wolverton

[wolverton]

HELLO ITS ME YPUR AO3 STALKER HI I LOHE YOUR WORK AND STUFF HI HELLO HI

DUDE HELLO HI.............. THANK YOU FOR BEING MY AO3 STALKER I TREASURE IT FOR REAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! clapping excitedly seeing ur comments in my inbox like Aw Yeah... another hit...

also!!! i have recently grown the balls to connect my main acc to ao3 so you can find me at @degloved !! most likely i won't use this acc much anymore since this development :>

[wolverton]

Hi^^ I just read your Saw fic “right now you’re feeling helpless” and I absolutely love it!!!^^ wondering I could request another John & Amanda father/daughter relationship from you? How about one where Cecelia tries to get revenge on John by torturing Amanda and forcing him to watch? John’s reaction to watching her getting hurt and feeling helpless.

If that’s too complicated, maybe just one where Amanda gets beaten and John has to take care of her. She comes home to the warehouse one night after getting attacked or something and John has to take care of her.

Totally understand if you’re not willing to do this, I appreciate your time^^

hey !! thanks for sending a request, very exciting to have gotten one of these!! :D will slide this into the prompts pile <3

[wolverton]

In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.

I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!

From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!

I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.

The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.

(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)

If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.

The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.

insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box

add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box

delete -> self explanatory

on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic

The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.

Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.

[wolverton]

Apples and Oranges is now fully posted!

Post-War, mutual-pining romantic-comedy plot in which Harry and Draco look like a couple, act like a couple, and want to be a couple, and yet... are not actually a couple?

Find it on my ao3!

(click the picture above for the full summary or check it and the tags under the cut <3)

Summary:

If the world was a fair place, Harry Potter would never have come across a curious romance novel that seemed to depict the entirety of his past with his old school rival Draco Malfoy. The world, however, was not a fair place. That’s why he found himself sitting in a cosy little bookshop listening to that same Draco Malfoy read extracts from “Apples and Oranges” – his newest endeavour into the world of muggle literature, and a way to fix his relationship with Saint Potter, if only in his head. In a turn of events stranger than fiction, the flames of an old obsession begin to light up Harry's days all over again. It starts with the meet and greet, the gin and tonic, and the signed copy of his "fixed" life, but the ending seems more unclear than ever. Twisted in a fictional romantic comedy, Harry's own life is suddenly at a crossroad - he passed his enticing incident, so what else can he do except flip the next page of his future and wonder: what happens next? or: Harry and Draco play gay chicken as they recreate ten dates Draco wrote in his romance novel. Harry tries to prove that ten dates is not enough to fall in love, while Draco tries to hide that he's already in love after the first.

Tags:

Post-War, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, POV Harry Potter, Romantic Comedy, Oblivious Harry Potter, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Dating, Gay Chicken, Unreliable Narrator

Apples and Oranges on Ao3 Apples and Oranges on Wattpad

Happy reading <3

[wolverton]

LET'S GO TO THE GARDEN. LET'S BE KIDS AGAIN. I'LL CHASE YOU IF YOU CHASE ME.

BLOOD, GUTS, AND ANGEL CAKE

by wolverton

T | Amanda Young & Mark Hoffman | Oneshot | 2.5k

SUMMARY

Mark Hoffman could be a good big brother when he put his mind to it. Luckily for Amanda Young, he was putting his mind to it—complete with a total resurrection of his long-forgotten baking abilities.

(NOTABLE) TAGS:

Fluff, Birthday, Sibling Bonding, Brother-Sister Relationships, Not Canon Compliant, Fluff and Crack, Found Family

(see ao3 for more!)

[wolverton]

If you want to be a dog, first you must learn to wait. You must wait all day until somebody returns, and if somebody returns late, you must wait until then.

("How to Be a Dog" by Andrew Kane)

RIGHT NOW, YOU'RE FEELING HELPLESS

by wolverton

M | Amanda Young & John "Jigsaw" Kramer | Oneshot | 1.3k

SUMMARY

Her body hit the floor. She was upright one moment, and—blink and you’ll miss it—down the next. The ground had approached rapidly beneath her feet, the room had spun—yet the particular sensation of falling had never come; and for that matter, neither had she really felt nor heard the collision. (Amanda Young is dying. She needs to come to terms with a thing or two first—but she'd better do it quick.)

(NOTABLE) TAGS:

Character Study, Introspection, Father-Daughter Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced SH (see ao3 for more!)

[wolverton]

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Wordcount: 4285 Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Other(s) Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Minor Characters Additional Tags: Dean Winchester-centric, Introspection, 5+1 Things, Loss of Virginity, First Time, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Minor Rhonda Hurley/Dean Winchester, Minor Anna Milton/Dean Winchester, Minor Original Character(s), Happy Ending, Underage Sex, Minor Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s), Minor Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)

Summary:

Virginity’s overrated but Dean still remembers all of his first times and these days, in his old and advanced age of forty-something-we-don’t-talk-about-it, he can almost muster some fondness for it all. Almost.

or: 5 times Dean slept with other people + 1 time he slept with Cas

[wolverton]

writing is so silly and stupid its like auggghhh i made a character lie down and it sent me into a writers block for two days 😞😞 turns out the solution was to make then sit up or something and then suddenly its all good. the fuck man 😕

[wolverton]

the thing about making stuff for media a lot of people think is stupid is that u will get sooo many tags saying shit like “wow this is weirdly good??” or “i can’t believe im reblogging this smh” or even just “lol what is this” like i get it but also please dear god think about it for .2 seconds and realize how backhanded and rude it is to the creator lmfao

[wolverton]

I'm begging y'all, put at least minimum care into how you present your fics to the public.

"idk man you name it im tired" as a title tells me you didn't care.

"This is STUPID" in the tags. Okay, I won't read it then.

"I don't know how to do tags" tells me you didn't bother taking one look at any page in the archive to see how others tag and use it as reference. Or, you know, you could have asked, too.

"idk if this is trash, bc I worte this in the middle of the night bc idrk" in the summary doesn't really encourage me to open the story.

3 lines of tags on a 4k monitor, none of which are actual searchable tags but a stream of consciousness about the author's sleeping habits and music preferences, tell me you don't know what your story is about if you can't give us 2-4 main tropes and themes. Also, this isn't tumblr, come on mate.

"I hate myself for this fic" okay? Why did you write it then if it brought you discomfort? Moreover, why did you post it???

"Why Did I Write This?" well, hobbies are about joy and fun, if writing doesn't make you happy then maybe it's time to look for something else to do in your free time? No point in making yourself miserable.

"The Author Regrets Everything" paired with more self-deprecating tags suggest I better not bother opening the fic because it clearly made the author miserable and why would I be miserable as well?

"killing myself rn" please get help.

0 additional tags is better than that. Writing and sharing fics should be an act of care, not anguish.

[wolverton]

VIRGIN MARGARITA

by tenderising & wolverton

T | Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter + Benoit Blanc/Phillip | WIP

SUMMARY:

Somewhere in Cuba at the height of summer, a man is missing and with him, a special cocktail recipe that divided the populace. The world-renowned detective Benoit Blanc is on the case with his part-time sidekick and full-time husband Phillip. On the other side of town, Hannibal Lecter—who does not yet know he is about to become a murder suspect, but would not find it all that surprising if he did—is beginning to experience the consequences of his actions in unprecedented ways. The love of his life, Will Graham, claims that karma waits for no one.

Summer domestics in the heart of Cuba, a murder mystery, and crack that is only occasionally treated seriously, brought to you lovingly in collaboration with @tenderising <3

READ ON AO3

[wolverton]

Blackness isn't black. It is the last degree of reds. The secret blood of reds.

(Hélène Cixous, from Stigmata: Escaping Texts; "Bathsheba, Interior Bible")

BLOOD, DRYING

by wolverton

M | Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter | WIP | 7/16 & 28.5k

SUMMARY

Molly tasted faintly of mint and mostly of the eggs she had already taken a forkful of right there in the kitchen. Will wondered whether she could taste Hannibal inside his own mouth the way he did. If she could, she did not say. She never did say anything, really. (Enjoy a front row seat to the shitshow of epic proportions that is Will Graham's short-lived marital life. Sit back and relax as he navigates the complexities of love lost, betrayal, and the passage of time. Observe his total inability to escape memories which haunt relentlessly, unforgiving flashbacks, and—to top it all off—an unceremonious and wildly ill-timed comeback of his whilom tendencies to see and hear things which aren't really there. Or are they?)

(NOTABLE) TAGS:

Missing Scene(s), Hallucinations, Mental Instability, Mental Anguish, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cannibalistic Thoughts (see ao3 for more!)

Note #1: No set posting schedule, but updates fairly frequently (approx. once every ten days or so). There'll be a very short hiatus after chapter 7, as it'll round off the first half of the fic (considering the division into two acts). The posting of the second half will commence when I outline/plan it out in its entirety.

Note #2: The posting of the second half has commenced.

↓ CHAPTER SNIPPETS / TEASERS ↓

ACT ONE

CHAPTER 01: Scarlet

Leaned against a counter, Will cradled a warm mug in his hands, savoring the rich scent and the steam that gently caressed his face. Eyes open, eyes closed, slow blinks matching the deep, steady intakes of breath. His chest expanded, trapping a little bit more warmth each time; warmth emanating from the coffee, from the stove, from the pan sizzling atop it, from the single ray of sunlight seeping through the tiny window above the fridge pleasantly warming the upper part of his left cheek. He could almost ignore the deafening buzz of blood rushing past his ears. Could almost ignore the bitter bile in the back of his throat. (It mingled disgustingly with the aftertaste of some obnoxious brand of activated charcoal toothpaste with a dash of mint that Molly had bought in a vain attempt to undo the effects of coffee overconsumption and decades-long nicotine addiction.) Yes. A lot of things could be almost-ignored for a few rare moments; Will would take what he could get.

CHAPTER 02: Vermilion

The shirt was borderline blindingly white as he put it on, sliding each arm into its sleeve, shrugging it on, and buttoning it up. It made him look even paler, fucking fluorescent (just like those lights he’d feared facing), and it was… utterly unflattering. Yes, maybe most of his old ‘white’ shirts have gone a little eggshell, a little merino, but at least they didn’t make him look as ghostly as he generally tended to feel. Maybe most of what he’d consider his Nice Clothing was a little worn and frayed around the edges—but at least they didn’t make him look as though somebody put a bow on the rattiest mutt in the pound and tried to pass it off as a show dog. God, he sounded just like daddy. Will smiled wryly at the thought of what Will Graham Sr. might as about this. Some choice words, no doubt; he’d work himself into sweat at the thought of purchasing a replacement for something that didn’t even have a hole in it. (And even then, he knew how to mend; taught his boy, too.) But, daddy would never get out of the habit of going through life with a single suitcase-worth of personal possessions, even after so many years that he’s been decidedly less nomadic and with a roof over his head. In fact, Will expected that the suitcase in question would remain unpacked—or packed ahead of time, depending on how one decided to look at it—forevermore. Will did have a terrible habit of following in his old man’s footsteps—but, not today.

CHAPTER 03: Crimson

Hannibal considered this for a moment. “You must understand that I know only as much as you know. If I had to take a crack at it, as you might put it, I am an external manifestation of an inner conflict.” He looked pleased with that deduction. “You must look inward for answers, Will. Deep, should it be deemed necessary—I know not how hard you have worked to bury me.” Will felt, suddenly and perhaps unrightfully so, slighted. Perhaps less so slighted and more so deeply shaken and thus almost offended by the way Hannibal carelessly peeled away the layers of skin and deflection and suppression he’d worked so hard to pile on, to blot so much shit out in attempt to remain sane, to gain the ability to start anew, to survive (and how well was that going for him?) He had to remind himself that this Hannibal was in fact Not-Hannibal, incredibly fake actually and totally not real, still entirely in Will’s head despite appearances (appearances being that he’d escaped the confines of Will’s skull.) He paced, as he was really good at that, and he took deep breaths, at which he was only decent, and glared at the man-shaped nightmare with the hatred of a thousand suns, privately hoping all that derision packed into a single look would cause the other to combust, or perhaps melt away. This did not happen. Hannibal only appeared vaguely amused, judging by the slight quirk of his lips. Could he read Will’s mind? He couldn’t, could he? He was inside Will’s mind, which was a cause for worry, and Will only prayed that Mind-Hannibal had limitations.

CHAPTER 04: Amaranth

“Trouble sleeping, hm?” Katie hummed thoughtfully, “Mind keeping you awake?” Will hesitated. Instincts told him (screamed at him) to be mindful of the trap; it would have been a trap most certainly, once upon a time. It would have marked him unstable, again. It would have sown mistrust of his thoughts and actions in those around him, it would have had Jack disturbed and Alana pitying, would have had Price and Zeller leaving between them and him a slightly wider berth. It would have been a flashing neon sign above his head, shouting: THIS MAN HAS TOTALLY REGRESSED, GUYS. TREAD WITH CAUTION. Will’s lip curled in distaste at the fleeting imagery. Was he unstable, again? He felt stable, he thought, for the most part. Mostly stable, yeah, save for those few hours here and there. Stable like a horse. Ha. (God, maybe he was losing the plot.)

CHAPTER 05: Ruby

Hannibal had the gall to chuckle. “Are you calling me rude, Will?” Will tilted his head, a mirroring and a mockery, as though taking his turn to assess the other. “Do you think you’re not?” A beat. “What fate would you have me suffer for it?” “You invite retribution?” “I do so hope borrowing from your own vocabulary is acceptable,” Hannibal leaned back once more, at ease when he shouldn’t be (when Will didn’t want him to be), “Not retribution, no. Merely tit for tat.” Will’s lips stretched into a sneer, all derision. “Tit for tat? Well, then, your fate would seem crystal clear to me.”

CHAPTER 06: Carmine

A movement in the corner of the room caught his attention. Hannibal, perched on the windowsill, gazing outside. He looked thoughtful, as though his mind were adrift in contemplation. Somehow, Will doubted that. Will’s doubts were, indeed, confirmed. The moment he shifted on the couch, Hannibal’s head turned, eyes landing on him. It felt like a blow. “You ought to head home.” Will, getting up, was far too tired and far too hungover to enter another crisis about this very disturbing turn of events. “Fuck off,” he muttered, without heat. He wandered around like a headless fly for a hot second, attempting to locate his shoes. They were by the front door (shocker.) “Like you’re one to talk. Last time I checked, we’re not in Baltimore. You’re further from home than I am.” “Am I?” Will didn’t say anything to that.

CHAPTER 07: Maroon

“Florence seems so long ago.” Will inclined his head, “We were different men then.” “Is that what you think?” “It’s what I know,” he shrugged, casting a look out the window, locking eyes with the moon again. “I think I loved you then.”

CHAPTER 08: INTERLUDE

Her unfaithful husband walked through the door. Her unfaithful husband kicked off his shoes, took off his jacket. Her unfaithful husband came into the kitchen. Her unfaithful husband’s hands landed on her hips. Her unfaithful husband kissed her. Molly forgot her anger. Her husband took her to bed.

MORE TO BE ADDED!

[wolverton]

I carry your breath in my hands like warm sun at dusk. Your laughter vines through my hair, roots growing into my heart.

(Patty Dickson Pieczka, from "Autumn", Beyond Moon's White Claw)

A FRIEND BY ANY OTHER NAME

by wolverton

T | Gimli son of Glóin/Legolas Greenleaf | 5+1 | 5.4k

SUMMARY

The five times Gimli and Legolas' bond strengthened, and the one time they fell off the precipice of friendship into the deeper waters of something else.

(NOTABLE) TAGS

5+1 Things, Developing Friendships, Eventual Romance, Fluff

READ ON AO3 !

↓ Excerpt under the cut ↓

As Gimli grappled with the foreign feeling of being at a loss for words, fleeting images of Aragorn comforting the fallen Boromir flittered through his thoughts. With no wiser words to conjure, he settled upon a gruff response: "Ach, leave the business of kissing the departed to Aragorn, Legolas—I still have ample time upon this earth!"

Legolas' merry laughter, seemingly undisturbed by Gimli's grumbling, rang out like a clear woodland brook. "Shall I then bestow upon you a kiss reserved for the living?" he quipped, his eyes sparkling.

[wolverton]

Blackness isn't black. It is the last degree of reds. The secret blood of reds.

(Hélène Cixous, from Stigmata: Escaping Texts; "Bathsheba, Interior Bible")

BLOOD, DRYING

by wolverton

M | Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter | WIP | 7/16 & 28.5k

SUMMARY

Molly tasted faintly of mint and mostly of the eggs she had already taken a forkful of right there in the kitchen. Will wondered whether she could taste Hannibal inside his own mouth the way he did. If she could, she did not say. She never did say anything, really. (Enjoy a front row seat to the shitshow of epic proportions that is Will Graham's short-lived marital life. Sit back and relax as he navigates the complexities of love lost, betrayal, and the passage of time. Observe his total inability to escape memories which haunt relentlessly, unforgiving flashbacks, and—to top it all off—an unceremonious and wildly ill-timed comeback of his whilom tendencies to see and hear things which aren't really there. Or are they?)

(NOTABLE) TAGS:

Missing Scene(s), Hallucinations, Mental Instability, Mental Anguish, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cannibalistic Thoughts (see ao3 for more!)

No set posting schedule, but updates fairly frequently (approx. once every ten days or so). There'll be a very short hiatus after chapter 7, as it'll round off the first half of the fic (considering the division into two acts). The posting of the second half will commence when I outline/plan it out in its entirety.

↓ CHAPTER SNIPPETS / TEASERS ↓

ACT ONE

CHAPTER 01: Scarlet

Leaned against a counter, Will cradled a warm mug in his hands, savoring the rich scent and the steam that gently caressed his face. Eyes open, eyes closed, slow blinks matching the deep, steady intakes of breath. His chest expanded, trapping a little bit more warmth each time; warmth emanating from the coffee, from the stove, from the pan sizzling atop it, from the single ray of sunlight seeping through the tiny window above the fridge pleasantly warming the upper part of his left cheek. He could almost ignore the deafening buzz of blood rushing past his ears. Could almost ignore the bitter bile in the back of his throat. (It mingled disgustingly with the aftertaste of some obnoxious brand of activated charcoal toothpaste with a dash of mint that Molly had bought in a vain attempt to undo the effects of coffee overconsumption and decades-long nicotine addiction.) Yes. A lot of things could be almost-ignored for a few rare moments; Will would take what he could get.

CHAPTER 02: Vermilion

The shirt was borderline blindingly white as he put it on, sliding each arm into its sleeve, shrugging it on, and buttoning it up. It made him look even paler, fucking fluorescent (just like those lights he’d feared facing), and it was… utterly unflattering. Yes, maybe most of his old ‘white’ shirts have gone a little eggshell, a little merino, but at least they didn’t make him look as ghostly as he generally tended to feel. Maybe most of what he’d consider his Nice Clothing was a little worn and frayed around the edges—but at least they didn’t make him look as though somebody put a bow on the rattiest mutt in the pound and tried to pass it off as a show dog. God, he sounded just like daddy. Will smiled wryly at the thought of what Will Graham Sr. might as about this. Some choice words, no doubt; he’d work himself into sweat at the thought of purchasing a replacement for something that didn’t even have a hole in it. (And even then, he knew how to mend; taught his boy, too.) But, daddy would never get out of the habit of going through life with a single suitcase-worth of personal possessions, even after so many years that he’s been decidedly less nomadic and with a roof over his head. In fact, Will expected that the suitcase in question would remain unpacked—or packed ahead of time, depending on how one decided to look at it—forevermore. Will did have a terrible habit of following in his old man’s footsteps—but, not today.

CHAPTER 03: Crimson

Hannibal considered this for a moment. “You must understand that I know only as much as you know. If I had to take a crack at it, as you might put it, I am an external manifestation of an inner conflict.” He looked pleased with that deduction. “You must look inward for answers, Will. Deep, should it be deemed necessary—I know not how hard you have worked to bury me.” Will felt, suddenly and perhaps unrightfully so, slighted. Perhaps less so slighted and more so deeply shaken and thus almost offended by the way Hannibal carelessly peeled away the layers of skin and deflection and suppression he’d worked so hard to pile on, to blot so much shit out in attempt to remain sane, to gain the ability to start anew, to survive (and how well was that going for him?) He had to remind himself that this Hannibal was in fact Not-Hannibal, incredibly fake actually and totally not real, still entirely in Will’s head despite appearances (appearances being that he’d escaped the confines of Will’s skull.) He paced, as he was really good at that, and he took deep breaths, at which he was only decent, and glared at the man-shaped nightmare with the hatred of a thousand suns, privately hoping all that derision packed into a single look would cause the other to combust, or perhaps melt away. This did not happen. Hannibal only appeared vaguely amused, judging by the slight quirk of his lips. Could he read Will’s mind? He couldn’t, could he? He was inside Will’s mind, which was a cause for worry, and Will only prayed that Mind-Hannibal had limitations.

CHAPTER 04: Amaranth

“Trouble sleeping, hm?” Katie hummed thoughtfully, “Mind keeping you awake?” Will hesitated. Instincts told him (screamed at him) to be mindful of the trap; it would have been a trap most certainly, once upon a time. It would have marked him unstable, again. It would have sown mistrust of his thoughts and actions in those around him, it would have had Jack disturbed and Alana pitying, would have had Price and Zeller leaving between them and him a slightly wider berth. It would have been a flashing neon sign above his head, shouting: THIS MAN HAS TOTALLY REGRESSED, GUYS. TREAD WITH CAUTION. Will’s lip curled in distaste at the fleeting imagery. Was he unstable, again? He felt stable, he thought, for the most part. Mostly stable, yeah, save for those few hours here and there. Stable like a horse. Ha. (God, maybe he was losing the plot.)

CHAPTER 05: Ruby

Hannibal had the gall to chuckle. “Are you calling me rude, Will?” Will tilted his head, a mirroring and a mockery, as though taking his turn to assess the other. “Do you think you’re not?” A beat. “What fate would you have me suffer for it?” “You invite retribution?” “I do so hope borrowing from your own vocabulary is acceptable,” Hannibal leaned back once more, at ease when he shouldn’t be (when Will didn’t want him to be), “Not retribution, no. Merely tit for tat.” Will’s lips stretched into a sneer, all derision. “Tit for tat? Well, then, your fate would seem crystal clear to me.”

CHAPTER 06: Carmine

A movement in the corner of the room caught his attention. Hannibal, perched on the windowsill, gazing outside. He looked thoughtful, as though his mind were adrift in contemplation. Somehow, Will doubted that. Will’s doubts were, indeed, confirmed. The moment he shifted on the couch, Hannibal’s head turned, eyes landing on him. It felt like a blow. “You ought to head home.” Will, getting up, was far too tired and far too hungover to enter another crisis about this very disturbing turn of events. “Fuck off,” he muttered, without heat. He wandered around like a headless fly for a hot second, attempting to locate his shoes. They were by the front door (shocker.) “Like you’re one to talk. Last time I checked, we’re not in Baltimore. You’re further from home than I am.” “Am I?” Will didn’t say anything to that.

CHAPTER 07: Maroon

“Florence seems so long ago.” Will inclined his head, “We were different men then.” “Is that what you think?” “It’s what I know,” he shrugged, casting a look out the window, locking eyes with the moon again. “I think I loved you then.”

MORE TO BE ADDED!

[wolverton]

AO3 Etiquette

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

Kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished - you kudos.

If you liked it, you should comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it. Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity. Don't ruin that for them.

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLANTONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an implicit rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Avoid deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - orphan it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to you anymore.

This is a creative fanfiction archive. No essays on your insights or theories please. There are other places for that.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[wolverton]

My bones are your bones, and your bones are my bones, and isn't that enough? (Ada Limón, from The Carrying: Poems; “A new national anthem”)

THE APOCRYPHA

by wolverton

T | Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter | Oneshot | 633

SUMMARY

Their graceful, introspective, tumble.

(NOTABLE) TAGS

Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Missing Scene, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Introspection

READ ON AO3 !

OR ↓ UNDER THE CUT ↓

In the moment, the allure of the water had been impossible to resist—not to say that resisting had even crossed his mind. To tip over, it seemed only too natural; to bring Hannibal down with him (as Hannibal had brought him), even more so.

With the cocktail of familiar and unfamiliar emotions both still swirling through his veins, hands still shaking from the dose of adrenaline his system had been assailed with, one thought outshone the barrage of others, one alone stood stark and clear against the dark backdrop of his mind: this is where it ended; where they ended.

Mere hours ago, his future (their future) seemed like a faraway thing; up in the air, ambiguous at best. Much too abstract to begin dissecting as yet. Now, he could see, he could really see; all that had happened through the course of the past years that his life had become so inexplicably tied and twisted with that of Hannibal Lecter—it was all leading to this moment; years of hurt and violence and pain and hurt and violence culminating in this brutal pack hunting of a lesser predator.

And it could not have ended in another way.

It could not have ended more beautifully.

Will had allowed himself a singular moment if indulgence. Maritime wind caressed his face, swept the blood-soaked curls out of his eyes, granted him in its benignity the chance to look upon the man upon whom he had laid his trembling hands.

Hannibal, a living, breathing tableau crafted by the hands, teeth and the bullet of the Red Dragon. It was poetic righteousness, and beyond; such beauty as that which had emerged from him—raw and unfiltered, bloody and hard-won— left Will wanting for words. Left Will, also, with the most dogged certainty of his next move; their next move, for there would no longer be one without the other.

Falling feels weightless. Nobody had ever told him so, and he had never really thought about it. The observation had come unbidden, with a sort of childish excitement at the newfound realization.

Time suspended. There was nothing but Will and Hannibal, Hannibal and Will, Will and Hannibal and Will and the lack of ground beneath their feet, the wind lashing their conjoined form as it cut through the air.

And gravity.

It was so kind as to guide them just the right way.

Blood rushed through his ears—or was it the sound of their descent? Or was it their heart, pounding through his head by the way of their veins? Whatever it may have been, it muted the sound of their collision. It softened the blow of a thousand tiny needles biting into his skin, their skin, their skin that was his.

They plunged deeper and deeper, his world transforming into a blur of blacks and greys. The water may as well have consisted of solid ink, and it felt like no water at all; none that Will was familiar with: this was no wading into the quiet of his beloved stream. The stream, at any rate, was nothing but a faded memory in the back of his mind, much too gentle and peaceful to sustain the violent onslaught of this void which grasped them, glutted on them, swallowed them whole.

It had no right to, and it had every right to. It was the void and it did as it alone bid. It would spit them out, or it would not. In the moment, the ocean which was the void which was the ocean was the judge and the jury and—potentially, if it so pleased—the executioner; and with a wry twitch of his numb, freezing lips, Will thought that Jack might enjoy this metaphor, macabre as it was; Hannibal at last standing trial.

[wolverton]

Blackness isn't black. It is the last degree of reds. The secret blood of reds.

(Hélène Cixous, from Stigmata: Escaping Texts; "Bathsheba, Interior Bible")

BLOOD, DRYING

by wolverton

M | Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter | WIP | 6/16 & 22.4k

SUMMARY

Molly tasted faintly of mint and mostly of the eggs she had already taken a forkful of right there in the kitchen. Will wondered whether she could taste Hannibal inside his own mouth the way he did. If she could, she did not say. She never did say anything, really. (Enjoy a front row seat to the shitshow of epic proportions that is Will Graham's short-lived marital life. Sit back and relax as he navigates the complexities of love lost, betrayal, and the passage of time. Observe his total inability to escape memories which haunt relentlessly, unforgiving flashbacks, and—to top it all off—an unceremonious and wildly ill-timed comeback of his whilom tendencies to see and hear things which aren't really there. Or are they?)

(NOTABLE) TAGS:

Missing Scene(s), Hallucinations, Mental Instability, Mental Anguish, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cannibalistic Thoughts (see ao3 for more!)

No set posting schedule, but updates fairly frequently (approx. once every ten days or so). There'll be a very short hiatus after chapter 7, as it'll round off the first half of the fic (considering the division into two acts). The posting of the second half will commence when I outline/plan it out in its entirety.

↓ CHAPTER SNIPPETS / TEASERS ↓

ACT ONE

CHAPTER 01: Scarlet

Leaned against a counter, Will cradled a warm mug in his hands, savoring the rich scent and the steam that gently caressed his face. Eyes open, eyes closed, slow blinks matching the deep, steady intakes of breath. His chest expanded, trapping a little bit more warmth each time; warmth emanating from the coffee, from the stove, from the pan sizzling atop it, from the single ray of sunlight seeping through the tiny window above the fridge pleasantly warming the upper part of his left cheek. He could almost ignore the deafening buzz of blood rushing past his ears. Could almost ignore the bitter bile in the back of his throat. (It mingled disgustingly with the aftertaste of some obnoxious brand of activated charcoal toothpaste with a dash of mint that Molly had bought in a vain attempt to undo the effects of coffee overconsumption and decades-long nicotine addiction.) Yes. A lot of things could be almost-ignored for a few rare moments; Will would take what he could get.

CHAPTER 02: Vermilion

The shirt was borderline blindingly white as he put it on, sliding each arm into its sleeve, shrugging it on, and buttoning it up. It made him look even paler, fucking fluorescent (just like those lights he’d feared facing), and it was… utterly unflattering. Yes, maybe most of his old ‘white’ shirts have gone a little eggshell, a little merino, but at least they didn’t make him look as ghostly as he generally tended to feel. Maybe most of what he’d consider his Nice Clothing was a little worn and frayed around the edges—but at least they didn’t make him look as though somebody put a bow on the rattiest mutt in the pound and tried to pass it off as a show dog. God, he sounded just like daddy. Will smiled wryly at the thought of what Will Graham Sr. might as about this. Some choice words, no doubt; he’d work himself into sweat at the thought of purchasing a replacement for something that didn’t even have a hole in it. (And even then, he knew how to mend; taught his boy, too.) But, daddy would never get out of the habit of going through life with a single suitcase-worth of personal possessions, even after so many years that he’s been decidedly less nomadic and with a roof over his head. In fact, Will expected that the suitcase in question would remain unpacked—or packed ahead of time, depending on how one decided to look at it—forevermore. Will did have a terrible habit of following in his old man’s footsteps—but, not today.

CHAPTER 03: Crimson

Hannibal considered this for a moment. “You must understand that I know only as much as you know. If I had to take a crack at it, as you might put it, I am an external manifestation of an inner conflict.” He looked pleased with that deduction. “You must look inward for answers, Will. Deep, should it be deemed necessary—I know not how hard you have worked to bury me.” Will felt, suddenly and perhaps unrightfully so, slighted. Perhaps less so slighted and more so deeply shaken and thus almost offended by the way Hannibal carelessly peeled away the layers of skin and deflection and suppression he’d worked so hard to pile on, to blot so much shit out in attempt to remain sane, to gain the ability to start anew, to survive (and how well was that going for him?) He had to remind himself that this Hannibal was in fact Not-Hannibal, incredibly fake actually and totally not real, still entirely in Will’s head despite appearances (appearances being that he’d escaped the confines of Will’s skull.) He paced, as he was really good at that, and he took deep breaths, at which he was only decent, and glared at the man-shaped nightmare with the hatred of a thousand suns, privately hoping all that derision packed into a single look would cause the other to combust, or perhaps melt away. This did not happen. Hannibal only appeared vaguely amused, judging by the slight quirk of his lips. Could he read Will’s mind? He couldn’t, could he? He was inside Will’s mind, which was a cause for worry, and Will only prayed that Mind-Hannibal had limitations.

CHAPTER 04: Amaranth

“Trouble sleeping, hm?” Katie hummed thoughtfully, “Mind keeping you awake?” Will hesitated. Instincts told him (screamed at him) to be mindful of the trap; it would have been a trap most certainly, once upon a time. It would have marked him unstable, again. It would have sown mistrust of his thoughts and actions in those around him, it would have had Jack disturbed and Alana pitying, would have had Price and Zeller leaving between them and him a slightly wider berth. It would have been a flashing neon sign above his head, shouting: THIS MAN HAS TOTALLY REGRESSED, GUYS. TREAD WITH CAUTION. Will’s lip curled in distaste at the fleeting imagery. Was he unstable, again? He felt stable, he thought, for the most part. Mostly stable, yeah, save for those few hours here and there. Stable like a horse. Ha. (God, maybe he was losing the plot.)

CHAPTER 05: Ruby

Hannibal had the gall to chuckle. “Are you calling me rude, Will?” Will tilted his head, a mirroring and a mockery, as though taking his turn to assess the other. “Do you think you’re not?” A beat. “What fate would you have me suffer for it?” “You invite retribution?” “I do so hope borrowing from your own vocabulary is acceptable,” Hannibal leaned back once more, at ease when he shouldn’t be (when Will didn’t want him to be), “Not retribution, no. Merely tit for tat.” Will’s lips stretched into a sneer, all derision. “Tit for tat? Well, then, your fate would seem crystal clear to me.”

CHAPTER 06: Carmine

MORE TO BE ADDED!

A movement in the corner of the room caught his attention. Hannibal, perched on the windowsill, gazing outside. He looked thoughtful, as though his mind were adrift in contemplation. Somehow, Will doubted that. Will’s doubts were, indeed, confirmed. The moment he shifted on the couch, Hannibal’s head turned, eyes landing on him. It felt like a blow. “You ought to head home.” Will, getting up, was far too tired and far too hungover to enter another crisis about this very disturbing turn of events. “Fuck off,” he muttered, without heat. He wandered around like a headless fly for a hot second, attempting to locate his shoes. They were by the front door (shocker.) “Like you’re one to talk. Last time I checked, we’re not in Baltimore. You’re further from home than I am.” “Am I?” Will didn’t say anything to that.

CHAPTER 07: Maroon

“Florence seems so long ago.” Will inclined his head, “We were different men then.” “Is that what you think?” “It’s what I know,” he shrugged, casting a look out the window, locking eyes with the moon again. “I think I loved you then.”