn’t seem too keen on your help. I want him to be happy, Dr. Lecter.”

“Please, I…I want to make it up to him. Do you know his address?”

“I…no but he’ll be at the crime scene.”

“May I be there as well?” 

Jack hesitated. “I…I guess one more person wouldn’t hurt.” 

He gave Hannibal the directions, and he smiled ending the call. Hannibal then spent twenty minutes decorating the cupcakes, putting them in a container, and heading out. 

Will was sitting on the edge of a car when he pulled up to the scene, seemingly lost in thought, and he walked over carrying his gift. 

“Hello again.”

He looked up at him. “Jack didn’t tell me I was going to be psychoanalyzed again today.” 

Hannibal held out the cupcakes. “I came to apologize, I…I was unaware you did not consent to being my patient.” 

“Jack didn’t tell you?” 

“No, he did not.”

Will stared at the cakes, and Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat when he smiled while taking one. 

“This is the worst thing I could be doing,” he said, taking a bite, “But I’m hungry as hell.” 

“I’m glad to be of service.”

They shared another smile, and Hannibal felt as if his life began anew. 

Talia may share his mark, but Will…Will was his soulmate. 

All he had to do was figure out why.

[k-s-morgan]

The Evolution of Will Graham’s Darkness

This meta is mostly written for new viewers who find themselves confused by Will as a character. I’ll incorporate some bits of analysis I’ve written before into it. Let’s start with a thesis of a sort: Will is a dark character who had this darkness from the very start, even before his encounter with Hannibal: he was terrified and disgusted with it, but after meeting Hannibal, slowly, he began to embrace himself, getting bolder and bolder in his violence.

**Before the show**  

Will initially tried to get into the FBI but he didn’t pass the tests. It’s revealed in E1 of S1 when he’s ambushed by Beverly.

Beverly: Never been an F.B.I. Agent?

Will: Strict screening procedures.

Beverly: Detects instability. You’re unstable?

At the same time, Will became a police officer, working in the Homicide department. These decisions show that he's been stubbornly and rather hopelessly drawn to darkness, seeking ways to interact with it while remaining on the side of law. However, he had to leave the police, too, because he was incapable of pulling the trigger even when his life depended on it. He preferred to allow himself to get stabbed rather than to fight back and kill someone, which points to him having very serious issues with his violence. He knew that once the door in him opens, it might not close again, that if he kills or harms another person, he might be unable to stop (this is proven when he shoots Hobbs and then immediately tries to kill Stammets).

And still, Will chooses to stay close to darkness, only in safer ways. He becomes a teacher in the FBI Academy, letting himself delve into the ugliest cases from a theoretical perspective. This constant pull and struggle leave Will lonely and hostile to everyone. He avoids eye contact with people; Jack’s first impression of him was that he’s rude and arrogant (when they clashed about the name of the museum). Will is rude and haughty with his students, too – but more about it later. Alana refuses to stay alone in the room with him, thinking his instability is too fascinating and she might want to dissect it. Will has no friends; he lives in isolation with his dogs, someone who would never judge him. There are a lot of rumors about him going around, and most people don’t like him (based on Price’s and Zeller’s initial reactions as well as their later conversations on this topic). Will is lonely and pretty miserable.

S1

The first real words we hear from Will are:

Will: Everyone has thought about killing someone.

It is very demonstrative of his personality. We also get evidence right here that Will is drawn to darkness primarily, not to the idea of saving lives (although the latter helps him feel better about his urges). He delves into the minds of killers even when he isn’t involved in the investigation. He had no other reason to explore the Marlows’ murder like he did at the start of the episode, when he was simply teaching students. It’s proof that he willingly craves contact with violent and disturbed minds — it’s not like he actually tries to solve this case for real, he just imagined himself there.

Will’s first conversation with Hannibal speaks volumes about who he is — because Hannibal senses it seconds after meeting him.

Hannibal: Do you have trouble with taste?

Will: My thoughts are often not tasty.

Hannibal: Nor mine. No effective barriers.

Will: I make forts.

This exchange has Will confess that his thoughts are often dark and that he dislikes it. To hold this darkness at bay, he literally builds forts around it, not letting it spread to other parts of his mind.

Hannibal: Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.

Hannibal almost directly calls Will out on his struggle with his inner darkness. He’s saying that he sees it, that he knows it’s there, in Will, in his mind, and Will is very disturbed by this — because Hannibal is right. The script even explicitly backs it up:

Hannibal has just described Will Graham to a letter.

Will is immediately wary and hostile, and he ends the conversation with snappy,

Will: Please don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.

What does it mean? It’s simple: Will assumes that Hannibal is a typical psychiatrist who wants to dissect him, so he says that once it happens, Hannibal won’t like what he finds (darkness and ugliness Will carries inside).

His hostility to Hannibal lasts up until the moment when Hannibal acknowledges him as a predator and shows approval of it. This is how it happens: Hannibal tries to subtly tell him that it’s all right to be who he is, hinting that they are the same.

Hannibal: You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.

He’s obviously talking about their darkness, but Will doesn’t react, so Hannibal continues. He tells him that Jack views him as a fragile tea cup, and Will genuinely laughs, amused by this (which is also very telling). Then Hannibal says:

Hannibal: [I see you as the] mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.

Will grows quiet after this, and then his interactions with Hannibal become much more relaxed. Will takes him to search the property and even bothers to explain how they reached their conclusions and what they are about to do. Him grumbling, “What are you smiling at?” shows a much higher level of familiarity they now share. Something in Hannibal’s words made Will open up a bit, and everything indicates that it’s the acknowledgement of his predatory nature that played its part in it.

Will kills Hobbs by shooting him 10 times. This is his first kill, one he’s been trying to avoid for so long, ever since his police work. It’s not surprising that Hobbs haunts him later because his death became a breaking point for Will. A door did open in him, and he was unable to close it again.

In E2, Will is distraught. But first, we get a glimpse into how rude and insensitive he generally is. Look at how he treats his students. He tersely thanks them for clapping and then snaps for them to stop. He devises a little malicious test for them.

Will: It’s [Hobbs’] resignation letter. Anybody see the clue?

A few hands go into the air. Will ignores them.

Will: There isn’t one.

He looks so long-suffering with them, as if they are idiots. The fact that he asks a question, waits for people to think and raise their hands, and only then he tells them there is actually no answer is petty at best. He also admits to Jack that he doesn’t consider lessons socialization because he doesn’t have to actually talk to students, he talks at them. Not good for a teacher or even for a person who works with other people like this.

But Will has more serious problems. He keeps imagining Hobbs, and after his messy kill, Jack becomes worried about him. He makes Will go visit Hannibal for one-time evaluation. Will is naturally not fond of the idea, but he and Hannibal have a pretty personal talk. Hannibal ends it with an even more explicit hint at Will’s own darkness:

Hannibal: And Will… the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.

Hannibal is talking about Will’s personal brand of violence again. He’s trying to tell him that it’s fine to be a murderer in every way he can, that Will’s darkness might be the best part of him. He also gives him a fake official approval to work in the field, showing that Will can trust him. But their obligatory session ends and Will leaves — only to return after he tries to kill Stammets and misses (their talk about it was cut from the episode but is echoed in the conversation below).

Hannibal: [You are here to] prove that sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail, not killing her dad.

Will: I didn't feel a sprig of zest when I shot Eldon Stammets.

Hannibal: You didn't kill Eldon Stammets.

Will: I thought about it. I'm still not entirely sure that wasn't my intention when pulling the trigger.

This is a huge evidence of Will struggling with his violence. It proves that he had it before becoming actively involved with Hannibal — all Hannibal did was recognize it and coax it to come to the surface. Will has always been like this, and after finally killing a person, he found himself unable to stop because he liked the feeling too much.

Hannibal: It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?*

Will: I liked killing Hobbs.

Hannibal is pleased to receive the confirmation of what he sensed in Will. Seeing that Will is terrified about his own confession, he comforts him.

Hannibal: Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?

Let’s be honest, every sane person would have run for the hills after hearing this. Hannibal literally justifies the fact that Will liked murder by drawing a parallel with God. That’s such a narcissistic, serial killer thing to do, and yet Will welcomes it with open arms. He’s happy to find someone who doesn’t think he’s a monster — he’s relieved to be able to finally discuss his darkest impulses freely. This is the reason why Will started coming back to see Hannibal on a constant basis, to Jack’s surprise.

The next huge proof of Will’s ever-present darkness is found in E5 (actually, every episode has some bits, but I’ll cover only the major ones). The Angel Maker, a killer-of-the-week, has a unique gift of being able to see if a person is good or evil. First, Hannibal tries to tell Will that he doesn’t have to self-destruct because of his darkness like he’s been doing.

Hannibal: Angel Maker will be destroyed by what’s happening inside his head. You don’t have to be.

When Angel Maker dies, Will suddenly sees himself through his eyes. And he sees a demon. He sees himself as evil. It proves that Will’s darkness is inherent since he hasn’t done anything really bad at this point. It also proves that he’s perfectly aware of who he is and the darkness he has. He has the following conversation with the imagined Angel Maker.

Angel Maker: I see what you are.

Will: What do you see?

Angel Maker: Inside. I can bring it out of you.

Will: Not all the way out.

So, Will acknowledges that his darkness is rooted so deeply inside him, it can’t even be extracted fully. It’s an inseparable part of him.

Will is shown admiring the Ripper’s murders, calling them elegant and referring to them as art. Meanwhile, he’s trying to half-heartedly flirt with Alana, but they don’t have a meaningful connection because Will can’t be happy with a person who doesn’t know him. He wants to be normal but he just isn’t. If you’re interested in my opinion about their relationship, it’s here.

Will’s next morally gray action happens when he agrees to cover murder for Hannibal and Abigail in E9. He agrees quickly and then he’s shown being fiercely devoted to it. He doesn’t seem to care that Abigail killed someone much — in fact, he basically threatens Freddie, another person who sees him for who he is, to make her write a book favorable toward Abigail.

In E13, Hannibal says what he wants from Will directly.

Hannibal: If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated them as the inspirations they are, you’d become someone other than yourself.

Will remembers this phrase (he later throws it back into Hannibal’s face), but for now, he’s too angry and bitter to listen.

S2

Will is healthy again and he struggles with realization that Hannibal betrayed him. He starts a dark game of his own: he pretends he’s vulnerable, moving Alana to tears in the process, and asks Hannibal for help. He’s still drawn to him, but he also wants to take him down — for himself and for Abigail.

In E1, Hannibal tells Will the purpose of all their past meetings, how they were aimed at helping Will Become.

Hannibal: Our conversations, Will, were only ever about you opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.

Alana tries to hypnotize Will to help him remember what happened.

Alana: Imagine yourself in a safe and relaxing place... safe and secure here, safe to relax completely...

What does Will imagine? He sees Hannibal’s room and them sitting at the murder table together. He’s freaked out by it, but it proves how twisted his perception is: regardless of the betrayal, a part of him understands that Hannibal is the only person who’s ready to accept him, and he feels safe with him. @bloodsmile wrote a great meta about it here.

Will coldly manipulates Beverly, refusing to help her save lives unless she helps him as well. In E5, he engages in yet another manipulation. He gets Matthew Brown to try to kill Hannibal. This is the first premeditated murder attempt Will is responsible for. That is why we see him growing horns, that is why he sees a sink full of blood — his darkness starts progressing in noticeable ways. By E7, Will has figured out that Hannibal really did everything to open his eyes to the truth of who he is and that he wants to be his friend, but as he still wants revenge, he decides to honey-trap him with Jack.

In E8, Will is dealing with his complex feelings for Hannibal and explores his darkness further. He admits that Hannibal made him feel less alone and that he doesn’t hate him, no matter what; that he has no idea what he feels for him. Then Will tries to kill Ingram in cold blood as revenge for Peter. He asks him to pick up the hammer, indicating that he plans for the murder to look like self-defense. Hannibal tries to talk him out of it, but Will still pulls the trigger. It’s by a miraculous accident that Hannibal manages to stop him. This is the second conscious murder attempt by Will.

In E9, Will has a dream about Hannibal, love, and darkness.

Dream Hannibal: Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?

Meaning: Will is fully aware of both the presence of this monster inside him and his attempts to ignore it since this is his dream.

Dream Hannibal: No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.

So, a part of Will realizes that Hannibal loves him, and that he really wants him to Become, to realize all his potential.

Will is shown as feeling bitter at Hannibal for not letting him kill Ingram.

Will: I regret what I did in the stables.

Hannibal (thinking Will means murder attempt): Then you were lucky I was there.

Will: Being lucky isn't the same as making a mistake. Mistake was allowing you to stop me.

Hannibal: So it’s not pulling the trigger that you regret. It’s not pulling it effectively.

Will: That would be more accurate.

Hannibal: I want you to close your eyes, Will, and imagine a version of events you wouldn't have regretted.

Will obeys, and he sees himself murdering Ingram. It proves that every word he says to Hannibal is true — he really does regret not killing him. But there is an even creepier dialogue ahead.

Hannibal: What did you see?

Will: A missed opportunity… to feel like I felt when I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. To feel like I felt when I thought I killed you … a quiet sense of power.

This is disturbing. It proves once again that Will isn’t just a righteous killer, he enjoys the act of murder itself, and like many serial killers, he craves the feeling of power that comes with it.

He and Hannibal talk about the intimacy of murder, how Will was hiding behind a gun when he tried to kill Hannibal back in E5. Will takes note of it. Hannibal, remembering Will’s complaint about a missed opportunity, sends Randall to him as a gift. When Randall breaks into Will’s house, Will is shown thinking and then deliberately throwing the gun away. He doesn’t want to hide this time — he attacks Randall with his bare hands. This isn’t about self-defense or justice, this is about Will trying to experience a more intimate kind of murder. He beats Randall up until he’s incapacitated and then he snaps his neck, even though there was no reason to do it. He could easily call Jack and have Randall arrested at this point (since he was barely conscious and not fighting back). This could help him in his plan to catch Hannibal. But Will isn’t particularly concerned about it, he’s more interested in realizing his darkness.

He takes the body to Hannibal. This moment got deleted, but Will actually had to stick a note to it:

A piece of paper is pinned to his chest. On it is written: "Return to Sender."

Which excellently shows Will’s dark humor. He laughs with Hannibal a little as they talk about murder right above the corpse. Then Hannibal is treating his hands, and he says:

Hannibal: Stay with me.

Will: Where else would I go?

Nowhere — because Will understands that Hannibal is the only person who can understand his darkness and accept him for who he is.

Will: I've never felt more alive than when I was killing him.

This is, once again, huge. Will is a murderer who can get dangerously high on the act. The moment when he felt most alive is the moment when he took a life from another person — and he was vicious about it. Will is very, very dark in these scenes — and it’s going to get worse.

Will mutilates the body and places it in the museum. He keeps Randall’s suit in his house as a trophy, and he keeps his butchered parts of meat in his fridge. In the following discussion, Will confirms that he enjoyed doing all that. When Hannibal suggests that Randall’s killer felt disdain for him in front of Jack, Will disagrees.

Will: He isn't mocking him. This isn't disdain. He's commemorating him.

Hannibal: This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he's done.

Will: No guilt.

Then Will retreats into his mind to talk to Randall’s corpse.

Will: Hello again.

Randall: Come closer … Can you see you?

Will: Clearer and clearer.

This proves Will’s honesty in all his discussions with Hannibal. He really is exploring his violence, not just pretending to do it, coming to the realization of what kind of monster he is.

Will: You forced me to kill you.

Randall: I didn't force you to enjoy it.

This takes place in Will’s head, so every word is genuine.

Will: I gave you what you want. This is who you are. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.

Randall: This is my becoming. And yours.

Will shakes his head, this is not his becoming.

Will: This is my design.

So, what do we have here? Will calls murder, mutilation, and storage of Randall’s meat his design. It’s not his Becoming, not yet, Will isn’t ready to fully embrace himself, but this is a start. He understands his design now.

In the same E10, Will attacks Freddie when she discovered his trophies. We know he didn’t kill her, but would he have done it if she hadn’t called Jack? We can only guess. Will sure took his chance to be creepy and physically violent with her. At the end of the episode, he brought Randall’s meat to Hannibal and they cooked as well as ate it together. This was not about getting Hannibal to trust him. Hannibal already did, especially after thinking Will killed Freddie, so there was simply no need for it. Bryan Fuller confirmed Jack had no idea this happened, so Will was acting on his own, out of his genuine curiosity. This is where he willingly became a cannibal.

In E11, Will dreams of burning fake Freddie and hears himself screaming. It’s easy to interpret this dream: he feels guilty for betraying Hannibal. Alana comes by and Will is being deliberately creepy again. He gives her a gun for protection, but later, it almost becomes her undoing. Will is equally creepy during the funeral. He enjoys being dark, and he feels free to act like this because technically, he has an excuse.

In E12, Will is freshly angry at Hannibal. He fantasizes about murdering Hannibal in the most violent way possible. Then he makes three deals. The first one is with Mason: they agree to kill Hannibal together. The second one is with Hannibal: they tentatively agree to target Mason together. The third one is with Jack: they agree that when Hannibal tries to kill Mason, Will is going to arrest him. Will goes with his and Mason’s plan at first. Hannibal is kidnapped and presented in front of Will just like in his fantasy. But instead of acting on it, Will chooses Hannibal and frees him, getting all Mason’s people killed in the process. Later, he watches Hannibal mutilate Mason, approach him to kill him, and snap his neck. He does nothing: he ignores his deal with Jack completely and covers for Hannibal. Yet another proof that Will is siding with Hannibal more and more, and that his initial honey-trapping plan is almost a formality at this point. At the end of the episode, Will offers Hannibal to kill Jack.

In E13, Hannibal and Will are getting ready to kill Jack while Will and Jack are getting ready to arrest Hannibal. Will doesn’t seem to know on whose side he is until the end. At the same time, he lies to Jack about where the attack is supposed to take place. He helps Hannibal burn all evidence, even though he could have easily preserved some of it to use it later. He burns the evidence related to himself as well. Will doesn’t take Hannibal’s chance to run away before dinner, but he does hesitate and wonder about it. When the final moment comes, he calls Hannibal to warn him — he chooses him above everyone. Justice for Abigail, justice for himself, the desire to save other people — none of it matters to Will now. He made his choice, he chose his side, but he did it too late. When he goes to Hannibal’s house, Alana tells him that Jack is still inside, and Will takes out his gun. He doesn’t even try to point it at Hannibal. When Hannibal accuses him of lying, Will implies that he’s wrong.

Hannibal: I gave you a rare gift… But you didn't want it.

Will isn't so definitive.

Will: Didn't I?

Because yes, Will wanted it. He was ready to accept it. But he did so too late.

S3

Will’s thoughts are only about Hannibal and Abigail. He breaks into Hannibal’s empty house and sits there in silence. When Alana comes to find him and tries to talk to him, he coldly sends her away. He’s repairing a boat to go after Hannibal. When Jack comes to him to ask about his motivations, Will is very open — he doesn’t care about hiding any more.

Jack: Do you remember when you decided to call Hannibal?

Will: I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice.

Jack: You told him we knew.

Will: I told him to leave. Because I wanted him to run.

Jack: Why?

Will: Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.

In Italy, Will is full of regret over his actions. He blames himself for what happened, admonishes himself for lying to Hannibal. E2 shows his state of mind perfectly – Hannibal is his everything and he admits he wants to be with him. He doesn’t care about justice at all.

Will: I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I would be without him … He left [me] his broken heart. He misses [me]. [I] still want to go to him? Yes.

He admires the corpse twisted into a heart, touching it and then lying at the place where it was located. He intimidates Pazzi who tries to talk sense into him and indicates that he’s not here to catch Hannibal.

Will: You couldn't catch him when he was just a kid, what makes you think you're going to catch him now?

Pazzi: You.

A small, polite scoff from Will, unable to take his eyes off the small stairwell to the catacombs.

Will: What makes you think I want to catch him?

Later:

Will: You shouldn't be down here alone.

Pazzi: I’m not alone. I'm with you.

Will: You don’t know whose side I’m on.

Pazzi stares at Will, cautious.

Pazzi: What are you going to do when you find him? Your Il Mostro?

Will: I'm curious about that myself.

Pazzi: You're already dead, aren't you?

Other people realize how dark Will is, too.

Then we move toward Will’s trip to Lithuania in E3. His reverent attitude to Hannibal begins to change once he meets Chiyoh, but he admits the following:

Will: I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.

Will learns that Chiyoh has been staying here for all these years because she doesn’t want to kill another person. He notes that they can’t be sure whether her prisoner really killed Mischa because Hannibal is the only person who knows the truth. Despite all this, Will sets Chiyoh up to kill or be killed, releasing her prisoner secretly. Chiyoh rightfully accuses him of it:

Chiyoh: You said Hannibal was curious if I would kill. You were curious, too.

He was, if he is honest with himself.

What Will did was cruel and violent. Hannibal just left Chiyoh be, he openly and boldly risked her life, not caring about her safety or about whether her tortured prisoner deserves this. Will stays behind to make the body into art in Hannibal’s style, in accordance with his own design from when he killed Randall. This Will is dark and confident, and very in touch with his dark side. He dreams of killing Chiyoh and keeps asking her whether she saw what a monster she was, unable to accept the idea that only he has real darkness while Chiyoh doesn’t and that murder didn’t make her feel good. He repeats to Jack that a part of him will always want to be with Hannibal. Sadly, he then sees Bedelia as his replacement, grows even bitterer, and tries to attack Hannibal with the knife.

In E7, Will bites into Cordell’s cheek and tears a piece of meat out of it. Then he looks at Hannibal to see his reaction, waiting for his pride. He shows zero reaction to the news that Jack is alive — he doesn’t care about it. He rebukes Alana and shows that he still sees himself and Hannibal as a team, referring to them as “we”.

Will: You helped Mason Verger find us.

Alana: I helped Mason find Hannibal. We followed Bâtard-Montrachet when we should have just followed you.

Will: Almost as ugly as what Mason wants to do to us is the fact that he can do it with the tacit agreement of people sworn to uphold the law.

Alana: I was trying to get to Hannibal before you. I knew you couldn't stop yourself. So I had to try.

Will: By facilitating torture and death.

Alana: I can abide the thought of Hannibal tortured, not necessarily to death. I'd say he has it coming, wouldn't you? Or maybe you wouldn't.

Alana can no longer deny Will’s twisted morals. Will tries to push Alana to a darker side, manipulating her into releasing Hannibal, by telling her almost exactly what he and Hannibal were discussing in S2.

Will: Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood. By your own hand or someone else's.

After the escape, Hannibal says the words that define Will perfectly:

Hannibal: You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.

This is exactly what Will does — he acts on his darkness again and again, but then he gets scared and makes two steps back. He’s not ready to fully let go of the idea of a normal life yet.

Will sends Hannibal away. When Jack arrives, Will doesn’t even bother to pretend he tried to arrest him — he just says that Hannibal is gone. Jack clearly has zero trust in him at this point since he sends people to break into Will’s house without asking his permission. Will has completely discredited himself, proving himself as someone dark and twisted.

But Hannibal gives himself up and 3 years pass. After the epic Europe failure and his new insecurities, Will tries to retreat again. He decides to try being normal one more time, despite his previous failures at suppressing his darkness and his feelings for Hannibal. So he marries Molly, and it goes as well as expected. Their relationship is shown as weak from the start. The first time we see them, they are apart: Molly and Walter have gone fishing, which is what Will loves and dreamed of sharing with Abigail, yet he stays behind. He didn't let go of the past. He subtly manipulates Jack into talking Molly into urging him to come join the investigation — he deliberately leaves them alone under a weak excuse, knowing very well what Jack is about to do. Will is bored with his normal life and he misses Hannibal, even if he isn’t ready to fully admit it yet.

His treatment of Molly deserves a separate mention: this is the woman he lies to through his teeth, the woman whose “I love you” he doesn’t bother to return and who he doesn’t want to interact with the second she raises the topic he finds personally uncomfortable, someone he leaves her at the first opportunity. He never told her the truth about himself. The way Molly tries to joke about him having a criminal mind proves that she knows nothing of Will's dark struggles, and the way Will immediately shuts down demonstrates their incompatibility and his unwillingness to be honest and open with her.

On the very first day, Will demands to see Hannibal, lying about having to restore his mindset. We know it’s a lie because we’ve just seen him reconstruct Francis’ murder perfectly. He just wanted to see him because he missed him, and both Hannibal and later Bedelia call him out on it.

E9:

Hannibal: You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself?

E10:

Bedelia: Have you been to see him?

Will: Yes.

Bedelia: Haven't learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?

This is what Hannibal says about Will’s marriage — and another reference to his darkness:

Hannibal: How did you choose yours? Readymade wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter – (off his look) – a stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can’t pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.

This is very accurate and Will doesn’t bother to deny it. He’s more concerned about stalking Bedelia and asking her about her relationship with Hannibal than anything else. He makes zero efforts to preserve his family, which shows how irrelevant they are to him. This makes him a very cold and cruel person. Also, the way he acts with Bedelia is very different from how he acts with others. With her, he can be himself. He’s dark, relatively confident, and dangerous — which is likely why he keeps coming back to her. With others, he still puts on a rather meek mask.

There is quite a solid idea that a part of Will knew Hannibal might target Molly and Walter and send Francis after them (it’s up to interpretation, though). Hannibal gives Will very clear hints.

Will: Tell me who [the killer] is.

Hannibal: I don’t know who he is. When you close your eyes, Will... is that your family you see?

[Will scoffs at this.]

Will: Do you know who they are?

Hannibal: Yes. 

Will: And you're willing to let them die.

Hannibal: They're not my family, Will. And I'm not letting them die. You are.

These are huge hints, and since Will is supposed to be an excellent profiler — more than that, a profiler who understands Hannibal intimately, it’s strange that he didn’t even suspect anything. Maybe a part of him subconsciously wanted proof that Hannibal is in love with him — since he goes to Bedelia with his question right after the attack. Maybe he wanted reassurance that the passion is still there. Maybe he even wanted an excuse to abandon Molly and Walter (and he does it very easily an episode later).

Ultimately, Will seems genuinely infuriated by the attack, but it’s possible that “the enemy inside him” secretly hoped for such outcome. He spends about a minute being truly angry at Hannibal — then he becomes concerned that he’s competing with Francis for Hannibal’s attention, which underlines the irrelevance of his family to him once more. When talking to Walter, Will doesn’t try to hug him or actually comfort him. They are like strangers, and Will shows resentment about having to explain some facts about himself to Walter later.

Will: He read about me in a Freddie Lounds article. I had to justify myself to an eleven year old.

Not “to my son”, but an indifferent and impersonal “11 year old”. Another reminder that Will is a cold person.

This attack made Will realize Hannibal is in love with him, and it finally started the process of his Becoming. Will is shown as full of resentment toward Jack and Alana. He callously sets up Chilton, an innocent person, for torture and death in E12. He explicitly says that he did it deliberately and doesn’t regret it.

Will: Damn if I'll feel … The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished. Chilton languished unrecognized until Hannibal the Cannibal. He wanted the world to know his face.

Bedelia: Now he doesn't have one.

At first, Will makes a half-hearted attempt at denial.

Will: I put my hand on his shoulder for authenticity.

Bedelia: To establish he really told you those insults about the Dragon? Or had you wanted to put Dr. Chilton at risk? Just a little?

Will: I wonder.

Bedelia: Do you really have to wonder?

Will: No.

Bedelia: You were curious what would happen, that's apparent. Is this what you expected?

Will sounds very ironic.

Will: I can't say I'm surprised.

Bedelia: Then you may as well have struck the match. That's participation. Hannibal Lecter does indeed have agency in the world. He has you.

Considering the timing, Chilton looks like Will’s courtship gift to Hannibal. This is the second time Will harms an innocent person, which makes him far darker than a righteous killer should be. And why? Just because. His darkness is really evolving.

When Will visits Chilton with Jack, he openly lies to him (Jack) and tells him Hannibal is responsible for what happened.

In E13, Will stages another deadly game. He plots with Francis to break Hannibal free — the immediacy of his plan makes it look like Will has already been thinking about it before. He lies to Jack and Alana. He hides the fact that Francis is alive from them, and when they discover it by themselves, he offers a plan: to use Hannibal as a bait and stage his escape. Jack begins to plan everything. If Will had actually followed this plan, it would have gotten Hannibal and Francis killed. But Will doesn’t care about justice — he wants Hannibal free and he doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. He shares his true intentions with Bedelia and threatens her.

Will: I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.

Bedelia studies Will. Sensing where he might be going. Hoping she is wrong. A flicker of alarm plays in her eyes.

Bedelia: Can't live with him. Can't live without him. Is that what this is?

Will: I guess… this is my Becoming . I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu … Ready or not… here he comes.

This is a crucial moment because while in S2, Will called Randall’s murder his design, now he’s finally Becoming. It’s the climax of everything. He leaks info about Hannibal’s transfer to Francis (who, if you recall, has attacked Will’s wife and her son). He gets many officers murdered by proxy; he sets up Jack and destroys him professionally again; he endangers Alana and her family as well as Molly and Walter. Without showing even an ounce of regret toward the dead officers, Will climbs out of the car. We don’t get to see it, but this is what he does according to the script:

Will takes the gun off the dead cop.

Still with no care, he watches how Hannibal throws another body out of the car and offers Will to take a seat. Will looks long-suffering and fond, even though he has just gotten about 5 people killed. He goes with Hannibal.

In the cliff house, he admits he’s not sure if he can “save” himself by killing Hannibal.

Will: I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine. 

He intends to try, though, but when Francis attacks, Will naturally chooses Hannibal because he can’t see him killed. He reaches for his gun and the fight begins. Seeing Francis strangling Hannibal, Will pulls out the knife from his body and rushes to protect him. He and Hannibal kill Francis together, and Will plunges the knife into him with obvious relish. Then he admires the way the blood looks on his hand.

Will: It really does look black in the moonlight.

This is proof of how Will remembers everything Hannibal has ever said to him. He reaches out to embrace Hannibal, finally allowing himself this weakness, finally accepting that this is who he is and that there is no way back.

Hannibal: See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.

Will: It’s beautiful.

These words have a tremendous worth. Hannibal’s dream for them, the one he has been hoping for since early S1, has just become realized, and Will found it beautiful. The script confirms it additionally:

A moment as Will considers the brutal pack hunting he shared with Hannibal Lecter. He genuinely feels it is beautiful.

Upon this realization, Will gives the fate the last chance to stop himself and Hannibal, knowing that if they live, they’ll unleash their mutual darkness on the world. He pushes them off the cliff that has been confirmed to have no rocks by Hannibal, giving them a chance to survive. And they do — and they stay together and hunt. Will threatened Bedelia with being eaten and he kept his promise. The deleted epilogue to the series shows him and Hannibal in perfect harmony with each other.

Note that this is far from the only moments and details of Will’s long Becoming. There are many more, but if I addressed them, this meta would be even longer. However, here’s a quick analysis of Will’s softer sides — because they also aren’t as simple as it might seem at first. Will seems to sympathize only with people he can relate to personally, who remind him of himself in some way, and most often, they are murderers. He’s bitter about not being able to save killer-children in E4 because like them, he struggles with understanding what family means; he feels close to Georgia because he also thinks he’s losing his mind and no one can understand him; he’s gentle with Peter because he sees him as his fragile mirror; he’s soft with Reba because like Bryan said, they are both people in love with serial killers. With everyone else, Will is indifferent or cold. These traits were less visible in S1, but after he started to Become, they began to come to the surface. His softer sides still have a degree of selfishness to them.

So, Will has always had darkness in him. He has always been a rather cold person despite his genuine struggles, confusion, and the desire to be normal. Hannibal changed his life, helping him embrace himself and find unconditional love and acceptance. Will’s journey was very long, it had many setbacks, but in the end, he made it. They both did, and now they are free to enjoy their new life together.

Tagging some old fans who might be interested! @typicalher @hannibalized @bloodsmile @victorineb @he-s-dead-jim

[igonecrazy]

Ok ok um… shoot there’s so many titles I’m intrigued about sksksksk imma try my best 😅

TAM GIMME ALL THE DEETS ON TAM

SAME FOR ALL THE LILY FICS

Car Keying?? 👀

HAPPIER 2.0????? (With a happy ending orrr??? 🥺👉👈)

Am I even allowed to ask about more than one WIP? idc idc

Yesssssssss..you're allowed to ask about them all :")

alright..so.....

TAM..The Art of Misunderstanding.. :"( the fic i was writing about the TMI gang visiting India :"( *cries in i wish you could see into my brain* this is so cute and so stupid..theres a whole scene where Magnus asks Simon about how long Jace and Alec have been together and Magnus just keeps jumping to conclusions and never letting Simon get a word in to tell him those two are brothers..and all the weird groping and smoochin (they werent actually smooching) Magnus and Clary have seen was actually them being asshole big bros and teasing Izzy and him who have just recently <insert the big relationship step that i gave them and forgor> and and and....there was this scene..where they're in a luxury train..and Alec and Jace are fighting-but-not-really-fighting where Alec calls Jace by his full name.. Jonathan Christopher Lightwood Herondale..and Magnus who was passing by their door just happens to hear it..and then he goes back to the room he is sharing with Clary and is like "OH MY GOD! Biscuit..we cant tell them we like them! They're married! *cries still in style coz its Magnus Fucking Bane*" and i have a few other ideas from when i thought this fic up :"(

Lily! My beloved series! I have two ideas in work for this and a couple more still brewing..well..1st is..Hannibal pleasuring Will in bed..when his phone notification for Abigail goes off and now he's distracted coz wtf did his daughter post now..and Hannibal is like "My Love *exasperated sigh* what at work has your attention that is more important than my tongue?" and Will is like "I swear its not work! *gets a glare* its not! its our daughter! *confused scrunch* she posted something somewhere! and i! i can bet you its about us!" they see it..and its a video of them dancing in the kitchen like Hannibal did with Bedelia in Florence..and with Lily clapping for them from her play pen..and Abigail is like "How do I date when they are just down the hallway setting insanely high standards?" AND the other idea was a pre-Lily fic about Will baby talking to his tumtum and Hannibal is like *cue serious face* "Will..my love..i fear i must say this..i feel like i should handle the discipline of our child.. *gets confused scrunch* you're very gentle with her..which i fear would only get worse once she gets here..i do love them..but i dont want our child to grow up spoiled, darling" *gets a solemn nod coz Will doesnt want that either* <cut to present day..Will just got back from work> and Hannibal is busy cooking and Lily is on a high chair and Hannibal is explaining to her what all he is doing and then Lily who has a giant cake slice in front of her goes "Pa..caa'e" and Hannibal wipes his hands and comes to hand feed her..and Will is like smiling but also "discipline her my ass" This series is a fluff fest..gosh!

Car Keying..idk if you remember it coz i might have thought of it back at glitter hand..but anyway..Alec shares an apartment with Izzy..Magnus is Izzy's bestie who keeps coming over..Alec hates the car that is always parked in his spot..because that means he would park in his neighbour's spot and his neighbour always got on his back about it..he ignores it a couple of times..notes down the plate number 3rd time..keys it a lil 4th time..makes a long scar 5th time..and 6th time he is going on a date with Magnus and they reach the parking lot(Izzy took his car today..its technically their car but..yk) and Alec is like I'm gonna smash this fuckers car! and Magnus is like where did my sweet shy Alec go? and Alec is like "Omg Magnus you're so sweet..i know i shouldnt be doing this and i wouldnt but this car brings out the worst in me" and Magnus is like darling you cant damage that precious thing..its mine.. and Alec just runs upstairs in shame..forgets the lift and literally runs :P

Happier 2.0 *cue teary eyes* Will..finds Hannibal with the help of Chiyoh who stayed back before the FBI could come for Will just in case he didnt want to be left behind..which he didnt..and Will is like "IS THIS WHAT YOUR LOVE WAS" and gosh

This is what you do? This is why you wanted me? This is why you isolated me from everyone, took away anything i dared to love, JUST SO YOU COULD LEAVE ME ALONE? ARE you that easily bored of me Hannibal Lecter?

Will-

What? You left me! YOU LEFT ME! To what? Go back to where I came from? Was i this easy to discard?

I was trying to do what’s best for you

YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT'S BEST FOR ME! STOP TRYING!

Someone gib me strength to finish them 😭😭😭😭 coz i love all my WIPs but I'm so trash at actually getting them ideas down to a docs file 😭😭

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

Bloody Mary

Warnings: Blood

Summary: You find yourself on Hannibal’s menu. Unfortunate for him that you’re not easy prey.

Characters: Hannibal + Vampire Reader (Gender Neutral)

Words: 3,537

Hannibal rested back against his kitchen counter, humming a quiet tune as he flicked through his recipe box. Whatever recipes he ultimately settled on making you into needed to be perfect. You deserve only the best recipes, and the recipes must deserve you, too. 

You and Hannibal met two weeks ago, when he accompanied Jack Crawford to your little classroom in the local college to ask about some strange symbols that were found at a recent crime scene. He was there to create an on-the-go profile of you for Jack, something that the FBI agent had started doing when some little bird whispered worrying things into his ears at night and made him paranoid that no one could be trusted.

Despite being experienced at profiling, Hannibal had great difficulty reading you. In fact, he wasn’t able to read you at all. He was too distracted by… well, you. He didn’t know if you had the same effect on Jack, but your very presence caused Hannibal’s head to spin. There was something about the way you moved, the way you talked, your scent, your smile… your eyes, god, your eyes. When you shook Hannibal’s hand, you looked straight through him. You looked into him, peeled back the curtains and gazed at his very soul as if it was as easy for you as making a cup of coffee. His heart had caught in his chest, and there was, momentarily, a very real fear that you knew exactly who and what he was.

Was this why he decided then and there that he was going to kill you and eat you? It may have contributed to the decision, as well as the certain level of arrogance that you carried, safely tucked under your jacket. As he thought about it more and more afterward, though, he came to the realization that it wasn’t fear that drove this decision, nor was it a dislike, or the belief that you were rude. You weren’t. Arrogant, yes, but not rude. You were perfectly pleasant. In the end, he concluded that it was desire that made the gears in his head turn toward your demise. You smelled divine, you had soft skin, a strong body. You were intoxicating- perfect - and he wanted to devour you in the most literal sense of the word.

With a pleased sigh, he closed his recipe box and returned it to its rightful place on the counter, then checked the time. It was nearly 11pm. He should go to bed, he knew, but his mind was racing with thoughts and plans. It was far too busy up in his head for him to be able to sleep. Instead, he stretched, poured himself a glass of red wine, and headed for his study, where he sat at his desk, retrieved a pen and paper, and began to write.

“Agent Crawford, Dr Lecter. Good to see you’re both well.”

You greeted Jack and Hannibal with a dazzling smile and a handshake, then motioned to the twin chairs in front of your desk.

“Make yourselves comfortable, please.”

Jack obeyed, but Hannibal couldn’t. He couldn’t look at you without thinking of your flesh in his mouth, so he wandered over to a nearby bookshelf and absentmindedly browsed the array of titles, his focus on the conversation behind him.

“What do you have for us, Professor?” Jack asked pleasantly, and Hannibal glanced behind him only long enough to see you take a seat in your expensive desk chair and open an old tome to a marked page, which you then spun around to show Jack.

He kept one ear on the conversation, but didn’t hear much. His head was swimming again, confirming that your presence was the source of the problem and not the vanilla body spray you had been wearing the day he met you, but were not wearing today. Before he knew it, Jack was clapping him on the shoulder to get his attention and thanking you for your help. 

“It’s my pleasure, Agent Crawford.” You had come around to stand on their side of the desk, hands tucked into your pockets. “I’ll help in any way I can. I want to see whoever is doing this caught and cuffed. Not only are they killing innocent people, but they’re playing with things they shouldn’t be. They’re a danger to everyone. You have my number, so please don’t hesitate to call if you need me. I’m available any time of the day or night.”

“I appreciate that, Professor. Truly. It seems like it’s getting harder and harder to come across good people nowadays.”

You nodded solemnly. “You two be well. And stay warm out there; the forecast calls for snow this weekend.”

Jack chuckled. “You too.”

He strode from the room without looking back, sure that Hannibal would follow. He would, in a moment, but he needed to talk to you first. He took in a deep breath to try and clear his head and stopped before you with a gentle smile.

“Did you get my invitation?” he asked.

You nodded and offered him a smile to match his own. “I did, and as honored as I would be to join you for dinner, I’m afraid I can’t. I have a very strict diet, one that I know that you won’t be able to provide for. I am truly sorry.”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, only the barest gesture to indicate that he wasn’t sure he believed what you were telling him. 

“Whatever your special diet is, I am sure that I would be able to accommodate. I am quite the skilled chef. I can make anything you should request of me.”

You tilted your head as well, a perfect mirror to Hannibal. “I’m sorry,” is all you said, and the last you would say on that matter. He returned home that night, disgruntled and inconvenienced, but not put off in the slightest. There was always the chance that you would decline his invitation, and so he would have to find another way to get you to his house. If you wouldn’t join him as a guest, kidnapping was always an option.

It wasn’t difficult for Hannibal to discover that you stay on campus late into the night, and sometimes all night. Jack had been very useful in uncovering information about you, even if he was ignorant of the fact that it would be used against you. You have many admirers at the college, both students and colleagues, you work hard, you rarely sleep, you arrive early and stay late, or you don’t arrive at all. The days when you don’t arrive, it’s as if you’ve fallen off the face of the Earth. No one knows when you’re about to take one of your impromptu vacations, or where you go when you do, and quite frankly, everyone is too afraid to ask, though they wouldn’t tell Jack why.

He decided, after a few days of contemplation and careful planning, that taking you late one night would be the best decision. There would be no one else on the campus, at least not anywhere near your office, and no one would question your sudden disappearance if that was something you did frequently anyway. He scouted the parking lots before hand, thought through all of his tools to decide what would be best for knocking you out, made sure his car’s back seat would fit you comfortably, and prepared you a place in his house, where you would stay, alive and healthy, as he slowly cut you apart, piece by piece, meal by meal, to devour you.

When the night finally came to pay you a visit, large snowflakes fell gracefully from a black, moonless sky, the stars beyond obscured by thick clouds. The parking lot was sparsely lit by dim street lights placed few and far between, and they illuminated the snow that had begun to stick to the ground. Hannibal would have to hurry. He didn’t want his footprints giving him away. 

He strode purposefully across the blacktop, using his phone to light the way, until he came to one of the college’s ornate side doors and the steps leading up to it. He tucked his phone into his pocket, pulled on his black gloves, and tried the door. Locked. He expected this, which is why he had stolen your key earlier in the week. He retrieved the key from the inside pocket of his coat and unlocked the door with a soft click. He opened it and stepped inside, then closed it quietly against the cold outside.

It was much warmer in here, comfortable, and the hall was dimly lit with the emergency lights that the school keeps on during the off-hours to deter intruders. He had stared at the college’s blueprints so often and for so long since deciding he would have you, that he knew the way to your office like the back of his hand, despite never reaching it from this entrance before. Down the hall, take a right, go up the stairs, another right, two lefts, and yours was the office tucked at the end of the corridor.

There were no windows in this hallway, and thus no emergency lights. The walk to the thick walnut door that closed off your little sanctuary from the rest of the campus was done in darkness, and Hannibal’s shoes made no sound on the tile floor as he approached. He never gets nervous before a kill, but tonight, he had to pause and steady himself before he finally raised his knuckles to the wood and rapped three times.

“Come in,” your voice answered from inside.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open. The large room was dark. The only light came from the lamp sitting on your desk that illuminated a large, ancient-looking tome open on the surface, and you sitting behind it with your hand on the page.

He stepped inside and offered a polite smile. 

“Hello. You didn’t hesitate when you heard the knock. Are you expecting someone?”

You chuckled and leaned back in your chair to stretch.

“No, but this isn’t the first time I’ve had a visitor at one in the morning. Although uncommon, it does happen. Usually it’s one of my students, though. Please, come in. And feel free to turn on the light.”

Hannibal flicked the lightswitch and closed the door behind him, then strode forward, taking a moment to study his surroundings. A bust of an unknown figure by the window, thick curtains, fireplace tools… all things you could use against him should this go poorly.

“Are you fond of the dark, Professor?” he asked as he took a seat in one of the chairs across from you.

“Yes, I am. The lights give me a headache,” you smile.

“Well, I won’t be here for long, and I’ll be sure to turn them off when I leave.” He returns the smile.

“What can I help you with, Doctor?” you ask as you mark the page you were studying in the book, close it, and scoot it aside.

“I was on my way home and thought I’d stop by. There are some things about these murders that have struck my curiosity.”

He meant the recent string of homicides that you were consulting with the FBI on, of course. 

“The kind of curiosity that I can help with?” you asked with a raised brow.

“Yes, perhaps. Agent Crawford came to you because you teach a course on occult studies. You know the symbols that were carved into the victims, drawn on the walls in blood, scribbled on the floors…”

“And is it those symbols that you’re curious about?”

“I’m curious about all of it, Professor.”

You and he talked for quite some time, far longer than he expected to. He supposed that kidnapping you would take him all of fifteen minutes if all went well, but when he looked at the clock on the wall behind you, it had been over an hour and he hadn’t even considered what he had gone there to do yet. He had to admit to himself later that he enjoyed your company and the conversation; not only the topic, but how passionate and insightful you were about your work, and how excited you seemed to be to teach someone something new. He supposed he knew why you became a teacher, then. Eventually, an opportunity arose, and he knew he had to cut the conversation short and take it, or he would leave there without his prize.

He asked you the specifics of the origin of the ritual that the murderer had seemingly been trying to perform, and you rose from your chair with a grin.

“I have a book here that explains it in great detail that I would be willing to let you borrow. Let me just find it.”

You strode around your desk and made your way behind Hannibal to the massive bookshelf on the far left wall. It was as you searched the titles for the one you needed that he pushed himself to his feet and strode quickly toward you. He wanted to strangle you, not enough to kill you, of course, just enough to knock you out. He wanted to feel you in his arms, squirming, writhing, choking, struggling to breathe, fighting to free yourself. He wanted to feel your heart pounding in your chest as fear flooded your senses. He wanted to smell your delicious aroma as your body went limp in his arms. He wanted to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck as you finally fell unconscious.

He darted forward, like a viper striking its prey, but instead of wrapping his arm around your neck, he felt a shove between his shoulder blades and then the sting of a nearly broken nose as the bookshelf came forward to meet him. He managed to maintain his footing, and spun around with his hand covering his nose, eyes watering from the pain, to press his back against the books and steady himself. You stood before him, and he watched as your soft, friendly smile twisted into a wicked grin, and those gentle eyes that seemed to see all went dark, your gaze morphing into something predatory. 

It took him longer than he liked to admit to realize what had just happened. The speed with which you stepped out of the way and spun around to shove him into the bookcase was nearly inhuman. 

“To be entirely honest, Dr Lecter… I expected more. I expected a challenge.”

Hannibal only blinked in response, confused and unsure how to proceed. He hadn’t accounted for this.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” You took a step forward. “I know you came here to kill me, Doctor, but you’re going to have to try a bit harder than that.”

“I didn’t come here to kill you,” he mumbled through his hand as blood from his nose began to seep between his fingers and drip onto your carpet.

You clicked your tongue as you watched the crimson droplets fall. “That’s gonna stain,” you growled.

That’s when Hannibal’s survival instincts kicked in. He retrieved his knife from his pants pocket and flicked it open. A crude weapon, yes, but effective. He managed to clear the tears from his eyes and accept the pain in his nose well enough to remove his hand. And then he struck. Or, he tried. You dodged effortlessly out of the way, not only of his first attack, but of his second as well, and then his third, his fourth, fifth, sixth. It was as if you knew every move he was going to make before he did.

“Come on, Doctor Lecter. You’re a killer. Kill me.”

Mocking… you were mocking him. He sneered and adjusted his grip on the knife’s hilt.

“You know, Professor… mocking is rude.”

He lunged again, missing your cheek by a fraction of a centimeter, and then your neck by just an inch on the backstroke. Strike after strike was either dodged or blocked, and then suddenly, you were on the offensive. 

You landed a jab to his ribs, and then another to the other side. You shoved your foot behind his heel as he stumbled back, and he fell back against the window. The cold of the glass sent a shiver down his spine despite his wool coat… or maybe it was the sudden realization of the situation he’d found himself in. You held him against the window with an arm across his chest while the other curled around the fist that held the knife and pinned it flat, immobilizing the only method of attack he had. The thick curtains and the bust were too far for him to reach, and your hips were against his, rendering his legs useless.

Hannibal panted hard, struggling to catch his breath after expending far too much energy trying to wound you. You, on the other hand, hadn’t even broken a sweat. Despite dodging every attack he had made, you weren’t breathing hard. He furrowed his brow. You weren’t… breathing. He couldn’t feel your breath on his face, your chest wasn’t rising and falling. He was imagining things, surely. You were just breathing lightly. That must be it.

“That was much better, Doctor Lecter, thank you for the exercise. I’ve been sitting in that chair for far too many days and nights. I’ve been needing a good fight to wake me up, and here you are providing one. Now tell me… if you weren’t here to kill me, then why creep up behind me?”

“You didn’t accept my invitation,” he panted.

You smirked. “So you were going to knock me over the head and drag me home, was that it?”

“Not knock you over the head. I was going to suffocate you.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t have done much, Doctor. But to be fair, neither would knocking me over the head, so I suppose you chose what you thought was the best option.”

His nose and ribs were throbbing, and all the late hours preparing for this night seemed to catch up to him all at once. He was exhausted. “What happens now?” he asked quietly, gazing into those cold, dark eyes of yours. “Will you kill me? Toss me from this window? Use my own knife to gut me?”

You chuckled and released him, but remained close. “Eventually, perhaps, but now. That would be too easy. Boring.”

“So you release me and revel in the terror I feel, looking over my shoulder every second of every day, waiting for the knife in the dark?”

“That’s a wonderful way to put it. Yes, I think I like that idea.”

He grins weakly, exhaustion evident on his bloody face. “And what makes you think you’ll be able to get to me? What would you do, I wonder, If I told Agent Crawford that you are the one doing all of these ritual murders?”

“He would believe you, I’m sure, but it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to slaughter an angry mob that came banging on my door.”

Hannibal scoffs. “You think you can stand against an army of armed and armored law enforcement?”

You only smiled, not the wicked grin, nor the soft smile from earlier, but something altogether different. Something… bone-chilling.

“I want to show you something, Dr Lecter.”

Gently, you reached out and took hold of his wrist, his arm and his knife long since fallen to hang loosely at his side. Your black gaze bored into him as you raised his hand and pressed the edge of the blade to your throat. 

“Cut,” you ordered.

“You want me to kill you?”

“You won’t kill me. Now cut.”

Something happened in his head when you gave the command the second time, as if you had taken hold of his strings to puppet him. He didn’t want to, truly, and he didn’t understand why you were ordering him to, but he couldn’t stop himself. He drew the blade across your neck, cutting deep.

There was no gush of blood, no choking, no stumbling back, no terror in your eyes. You stood there, calm and collected, with that not-quite-right smile as blood slowly oozed out of the wound and ran down your neck. And then, the unexplainable happened. Your wound began to heal. Hannibal watched, eyes wide, as the gash slowly knit itself back together, until it was as if he had never cut you in the first place. Not even a scar remained as evidence of the deed.

He understood all too well in this moment that what he had gotten himself into this time was far too deep to ever get out of. His heart beat frantically in his chest, his breathing was heavy and ragged, adrenaline flooded his veins. He swallowed hard.

“What are you?” he tried to ask calmly, but his words came out as barely a whisper. 

Your lips twisted into a deadly grin and you leaned forward. You took in a deep breath, breathing in his scent. Then, you whispered into his ear.

“My dear Doctor… I’m your worst nightmare.”

[darling-i-read-it]

Sorbet

1x07

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, surgery, murder, organ harvesting 

Author’s Note: Dudes this is so long and took me forever but I have so much fun with them I could literally care less. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

I took lines directly from the script so some may seem familiar.

Official Episode Summary : A murder involving organ removal makes Jack think that the Chesapeake Ripper has resurfaced; Will has nightmares about being a killer; Hannibal tries to seduce Alana Bloom.

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

(not my gif)

Hannibal walked over to where you were sitting at your desk in the waiting room. You were heavily invested in something on your computer which surprisingly was actually your job. You did a few clicks before you were able to look up at Hannibal who waited patiently for you to be finished.

“You have another appointment at 5:30,” you said pleasantly although he usually didn’t need to be reminded. 

“Yes I know but I wanted to sneak in a conversation.” You raised an eyebrow and took out the earbud that you had in while you worked in solitude.

“I’m all ears,” you told him. He nodded. 

“I’m going to attend an opera singer show tonight, along with dinner. I accidentally bought two tickets, courtesy of rushed times, and was curious to see if you might want to attend with me.” Your lip curled up into a smile and you nodded.

“Sure. I’ve never been to an opera anything,” you said truthfully. “What do I even wear?” He shrugged.

“Something nice. I’m sure you have something in the back of your closet.” 

“I’m sure I do too. Should I meet you here or…”

“If it’s not any trouble I could simply pick you up at home.” You nodded.

“Will’s teaching a late class tonight so I doubt he’ll even know that I’m gone,” you said and as it left your lips your shuddered. You weren’t sure quite how you felt about this now. “I’m curious, why ask me? I’m not exactly cultured, I have a boyfriend,” you said. Hannibal shrugged his shoulders.

“I thought you might appreciate it more than anyone else I know personally.” You nodded. You would tell Will, it wasn’t like you were having an affair or anything. It was simply dinner and a show while Will worked. It just happened to be with Hannibal.

“What time should I expect you?”

“Around 7.” You smiled.

“Perfect.”

-

At exactly 6:59 the doorbell rang. You hadn’t had time to call Will so you left him a note, just in case you got home after he did. You opened the door and Hannibal looked you up and down, a small smile gracing his face.

“You were able to find something nice in the back of your closet after all,” he said. You gave him a small twirl and he did a little clap, chuckling. You were quite pleased with the look you were able to pull together, the dress you had worn to a wedding a few years back still fitting thankfully. It was perfect and ended up complimenting Hannibal’s suit rather well.

“You wash up nice too Doctor. Although I can’t say I’ve ever seen you dressed down.” He nodded.

“I try to stay on alert fashionably,” he said. 

“That’s quite clear.”

-

The show was stunning. You were quite moved by the performance actually and noticed some tears had even pricked at Hannibal’s eyes as well. He was the first to stand and clap. You followed him after to the dinner portion where he seemed to know many more people than you did.

“It’s been too long since you’ve properly cooked for us, Hannibal,” one of the women he knew said. You hung at his side, nursing a glass of champagne. You were still amazed from the show and were happily eating food off of trays as they came by.

“Come over and I will cook for you,” he said simply. 

“I said properly. Means dinner and the show. Have you seen him cook? It’s an entire performance. He used to throw such exquisite dinner parties. You heard me. Used to,” she said teasingly, looking between you and Hannibal.

“It’s true, when you cook it is like a whole event,” you said. He gave you a look, chastising you with his eyes and you backed off. 

“I will again. Once inspiration strikes. I cannot force a feast. A feast must present itself,” he explained. Everyone around you seemed in awe. It was odd to see Hannibal in his element every place you went with him.

“I believe this young man is trying to get your attention,” she said and both you and Hannibal turned to an excitable man. You recognized him, he was one of Hannibal’s frequent patients. At least twice a week he came in. Hannibal swiftly gestured for you to take his arm and you did, curious to how this interaction would go.

“Hello,” Hannibal said simply.

“Hi! Nice to see you. This is my friend Tobias,” Franklyn, you were sure his name was, said. 

“Good evening,” Hannibal said simply again.

“How do you two know each other?” one of the women asked. 

“There should remain some mystery to my life outside the opera,” Hannibal said, dodging the question gracefully. 

“I’m one of his patients,” Franklyn said dumbly. So bluntly you were taken aback. “Who’s this? I didn’t know you were in a relationship,” Franklyn said, pointing to you. You shook your head quickly.

“She’s only a friend,” Hannibal said very narrowly. You were once again amazed at how he handled every conversation. You were beginning to wonder if you had ever seen him frazzled.

“She’s holding your arm,” Franklyn pointed out. You pulled your arm back swiftly and Hannibal let you.

“Simply for support,” Hannibal explained. You nodded. You wanted to call Will. But on the same note you weren’t mad at the cultural ‘elite’ thinking of you as Hannibal’s. It seemed like a nice place to be. “She and her boyfriend are friends.” You nodded and brushed a piece of your hair out of your face awkwardly.

“Ah one of those progressive couples,” one of the ladies said, pointing between the two of you. You were stunned at the idea but weren’t about to ignore how appealing that sounded.

“Not quite yet,” Hannibal joked. You laughed alongside him and still wondered, yet again, what the hell he meant by that.

-

When you woke up that morning Will was beside you. He hadn’t been when you fell asleep last night. You had stumbled inside, taken a shower and passed out on top of the covers. He was tucked underneath as the phone rang. You let out a moan at the early hour and he picked up the phone. You were too tired to make out the words but eventually your hearing and vocal ability came back to you.

“Jack,” he muttered. “Ripper.” He got out of bed, letting you know in two simple words where he was going. You sat up a bit and watched him get clothes out of the dresser.

“Good luck,” you told him, voice cracking from not being used all night.

“Where did you go last night?” he asked, voice equally slurred and tired. You wondered briefly how he noticed you had gone anywhere then remembered you dated the FBI’s best evidence guy.

“I went to the opera.” He turned to you, a judging eyebrow raised.

“For kicks?”

“I went with Hannibal.” He let out a scoff and you slid out of bed, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Do you not like him?” you whispered into his shoulder.

“I do. I don’t understand him though.”

“That makes two of us.” You felt the bond between the three of you and now you wondered if Will had felt it as well. You couldn’t be sure but you didn’t want to ask him yet. Not until you were sure yourself.

“How was it?” he whispered.

“How was what?”

“The opera.”

“Oh. Good actually. He cried,” you said. Will chuckled and turned around.

“I’ll have to point that out next time I see him for a session. Did you know they aren’t even really sessions? I guess they’re just friends talking,” he muttered thoughtfully.

“I do know that because we aren’t paying,” you teased.

“Go back to bed. I gotta go.” He kissed your forehead and you nodded, all too happy to slip back into sleep.

“Be safe.”

“I’ll try.”

-

You came into work and Hannibal had just pulled in. He had a break at the end of the day and was now into afternoon sessions, Will’s being the last on his list. You and Will pulled up together and you walked inside to make sure he was all settled. 

You walked into the office and Hannibal almost immediately ushered you out but he stopped, curious how the dynamic of the three of you in one room would play out.

“You’ve been drinking?” Will asked, gesturing to the glass on the table.

“I had a glass of wine with my last appointment,” Hannibal explained. 

“You drank with a patient?” Will asked. 

“You didn’t have a patient in the last two hours,” you said, out of instinct.

“She drank with a patient. I have an unconventional psychiatrist.”

“We have that in common,” Will said.

“Am I your psychiatrist or are we simply having conversations?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes I think is the answer to that question,” Will said.

“I should probably go,” you said, realizing you had stuck around longer than you usually would. Hannibal shrugged.

“If this isn’t a proper session, who's to say you have to go. We’re just having conversations and I just so happen to be a psychiatrist.” Hannibal said. “It’s completely up to Will.” You and Will locked eyes and he shrugged.

“Have a glass of wine with us,” Will said. You walked inside and sat on the desk, allowing the boys to have both chairs. Hannibal poured three glasses and handed you each one. “I hear you’ve taken my girlfriend to the opera,” Will said. Hannibal shrugged, sitting in his chair.

“It was an enlightening experience was it not?” Hannibal asked, gesturing to you with his wine glass.

“It was. We even ran into one of his patients who’s obsessed with him,” you said in a gossipy tone. 

“Oh?” Will said.

“I’m not at liberty to give details,” Hannibal digressed. “I hope you don’t mind that we went.”

“Not at all. I was teaching, I couldn’t have kept her entertained otherwise.”

“Hey, I like to come watch you teach,” you said, swallowing a bit of your drink. Will gave you a look and you smiled at him sillily.

“What was the class about?” Hannibal questioned. 

“The infamous Chesapeake Rippers old victims,” Will said. “How, who, when, where. Jack wants all minds on this.” Hannibal seemed intrigued.

“I would have liked to catch that one actually,” you said.

“Why's that?” Hannibal asked. 

“I don’t know. He’s alluring. Or she.”

“I’d bet on it being a he,” Will said bluntly.

“Well you are the expert,” you said. 

“But this last murder, I hear it’s also the Ripper?” Hannibal questioned. You leaned forward, putting your elbow on your knee as you sat on the table. 

“It’s not the same guy,” Will stated. 

“The victims were all brutalized. What was the brutalization hiding?” Hannibal questioned. 

“Careful, surgical removal and preservation of vital organs,” Will explained. This was more than you got during pillow talk. You were visibly intrigued. 

“Valuable organs,” Hannibal pointed out.

“Organ harvesting?” Will asked, surprised. 

“Jack Crawford’s looking for a serial killer he can’t seem to catch. It’s a brilliant diversion,” Hannibal pointed out. You shrugged.

“I’m not you guys but from what I know about the ripper he seems... I don’t know, more personal than that,” you said.

“If this is a different man however,” Hannibal pointed out.

“Organ harvesting under the cover of the ripper would be a good cover,” Will pointed out.

Hannibal looked between the two of you and smiled. He had planned to invite over Alana Bloom for dinner and a drink, cautiously talk about how years ago colleagues thought they were having an affair. Now he thought better of it. Perhaps all he needed was in this room. 

-

“I’m clocking out Hannibal,” you said, knocking on the office and opening the door cautiously. You knew that no one was in there, you had no more scheduled sessions for the day.

“You’re boyfriend has missed his appointment,” Hannibal pointed out, standing from his desk.

“You must have made that schedule without me present.” He showed you where he had written in Will’s name and nodded. “He’s likely at school. I was going to get him if you would care to tag along and chastise him.” He nodded.

“I would like that, yes.” 

You rode in your respective cars there and walked in together. You saw Will, eyes open but not really there. You hadn’t seen him like that before and you quickly walked over to him while Hannibal opted just for saying his name a few times.

“Will?” Will turned around and saw the two of you. He was strangely comforted whilst also being on edge about the dream he was just having about Abigail. “I have a 24-hour cancellation policy,” Hannibal said. You put your arm on his shoulder and he put his hand on yours as he stood up shakily. 

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Nearly 8,” you said.

“I’m sorry Hannibal,” Will muttered. 

“No apology necessary.”

“I must’ve fallen asleep.” Will turned to you. “Was I sleepwalking?” he questioned as though you hadn’t just gotten there.

“Your eyes were open but you weren’t there. No sleepwalking through,” you explained. 

“I felt like I was asleep. I need to stop sleeping altogether. Best way to avoid bad dreams,” Will muttered. Hannibal glanced over the crime scene photos that were sprawled across the desk to the side of the room.

“I can see why you have bad dreams,” he muttered. You and Will walked over.

“What do you see Doctor?” Will asked. 

“Sum up the Ripper in so many words? Words are living things. They have personality, point of view, agenda.” He looked over the pictures further. “Displaying one’s enemy after death has its appeal in many cultures.”

“These aren’t the Ripper’s enemies. These are pests he’s swatted,” Will said bluntly

“The reward for their cruelty?” Hannibal questioned. 

“He’s not bothered by cruelty. The reward is for undignified behavior. These dissections are to disgrace them. It’s a public shaming. “

“Takes their organs away because in his mind they don’t deserve them?”

“In some way.” 

It was almost an honor to watch them work. You didn’t put in any input that their minds wouldn’t come up with themselves. You just stood between them and watched. Hannibal picked up a picture of an arm. You recognized it.

“Miriam Lass?” you asked. Will nodded.

“She’s not like the other victims. The Chesapeake Ripper had no reason to humiliate Miriam Lass,” Will muttered.

“Seems to me he was humiliating someone when he cut off her arm,” Hannibal said. 

“He was humiliating Jack Crawford,” Will said.

“Have you considered your girlfriend as the Ripper?” Hannibal questioned and you scoffed. 

“I prefer a more direct approach.” 

“This isn’t direct enough for you?” Hannibal questioned. 

“Well Will, do you think it worked?” you asked. Will shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded.

“I’d say it worked really well.” 

Jack and Bev walked in then, holding a piece of paper.

“Doctor Lecter, Y/N, what a surprise.” He held up a paper and looked at Will. “We have a lead.”

“Maybe Y/N should stay,” Will said, going into overprotective boyfriend mode.

“No, she should come,” Hannibal said. “She wants to be a part of the FBI one day, consider this training.”

“Well how about it? Care to help us catch the ripper?” Jack asked. You shrugged. 

“How could I refuse?” Hannibal asked.

-

 You were driven to an ambulance garage. You waited in the car as they found out that the ambulance they were looking for was actually taken out and everyone was back rather quickly, driving quickly. 

“This is very educational,” Hannibal pointed out as Jack started to speed to a new location. You got out this time around and stuck close to Will and Hannibal as they approached the ambulance. 

Jack was in front and you heard a booming, “Show me your hands.” Followed closely by a loud, “Dr. Lecter!” 

Hannibal started to run over and you and Will followed but as a distance. There was a man in the back, his hands in a body. Will covered you instinctively but you pushed forward, watching as Hannibal climbed in without hesitation.

“He was removing the kidney. Poorly. I can reattach it,” Hannibal said.

“Do it,” Jack said. Hannibal worked quietly for a few seconds as the whole of the FBI held their breaths. 

“Do you have it?” Jack asked. 

“I’ve got it,” Hannibal replied. 

“Silvestri, show me your hands.” The man raised his bloody, gloved hands and stepped away. “Step out of the vehicle. On the ground. Hands behind your head,” Jack said. 

Yours and Will’s eyes were no longer on the mock Chesapeake Ripper. Instead you watched Hannibal work and his eyes fleeted up to the two of you and then quickly back down to the inside of a human.

-

“I have a butcher who carries sow’s blood. Centrifugate, separate the matter from the water. Creates a transparent liquid. Serve with tomatoes in suspension. Everybody will love the sweet taste,” Hannibal said as he walked around his kitchen quickly. “Are you sure the two of you can’t stay?” 

Will held a bottle of expensive wine in his hands beside you. You shook your head. 

“We have to head home and attempt to get Will to sleep a full night,” you said. Hannibal nodded in understanding. 

“How is Mr. Silvestri’s donor?” Hannibal asked.

“You saved his life,” Will said.

“Been a long time since I used a scalpel on anything but a pencil,” Hannibal said. 

“Why did you stop being a surgeon?” you asked. 

“I killed someone. More accurately, I couldn’t save someone. But it felt like killing them,” he explained. 

“You were an emergency room surgeon. It has to happen from time to time,” Will said. 

“It happened one time too many. I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts. I fix minds instead of bodies and no one’s died as a result of my therapy,” Hannibal said. You both nodded. 

“We should go. I’ve got a date with the Chesapeake Ripper before Y/N forces me into bed,” Will said. You hit his arm.

“Or is it rippers?” Hannibal asked.

“Devon Silvestri was harvesting organs but not with the Chesapeake Ripper. No connection between them,” Will explained, happy to be right once again.

“Jack must be devastated,” Hannibal said.

“We can only hope,” you muttered.

“Enjoy the wine,” Will said and you were both gone.

1x08

[stay-outta-my-blood-circle]

Dear slashers - or michael or thomas if youre available - i am about to move out of a bad home and i'm really anxious. i'm scared i'm going to screw something up or embarrass myself. any words of wisdom or comfort? i would appreciate anything. regards, a fan

A few new faces are in the middle of a short tour, led by Hannibal and Jesse. Thomas watches silently until he feels someone nudge his side. He turns away from the proceedings to find Brahms holding a letter out to him.

"This one's addressed to you," chirps his child's voice, "well, and..."

He nods in Michael's direction, who is currently occupied with scavenging through the fridge for other people's food. Thomas doubts he'll find anything; everyone knows better than to keep any food in there.

"Don't know how we're supposed to get him to play along though," Brahms shrugs.

"Actually, I've had an idea about that," Hannibal responds, suddenly right behind the two men. Brahms startles, squeaks, and clutches his chest.

"Give a guy a heart attack, why don't you!" He grouses, vocal affectation slipping in surprise. Hannibal ignores him, pulling one of the newcomers over.

Thomas takes a look at him; he's big, though not quite as big as him, and he's wearing a mask, like many of their number. He seems nervous about suddenly being dragged over, which Thomas can understand, so he lifts a hand to give a friendly wave. The man seems to fluster a bit at that, but waves back.

"This is Jason," Hannibal introduces. Brahms stretches a hand out towards him - Jason nearly stumbles over his own feet in his haste to reciprocate, before shaking it rather vigorously. "Lovely - now, per our discussion earlier, there’s the one."

Hannibal gestures toward Michael, who has just left the kitchen (empty handed, and looking decidedly grouchy about it). Jason immediately heads over; Michael stops in his tracks when he sees him, pulling a large knife from seemingly nowhere, watching him approach like a guarded predator. Jason makes a few hand motions, and in response Michael raises the knife - so Jason pounces, tackling him by the waist.

Everyone else in the room watches as they tumble around like a puma fighting a st. bernard, until Brahms turns back toward Thomas, pushing the letter in his direction.

"Right then, in the meantime?"

Thomas nervously picks up a pen.

By the time Thomas signs his name, the scuffle has died down. Jason appears, carrying Michael in a bear hug, and throws him down into a chair next to Brahms, who immediately vacates his seat and skitters to Thomas' other side.

Dear anon,

Well... I reckon moving out is always scary, but you gotta do it sometime, and it's extra important if you're in a bad situation. Feeling worried is normal, and... well, you might screw up some, but that's okay - keep on moving forward anyway. Later on, you'll look back and be real happy you got out of there, and real proud about how well you did. You're brave, and you can do it. Keep repeating that in your head, especially on the days you have trouble believing it.

Thomas looks back and forth from the letter to Michael, who seems to be fuming but exhausted. He slides the letter, and his pen, down the table toward him.

Michael stares at it for a moment before picking it up, reading it, and then laying in back on the table to write, in large, dark letters:

LET THE FEAR COMPEL YOU TO RUN.

Then he gets up and exits the room, passing Jesse, who appears to be doubled over in silent laughter. Jason, looking worn out as well and sporting several long gashes, glances over to Hannibal, who claps him on the back.

"Nicely done. Let's consider that a success."

About time that freeloader did some work, Jesse signs.

"Quite. Good job, Jason." Brahms adds, moving back to his chair now that the boogeyman has vacated the one next to it.

Jason fidgets happily.

[wheel-of-fish]

By the Numbers: Ben Crawford, Ali Ewoldt, Jay Armstrong Johnson

By the Numbers:  The Ben Crawford/Ali Ewoldt/Jay Armstrong Johnson  Stream, August 22, 2020

[long-awaited submission from Aldebaran; I’m putting it behind a cut]

Oh my gosh, an epic stream deserves an epically long and epically late By the Numbers!  Come with me back in time, all the way back to two weeks ago, which in pandemic days is a month and a half.  Before we were treated to  Giant Ivan and Tiny Tamara in Moscow, there was The Swagger, The Disney Princess and The Bot…

This was a fantastically fun boot to watch as part of a group of enthusiastic Saturday Streamers!  Plusses included an earlier-in-his-run Ben “The Swagger” Crawford as the Phantom, with the spotlight on his booming baritone voice, and Ali “Paris’s Sweetheart” Ewoldt as an enchanting Christine.  And—Jay Armstrong Johnson (we’re pretty sure) as Raoul.  Or some semblance of Raoul.  Something was up with Raoul in this performance and the consensus was there may have been robotics involved. I won’t say more here; the streamers have it covered below and a fantastic set of memes by Onthevirg/faunaproductions caught tons more great moments.   Very very nice filming job by a master who clearly knew the show well and anticipated major moments and character moves in a smooth manner.  Not a bot though.  As far as we know.  And featuring an AIAOY– let’s just say that has to be seen to be believed.    

Some stats on the stats:  An asterisk * indicates a recurring category.  All numbers are accurate except where they are not.  I was tempted last week to resort to making crap up for this recap, but resisted the temptation.  I will occasionally add in a missing letter or two.  If a person’s train of thought is split up, I will ignore intervening commentary and put that thought back on track.  Occasionally, by design or by mischance, a comment or two will be moved slightly out of original chronological order.  Or wildly out of chronological order to cater to a theme.  Or a whim.  Only when it’s funny.  There is also no clean way to say the word “organ” which pops up a lot in this stream. (See what I mean?  It can’t be done.)

*Suggested names for this boot: The Animatronic Boot, The Better Than Cooper Boot, The It’s Alive! Boot, Robot Roll Call Boot (Okay, nobody suggested these.  It was me.  I suggested these)

*Statistician’s Favorite Boot Name:  mechanical hands down, The RaoulBot Boot

*Wow, we like to talk about Phantoms:  It has become clear to me that we like to talk about everybody.  And everything.  Phantoms, Christines, Raouls, Mandalorians.  Here are most of the people mentioned in the stream.  There is no context.  Just like a real stream!!!

John Riddle (9), Gina Beck (8), Ramin (6), Rob Houchen (2), Ethan (1), Eiji (1), Uwe (3), Jordan Craig (2), Sierra (1), Steve Barton (3), David Shannon (2), Norm (14), Earl (1), Cooper (2), Darua (4), Thiago (11), Rachel Barrell (1), Meghan Picerno (2), Cherik (19), Pedro Pascal (1), B*rbour (7), Eva Tavares (4), Ted Keegan (5), Maree Johnson (2), Quentin Oliver Lee (1), Jeremy Hays (1), Ben Jacoby (3), Andrew Keenan Bolger (1), Greg Mills (1), Michael Maliakel (1),  KKA (8),  Jordan Donica (1), Kyle Barisch (8), Andrew Ragone (3), Paul Stanley/Stankey (3), Hannah Gadsby (2)

Residual Stolle Thirst:  Residual Stolle Thirst from the stream a week prior to this one, plus Mr. Stolle’s appearance as Passarino AND the Conductor in this boot resulted in >32 mentions.  There may or may not have been comparisons between his Raoul and this boot’s Raoul.  I certainly wouldn’t put it past us.

Epithets for Ben Crawford:  Ubiquitous mentions of Crawdaddy and The Swagger.  More personalized and clearly personal epithets:  Big Ben—ktarinajones, BENBENBENBEN—whereisthepersian, OH HELLO VOICE—butdreamsofbeauty, my horny bastard and I love him—ktarinajones

Epithets:  reader’s choice as to which Phantom(s) the following apply to (no one in this stream):                                                        Fuckface McGee–therosenpants                                                      Sir Scruffsalot—snows                                                                    Voldemort—Benny-Lynne                                                                  Traschcan–therosentpants

Antici_____pation:

I can’t wait for jay                                                                                I honestly thought they’d slapped a human face on a robot and called it a day—angedelamusique

Let’s all just have fun trying to spy hints of actual emotion in Jay’s Raoul—GlassPrism

Oh there will be memes.  Ben Crawford is a walking meme and there will be a robot on stage—ktarinajones

Oh boy, here we go—GlassPrism

We love a trainwreck:

I love this stream crowd because you all show up for trainwrecks just as enthusiastically as you do for good actors—wheel-of–fish

We love a trainwreck!—butdreamsofbeauty

we’re ready—angelofthelake

trainwrecks are v satisfying—christinegrrl

We’re here with roses, we’re here with rotten fruit, we’re versatile!  A good tirefire is a marshmallow roast–snows

Debut of RaoulBot:  Before the show even began, JAJ’s Raoul had a name:                                                                                       

RaoulBot—ktarinajones at 20:01:33 (historic occasions get timestamps!)                                                                                     

wait they can’t moisten the raoul if he’s a robot, can they?—butdreamsofbeauty

they can oil him—ktarinajones

oil the raoul, perfect—butdreamsofbeauty

He has a silicone exterior—Benny-Lynne

wd-40—wheel-of-fish

How do we know he is waterproof?  Let’s see if he sparks when he hits the Raoul Hole—Aldebaran

Earliest Meme Generation:  Our intrepid memester Virg had material for a meme within 8 minutes 27 seconds of the start of the stream.

Love is in the Air:  There was a lot of love in this stream

Ali Love:  >32

Laird Love:  28

Carlotta Love:  20

Filmer Love: 5

Extreme John Riddle love: 2

when there’s video of John Riddle the filmer can have a kidney if they want—ktarinajones, seconded by christinegrrl

And then there was Jay:

Oh he did a head nod.  Well done.—Bozzleboz

At least Jay doesn’t shoot a policeman—PureAnon

Several head turns in succession there.  Getting ambitious.–Bozzleboz

Illumination!:  Auction Raoul set the tone for the evening to come, and the chandelier seized the moment to shine.

OMG, his jaw moves just like a real person….or a nutcracker—Aldebaran

His batteries are running down.  Maybe they will wire him for the new electricity.—Aldebaran

Robot Raoul is using all the electricity—Aldebaran

That chandelier isn’t rising—Ladyrock18

It’s not rising because they have to unhook the cables that power Raoulbot—DocTy

The chandelier shows more emotions than Jay as Raoul—Maze-zen

Erik made a Raouldoll to add to his collection?—Benny-Lynne

The chandelier shows the full range of human emotions.  That is why it was cast.—haunted-hideaway

The chandelier is more expressive than this Raoul—Carole

The chandelier can actually sing in morse code—DocTy

Meanwhile backstage Raoulbot is recharging in his alcove—Aldebaran

If you listen closely you can hear diesel generators in the background recharging the batteries—DocTy

C’mon guys, he’s solar powered—ktarinajones

is that why he stops working in the dark during AIAOY–christinegrrl

Statistician Aldebaran wonders if she will be able to handle viewing Cherik:

Oh I finally finished the 90’s miniseries!  I have thoughts!—Abberina

Abberina do you have thoughts other than “I hurt, I am in pain”?—snows

@snows the ending was WILD—Abberina

Abberina, I spent the whole day lying and crying after the 90s miniseries, are you allright?—Carole

“Wild”??? How are you still living!  That ending!  Gghh!—snows

Do you need something?  A glass of water?  Therapy?—Carole

My heart hasn’t recovered yet.  And I watched it 4 years ago.–Carole

Christine Who?:  One would think that Christine’s debut in Hannibal would have the streamers’ full attention.  But no.  All eyes were on Raoul in his box.  Or maybe just unpacked from the box he came in.

can it be? can it be a robot?—christinegrrl

can it be chreeeestineeee—butdreamsofbeauty

engage clapping program—Aldebaran

clap beep boop clap clap—angelofthelake

beep boop clapping action beep boop—Jadowdra

EXECUTE EMOTION—missbuster

Stache or cache?:  Once we were beginning to get an idea of the limits of Raoulbot’s programming, we turned our attention to his most character defining feature—the mustache.

omg mustache—MelancholysChild

His mustache is a little full for me.  Oh well.  I guess that’s where he hides his secrets.—haunted-hideaway

wowWWWW—put that boy in a floofy shirt and stick him in the pirates of the caribbean ride at disney, damn—snows

it’s where he hides his processer—therosenpants

haunted he needs something to cry into—ashadeintheshade

That is not a mustache, that is fiber optics—Aldebaran

although he is stiffer than the other robotic pirates—snows

Haunted, his secret is his charger entrance—Carole

You keep your secrets then, Raoul—haunted-hideaway

Autocorrect Follies:

Pinging = Piangi–Bozzleboz

Paul Stankey = Paul Stanley—IamErik771

Ironic Statement is Ironic:

I always forget there’s an elephant–yiks

Cooper finds a role:

[as Buquet appears] oh hey look it’s cooper!—snows                                                                                                                                    finally a role for cooper, buquet all the way—Aldebaran                                                                                                                                ohh wait sorry it’s the other scruffy creepy nasty weirdo—snows

*Best from Onthevirg’s Mom:  “like stolles passarino cooper should always be buquet—it’s a fitting role”

Joseph Buquet job  performance review:

DO YOUR FREAKING JOB BUQUET.  –madamefaust                                                                                                                                I’ll never get over that line “i promise i wasn’t doing my job!!!!!”—butdreamsofbeauty

The Boy Ain’t Right:  Little Lotte made it very apparent that Raoul may have been compromised.

Don’t make fun of him, you guys.  The tiny alien in his head driving his body is doing his best, ok?—haunted-hideaway

li tt le l ott e—tearoses

So….Erik’s looking like an awesome choice right about now…–HerbalPath

Usually i’m r/c  but uh not today—yiks

His hat is just an excuse he’s going to recharge a bit—Carole

That was almost threatening how he said little lotte—Ladyrock18

*Vintage MadameFaust:                                                                   Don’t quote me too much, my knowledge is based on judicious use of Wikipedia;-)

[inspired by Raoul’s Little Lotte performance]                                    CHOCOLATES 

HUMANS LOVE CHOCOLATES                                                                                                                                                                    *Biggest Organ in Paris:  The mirror scene included a thunderous organ accompaniment.  It took me ten minutes to write a non-filthy sentence that conveyed that information while containing the word “organ.”  The Saturday Streamers were fired up!  Except for a certain statistician–

WOAH—therosenpants                                                                    THAT ORGAN—PureAnon                                                                ORGAN—haunted-hideaway                                                              Wow—DocTy                                                                                      ORGAN!—butdreamsofbeauty                                                          did you hear that??????—therosenpants                                          organ—DocTy                                                                                    Orrgannnnn—Xyloghost                                                                    that roused me from Lore Olympus—therosenpants                          ORGAN!—Jawodra                                                                          What’s with the loud organ?—maze-zen                                            organ AWESOME—snows                                                                THE ORGAN WAS PERFECT—whereisthepersian                          I loved it!—MelancholysChild                                                            Is that new? that’s BADASS–snows                                                  Organ <3—Carole                                                                          The organ is loud because Ben is loud—PureAnon                          Erik is playing his pocket organ–Abberina                                        It’s the phantom of the phantom of the opera—wheel-of-fish

Oh God now I have to count Organ mentions (>20) and everyone is going to judge me—Aldebaran

*What scent are the Phantom’s candles:  Previously established in the official “Love That Lair” candle line, in addition to  Vanilla Brown Sugar, Cucumber Melon, Tobacco Spice, Underground Despair, and Hopeless Mist, the newest entry unveiled for this stream was Sepulchral Solitude, a light and airy blend of ennui, nihilism and condensation, perfect for occasional bouts of midnight composing.

*The Phantom’s pillows mentions:  2

obligatory pillow mentions, they are a nice colour scheme–missbuster

Baritone Love Fest:

we! love! a baritone! phantom!—butdreamsofbeauty

Baritones are the best!–PureAnon

Yes!—JacobZ

Yes to baritones.  To whatever they ask.—Aldebaran

baritones are incredible—angelofthelake

I like em big and boomy—Bozzleboz

yes they are—MelancholysChild

The deeper and boomier, the better—PureAnon

*Erik has Skillz:

Okay so Ben just flipped through about six alternate personalities in a single line, and that’s impressive—snows

his voice is like chocolate sauce—Benny-Lynne

His voice is so deep I wanna scuba dive in it—Benny-Lynne

The Swagger at Rest:

Sir must you spread your legs so—snows

snows yes he MUST—ashadeintheshade

nice stance—MelancholysChild

Oo.  Manspreading—Bozzleboz

but like… the good kind–snows                                                       

Sweet Music’s Throne:  Ben’s nascent aggression came out in his organ playing.  The INSTRUMENT!

OMG HIS KNEES This is really funny to me—madamefaust

He is def using his knees a lot—christinegrrl

Oh he’s….trying to play the keyboard—missbuster

He’s putting his back into that organ playing, there—haunted-hideaway

he’s definitely a more aggressive phantom I think—wheel-of-fish

A good squat workout I guess?—christinegrrl

Lift with your knees man—haunted-hideaway

The key to being an organist is all in the lumbar–Jacobz

Ben’s stance remains a source of….let’s call it concern.  Yes, concern:

He’s got good stance—ashadeintheshade

why are his legs SO far apart though—butdreamsofbeauty

because they’re so loooong—missbuster

power stance—MelancholysChild

is he riding an invisible horse?—jadowdra

And, inevitably, boner mentions: 5 (You know who you are.  Good thing, because I was watching Ben.)

The Phantom is pleased to announce:   boner mentions are ummm holding firm

Christine makes questionable choices:

oh she looked down—christinegrrl

she totally looked down and then bolted but let’s be real WHY RUN—snows

Boner-adjacent vocabulary:

Horny and variants (>17)

Lusty (2)

Organ—THE INSTRUMENT!!  (>20)

Christine does not stan a crafty Phantom:

he’s doing so well then he has to bring Barbara into it—Virg’s mom

SEE?  I MADE THIS FOR YOU?

OOPS

THAT DID NOT GO TO PLAN—haunted-hideaway

Strange Ships:  The debut of a long overdue category highlighting all the really random ships that are proposed during a given stream.

Erik/RaoulBot—haunted-hideaway

Andre/Carlotta–????

Barbara/severed Hannibal head—????

Christine/Luigi—ashadeintheshade

Barbara/new and improved sexbot from LND—Onthevirg

RaoulBot/Barbara—DocTy {streamers were split here that Barbara shouldn’t settle versus OTP}

Yes, I know, it’s a great disservice to Barbara but still, maybe they can bond over replacement parts—DocTy

Only in this streams I walk away with either a new favourite actor, a fanfic recommendation and/or a new pairing to ship—Jadowdra

*Education of the Innocent:  Several seminars were held this stream.  First,  a wide ranging and frank discussion of historically accurate ballet rats, pimping and ummm social diseases.  We segued from a dissertation on our own Madame Giry as a probable pimp to the topic of the hierarchy of French Royalty.  These topics heavily featured our resident history buffs therosenpants, angedelamusique, PureAnon and madamefaust, with varying degrees of participation in the pimping and social disease discussions.  Second, a discourse on “the catch” and variations, the catch being allowed in London and not on Broadway due to union rules.  A variant unknown to me, the “half catch” was mentioned.  Third, a sadly eye-opening (for some) discussion of the “horsey dance”:

Look, Norm was directed to do the horsey dance.  Anything is possible on Broadway.—madamefaust

sorry a HORSEY DANCE—butdreamsofbeauty

HORSEY DANCE???—onthevirg

horsey dance…??—angelofthelake

ah yes the ever classic jumping up and galloping horsey dance—madamefaust

It was more of a forceful trot during ‘Order your fine horses’ in Final Lair—madamefaust

faust you can’t just drop that in chat and not explain yikes—butdreamsofbeauty

someone link the gif—andgedelamusique

[fatefully the gif was linked]

thanks, I hate it!—butdreamsofbeauty

OH I thought that was a JOKE, that was REAL?—ashadeintheshade

oh noooo I saw that in like a compilation of funny phantoms and i thought it was a joke oh no—ashadeintheshade

The Horsey Dance claims more victims–Aldebaran

STYDI Sound effects:

[the Phantom collapses]

plorp—wheel-of-fish

plorp—MelancholysChild

Now I want to hear his palms squeak on the ground—madamefaust

I’m Jewish and I don’t approve of this level of ham Curse youuuuu—JacobZ

Prior to Il Muto the organ makes another appearance.  The INSTRUMENT!!!:

Organ boop!—Bozzleboz

Organ again.  Oh God now I said it.—Aldebaran

Aldebaran, you can’t escape the organ.  The Phantom’s organ WILL find you.—PureAnon

this Erik is so extra he took the organist’s place in the orchestra—DocTy

Il Muto Pillow Mentions:  1

Fascinating discussion about which is worse/better, bad actors or boring actors:

It’s the old argument between what’s worse bad or boring—GlassPrism

is it better to burn out or fade away—wheel-of-fish

Is it more fun to watch an Uwe or a Thiago—GlassPrism

Thiago activates my RAGE setting.—madamefaust

AIAOY is never make me watch this again:  Words cannot capture AIAOY.  Nevertheless we tried. Here are selected comments.

EXECUTEEMPATHY2.0—missbuster

Maybe there is a rat driving him by his mustache like in Ratatouille.  Raoultatouille.—missbuster

turn.her.90.degrees—Aldebaran

if she shakes him, I bet we can hear him rattle—DocTy

Raoul.exe has stopped working—christinegrrl

he bluescreened—butdreamsofbeauty

error 404—angelofthelake

can you even play Doom on this Raoul?—Jadowdra

Does he even like her?—madamefaust

He’s just staring into the abyss—angelofthelake

Why did no one tell him that wooing does not involve low-level dread—JacobZ

<10> no more talk of darkness GOTO20—snows

<20> forget these wide eyed fears GOTO30—snows

his wooing program has bugs–Aldebaran

YOU ARE NO BETTER THAN MY ARCH-ENEMY THIAGO–madamefaust

are they actually kissing?—madamefaust

now you must place your face upon her face and remain still—butdreamsofbeauty

this is depressing—virg’s lil sister

It’s more fun to suffer as a group—wheel-of-fish

Prevailing Theory:

The Phantom clearly switched Raoul with a mannequin—Maze-zen

Fondly Remembering Christian Lund during this AIAOY:  4

Fondly Remembering  “the Boop” during this AIAOY: 5

*Requests for AIAOY Kiss replay:  0

Priorities Straight:  Host Fish caller for dog pictures on her blog during the stream, resulting in the following mentions

Dogs (35, may need to be adjusted as one of Flora’s dogs is large enough to count as two), Goats (6), Cats (9), Rabbits (5), Chickens (3) Regular non-Cherik deer (1) Pig (1) Cherik deer (9)            actual human children (1)

The Masquerade, or as some wags had it due to the mannequins on the staircase, the de Chagny family reunion:

Let’s see the robot try to dance—katarinajones

dance.exe—whereisthepersian

dance.exe failed to start—phantomofthebasement

He is going as a robot to the masquerade–Aldebaran

People gonna trip over his charging cable—whereisthepersian

Relief is the wrong emotion to feel when the Red Death arrives:

Why at a costume party is everyone afraid of a costumed man?  How do they know to be scared?  Do they hear the background music?—JacobZ

It’s his authoritative stance—madamefaust

Christine’s reaction maybe?—ktarinajones

I think they’re afraid he’s going to drop another chandelier on them.  Which, valid.—madamefaust

They saw the bead work.  They know who it is.—haunted-hideaway

*Sad comment is sad:  commenting on the ornate bow on the score for Don Juan Triumphant

He wraps it up like the present he never received.—haunted-hideaway

*Fathering Gaze lyric: 1

*That staff tho:    

“I’m going to a graveyard.  I should take my shooty stick with the skull on it!”—haunted-hideaway

We passed the Point of No Return long ago.  From the auction, in fact:

his accent, lol–ashadeintheshade 

Accent—Bozzleboz

itsa me…—Aldebaran

ITSA HIM—madamefaust

I hate you all—wheel-of-fish

And Ben plays videogames backstage.  His inspiration is literally Super Mario.—madamefaust

That was some nice cup stroking—GlassPrism                   

The Raoul Hole holds no dangers for Raoulbot:

Oh no he’s going to rust and shut down in the lake—wheel-of-fish

They spray him down and moisten him before he jumps in, otherwise he’ll just float on top—haunted-hideaway

Raoul’s wifi is down once more:

Is the boat stuck?  Oh, there it goes—madamefaust

The radio signals running Raoul confused the boat—Aldebaran

The organ makes a return in Down Once More:  The INSTRUMENT!!!!:  2

Veil Fluff Mentions: 2

he didn’t fluff the veil—ashadeintheshade

I like the veil fluff–ashadeintheshade

Veil Yeet Mentions: 11

The Kiss.  An actual human kiss, unlike AIAOY:

ohhh he bends into the kiss—Aldebaran

Aw he’s TRYING to figure out how to kiss—Flora-Gray

He done touched a lady.—haunted-hideaway

That was a good kiss—Abberina

Bozzleboz breaks me, as the Phantom approaches hanging Raoul with a candle:

I burn him now, yes?–Bozzleboz

The Phantom breaks us:

oh god.  He just broke me.—Bozzleboz

ohhhh poor angel—Aldebaran

aw erik :(–angeloflake

he’s so resigned:(–Benny-Lynne

we love an exhausted depressed sewer man—butdreamsofbeauty

This Phantom survives just so he can go disassemble Raoul—Aldebaran

Looks Like We Made It:

Time to go plug Raoulbot in for the night—angelofthelake

Performance Comparisons for Raoul/Career Suggestions for Raoul, You Decide:

Nutcracker—Aldebaran

Mannequin Bride—coroaline

Tin Man—christinegrrl, yiks

Edward Scissorhands—GlassPrism

Calculon from Futurama—IamErik771

C3PO—wheel-of-fish

Automaton—ktarinajones

Dalek–missbuster

Cardboard Cutout—haunted-hideaway

Hat Stand–Bozzleboz

*Things I wish I had said:            

Christine in Final Lair:  She has to go put Raoul in a bag of rice but she’ll be back—Benny-Lynne

*Statistician Aldebaran’s two favorite personal quotes:  

little known fact, the red scarf is actually a fanbelt from Raoulbot

19 years on the score, 1 year on the bow

Phew!  See you shortly with the By the Numbers of Moscow from LAST week!!!  Aldebaran

[thefightingbull]

Sequestered

3 weeks. 21 days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes. 1,814,400 seconds.

Jason was doing math. In his head. Because he was bored. Worse? He was irritated. Not because of the boredom, but because he was going to spend nearly two million seconds sequestered from the rest of the world with his brothers inside an 864 sq. ft. apartment.

“It’ll be a well-deserved vacation,” Dick smiled genially from the kitchen table. “The JL can take care of whatever is happening out there.”

“-tt- As if anyone of us will survive this quarantine,” Damian scowled. He was perched on the back of the couch that Jason was currently lying on.

“As long as you behave yourself, we’ll be fine,” Tim replied sitting at Jason’s small table with his laptop on the opposite side of Dick. “Besides, you didn’t have to come along, Demon Spawn.”

“Neither did you,” Jason pointed out beneath at least three thick blankets. “Actually, not a fucking one of you needed to show up! In fact, had you not, you could be out there with Bruce instead of taking up my clean air, my food, and my limited fucking space!”

Not one of his brothers showed him an ounce of pity or sympathy. They all three looked at him with their varying shades of light-colored eyes. Damian looked disgusted. Tim snarky, and Dick? Well, Dick might have looked at him with a touch of guilt in his eyes.

Dick should though. This whole stupid thing was his fault. Dickie-Bird heard that Jason had a fever and just had to show up to check on him. While he was at it, Golden Boy might as well drag their dipshit brothers along and really make everyone uncomfortable. It wasn’t like the whole nation was about to panic and insist on quarantine’s or anything.

Jason sniffed hard, trying to rearrange the “congestion” in his sinus cavities.

“Just blow your nose, Jason,” Tim sneered as he scrunched his own.

“Fuck you, it’s my house, I’ll deal with my mucus however the hell I want!” he grumbled, ignoring the croaky quality of his voice.

“Guys let’s not fight. We’re just at the beginning of this quarantine. We can’t be at each other’s throats already.” Dick frowned.

“This is lame,” Damian huffed and slid down to rest atop Jason’s ankles. “You don’t think they’ll forget to feed my pets?”

Jason’s heart softened just a touch at the concern Damian showed toward another living being. He tried to sigh but ended up coughing instead. Luckily, Dick was on it.

“Alfred would never forget about the animals in your room, Dami,” The oldest offered gently.

“Unless you’re hiding more than he knows about, then those ones will probably starve,” Tim shrugged.

Jason shouldn’t have laughed, but he couldn’t help it. It was vicious and nasty and very much in Tim’s wheelhouse when it came to Damian. He kind of liked Tim’s dark side. The kid took a lot of shit from Damian in particular. It was good to see him stand up for himself.

“Tim!” Dick scolded. “That’s not funny, Jason!”

“My cell phone is dead, let me use yours, Todd.”

Jason rolled his eyes and pulled the phone from his pocket. He really didn’t mean for tickle in his nose to catch him off guard, but it did and Jason wound up sneezing on his phone when he instinctively brought up his hands.

“Gross!” Tim chuckled.

Dick however came to the rescue as usual. One hand held out some tissues for Jason and the other was handing Damian the requested cell phone. “I’ll grab you some wipes for your phone, Jason,”

“Thanks,” Jason mumbled, tossing the slimed device on the coffee table beside the couch.

Damian pulled out his cell phone and immediately started trying to get a hold of Alfred. “Alfred? I… I have a raccoon. It’s in my closet. Yes. I know… Up in the crawl space… You will? You promise?”

“I know I’m surprised, how about you guys?” Tim snickered.

Jason grinned, as Damian flipped Tim off. Dick frowned at the antics, but he was moving about Jason’s apartment. His older brother took the liberty of cleaning up, a rarity in and of itself, but Jason wouldn’t argue. He wasn’t going to touch his phone again until it was clean.

“You know, I don’t have the virus they think I do,” Jason explained. “It’s just a common cold.”

“No one’s going to let us take that chance,” Tim sighed. “Bruce says he’ll have some supplies dropped off, but I gotta say, I’m more worried about him.”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t be. Without us around to bug him, he’ll be a lot more effective. Especially since most of the criminals are hiding, too. It’s not like they can just waltz into a hospital if they get sick.”

Dick blinked as he held Jason’s phone in one gloved hand, the other scrubbing down the device with an electronic safe sanitary wipe. “You know, that’s actually a good point. Black Mask isn’t offering medical and neither is Two-Face.”

“Penguin and Black Mask might,” Tim disagreed. “They both have a legitimate business.”

“Maybe they have a bad guy hospital,” Jason laughed. “Could you imagine?”

Timothy grinned. “Half of them seem to be doctors, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Even Damian couldn’t help but snicker. “-tt- Mr. Freeze is the safest in his suit. They’d make him do all the check ups and testing.”

“Harley would be on hand for psychological support,” Dick added with a barely restrained laugh.

“For as poor and pathetic as our city is, education is of the utmost importance in Gotham. Especially among criminals,” Jason smiled to himself. “Speaking of doctors gone evil, I wanna watch Hannibal.”

“You can’t, Dami’s too young,” Dick denied.

“What!” Jason exclaimed.

“He’s an assassin Dick, I doubt there’s anything more gruesome than his own actions on that show,” Tim shrugged.

“It’s happens to contain graphic sex, gaslighting, and other themes that are not suitable for children!” Dick defended his stance.

“Did you read that off the Parental Guidance box?” Jason asked suspiciously.

“I’m not a baby. I can handle a primetime television show,” Damian insisted.

“No,” Dick shook his head. “I am not giving on this, find something appropriate to watch.”

Jason grinned triumphantly and pointed immediately to his shelf of movies and television series. “Pride and Prejudice, it is! I want the BBC series with Colin Firth, top shelf, third to the left.”

Dick’s eyes widened at his mistake as Tim and Damian groaned. Jason coughed for effect, pulling his brother from the agony of his defeat. He clapped his hands in the obnoxious “chop, chop” call to action that Jason knew irritated everyone.

Three weeks with his brothers? It might be a small space, but it was his small space, filled with his favorite things. He had hours and hours of books to listen to, read, or thanks to miniseries events, watch. After Pride and Prejudice he might even go with Jane Eyre just to really torture them all.

They thought they had him beat when the quarantine was first announced. Ha! They’d crack long before he did.

[bmo-137]

Hannigram Oneshot—Hide and Seek Europe Edition

Warnings: slight angst, tiny bit of fluff, some fancy metaphors, implied sexy time at the very end of the chapter (but you see none of it, basically nonexistent)

Will sighed, slumping onto the bed of the hotel room, the TV playing in the background of the half lit room, the lamps on either side of the bed atop two nightstands glowing in a golden light. Will sighed again, pinching the skin between his brows and looking at the TV under half-lidded eyes. Half listening, but lost in thought, thinking back to the events of that afternoon.

“I forgive you...”

In the catacombs, chasing after a serial killer- no... his... friend... Will wasn’t even sure if he was there, just a hunch. If he wasn’t there, then that Detective could think he was a lunatic like all the rest. For good reason too. But if he was there....

“-Il Mostro has struck again. After almost a decade of peace, the monster who was the bane of Europe has come back with another murder, but in the form of a heart. The police are still investigating this issue but there hasn’t been much word of late...”

Will deadpanned at the TV, the news knocking him from his thoughts as another pang of pain resounded in his head. He groaned.

These headaches are gonna be the death of me.

Will stood up shakily and headed to his luggage in the corner, barely unpacked as he searched for his aspirin. From the time his journey overseas started to this very moment, digging through a poorly packed luggage for painkillers, Will had gotten a maximum of three hours of sleep. The only thing keeping him going was copious amounts of coffee and his persistence to find the one who ran away after stabbing him. Oh, and his spunky sniper sidekick who pushed him off a train. That didn’t help his lack of sleep at all.

Finally locating the pills he sat himself down on the carpet, about to dry swallow about five of the fuckers when he noticed a glass of whiskey, poured neatly on the nightstand.

Huh, guess I poured it and forgot.

He stood, knees a bit wobbly as he walked towards the bed sitting down on the side where the whiskey glass and bottle was. Ignoring the glass, Will took the bottle, tossed the aspirins in back and took a swig, and maybe another. He relented, putting the bottle down on the nightstand and flopping down on his bed.

Dusk was approaching. A beautiful sunset appearing off the high rise of the city he currently resided in, the thin curtains flowing carelessly from the open patio doors, a warm breeze blowing in.

Will knew he was in enemy territory. This city, this whole country, Italy, it was threatened by the very notion that Il Mostro had come back, that Hannibal had returned for seconds. But strangely, in this moment, with a warm breeze on his face, the quiet flutters of the see through curtains and the drowning of the TV was all so comforting. Something Will hadn’t experienced since... since Hannibal.

It wasn’t so much the fact that Will had been gutted, that was something he could forgive. Wounds heal after all. But the fact that he fled—Will didn’t want to admit it, but he wished that Hannibal left when he called him, right then and there... but he didn’t. Wounds heal but scars remain... And Abigail... Abigail stayed dead.

Will’s lip twitched. With one hand, he covered his eyes and clamped the other over his mouth. The blood wasn’t something he could ever erase from his mind. He went through the same trauma not once, not twice, but thrice and to think that he was still chasing.

Molten hot lava bubbled under his face, the undealt anger and frustration that he pushed down boiling over. But the more he thought about it, the more he thought he could’ve done something. He could have... The lava spilled over. It overflowed in the form of hot liquid that ran down his flushed cheeks and through the cracks of his fingers.

“Why did you do that Hannibal?” His voice was raw, it cracked with overbearing pain.

“...”

“Why did you have to kill Abigail?” Will muttered each word, getting slightly weaker as he reached the end of his question, not bothering to look up. He had long since felt the presence of the man since he crossed the small hallway that blocked his view of the patio, whose doors weren’t open yet. The whiskey, the curtains, everything was laid out perfectly, he knew the signs but chose to ignore them. Hannibal wanted Will to know he was there, it was so blatantly obvious that it didn’t seem like there was a plan at all. But there always was.

Silence.

Will sat up abruptly and stared at the man clad in a black turtleneck and cargo pants, his black boots spotless, so no tracks could be traced in case... Hannibal didn’t answer, he just looked off into the distant city of Florence.

The tears slowly dried from his eyes, his hands making no movement to dry them faster as he looked at the man unblinkingly. Hannibal finally looked back at Will, an unreadable expression on his face except for the small pang of regret in his eyes, so small that one would have never noticed, that is if they weren’t Will Graham they wouldn’t have.

“I thought you weren’t fond of eye contact,” Hannibal said softly.

“I think I’ve seen too much, that’s for sure, but I’ve never seen enough of you it seems,” Will said his gaze still fixed on the lean man before him. His silver hair combed, not a single hair out of place with the aid of a very firm hair gel. His hands were loosely folded on his lap, his eyes soft, but devoid of emotion now that he knew that he was being analyzed by ‘the keenest hound ever to run in Crawford’s pack.’ But he reveled in it. He did, every time before now, at every crime scene, at every session—it was there and so was the rush. But the keenest hound in Crawford’s pack?

I might have to change that soon... Hannibal thought as he slowly drew his hand up to lean his head against.

“How have you been Will?”

Will was dumbfounded. There was a pause, before a chuckle started that didn’t end until Will noticed that Hannibal’s lips were slightly pointed down, “How... hm, how am I?” Will asked, composing himself poorly, a smile playing at his lips, but dangerous venom waiting behind it for Hannibal to say something that even remotely triggered Will to clap back, “I think the more important question is how are you?” Wills smile dropped immediately, “How have you been doing Dr. Lecter.” The question now more of a statement.

“..... I’ve been doing alright...”

“Oh I’m sure you are, no problems with finding your special meat, or sleeping at night, or being in a medically induced coma for three months,” Will said with a thick layer of saccharine sweetness in his voice.

Hannibal opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it.

“So how. Have. You. Been. Hannibal,” Will repeated, each word with a pause in between. Hannibal pursed his lips for a moment, keeping steady eye contact on Will’s bloodshot eyes. There was a pause before he straightened himself and sat up, folding his hands while keeping his gaze trained on a stain in the carpet.

Another moment passed and he looked up finally, got up from the chair and approached Will until he was directly in front of the brunette’s seemingly small figure on the bed.

To Will’s surprise, Hannibal bent down to Will’s level and sat on his knees, “I missed you,” he said and took Will’s hands in his. Will looked down, noticing that his hands were shaking.

He quickly pushed his hands away and flopped back onto the bed, covering his face, “Fucking hell,” he whispered. The bed creaked as another weight was added. He peeked through a slit between his fingers to find Hannibal sitting on the bed as well. Will could see his broad back, and with him being hunched over a little, you could see his muscles under the dark fabric, how strong he was, but not overtly muscular.

Will slowly raised himself into a reclining position, not yet on Hannibals eye level and just stared at his back. Who the fuck was he kidding, he needed Hannibal like how a fish needs water to live. He needed Hannibal to live, and at that moment, he thought: Fuck it.

Hannibal was startled when he found two arms around his torso, warmth against his back, a muffled voice saying, “I missed you too.”

At that point, Hannibal really couldn’t help himself, a soft smile broke out on his face as he looked down at the arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. Gently, he priced them off and turned himself to see Will lying on the pillow behind him, bright blue eyes glassy again. He grabbed Will’s torso and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“I never regretted anything in my life. But the moment I met you, everything I did gave me second thoughts, and the things I did on a whim, especially if it involved you, I regretted, at least a little. Taking Abigail from you was one of my biggest mistakes.” Hannibal said into Will’s shoulder before pulling away, but not letting go of the dark haired man.

“What was your biggest?” Will asked his voice hoarse.

“Leaving you to pick up the pieces,” Hannibal said with such a look of regret that Will had never seen before, “And for that, I am sorry... So very sorry mylimasis...” Hannibal lowered his head against Will’s chest, “How you could ever forgive me I do not know, and I don’t expect you to either.”

“Shut up you idiot,” Will said as he lifted Hannibals face up to his to find a single tear had found its way down to his chin, “I already told you, yesterday, in the church, down in the caves... I forgive you.”

Hannibal looked at Will, “You don’t believe in God.”

“I believe in you,” Will said, his deep blue eyes crinkling at the edges as small, but genuine smile was cracked, “Isn’t that enough?”

Hannibal looked at Will, longing in his eyes before he pushed Will down onto the bed and gave him a tender kiss, “You’re more than enough for me mano meile, always.”

Will laughed a bit, “I sure hope so,” He threaded his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, breaking through the hair gel like straw cracking until his hair was soft and silky again, “But if you ever run off to some place halfway across the world again,” Will said pulling Hannibal’s face towards his, “Mark my words, I will find you, and you won’t be running off anywhere anytime soon.”

Hannibal chuckled, “I would never leave you Will, who in their right mind would?” Hannibal asked his eyes crinkled and an adorable grin on his face as he pressed Will closer to him.

The two sighed. Night settling in. A small while passed, the two eventually moved into a more comfortable position, side by side holding each other, listening to the night as a now cool breeze blew over them.

“Folie a deux.” Will whispered.

“Madness shared by two.” Hannibal finished.

Will turned to look at Hannibal, “I wouldn’t want to share madness with anyone but you.”

Hannibal didn’t say anything, but a small smirk appeared on his face, “Mylimasis,” he said before he rolled on top of Will and leaned in for another kiss.

And all I’ll tell you is, is that they had a very eventful night.

The End.

[revelaare]

Shit said in the Crimson Discord & VC, taken out of context part 2, (the sequel)

Big NSFW warning, probably

his meat slid off and then slid right back on

[PRONOUN] can punch me in my uterus and make a hammock out of my ovaries

it’s one of the worst fucking things i’ve ever heard, and i’ve heard someone literally shit their pants

they tagged me and my ass clenched

this man just said “I want to eat ur ass and then kiss you” ok buddy

a man with a plan

my grandpa is texting his hoes from his flip phone

god my lawyer was a hit but idk if she will be the chosen one or not

hello give me your toenails

i'll touch you in a non-weird way

he was in that movie with the people, he was the human.

i want her to brush my hair

If we have dick glasses they have to be of the highest quality for the best experience

i don't wanna watch that white nonsense

i would throat him like a fine wine

these millenials can't live without ac? back in my day we lived on the sun

yall better put those goats on a wheel, tell them to start running

he looks like a bitch

yes or no, u wud punch the light bulb out of thomas edisons wrinkly pruned hand and asked him if he believed in god

still has skin and a working body

i needed to wait until my voice changes

you thought i was snacking on joe biden’s savory meat stick

barack guckin oglizzy, oguckma, barack osugma, Joe choden, OglchnnngggHHHYynnUUUnnghhma

why did i have a dream that i was taking the lid off my car

false gods require wine, real gods require coochiefice

fettucine wet ass pussy

that was all you sent me. the picture of a raccoon and then nothing

it isn’t hate, it is ‘continuously let down by’.

i never went to school who science

i’m gunna go peer pressure my mum into a shot

thank you for furthering my career at hot topic

i will suck the ingrown hair off of him

it has huge jackman in it

i chomped on this eggshell, got my calcium in for the day

i will take you to touch the mango

i want to see all the big things

[PRONOUN] has collar bones so deep you could hook a clothing hanger into it

no asscheeks in fucking family chat you animals

he will eat you alive and suck out your intestines like its a spaghetti noodle

[NAMES]’s Tiggle Biddie’s

dropped acid, cried the whole night.

my stomach is hooping and hollering, i’m about to eat some sleep

you want my throatsac ??

please dont know me as the toenail eater

you have to keep the skin on one side while you eat the other, thats basic mango physics

i mean he is some good sasuage

calm down dick Hannibal

respectfully, what the fuck is this

tbf i only eat my steaks where they need tampons

you committed acts of culinary terrorism

does your refrigerator whimper and cower in the corner when you approach it. that's your fridge trying to use echo location to locate a safe space

thundercuck

i almost met Jesus, I almost got an autograph. Almost got a greatest hits signed album.

respectfully, are you smoking fucking crack?

my left testicle could play better than you

i’ll eat him with ketchup

son of a biscuit eating bulldog!

now it’s back to me sucking, all is right in the world.

holy fuck weasels.

holy fuck, weasels!

why does the bad guy look like the Statue of Liberty?

this is a man that sometimes willingly dresses like a lumberjack

and me, being an emotional cripple, must make jokes about this.

hey my name is [NAME] i'm **definitely** who i say i am

[NAME OR PRONOUN] offered a back massage by calling it the “tickle thing”

i love a man who puts his parents in a nursing home.

my brain is going to take a hot shower

wait have u seen steve harvey's coochie

if it were me i would simply not be pregnant

look im not about to be out here saying i love [NAME OR PRONOUN] feet, but i am about to be out here saying that their feet are some of the nicest feet i've seen in a long time

i named my cloyster renesmee

[NAME] was texting me from the bathtub

you’re pregnant? That’s unfortunate.

do I say dumb shit? Perhaps. Do I take ownership? Perhaps.

i pay for things in blissful ignorance

i am an emotional vagrant

i am an emotional fragrance

to make a long motherfucking story short...

this enchilada tastes like asshole and sadness

you are not an ugly bitch, you’re just a bitch

that’s not a nut shot, buddy.

i’m sad because i sucked the meat off of this pumpkin spice latte

i want to make a blanket out of his eyebrows

what are you disgracing my Christian eyes for?

he be looking at that dick like why does it go so much to the left?

I want her to record an audio book for me so I can fall asleep listening to her voice.

Can I lick you like an ice cream cone? Asking for science.

like you're out to lunch with your bromie and you're eating some rubens or something and you wistfully look over the rim of your sunglasses and just: You ever buss 2 fast

my accent is flaccid

timotay chalamaymay’s sweet ass

on the bright side mcallister’s gave me 3 pickle spears. Almost enough to make a whole pickle.

you think they came from the same mommy pickle?

HIS DOODLE IS OUT

i thot that meant [NAME] wanted to...doodle his noodle

i don’t use commas, i don't respect u enough, fuck ur reading comprehension.

does australia have seasons

i want someone to embalm my body with mcdonalds sprite

his hermione grangina

purrrr my last email

its lore locked beneath 30 layers. u can only understand it if uve had a near death experience

LET'S GET FUCKY

i wanna have the heart of a stoner

his man titties look like little tattooed pillows

SWIGGITY SWOOTY COMIN FOR THAT BOOTY

there were no cheeks to shake. nothing to clap. no noise to be had from her literal slices of wonderbread

u ever just fuck around and ur tits fart

put a lil mint leaf on it for authenticity

alright brother god bless may u be fertile

i feel like im being advocated for something i shouldnt be advocating for

and i am adam with my fat pendulous balls lol

i’m making whuppie with whoopie godberg

theodore tits fart rex

yeah man do u also have the third toe on ur shoulder

the green spaghetti monster is coming for me and i can't blame him

today i learned starfish do not poop

that was nothing compared to some other things I saw

listen I'd willingly watch [NAME/PRONOUN] in a cell for 24 hours. Imagine that sounded less creepy

i'd lick a dirty flip flop off her abs

i’m tempted to show you all the gravity defining boobs, maybe tomorrow

my brain is on vacation

good morning! i ate breakfast and im ready to go to bed

tape the titty in

ive unironically had nightmares with [NAME] in them

the peanut in the auditory canal

so far this feel all comfortable, does this all make sense?

i know it's kind of a schlep to get through

nail polish or no nail polish for the shower?

and then he saw those big tt honkerz... and it all went down hill from there

can y’all stop chanting curses in the chat my furniture is stuck on the ceiling

EH?! CIAO? HELLO??

in Russia this is not ok 

i can’t buy pants here on Sunday either

IT'S LIKE TWELVE THOUSAND DOLLARS TO EAT ON A SOGGY PANCAKE

imagine me going up to [NAME/PRONOUN] and being like i love the way ur flesh smells

in a supermarket. The sickly blue light where humans congregate. Animal human masses. Nameless faces. Whole lives boiled into generalized categories like "asshole who definitely does need 4 boxes of cheerios". Yout hink and realize while stabding in line u didnt grab the bag of frozen peas...but its 2 late

its truly the only picture that gives me pure joy

are weasels real

my work mum just messaged me the phrase "use your booty call wisely" with no context

"let's bring u to the mustache chair"

If you’re not doing coke under the coke sign what is the point?

[barb-aricyawp]

Hey, no pressure but if you feel like it, how about 'that doesn't scare me' and 'let's play a game' for Will and Hannibal? It just seems like it would fit... Always a pleasure to read whatever you write, but take it easy! -S

I’ll always make your prompts a priority! 

trigger warnings in the tags…I went all out, so please mind them.

“You seem bored, Will.”

“Do I?” Graham rolls his tongue around his aching mouth and spits out a molar. It narrowly avoids Lecter’s cognac leather shoes. “Can’t imagine why.”

Side-stepping the lost tooth, Lecter hums. “I know you miss your work, Will. So, I brought it to you.”

Graham lifts his head in shock. There’s a woman in the room with them now, a thin waif of a girl, and Graham recognizes her instantly. This is Georgia Madchen, the woman who accidentally killed her best friend. Graham thought she was dead.

But Lecter is like the dog that keeps dragging dead things in from the yard.

Like Graham, Georgia is bound to a wooden chair. Unlike Graham, her eyes are wide with terror and confusion. She looks around the room in a panic, taking in Lecter’s table of tools. The thick curtains covering the windows. The plastic wrap covering the floor. And, of course, Graham himself.

The reason Lecter brought her here.

When they meet eyes, Georgia strains against the ropes binding her to the chair. In a hoarse whisper, she asks him, “Am I dead?”

Graham closes his eyes. He sees a doe in the woods, following the trail of food straight to the hunter in the brush. How the shot will cleave through the cavern where her heart is. How the crack of the rifle will sound after the bullet kills her. How she will be dead without knowing she’s been hunted.

And how Georgia is nothing like that doe.

“No,” Graham says, flinching. The movement stings the laceration over his brow, the one that cuts down towards his the inner corner of his eye. “Not yet.”

Lecter claps his hands congenially, drawing their attention towards him again. “Let’s play a game.”

He tracks Lecter’s movement towards the table. Lecter plucks up his favorite scalpel. A curved blade with an unsharpened back edge, large and good for abdominal incisions. 

“That doesn’t frighten me anymore.” Graham snorts at the sight of it. Crusted dried blood from his broken nose breaks off from the exhalation. It flutters to his collarbone where Lecter brushes it off for him.

“It’s not for you,” he says lightly. “And you haven’t allowed me to explain the rules, Will.”

Lecter smiles at Graham then, as if they are exchanging a pleasant secret amongst friends. They once shared looks like this one. The familiarity warms Graham, and that makes his stomach churn.

“I will ask you a question. If you lie or refuse to answer, I take something from Ms. Madchen.”

Graham’s eyes flicker to Georgia, to the bewildered fear radiating off her. She must be terrified; her disorder doesn’t allow her to recognize faces, she has no idea who holds her captive or why. When Graham looks to her, she asks again, “Am I dead?” and he ignores her. He has to.

Lecter is already unbuttoning her shirt to expose her pale belly. The muscles and fat there tremble.

There’s no way for Graham to win this game. Otherwise, Lecter wouldn’t play.

“Let’s begin. Will, when you were a child, what were afraid of?”

“The dark,” Graham says. 

Lecter clicks his tongue, shaking his head as if disappointed with a young student. “A half truth. So, I won’t take anything just yet.” He slices the scalpel upward, from her navel to her ribs.

Georgia’s mouth gapes in shock, not quite recognizing the pain. Graham clenches his fists so tightly his nails break open crescents in his palm.

“What do you mean a half truth? I was afraid of the dark, most young children are.”

“You weren’t afraid of the dark, Will. You were afraid of what’s in the dark.”

“Bullshit–”

“Next question.” Lecter moves through the game brusquely, perhaps recognizing that Georgia won’t survive longer than a few hours. “Were you closer to your mother or your father?”

Fixing boats in the dock. The weight at the foot of his bed after a nightmare. “My father.”

Lecter smiles. “I believe that. Most sons of your generation are closer to their mothers. Why weren’t you?”

Graham hesitates. This is how he’ll lose the game–with questions he doesn’t know the answer to. “She wasn’t around as much. We had less in common.”

It’s the wrong answer and he knows it. Lecter sinks his hand into Georgia’s stomach, squelching through organs until he slices one loose. She’s screaming now, asking questions and begging, and Graham knows that must annoy Lecter. All that noise.

Out comes a long, flat organ. “The pancreas,” Lecter says, showing Graham. “I am very partial to sweetbread. Especially with a Burgundy Chardonnay. Would you like to try some tonight? I could cook for you, Will.”

For weeks, Graham has subsisted on a scarce diet of bread and water. He is ravenous. 

“No,” he spits. “I wouldn’t.”

Lecter smiles at him and sinks his hand back inside Georgia. Her intestines curl around his forearms, and Graham is momentarily mesmerized by the drape of them over Lecter’s wrists. Elegant, somehow. Despite the blood.

When he draws out another organ for Graham to see, Georgia’s head has lolled back. Passed out from shock.

“Seems we’ll have to cut the game short,” Lecter says, observing her prone form. He gathers what he’s carved from Georgia’s body. “All for the best anyway; I should start preparing dinner now.”

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

My Design VII

—

Will is in the middle of a lecture - discussing the influence of childhood experiences on the behavioural bias of profilers, something most of the class was up in arms about the moment he suggested their own experiences may cause a break in a case, or the misdevelopment of a necessary profile - when the lights are thrown on and Jack is stood in the doorway.

“We’ve got her.”

The words send a chill directly down his spine as the head of the BAU scare the students from their chairs. He hopes that the she isn’t who his stomach is telling him it is. That the echo of a laugh, in his head or from the shadows in the curve of his theatre - Will can’t fully tell, that genuine and raw laugh he had not heard in months made him break out in a cold sweat.

“Will, did you hear me? We’ve finally picked her up, some abandoned house in Duluth we got a report her car was parked at.” Jack’s rough voice cut through the laugh, the self-satisfied grin on his face as he clapped the smaller man on the back made Will’s fingers twitch. “We finally captured Joanna fucking Harvelle.”

“Congratulations, Jack.” He heard the words leaving his mouth, heard the words formed in his voice, but did not feel them coming out. It was as if his body moved without his permission, spoke without his say so, and followed the gloating man down the corridors, all while Will himself floated along in a fog inside of himself. Standing and then being swept under the swell of the river in his mind. “I suppose this means you will be wanting your file back.”

“Not just yet, we still need to create a profile of her. You will still be needed for this.” Jack responded sharply, leading the pair of them towards one of the interrogation rooms, holding the door to the viewing side of the mirror open for Will to walk through. “Alana is currently conducting the initial interview.”

As Will stepped into the room, his eyes darted rapidly between the scene through the glass, and the tall, well dressed man watching in the darkness already. The monster and the angel both demanding his attention as he drew to a stop a few feet into the space, both with so much blood upon their hands that if it could it would drown them all, yet only one was wearing hand cuffs strapped to the table top.

As Jack shut the door behind them, blocking out the light from the corridor and leaving the three men in the almost darkness created by the low glow of the fluourescent light in the interrogation room, Will felt the ragged breathing of the stag behind his neck as he fell into line between Hannibal and Jack.

“Continue with the interrogation, Dr. Bloom. The last one is here.” The older man’s voice crackled through the intercom as Alana poured herself a glass of water.

Through the glass, Will felt more than saw the woman freeze mid question, hands drawing back across the table as much as possible with the clinking of the chain. The blonde drew back from the comfortable slump she had been in, as she turned in her chair to face the mirror instead of the other woman.

“Joanna, Joanna, what were you saying?” Alana spoke in the same gentle voice Will remembered from his own time in that chair, hands leaning forward on the shelf of the glass as he leant in, eyes focussed on the brown dancing about the mirror, searching. “You were talking about a man, someone called Ash?”

The blonde did not apper to respond, eyes focussed upon the mirror and rising to her feet as she did so, chained wrists keeping her from being able to approach. Her eyes would occasionally stare directly into his own as they travelled around the mirror. Those fleeting seconds, he felt his own breath stop, caught and held as his eyes were.

“Joanna?”

“Sorry Doc, but I really ain’t interested in talkin’ to you anymore.”

“What?”

“I mean, this small talks been fun - reminiscing ‘bout my childhood, my life growin’ up without my Dad, friends I used to have, all that jazz. But really, what’s that goin’ to give you that you don’t already know ‘bout me? Nadda, jack fuckin’ shit.”

Will could hear the amusement leeching through her voice, could see her as she saw him even through the glass, even though she could not pin point exactly where he was. See the way she was not the one caught in the spiders web of the FBI, but that the FBI were the ones trapped in hers. She had not been caught, she had come here on her own free will in one way or another.

“Please, Joanna, sit down so we can resume-”

“Alana, was it? Sorry Alana, but I’m not interested in answerin’ your stupid questions any more. Tell that asshole voice to send in someone fun.” The way she seemed to purr the word made the hairs on the back of Will’s neck stand up, as his bloody angel smiled towards him. He could feel the goosepimples bloom along his neck, into his hair and up his arms, tracing where her fingers once had trailed. His breath hitched as he watched her sink back into the chair, one denim clad leg crossed over the other, the muddy boots on her feet the same he remembered by his front door, smile growing wider as she looked across at the table to the peturbed woman. “Get me one of them from behind there-” The blonde jerked her head towards the mirror without looking away from the other woman. “-so you all could learn a real thing or two ‘bout interrogatin’, Doc.”

Will could see the way Alana’s eyes flickered across to the mirror, before Jack buzzed through his approval to the woman. The dark haired psychiatrist rose from her position at the table and exited the room, joining the men moments later, unsteady on her feet.

“Alana, I thought that was going well.”

“It was until you spoke up. Something just… clicked in her, did you see? She suddenly changed from open and friendly and very much a typical midwest girl, to something…truly unsettling.”

He saw.

“Perhaps we give her what she wants.” Hannibal’s voice cut through Will’s fog, like a wave of ice water poured over him and jolting him back from where he was leaning against the mirror, forehead pressed against the cool glass dark eyes piercing through to the hard brown of the bloody murderess’. “Jack, if I may?”

“Sure thing, see if you can get a guage on her from inside.” The head of the BAU waved a hand in agreement before the other moved out the door. From the corner of his eye, Will could see the stag padding along behind the monster as the door closed behind him.

The pair entered the interrogation room shortly after, and Will found himself pressing against the glass again as the blonde woman’s posture barely shifted at all at the monster’s presence. Her hands remained on her knee as she surveyed the other, rudely ignoring the hand held out in greeting by the psychiatrist.

“Damn, I was hopin’ that the cute one would come in.”

“My apologies, Miss Harvelle,” Hannibal sat calmly down opposite her, his elbows and arms resting in a careful mimickry of informality as he stared across the table at the woman. “If you would prefer, we can have another psychiatrist speak with you.”

“Nah, that’s okay, I had meant to speak with you face to face one day, Mr. Lecter.” The title was sneered across the tabletop from one to the other, the smirk on her face not shifting as the blonde woman rested calmly in her seat as if she was not chained. “I had expected it to be at the end of my gun, however.”

“Charming,” Hannibal’s voice was like silk, and Will found himself sucking in a breath as we watched the pair speak. “Do you speak with many persons in such positions?”

“Not nearly as many that deserve it.”

“And do you believe that I would deserve it for that expectation?”

“I believe you already know the answer to that question..”

Will found himself smiling despite himself as the woman’s response, the small smirk on her lips and jiggle of her folded foot showed a clear lack of concern to the monster that sat across from her. ‘I kill things worse than him for breakfast.’ He could hear the words clear as day, whispered in his ear as she raised a blonde brow across the table at the doctor.

“Well then, perhaps a different question for us to start with then.” The psychiatrist leant back in his own chair, hands folding over one another as he stared back at the woman. “Your victims-”

“The monsters.”

“Monsters?”

“Or demons, sometimes angels if they’ve gone too far off track.”

“Angels? So you are religious. A Christian?”

“Hell fuckin’ no! God left the buildin’ years ago. You’d know all ‘bout the grace of goodness leavin’ you behind long ago, wouldn’t you Mr. Lecter?”

The two other viewers appeared to shift uncomfortably, at the woman’s words - whether from the godlessness or the words echoing the suggestions that Hannibal was anything but a calm, wellmannered doctor - and Will could almost feel their eyes dart to him at that moment. For his part, Will could hear the laughter again, and watching the pair in the other room, he saw the smirk on his bloody angel’s mouth grow wider still, laughing silently, mockingly, rudely at Hannibal.

“In my line of work, it is a terrible thing to be forced to stare into the abyss that is the world’s darkest minds and actions.” The foreign man replied back calmly, as the pair beside Will appeared to begin whispering to one another. “Such a terrible thing to stare into the void-”

“And the void stares right back, yeah yeah, very fuckin’ poetic there. How has no one called you out on your dramatic as shit persona yet?” Joanna Harvelle interrupted and snapped back, pulling her hands as if to cross her arms before being jerked from completing the move by the chains loop on the table. Groaning, she stood up instead and sat atop the end of the metal frame instead of back in her seat, facing straight across at the mirror instead of acknowledging the other man. Speaking directly through the mirror, as if to Will’s companions, a pleading tone drawing into her words as she dropped one hand and managed to draw her fingertips through the ends of her hair. “Really, how has no one noticed this yet? Is this whole fuckin’ Bureau filled with idiots or somethin’? The man speaks and I feel like I’n stuck in a goddamn Shakespeare play every second of it, and ya’ll don’t question the clear flare for the dramatics and theatrics at all?”

This time Will did not bite down the responding laugh her words brought out as his two colleagues gasped and growled at the affronts. Hannibal’s own eyes flashed for a moment as his hands shifted to rest the other way around. Joanna for her part seemed to ignore the psychiatrist from that point on, sitting fully atop the table top with her legs crossed like a child in school, and hands in her lap.

“Truly, I expected better from ya’ll. I really, really did. Guess it don’t take much to get a badge these days-” She didn’t stop the laugh that came up then, the sounds filling Will’s ears with the warm sound that he had craved to hear for months. “-though I will say I’ve managed to get a hold of a few in my time anyways.”

“Did she just admit to impersonating a Federal Agent?” Jack Crawford hissed, fist hitting violently into the window frame as he stared into the interview room.

“She did,” Alana replied, stepping a few feet away from the mirror itself, as if to distance herself from the blonde woman who appeared to still be mocking the psychiatrist, the Agency and the world itself on the table inside. “She also appears completely erratic, and all over the place. One second she talks of God, then demons or the Agency. It’s truly manic.”

“It’s not manic, it’s choreographed, it’s perfectly curated, it is so clearly designed and manipulated to impact each person that hears it. It’s beautiful and it is her design…” Will found himself replying, voice quiet as he leant into the cool glass, hand pressed against it beside him as if to reach forward to his bloody angel. He paid no mind to the concerned and furious looks the other two gave him.

“She is telling the truth and weaving a fiction at the same time, she is attacking each of you in your own way, with your own beliefs and truths thrust forward. She is accusing you of ignorance and arrogance, Jack - something no one elese is willing to do for you.” He found himself  drawing out of his mind, as if appearing before her, sat cross-legged and atop the metal tabletop right in front of her, her voice a warm tone filling his ears as he stroked her unseeing face. “She is accusing you of blindness, of being blinded by your lust and desires, Alana. First for me, and now for Hannibal. She sees you both.”

Alana appeared to flush and splutter, hands smoothing down the skirt of her pantsuit at his words, while Jack simply punched the wall again in frustration.

“What about Hannibal, then, Will? What is she saying behind it all to him?” Alana found her voice, slightly wavering and uncomfortable, however Will did not see that as he simply remained staring into the deep, dark eyes that saw right through to him. The murderess was staring directly at him, through the projection of him and into his eyes behind the mirror, as if knowing exactly where he was and that he was as drawn into her as she was him.

“She is teasing him. Taunting him to draw him out. The him that she is seeing, not the polished man he presents to us all.” His voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide and pupils taking up almost all of his irises despite the light of the room. Will found himself sinking, drowning, overwhelmed by the depths he stared into, swallowed by the warmth and clarity he saw within them. “She wants to draw him into the light, to expose him, to make him forget the carefully crafter facade he shows.”

Looking into the room, Will found his eyes leaving hers between a blink to see the fury simmering within the psychatrist as the woman continued to ignore him in favor for staring through the mirror back at Will himself.

His shiny lure was luring them all in, and the dark smile that blossomed across her face made Will’s heart leap. His lure had caught her fish, and he could feel himself biting down on her hooks, unable to detach.

—

As he is shown along the corridors and through the barred gates, Will can barely control the jump the slam of the gates bring out as he is guided through to the therapy room. The orderly’s at each point avoid his gaze, remembering the time he had spent there in chains and a navy jumpsuit rather than in the jeans and flannel.

Will kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to cower away from the distrusting eyes he passed, the comforting feel of the stream passing his legs with each wade forward towards the therapy room he would be meeting on the outside of the bars for once.

As the door was opened and Will sent through, he felt the suck of memory from being within the cold steel bars creeping up his spine, though the shift of the room’s look from the innocent’s perspective outside of the bars almost made him stumble down the stairs. Looking about the room, he was surprised to see the inmate he was there to see had not yet arrived, but one chair was sat facing the middle therapy cage.

Shrugging off his olive winter jacket over the back of the seat, Will approached the bars of the cage, hands wrapping around the bars. His own wrapped in response over his, the wild, dark eyes of his past self staring back into him in that moment. His darker self stared back at him, lips curling up on one side with the dark smile of a job well done, of the madness slowly taking over. The past him released one hold on the bar, hand reaching through to touch at his own face, hissing the words quietly “See you…”

The click of the doors at the far end of the room, the inmate’s end of the room started Will from the vision, hands still wrapped around the bars and frozen in the place he had lost himself. Taking two steps back towards the chair, hand touching the worn canvas of the jacket as he stood behind the wooden chair itself, Will could smell it the moment she entered the room in a waft of vanilla and chocolate as the breeze flowed from behind her.

He could see how free she was compared to his own experience in the place, how unaffected she was by the dank, and dark, and isolating nature of the clinical building.

Her hair was a matted birds nest around her face, the sharp edges hidden beneat the softness he knew her skin to be, as he knew she would not have been allowed a hairbrush since entering the FBI holding cells and then her transfer to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Her usually sunkissed glow was gone under the hard fluorescents of the therapy room and the lack of sunlight in the worn brick cells. She was further washed out by the navy jumpsuit that was required in the hospital, however the upperhalf of it was tied about her waist, showing off the skin of her arms, her neck, her clavicles, and scooped across her chest by the white wifebeater she wore underneath that his fingers twitched to reach for. To anyone else she may appear a mess, sallow and sickly; but he could see the reality this was exactly the misinterpretation she wanted projected around her.

He could see the way she barely reacted to the chains on her wrists and ankles, instead appearing at easy and playfully tugging and toying with the tied arms of the jumpsuit. She batted at the dark haired orderly that was leading her in, smiling widely at him as if playing. The orderly appeared to roll his eyes and hold tighter on the elbow in his grasp.

“Not so hard, hunny, don’t want to leave bruisin’ now…”

“Inappropriate commentary.”

“Fine, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

Will diverted his gaze as the pair walked to the cage, a small frown on his face as he rubbed the collar of his jacket rather than watch the bloody angel be locked up as he had been. There was the rattling of the cage’s gate, followed by the sliding sound of metal as the door was closed and the handcuffs removed. He found himself looking up as the orderly leant closer to the bars than his own memory reminded him they would, hands rubbing over the woman’s wrists for a moment longer than necessary before shooting Will an unidentifiable look. The stony look in the man’s bright blue eyes felt unsettling to him, as if the orderly could see right into his very mind.

Shaking his head slightly, Will shuffled his feet as the orderly moved back to stand against the wall behind the woman’s cage. The light streamed in from the window behind her, illuminating the nest of hair around her face like a halo as Joanna Harvelle stared across at him from her seat inside the white, rusty cage. She looked completely in control of the situation, legs crossed as she had the table top the last that he had seen her.

“Hey Will, missed you at the FBI.”

“I didn’t miss you.”

“Figured that you were behind the mirror, did you like my performance? That little psycho was so fuckin’ pissed off.”

“You mean Hannibal?” Will queried, pulling his assigned seat closer to her cage, well within the normal pissing range. His eyes darted behind the woman’s shoulder towards the orderly, however the other man didn’t respond to tell him to pull back away from the bars like the orderly’s used to. In fact, the orderly appeared to draw himself up straighter, as if his hackles were raised and glaring at Will like he was the threat in the room. “You were trying to upset him?”

“Not particularly, but it was fun to toy with him a bit. I didn’t like him last time I saw him, up close he’s even more..”

“Inhuman?”

The sound came again - that warm, rich, chocolatey laugh washing over him - as the woman shook her head. “I’d not call him that, he’s definitely just a human. Just a fuckin’ dark one.”

“Some would say that an apt description for you,” Will found himself replying, dragging his chair almost to the point he would touch the bars with his knees when he sat. Sinking into it, he leant forward, hand wrapping around the bars that separated them. “A fucking dark human.”

She laughed again, legs uncrossing as if his bloody angel’s wings were unfurling, as the blonde rose from ther bench to lean beside the bars near him. Will watched carefully, breath catching at the brush of her jumpsuit’s fabric against his knuckles. There was a sound, almost like a growl, from behind her but Will paid it no attention.

All of his attention was on the dark brown eyes staring down at him with a warmth from her laughter. His attention was on the dark shadow of himself he could see in the cage alongside her, the cold darkness of his past self’s eyes as they stared down at him behind her. The way the edges of reality and vision blurred in the streams of light from the large windows. Was the ghost of his past really there? The part of him he had been denying, the methodical, logical, cold and dark self that could match the darkness of her own. Was he really standing there, in his matching jumpsuit, hands trailing over the golden birds nest, down the pale flesh of her skin and arms, wrapped around her waist following the arms of her own suit? Was he trapped outside the cage, trapped inside the cage, or trapped inside her?

“Will? ….Will?”

The voice sounded close, as if he was standing over her and leaning into her. As if she was right beside him. His fingers were still around the bars, but to either side of her face as he’d risen to his feet again. He was staring down at her, the seven inches between them feeling closer as the empath found the dark version of himself smirking back at him before he blinked and it was gone. Blinking, Will found himself standing against the bars, one hand as close as they could to the woman’s face as she had taken a step back from the bars; the other was holding onto one of the sleeves of her jumpsuit, the fabric pulled taunt across the gap between them.

“I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t know..”

“Back from the bars!” The barked order from the dark haired man in white jerked Will back from the bars themselves, knocking the wooden chair and his jacket to the ground as he stumbled backwards. The orderly looked more threatening than the woman in the cage ever could, the glare almost as soulless and dark as the stag’s own. “Stay back from her, Will Graham.” His name sounded almost like a curse as he caught his footing.

“Is that really necessary?” The blonde questioned, sinking back onto the bench from where she has pressed up against it away from his grasping hand. Joanna appeared to relax as she turned to look at the orderly questioningly.

“Yes. Clearly.” The orderly snarled, arms crossed as he moved to stand beside the cage from against the wall.

Joanna laughed a little, though it sounded tighter than Will knew to be real, “Really really? Not like he’s goin’ to hurt me.”

“I don’t really bloody care right now.” The dark haired man hissed back, as Will noticed the man’s eyes did not move at all from where he was slowly getting himself back under control. “You’ve got one more minute, Mr. Graham, before we leave.”

“I’m sorry, I lost myself for a moment there. I’ll stay back, I promise.”

“See that you do.” The orderly remarked, edge in place as he moved back to his position by the wall. Will noticed the way the blonde’s head turned to follow him, an unreadably soft look on her face as she did so.

“So, we were talkin’ ‘bout the FBI… The interesting Mr. Lecter-” The blonde redirected the conversation at hand, legs crossed and hands poised holding onto each of her socked feet. She raised a brow at him as she spoke.

“Doctor. Dr. Lecter.”

“Ah, but he reacted so hilariously to being called Mr, didn’t he?” Joanna’s voice was filled with mirth again, the same smirk that had bloomed across her face in the interrogation room sparked across her now. “He’s not very good at understandin’ real people, is he? I’ve seen fake people do a much better job than he does. How he hasn’t been caught blows my mind.”

“He surrounds himself with people with unusual personalities and psyches. It’s hard to be seen as unusual by the unusual.” Will replied, resetting the chair again but not sitting.

Joanna raised her brow fully at his words. “And what about that lady doctor? She seemed very-”

“Dr. Alana Bloom is a very talented woman.”

“Very stupid you mean. Wasn’t a fan of playin’ nice with her particularly, but it bought time… And I got to play up the crazy a lil’ bit.” He found it odd how he did not react negatively to the slight against Alana. He would have fought the words from anyone else, or from anyone in the past, but hearing his angel speak seemed to set him free of that final shred of protectiveness. “She’s gotta be stupid.”

“How so?”

“ ‘A professional curiosity’ I think was the term she used…” The bloody grin was back, dark and full of danger, as the blonde looked back at him. Will froze at the term and the way she mimicked the woman’s voice almost flawlessly. “Or at least that’s what she said when we were left alone while that big bumblin’ boss went to go fetch you and the monster. Pretty stupid terms to hide behind - if she liked you she should have just said.”

“And if she didn’t?”

“Stupid. Like I said…”

Will could feel his heart in his throat at the simple phrasing, before the orderly approached him. The man appeared to glare for a moment at the cage, getting a shrug in response, before he held out the green jacket.

“Time’s up, Graham.”

“Yes, I guess, uh..”

“Time to go.” The dark haired man’s voice dropped a little, as if he was both speaking and whispering at the same time. A subtle shift in his pitch, but Will thought nothing of it as he nodded and pulled his coat on.

“Yes, time to go.” He heard himself parrot the words back, his eyes drawing away from the wide, cold blue ones in front of him to nod a final time at the caged bird. His caged angel, her wings clipped but not forgotten. Joanna appeared to look surprised, but only momentarilly as the orderly moved towards the cage. Will noticed the man forgot to clip her cuffs back into place before opening the cage door.

As Will began moving towards the visitor’s exit, he could hear the voices of the two in the quiet room despite the low, harsh tones.

“What on earth are you thinking, meeting with him again?!”

“Not really my choice to say no, hun.”

“You can still fight it! You have to stay away from him, he’s dangerous! You know he’s in love with you right?”

“Don’t be silly…”

“You know you know, Jo.”

Will frowned slightly as he left, the words ringing in his ears as he made his way along the cold corridors alone. The other orderly’s he passed all were one’s he had seen before and avoided his gaze as well. Not that he was looking at them. His eyes were still focussed on the image of her hair and the halo around her as she stood over him. His ears were still filled with the orderly’s words ‘you know he’s in love with you you know you know’ you know he’s in love with you you know you know you know he’s in love with you you know he’s in love with you know he’s in love with you…’ as he padded along the stone hallways.

As he reached the main doors to the building, pen in hand to sign his time out, he was shocked back to reality by the cane across his knuckles.

“Will Graham. Care for a cup of tea?”

---

"Please, sit. Make yourself at home.” Dr. Fredrick Chilton said, a hand waving towards the seats opposite the desk. As the administrator rounded his desk, sinking into the suple leather of his Chesterfield desk chair, the dark haired psychiatrist smiled smugly across at him. “Again.”

“This was never my home, Fredrick, just an unfortunate living arrangement.”

“Oh of course it wasn’t, I never intended to suggest-”

“Please, let’s not insult either of our intelligence.”

“Yes, you do think quite highly of yours, don’t you, Will?”

Will found himself holding back a sneer at the other’s comments, as he sat in the chair opposite the doctor. He had never enjoyed the psychoanalysis that the well-put together man had tried to apply to him - the unusual and unconvential methods, as well as the rudimentary at best interest to understand his psyche rather than just place a title upon him that Chilton chose already, not endearing the man or their time together to Will at all.

He could feel the twitch of his lips, that other self he saw in the cage, and sometimes in flashes in a mirror or the dark reflection of a black screen - the shining flat screen angled to face the both of them at once showing the sneer blooming across that Other Will’s face, eyes black and dark as it stared back at him - but forced the look to remain on the other’s and not his own.

“What do you make of my newest patient? I heard a rumour you were due to write the profile for her before now.”

“I’d much rather hear your thoughts, Fredrick, being the trained professional after all.”

“I may have said there was no word currently available to apply for yourself on the stand; however that is far more the truth for that woman.” Fredrick Chilton leaned back in his chair, the slight squeak of the oil-deprived springs at the movement sounding through the room as the TV screen flashed on. The inside of a cell, the blonde inmate laying on the lumpy mattress with her jumpsuit off and simply the wifebeater and underwear made Will’s eyes flash wider momentarially. The doctor smirked slightly, leaning forward in his chair again as he swivelled to look at the screen. “Truly a sight to behold in this facility, isn’t it?”

“I don’t recall you having any policy regarding clothing.”

“I have thought to implement one lately, but..” The smirk shifted almost into a leer as the dark haired doctor poked at the screen with one finger. “Some of the orderly’s may just object if I did, you see.”

Will could feel his teeth grinding together at the other’s words, leaning back in his own chair as if disinterested in the image upon the screen. From this angle he could see the dark reflection over the top of the grainy video feed, eyes black and mouth twisted into a fierce, disgusted snarl as if reacting to the other man’s words how Will would not allow himself to. The dark recesses of his mind reflected in the glass surface in a way that he did not yet feel comfortable acknowledging, comfortable accessing, comfortable being yet.

“Is your only observation to do with her clothes, Fredrick? Sounds like an ethics violation waiting to happen should the wrong person hear.”

“Of course not, just thought I would prepare you for the footage.” The psychiatrist let out a laugh as he turned away from the screen to look back at Will. “She speaks to herself in the cell frequently, showing clear signs of audiatory delusions and potential schitzophrenia. However in the same way, she has spoken at length regarding seeing monsters such as vampires and werewolves, and demons and angels. The judeo-christian overtones of her delusions suggests an openness to belief and faith, to seeing more in the world than there is-”

“A rather crude example-”

“Perhaps then you would appreciate more the elements of sociopathy demonstrated instead - she frequently attempts to manipulate the orderly’s and the conversations of her interviews to create a sense of empathy in her target. To create a false connection without any truth or genuine desire on her part.”

Will could see the reflection snarling at those words, the suggestion of them as Chilton took a sip from his coffee mug, eyes focussed back upon the fuzzy screen as Joanna Harvelle appeared to stand from her seat and the cell door slide open. The dark eyes of the reflection flashed, the woman’s face appearing within them as she stood and approached the door itself.

“Two appointments in one day?”

“What?”

“Is she due to have a second interview today?”

The pair stared in confusion at the screen as the woman appeared to bounce in position a few times, her hair bouncing in white waves about her on the greyscale screen. The cell door was fully opened, and Chilton frowned to himself as the dark haired orderly from earlier entered the cell.

The reflection’s look transformed into one of fury, Will finding his own expression drawing into a muted version of it as the imges continued. The woman’s arms went around the shoulders of the orderly, in a way completely unethical and inappropriate for a hospital employee to interact with a patient. His bloody angel was wrapped up in arms, and the pair’s heads tilted to one another before the screen froze and flickered to black.

The doctor hit at the screen twice before the picture returned, and with it a flurry of movement from the administrator to the telephone and clomping out of his office with the clink of his cane.

Will had seen the reflection, his dark past self snarling angrilly for a long moment in that black screen, before it was swallowed up by the image of the empty cell. His angel gone again from his grasp, vanishing somewhere in the blackness of the seconds, disappearing from within his eyes.

[partyinthemysterymachine]

tagged by @deadpanwalking

1. Are you named after anyone?

i’m adopted; my birth mother gave me the named Rhiannon (HELLA) and my parents laughed and twisted their mustaches and renamed me to Lisa (Rude). it was not a family name or anything. since then i have wept the tears of almost being named after a Fleetwood Mac song, and renamed myself to Chester.

i named myself after an OC i have named Chester Simon Thornton. i am very original. (also it shortens to Ches, which imo sounds gender neutral/feminine)

2. When was the last time you cried?

I HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO PROPERLY CRY FOR MONTHS AND I AM BEGGING MY TEAR DUCTS AND FRAGILE EMOTIONAL STATE TO ALLOW ME TO DO SO IMMEDIATELY FOR MY OWN MENTAL WELLBEING

3. Do you have kids?

yes, but he doesn’t know he’s my son (i’m joking about an OC)

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

i’m a Gemini, that’s just my personality

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

eye contact or lack thereof, facial expressions, and facial features 

6. What’s your eye color?

dark brown like a worrying shit

7. Scary movie or happy ending?

wearily lights a cigarette and stares out of a foggy window

my entire life is filled with horror, and so i consume what i know best

8. Any special talents?

i can clap with one hand

9. Where were you born?

bitchass southern california, my mortal enemy

10. What are your hobbies?

i enjoy screaming, eating, lifting weights to get Real Stronk, defending Margot Verger, explaining how much i hate Hannibal Lecter, being a snob about horror films, crying about Silent Hills, screaming at art, procrastination, watching the same youtube videos over and over, talking about food, roleplaying, writing one-shot porn ficlets, ignoring my responsibilities, daydreaming about living in Fuckall Nowhere, Alaska, challenging my mutuals to a fight, speaking only in WoW terminology, and actively bullying @pocketyoursnotrags and @lightbeyondthegrave

11. Do you have any pets?

his name is Butthole Pete and he has very fancy feet

he is not technically mine, he’s @lightbeyondthegrave‘s inbred son, but he’s mine all the same

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

i have played soccer and i enjoyed it, however i get Very Aggressive on the field and as such, cannot play nicely with others

13. How tall are you?

5′7″ and mad as hell

14. Favorite subject in school?

English (because writing is my passion) and world history

15. Dream job?

mountain man

no really i have a lot of pursuits i have wanted to take, such as costume design for theatre and film, FX makeup, wig construction, ASL interpretation, living fulltime as a New Age hippie in the wilderness, tattoo artist..

and one of those pursuits is about to come to fruition

prepare yourself

TAGGING: @pocketyoursnotrags @agent-jaselin @lankybrunettepartdeux @acapelladitty @alvadee @lfthinker @angsty-rhys @sinclair-solutions @smallscarecrow @human-resourccs @luciferesque @lightbeyondthegrave @gotham-doodles @bat-itude @pharaoh-of-phobias @madmaxxing @fearsomescarecrow @thelampknowzall + anyone else!