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hannibals-hoe · 3 years

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Hannibal Commentary

This is a episode by episode rating and discussion of the best show I’ve ever seen.

⚠️Spoilers Ahead⚠️

Season 1

Episode 1, “Apéritif”

Alrighty let’s get into this.

Opening scene- we are confronted with a typical true crime tv series type of landscape- police sirens, officers, dead bodies. The show starts off with a weird sense of familiarity. Then, we are focused on Will. He is immediately thrust in as the main character, despite the show’s title. If you look closely at his expression, you notice how uncomfortable and disturbed he is to be at that crime scene. And as his eyes close, the color gradient shifts as he does- from a casual investigator, into the mind of a killer. As he traces his steps backwards and finally stops outside the home, you can see the look in eyes change. This is vital to the rest of the show so I’m going to call this the “Will Graham Murder Eyes.” He closes his eyes for a moment- but when he opens them again- you can see the lifelessness of a killer’s eyes. The very first words we hear of the show are Will describing the crime itself- a relatively non violent and casual one considering the rest of series. This is why when I recommend Hannibal to someone I always say to get past the first episode because it’s way to basic for the show as a whole.

Anyways, once Will concludes his findings, we cut to his classroom. When Will converses with Jack, we notice his tendency to not make eye contact, as described later on. This is such masterful acting on Hugh Dancy’s part. When Jack asks Will for help, we can see Will’s reluctance. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable with his inner and outer thoughts even so early in the show.

The second time we see Will go into his “this is my design” phase, he is clearly more violent as we see him strangle Elise Nichols. The viewer is almost left with a feeling that Will is actually the one responsible, which is what will happen with those around Will later in the season. At least, that’s what I first interpreted during my first watch. You’re like, “wait, Will didn’t actually kill these people right?” But as the show goes on everything makes more sense about Will’s little mind trick.

Next, we see the sweetest part of Will’s character- his love for strays. One cannot help but smile watching Will care for Winston and his other dogs. It is such a stark contrast to what we have seen so far of Will’s character. And then, we watch him struggle to sleep with his nightmares. When he uses a towel as a blanket, we know that this is not new for him- that he has nightmares regularly. The first episode expertly characterizes Will in a way no other show I’ve seen has done before.

Then, in the bathroom scene with Jack, Will is describing the way this killer (Garret Jacob Hobbs) kills- he says, “he kills these girls quickly and-“ he pauses. This pause, I believe, is him stopping himself from straight up saying “with mercy” instead, he adds, “to his thinking, with mercy.” Will, once again, is fearful of his own dark thoughts and how those thoughts will be viewed by others, specifically Jack.

Then, we see Will at the autopsy table, and a beautiful yet disturbing image of Elise being impaled on antlers is seen. The antlers will become a running symbol in the show, later an elk, then the Wendigo. At this point, I do believe the symbol was not planned, but, I could give the creators the credit of intending for them the sign for evil- in this case, the evil of Garret Jacob Hobbs. When Will concludes that this killer is eating his victims, we cut to our first shot of Hannibal.

We don’t need to see explicit human organs being cooked yet- we know it’s cannibalism. The shot of Hannibal himself is quite stunning- barely any light surrounding his features, he appears almost like a skull in the darkness. We visually know he is supposed to be the villain. But as the episode goes on, it’s quite easy to forget that Hannibal really is a serial killer and cannibal.

Next, we are put in Hannibal’s office with Franklyn. When he places his dirty tissue on Hannibal’s table, we can see Hannibal’s visible resentment. He is once again characterized as the villain. Jack then enters the equation, asking about Hannibal’s secretary, who we never see, though I believe it is quite likely Hannibal killed her, as he only describes her having “romantic whims” and “followed her heart to the United Kingdom.” As Jack walks around Hannibal’s office, he looks through some of his drawings. If you look closely, beneath the art Jack is viewing, there is a distinctly visible drawing of “the wound man” I only noticed this after my fourth or fifth rewatch. It made me so angry because if Jack had seen that, we know Hannibal would have killed him right then and there. While Jack is looking, Hannibal does seem to wonder if Jack will notice the sketch. Hannibal picks up the scalpel, ready to defend himself, but when he is confident Jack is not investigating him, he places it on his desk, arranging it “just so.” Mads doing that was such great acting because we immediately know the Hannibal is a perfectionist, which works out to his advantage during his many murders, as he leaves no usable evidence.

And now, we go to Hannibal and Will’s first meeting. Instantly, Hannibal is able to notice Will’s lack of eye contact. As Will describes why he does this, Hannibal’s expression changes, he looks Will up and down, and gives a small smile. Right here- I believe with all of my being that Hannibal started to fall for Will right there. Will’s kind of sad, dark humor instantly is able to draw Hannibal in. However Will is not able to reciprocate these feelings just yet- he feels attacked by Hannibal’s accurate analysis.

Our next crime scene is more graphic than the first two by a good margin. This is the first of Hannibal’s murder scenes. As we cut between the crime scene and Hannibal’s cooking, we are confronted with the very obvious disgust of Hannibal being a cannibal.

One of my favorite shots is the next, with Will in the shower, (hehehe duh) then the stag. This symbol could be interpreted as either Will’s evil growing within him, or Hannibal- lurking in the shadows. In this case, I lean towards the latter, as the next shot is of Hannibal himself, bringing breakfast for Will. (As the show goes on this symbol will vary in meanings but don’t worry I’ll explain it as best I can.) Already, Hannibal has a want to help Will, by making sure he has a good meal. He could have very easily just traveled with Will to the construction site without food, but in a way, he could have wanted to self-congratulate himself by obviously providing Will with the evidence that could convict him. To me- Hannibal’s motive for bringing Will breakfast is a mix of him showing his nature of self-congratulation (described by Bedelia later in season 2) and wanted to provide for Will’s well-being in the only way he knows how. The next few lines are some fabulous foreshadowing. Will’s initial wish is for their relationship to be strictly professional- however we very well know this is going to change. Already, Hannibal objects to this statement, he is hoping they will become at the very least “friendly.” Next, Hannibal establishes the symbolism of the teacup, saying that is how Jack sees him. Will laughs out loud at that, and that is one of the only times we see Will have a strong expression of happiness. Yes, later on Hannibal becomes an object of resentment for Will, but I think this interaction is a strong indication of what life would be like for Will and Hannibal post-fall.

Now we head to the construction site and the discovery of Garret Jacob Hobbs. Hannibal is visibly impressed by Will’s ability to find Hobbs, and his admiration grows.

Hannibal then calls the Hobbs’ residence, warning that “they know.” It’s such a subtle yet powerful move in Hannibal’s part. I think the real reason Hannibal makes that call is to test Will. Hannibal knew Hobbs would react violently, and he wondered if Will would use violence back. He wanted to test Will’s potential and what he perceived Will to be- a troubled FBI teacher who has dark impulses he is deathly afraid of. Arguably, everything Hannibal does for Will from this point forward is to take away his fears. Will fears his own darkness and Hannibal wants him to finally find peace and beauty in that darkness.

Anyways, back to the show. There is a brief shot of Will, covered in blood, with the pendulum of his mind swinging back and forth. This tiny time jump serves the purpose of both suspense shock. We are left to wonder what Will has done- we can assume it was brutal, but was it evil? I’ll get into that later. So, Hannibal and Will arrive at the Hobbs’ home, and Will is confronted with a nightmare. Contradictory is Hannibal’s reaction to the scene. Even when Hobbs’ wife is bleeding out on the front porch, Hannibal is shown with a non caring and relaxed demeanor. Will makes his way inside and begins his journey to a troubling self-discovery. He shoots Hobbs 10 times, his fear for Abigail evident but more powerful is his hatred for Hobbs. When Hobbs’ falls, he utters that famous line, “see?” I think the completion of that sentence would be, “see, it feels good to kill.” Will is going to struggle with this the entire series and only with Hannibal’s help Will he be able to agree with it.

Will struggles to save Abigail, and Hannibal appears, less focused on Abigail and more on Will. Nonetheless, he uses his big, strong hands (sorry) to save Abigail’s life. As he does so he looks up at Will, perhaps thinking, “Ok, he does have that darkness inside him.” Once the scene clears, Will is back outside covered in blood. I will again bring attention to his expression. His “Murder Eyes” are back. He is reveling in the power that killing Hobbs made him feel. I would not say this is dissimilar to how he feels after killing Randal Tier in season 2 and Dolarhyde in season 3. He’s like an addict from then on- he would deny it, but killing Hobbs was a high he would chase for the length of the series.

The last scene of the episode is in Abigail’s hospital room. Will goes in to see Hannibal, sitting next to her bed and gently holding her hand, sleeping. It’s easily the most humanizing shot of Hannibal. Will takes a seat himself, watching Hannibal with what could almost be described as a loving gaze. In that moment, he completely trusts Hannibal with her well being, as Hannibal’s hands saved her life. In a very subtle movement, Will looks down at his own hands, sitting half open in his lap. It’s quite possible he is thinking that his hands had done something quite opposite to what Hannibal’s have- they have killed.

Wow that was a ride if you read all of that thank you so much. I’ll check for typos one of these days. Stay tuned for next episode ok I’m outttt.

#hannibal analysis #hannibal comentary #hannibal symbolism #hannibal cinematography #netflix hannibal #hannibal #hannigram #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #will x hannibal #doctor lecter #dr lecter #hannibal x will #hannibal parallels #hannibal memes #renew hannibal #hannibal season one #apertif

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slashyrogue · 4 years

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AU-gust Day #31: Vampire & Coffee Shop AU

The first time Will walks into Take A Sip he’s nervous.

Newly divorced and still not good at social situations, he doesn’t know how to do this.

The vampire coffee shop is open to all types, vampire or otherwise, and yet he still feels all eyes on him like he’s not welcome. The barista at the counter smiles and her fangs make Will’s body ache for something he’s been denying himself for far too long.

“Hello, welcome to Take A Sip! What can I get you?”

She’s blonde, looks young but probably isn’t, and her eyes are a shade between blue and red. The nametag on her apron reads, Mischa, and when he talks Will is sure he sounds as nervous as he feels.

“Coffee,” he says quietly, “Black coffee.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

Mischa rings him up, eyeing him in that way vampires always seem to do, and when he pays Will is sure she can hear the fast beating of his heart.

“The name?”

“Will.”

“Thanks, Will. We’ll have your coffee up soon.”

He moves to stand with the other people waiting, all pale and obvious vampires.

This was a stupid idea.

Molly had known Will’s tastes were expanding the last year of his marriage when his excitement was down to zero in the bedroom. He’d found vampire porn online, clicked on a whim, and then spent every night devouring all he could find.

“I’m not enough anymore,” she said, handing him the papers, “I know it and you do too.”

He remembers signing without argument, and while he misses her it’s not because of sex.

Will just misses having someone to talk to, someone he feels comfortable with, and someone who makes him laugh.

His friends mostly went on Molly’s side, all but Bev who is way more social and knows more vampires than Will does. Which isn’t hard because Will knows exactly zero.

“Take A Sip,” she’d said, wiggling her eyebrows, “Lots of hot vamps hang out there and the owner is really nice. He’ll look out for you if he sees anyone being...all mind-y.”

Mind manipulation wasn’t even a thought in Will’s plan but now he worries if he’d even notice.

“Will!”

Will looks up and sees his cup sitting on the counter. He takes it just as someone else does too.

“Oh,” the man says, smiling with very pointed fangs.

He’s blonde, young looking, and way too good looking for Will.

“I think this is mine.”

The vampire grins, and Will feels oddly dizzy. “I see that. Hello, I’m....”

“Your blood is ready, Steven.”

Will looks up, his mind clear, and sees a man behind the counter with red eyes glaring at the vampire. “Oops,” Steven says, grinning.

“I guess I looked an easy target,” Will mumbles, “Thanks.”

The man frowns at him. “Are you alright, Will?”

He blinks, and suddenly tears are in his eyes. “I’m fine.”

The nametag on the man’s apron says ‘Hannibal’ and while he can’t see fangs it’s not hard to guess he’s a vampire. A second later he reaches over and hands Will a bagged scone. Their fingers brush and he shivers. “You don’t have to---”

“Yes, I do. Mind control can drain a human quite quickly and you’ll be even more vulnerable during your stay. This is my establishment and I want every patron to feel safe here.”

Will nods and walks away, feeling warm even before he takes his first sip.

The coffee is good, great even, and when he sits down Will looks to see Hannibal watching him. He nods and Hannibal nods back.

Will stays for the next few hours, sipping his coffee and letting it go cold.

No other vampires come near him, and he wonders if it’s because he’s doing something wrong. He wants to just experience vampire sex once, and if his fantasies are all wrong he can go back to porn.

He sighs, taking the last sip, and moves to stand only for someone to appear at his side.

It’s Mischa.

She hands him a clear pink drink. “On the house,” she says, smiling.

Will frowns and takes the drink. “Thank you.”

He sits down and takes a small sip.

It tastes like strawberries and he reminds him of home.

Will spends the rest of the day in Take A Sip and is given several ‘on the house’ things including a sandwich which he eats with Hannibal’s eyes on him. He’s working his way up to saying something, anything, by the time darkness falls and it’s nearly time to close.

The patrons all start to disperse but Will stays, nursing his fourth drink, and when it’s down to him he stands.

Hannibal is there within seconds.

“I imagine you were confused today.”

He smiles. “Confused, yeah, but well taken care of.”

Hannibal smiles at him. “I am utterly fascinated by you, Will, and was from the moment you entered my establishment. I did not wish for you to leave.”

Will blushes and pushes his glasses up on his nose. “This...this doesn’t usually happen in real life.”

Hannibal takes Will’s other hand and kisses his knuckles. “I assure you, this is happening.”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I...came here for a reason.”

“The same reason most humans do,” Hannibal purrs, brushing his knuckles with a cold thumb, “I expect you’re interested in sharing a bed with a vampire.”

He nods.

“I regret to inform you that I am not interested in that with you.”

Will feels the rebuff and tries to move away but Hannibal pulls him closer.

“I wish to know you before I taste you. If that is...acceptable.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Hannibal smiles and his teeth seem even larger. “Would you care to have dinner with me tomorrow evening at my home?”

Will licks his lips. “Yeah, that’s...that sounds okay.”

“Wonderful.”

He feels the loss when Hannibal lets go of him and when he turns he sees Mischa at the door.

“My sister is impatient.”

“She’s your sister?”

“Yes, we’re...quite close. She encouraged me to keep you here today.”

Will smiles at her. “Thanks I guess.”

Mischa grins.

Hannibal pulls a card out from his apron and hands it to Will. An address is printed on it.

“I assure you, I do not give these cards out.”

“You just happen to have them on you?”

“Always,” Hannibal says, “I have only ever given out two of them. One to a young woman with an abusive husband that I took care of and now you.”

Will blinks. “I think you just told me you killed someone.”

“I said ‘took care of’ and that can mean many, many things.”

He laughs. “I guess. I...I’m gonna...”

Hannibal nods just as Mischa opens the door and Will feels his eyes on him when he walks toward her. “Thanks,” Will says again, “I...I think....”

“He likes you,” she whispers, “He doesn’t like anyone but he likes you. That’s important. I hope I see you again.”

Will walks out into the night, feeling warm and excited.

The card in his pocket is full of possibilities, and yet he wonders if this will end like Molly. How far can two people go because of a new found fetish? Will frowns, pulling on his seatbelt, and is about to pull away when someone knocks on his window.

It’s Hannibal.

Will rolls the window down and he sets a bag inside.

“I made you something to remember me by,” he purrs, eyes suddenly seeming even more red, “I did not wish for you to...forget.”

He smiles. “I don’t think I’ll forget today for anything.”

“Goodnight, Will. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

Will pulls away, blushing, and he waits only a block before he opens the bag.

The cupcake inside is dripping red with strawberry filling, and on top is a candy fang.

He laughs.

He doesn’t even know Hannibal yet and he already likes him.

#au_gust_2020 #vampire coffee shop #hannigram au

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reversecreek · 3 years

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clicks onto the dash wearing kitten heels n coyly holding my bang....... hi. me again. it took me so long to select a gif to use on cricket’s intro n i settled on this one bc he looks so unsure abt his smile n it’s rly his essence <3 u can find his pinterest board here n his (work in progress) spotify playlist here. hmu to plot!!!

* alex wolff, cis male + he/him | you know cricket donahue, right? they’re twenty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of their life, on and off? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to should have known better by sufjan stevens like, a million times this year, which slipping on wet leaves to photograph a tree struck alight by lightning, delivering a tedtalk to your own reflection to hype yourself up to buy groceries, hiding your hands inside of your sleeves in case you grew an impromptu megan fox thumb overnight thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 1st, so they’re a libra, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt, she/her )

HISTORY:

cricket ws born to a couple tht lived in lilac ridge. their trailer was tucked closest to the woods n always fell under the shade. it was like the leaves wanted to pretend they were a perpetual hanging cloud on the family n that was kind of fitting. their only reason fr having him in the first place was a kind of shrugged like........... we’re under the income bracket we’d get child benefits so why not! may as well try it to rake in some extra cash! needless to say they didn’t rly think it thru or anticipate all of the responsibilities tht came w children n wound up seeing him as an extremely large burden n boy didn’t he know it!

(child neglect & abuse tw) i’ll try to keep this part vague n brief but things were Not Good for cricket growing up. people in lilac ridge didn’t like his parents n it was for a gd reason. he remembers foggy things. being little n wandering around combing the grass with a stick to search for wrappers to suck on bc he was hungry. feeling uneasy when the front door opened. finding out his name was cricket bc the insects used to crawl into their trailer thru the vents n his parents liked to squish them into the carpet -- his mum told him as much once. i think this says a lot. to excessively trim the fat of the story he wound up entering the system at around 8 after his latest and most serious hospital visit. his parents hd to deal w the authorities n last he heard they bounced to evade charges.

(anxiety & violence & trauma tw) cricket sustained a few lifelong injuries from his time in lilac ridge. his knee didn’t heal right which meant he had (n still has to this day) a limp n he’s partially deaf in one ear. he’s always been an incredibly insecure n anxious person so this mde him rly self conscious going into a strange n new environment tht wld b difficult fr any kid to adjust to, nvm w these added worries. he jst felt like something weird to ogle at honestly. he probably wld have felt like that no matter where he was or what he looked like. he cld be in a huge hall of 200 people all wearing the same uniform n he’d still feel like the odd one out. needless to say this didn’t rly help him make friends

cricket’s coping mechanisms were romanticising the things tht other people found ugly or embarrassing or painfully ordinary. he liked it when the rain hit clunky drops against school windows n forbid everyone from playing outside bc he could feel the vibrations through the rubber soles of his shoes n it was a little bit like hearing all of the world at once fr just a moment. he liked medieval fantasy lore about stout gnomes w crumbs in their beards n cheeks red from ale. he liked fallen nests with the remnants of hatched eggs still dirty from the branches n soil they’d hit on the way down. he liked the way the sunlight leaked thru the leaves of the trees in the woods and how, when he sat very still, he could tune into the ringing that was always in his ear n pretend it was coming from the same place, that light thru the leaves, that the angels were trying to talk to him.

he spent a lot of time in the red room at his high skl (i’m begging u this is not a 50 shades reference) (after googling i jst realised it’s called a darkroom bt i’m leaving this fr the sake of sexy bimbo authenticity) n felt quite at home in there. he borrowed a camera whenever he cld (maybe he did yearbook) n photography became his way of immortalising the world as the romanticised version he wanted it to be. his memories were bad bt his photos were beautiful. maybe if he took enough they’d paste over n bleed into each other. maybe bad cld be replaced w beautiful if he tried his very best.

he got placed into fostering w a family once bt apparently didn’t meet the vibe check of their tastes so he wound up returning to the group home he’d initially been placed in. overall this is where he grew up n he aged out the system rather than getting adopted. there was a sense of floundering/isolation/not feeling gd enough in tht bt cricket made do the best he knew how.

that said there were some gd points! (shocking i kno bc his life hs been so fking bleak so far bt please it’s ok........) (is it?) (🤔). basically he interned as an assistant at this local photography studio during high skl working under this kind of whimsical yet endearing old man. suspected wizard possibly in cricket’s eyes, as an avid fantasy genre reader. for one of his bdays said old man / his boss bought him his very own film camera n cricket cried bc he’d never been bought a bday gift. this ws rly embarrassing bc this old man didn’t know how to emote n neither did cricket so he ws jst sort of sat wiping his eyes n sniffling saying he wasn’t crying as the old man pretended to suddenly clean his lenses. when cricket graduated he offered him a full time position there. they do like. wedding photographs n family portraits n all kinds of things...... pay isn’t huge bt it’s something n he Loves taking photos so it’s sexy <3

PERSONALITY:

SUCH an anxious person it’s actually unreal. overthinks absolutely everything he’s ever said. one morning he might hv put green socks on n for the rest of the day he’s nervously looking around like omggggggg they’re all looking at my socks probably thinking im a little green sock boy thinking i’m a fool n a jester this is all everyone’s probably thinking about i hv to hide my green socks..... even tho literally no-one cares

once saw a girl eating a chicken wing n in his head was like ok she likes chicken good future gift idea..... n turned up at her house with an entire rotisserie chicken

probably thinks WAY too hard abt what to write in bday cards n googles like generic ideas that he can use.... u open a card from cricket n it always says smthn weird like “Warmest wishes and love on your birthday and always!” or “You deserve everything happy. Wishing you that all year long!” tht he got off google

nervously fiddles w things a lot. literally anything. his hair. the cuffs of his sleeves. a thread on his bag. u name it

struggles w eye contact sometimes............ it’s like. he wants to talk to ppl n make friends bt he’s honestly so bad at it. he’s fumbling thru life like a nervous headless chicken

ALWAYS has his camera on him. like always. will tke a photo of u bc he thinks u look nice then be like im so sorry im so sorry...... bowing his head shakily holding his camera bc he doesn’t even kno what possessed him he jst thought it’d be a nice photograph bt boundaries exist. probably breathes very heavily over this later in his room panicking thinking he nw seems like hannibal lecter

probably more confident online bc he has time to think abt what he says more.......... i can see him hving a group of online friends tht he’s more confident w. honestly he’s pretty witty at heart he jst has a hard time verbalising things so ppl overlook him sometimes bt once u get to know him more / he’s more comfy he can b a funny little man.....

loves photographs where he cuts something out of them. loves missing spaces n voids. thinks it’s a rly interesting concept when something that isn’t there becomes the focus of a photograph where everything else is. probably loses his mind fr a collage like a front row 1d stan. likes experimenting w light n perception. pretty artistic honestly hs probably made a stop motion film in the past bc that’s just an extended form of photography in his mind bt i doubt he showed anyone

ummm...... very sweet bt like. he reminds me a lot of this quote. “he had the awkward tenderness of someone who has never been loved and is forced to improvise.” feel like tht sums him up quite nicely

WANTED CONNECTIONS

someone he met at a wedding: cricket probably ws forced to photograph a wedding fr his boss one time n it cld b interesting as a place to meet from that....... like. i can imagine either it being rly awkward maybe he accidentally spilled a drink on ur muse n was stuttering rly apologetic n it ws just a train wreck. or mayb they took pity on him or even (in a shocking turn of events) a shine to him n invited him to drink n dance. omgggg the thought of cricket trying to dance makes me wna die n probably mkes cricket wna hyperventilate bt idk maybe he went wild n let loose. mayb they wound up damaging the camera somehow. mayb they had to scramble to get another one n ur muse covered the cost n it was a strange late night excursion tht cricket thought about a lot since. cricket probably vowed to pay them bk somehow no matter what. idk. we can work things out. lots of diff options here. doesn’t have to b a wedding either can b any event tht required a photographer

ppl he went to school w: pretty self explanatory i suppose...... maybe they were frm completely different worlds..... mayb ur muse was popular n cricket was definitely not but they got paired fr an assignment n had to work on a project together....... mayb cricket asked ur muse on a date one time n it was completely embarrassing bc he didn’t realise they had a bf n it haunts cricket at night still bc he’s rly dramatic.... mayb ur muse felt sry fr him n ate lunch w him n inducted him into their group like a lost puppy finding a home.... world’s our oyster

neighbours from his brief time at lilac ridge: not to reference taylor swift but i’m gna reference taylor swift n say we cld do a seven inspired plot here. sighs a little..... then sighs a lot. he was here ages 0-8 so idk. we cld work out childhood plots perhaps....

sickening simp: i mean.............. cricket probably gets crushes on ppl so easily like just. anyone who’s the slightest bit nice to him.................. he’s a disgrace. ok i take it back. bt also please get it together freak............... i didn’t say that. he’d probably b extra nice to this person n try n pay close attention to things they liked so he cld get them little gifts. just a bit embarrassing n lovestruck bless his heart. wldn’t expect anything back tho honestly that just isn’t something he tends to do.

let’s go gays: cricket’s bi but he probably was rly in his head abt liking boys n tried to sort of squash it internally during his younger yrs...... i think he’s more comfy w it now MAYBE idk bt back then i picture him having a friend tht ws kind of like. similarly loserish as him perhaps (no offence to ur muse potentially filling this plot or cricket bt let’s face the facts) n they’d hang out n play games a lot n one time it jst kind of happened n he was like............. *struts in looking around sharply* What going on here? except not. bc it’s cricket. more like *shambles in looking around anxiously* What’s, uh... What’s... the happenings? S--... I’m sorry. (immediate apology for saying what’s the happenings bc nobody talks like that n it was an impulsive panic bc he didn’t know what else to say)

those who grew up in the system w him: maybe at the group home or i’d also like the family that fostered him n said sayonara. honestly i imagine the parents just thought he ws a bit too much of a handful / had too much baggage which is rly quite merciless n terrible but. if u think that aligns w ur muses home situation hmu......

um. can’t think of more bt just anything honestly. jst go wild.......

#irvingintro #abuse tw #neglect tw #trauma tw #anxiety tw #violence tw #DOES A LITTLE JIG #admittedly i didnt include a formative moments section like my other intros bc idk what kind of superpowers i was inhaling the fumes of #for those intros but #i'm a mere mortal now.

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elfnerdherder · 4 years

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Opus Dei: Chapter 4

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Chapter 4: Extemporaneous

It always began with questions. The drugs prescribed made it difficult to handle the questions. Fog that spread, a head that dipped to whichever way the mind wanted to take him. It made lips glue, though, emotions difficult to handle in hands that didn't know how to hold them.

"Are you having nightmares?"

Will stared at the point fixed just beyond their shoulder. Dr. Lattic was their name, and they were as pleased as punch to have an intelligent psychopath like Will Graham in their clutches. They liked to tell them that whenever they appeared to witness him take his medicine.

"One of the orderlies thought they heard you crying out in your sleep." They made a note on their legal pad and observed him over their reading classes set to perch just at the edge of their nose. "Are you dreaming of the illness, or the things you've done?"

Jared Freeman paced behind Dr. Lattic, and Will tracked where he supposed he'd wander if he was stuck in such an interview as this. That they'd presume to understand him, that they'd suppose they'd ever seen into a mind like his...

"Dreaming of what he did while you slept under the blue," Garrett Jacob Hobbs whispered, just beside the doctor's ear. He was a rat. "What did he do to you whenever blue lights made you sleep?"

"I can't say that your cooperation will ease your sentence, given the things you've done, but if we can make you come to terms with some of the things your troubled psyche made you do, there might be something we can do to ease your experience here," Dr. Lattic said, tilting his head. A different tactic.

"Fool's gold," Jared snarled.

"The things done to you," Garrett Jacob Hobbs corrected. "You only enjoyed hurting the ones that tried to hurt you first."

The bloodstains on Hobbs' shirt never came clean. Will dreamed of washing it in a cold stream of thought, but it never came clean because you can't wash away bullets once they've been fired, and he'd learned that the hard way. He wondered if Abigail would have helped, if the monster under the bed hadn't decided to eat her, too.

"Silence for another session, I see. Perhaps we should lower the dosage. Your eyes are unfocused, and I wonder where your thoughts are directed today."

He was wheeled through two security doors before he's dumped into his cell, the cuffs released from his hands and feet only after he's laid back onto the bed. It's degrading, but emotions are fog. He can't grip one enough to feel it, and he lays in the damp of the low-budget facility midst the screaming of one of the other inmates whose lunch wasn't delivered at the right moment pertaining to their OCD.

Will visited Wolf Trap National Park when the body could only fix so much of the house. Things had to be taken slow, no matter how much his mind raced. He wondered if the ideas had begun to fester yet, if Hannibal had taken his bait.

He sat at the park and did as he often did, as he often had to do. It was a flat, open area with small spattering of oaks and sugar maples. Some Bradford Pears lined to the right threatened to stink the entire place up soon. A few people walked, mostly young adults or the elderly with small children. The playground nearby entertained the children as their guardians gossiped and caught up on old news. The latest body found was suspected to be the second body in the new Chesapeake Ripper wave. Much of the gossip, it seemed, circulated that, from hands that gripped and folded the newspaper article to mouths that puckered and pulled. Hard to talk about death at a park. Things were cheerful, there.

He thought about calling Molly, but it seemed in poor taste to call someone just to waste their time. Dating was commitment, dating was honesty and vulnerability and hands clasped just to walk down the grocery aisle. Still, she'd smiled so brightly when she realized he wasn't trying to be condescending. She looked like the type to like dogs.

He thought about time and hobbies and let his fingers idly scroll through his limited contacts on the phone. The Chesapeake Ripper probably wouldn't want him to date. Maybe he'd kill anyone that got too close to Will like he did last time. Maybe he wouldn't only until Will's guard was down.

It was the bird that caught his eye, even though he was supposed to be people-watching and letting the time pass. It limped along, not like the other birds around it that hopped for the worms bursting from the earth fresh from Spring rain. He stared for a moment, then another as it registered. When the bird tried to hop again, he stood from his lonely bench and slid his jacket off.

It was a male cardinal, bold and ruby red against the green. Its leg was bent oddly, and when it fluttered in panic at his approach, he stilled. "Easy," he murmured, and he wished it could be so easy as that. Say something, and it come true. Easy, and the bird was eased. Catch him, and the killer was caught.

He tossed the jacket and made the clumsy effort of scooping the bird up, all awkward elbows and quick hands. Its plaintive cries were muffled, and he straightened the arm of his jacket to try and give the bird some air flow.

"H-hey, hey," someone called, and Will turned to see a small-statured man with narrow shoulders and an uneasy expression. He stood hesitantly on the sidewalk, and he gestured once he had Will's attention. "I saw the bird...are you gonna h-help him?"

"Do you know how to help him?" Will asked. "Or do you know someone that can?"

"I-I can help him," he said, and his face brightened.

"You can?" Will smiled, and the cries of the bird didn't bother so bad.

"Follow me, I can help the bird..."

And just like that, Will found himself in the care of one of the stable hands that worked with the horses at the park. He managed to catch as much as they worked their way past the park, past the stables, and back towards a quaint white house whose trim matched the stables perfectly.

"Back here," he said, and the closer they got the brighter his face became. Behind the quaint white house sat a barn, and when Will ducked inside, he was greeted by the sound of dozens of birds, a disarming cacophony.

"Here, y-you can set him here." He gestured, and Will complied.

"Do you take care of all of these birds?" he asked, turning around. Now that the surprise of them wore off, their calls seemed more interwoven, less chaotic.

The man carefully unfolded the jacket and made quick work of securing the bird. "Yes."

Will smiled. "What's your name?"

"Peter." He glanced up, then away and smiled, his hold on the bird careful and gentle.

"I'm Will. I'll let you work...can I see him when you're done?"

"Ye-yeah, just wait out there...I'll call you in, he'll be okay."

Will headed out of the barn and gave Peter his space to work. A bale of hay sufficed for a seat, and he listened to the trailing calls of the birds inside, each secured in their own cage. Chickadees, scrub jays, a pigeon, doves, robins; maybe a caretaker on the grounds. Will had made a point not to look at the dent in the back of his head when he'd followed him.

Bird casts were delicate things, and Peter Bernadone took delight in Will being fascinated by it. He was humbly surprised by the care Will took in waiting, and they sat outside of the barn for awhile. Will felt a gentle disposition in him, as well as a genuine kindness.

"I love the animals, they...they don't do harm."

"They can do harm," Will said, thinking of Winston. He hadn't done harm until Agent Crawford decided to find out just who his previous owners ha been.

"Not like us...n-not like humans," Peter disagreed, and he watched a horse in the corral just across from the barn. "Humans are the only...the o-only ones to intentionally do h-harm. Animals don't have that, but we do."

Will couldn't argue that. If the latest killing was the Chesapeake Ripper, that artist hadn't stabbed himself in the chest before removing the kidneys. At least the animals wouldn't have let it go to waste.

"Is that why you work with animals? Because they're better than people?"

Peter laughed and looked down at the cage where the cardinal rested. The small cast dwarfed his stick-thin leg, but he'd assured Will it would heal. "Gotta p-protect them from people."

"We also have to protect people from people," said Will. "I think you're onto something.

He left the park a little while later, but only after asking Peter if it was okay if he came back.

The news could be savage when it wanted to be. When it couldn't speculate farther on the latest killing to hit DC, it ruminated on the infamous Will Graham and how he was now alive and well and on the roam. Was he truly innocent, or an acolyte, the news wondered? Could he return to his life after four years of incarceration? Would he begin to amass a wealth of death to rival the Ripper's before the jury was out?

Insomnia was a bitch. When he dreamed, he dwelled on the shadows filling the hollows of Hannibal's cheeks. Awake, he lay in a half-coherent doze on the couch and let the TV drone, anything to keep him from thinking too much. He was tired, but not tired enough. The news speculated on his absence from any media outlet. A month free, and the victim wasn't ready to start talking yet. If he started getting cold calls, he'd have to change his phone number. He wanted his story to be as old and stagnant as a standard traffic stop.

Work was easy, mindless, and the house was looking great. University classes for credits were pending, and should he get accepted he'd be allowed to swing right into a summer semester and begin getting his degree. A GED in the cell wasn't as impressive as a diploma across a high school stage, but he'd take what he could get, should they let him in. At the end of the day, bosses just wanted to see a degree. How you got it was irrelevant.

"--membered, displayed, I mean, if we analyze this realistically then the only indication that it could be the Chesapeake Ripper is because their kidneys are missing!"

"So you're saying that you don't think it's the Chesapeake Ripper's latest kill?" the newscaster asked.

Their interviewee fluffed their coif lightly. "I'm just saying that it's a bit presumptuous this early to say. It could be, but normally this form of psychopath is a tad more...violent in his attack. A single stab wound?"

"A single shot," Will corrected her in the otherwise quiet living room. As if he could have stopped at one, should he have decided to pull the trigger.

"The kidneys are a tell-tale sign, though. Our analyst, Brice Hoey, can confirm that there are currently no other known serial killers in the area that take organs as trophies."

"It's too early to tell," their guest pressed, and they shook their head. "If there was more information on the crime scene, we could confirm if the Chesapeake Ripper's other calling signs are there, but until the next report is released, I can't put my stamp on the case."

"We could always ask Will Graham," the newswoman joked.

"I think any information from him would have to be verified before it could be taken as fact," they replied. "Encephalitis is a serious illness, and coupled with the other traumatic things that happened to him at a young age, it's difficult to say if we can trust--"

Whenever the topics steered towards his mental state, Will would find it in himself to let the silence of the house keep him company, instead. The expanse of it yawned, and there were no repairs to be easily made. He needed a distraction.

Maybe that's why Will found himself pouring two cups of coffee one Friday morning a week or so later instead of one. Part time ensured he'd have time for some classes before Summer arrived and let him begin college in earnest. Hobbies. Busy hands. He'd called Molly and had the brutal pain of leaving a voicemail. All that courage, wasted in the face of a busy schedule. He'd stammered once before hanging up. Likely she'd been watching the news, too.

"You won't return my calls," Jack said, accepting the cup.

They sat out on the porch while Winston trotted about the yard, sniffing through the hesitant grass. Spring was trying its best in Wolf Trap.

"I won't," Will agreed, sitting down in the chair next to his. He'd re-stained them one evening, and they looked better than new.

"Have you watched the news recently?"

"I have," said Will.

"Then you know there's another body."

Winston was older, and it was apparent in how he didn't wander too long before trotting to Will and laying down at his feet. What was he, seven or eight? Will reached down and rubbed his ears affectionately.

"That's a nice dog you've got there, Will," Jack tried again.

"Same dog as the one you branded me a killer for," Will said curtly. Then, throwing somewhat of a bone, "he's a good dog. I didn't expect him to remember me."

Discomfort sat stupid between them for a time, each one sipping their coffee with grimaces. It was uncertain if it was the strong coffee or the silence that made it bitter. Will knew exactly what Jack wanted, only it was the very thing he didn't want to give. He had busy hands, only they didn't want to be busy with something like Jack and his manipulations. His mind was trying to confuse the two, though. It reasoned how much it wanted to do already.

"You see this person the way no one else does," Jack tried for a third time.

"I just interpret what I see in front of me."

"So just interpret something for me."

"Am I the only poor bastard you could corner on such short notice?" Will wondered incredulously. "Seriously."

"Who else would I ask?"

"Specialists, therapists, hell; ask Alana Bloom."

"I have gone to specialists, detectives, therapists, doctors, and every behavioral analyst known to hell and creation. None of them see him like you do. None of them saw the others like you did, Will. Otherwise I'd have never used you." There was a catch in his voice, something that seemed to surprise even Jack. "I'd have...never asked you to look if I didn't think you were saving lives."

"You think maybe I see him like no one else because I've spent the night at his house?" Will wondered. Ever thought it was because I've fucked him?

Jack ground his teeth. "I think it's because you look at things from a perspective uniquely yours. I think you pay the price for it, but you do it."

"And don't you wonder if I ever get tired of seeing things that way?" he asked, ashamed at how his own voice betrayed him. "Maybe I'd just like a simple life where I don't have to feel that way all the time. Shouldn't you care about something like that?"

"He's hurting people, Will," Jack needled, and it's there that Will was forced to feel the sunburn ache of Jack's guilt. "The longer I take to find him, the more people he hurts."

Winston made another round in the yard, and Will watched him halfheartedly chase a bird. "I'm not leaving this porch," he said. "And I don't want to see pictures, either."

Jack snatched the bone offered. "Okay."

He set his empty cup down and left Will to his own drink, the grounds fine enough some had seeped through the filter. He wasn't too experienced with making coffee, but he was trying. Learning adulthood was one step at a time and one Google search with each failure. He hadn't had a lot of people-watching in the hospital. He didn't have a lot to go on when he was learning how to get the stains out of a white t-shirt or timing the coffee grinder to keep the beans from turning to dust.

"The body was found in their workshop," Jack said, and he looked out across the field. Will wondered what memories Jack held of this place in comparison to his own. Ones no uglier, that was certain. "The victim is an artist, Sebastian Bibee, displayed in front of his work station. A young artist, one up-and-coming. No criminal history apart from one minor-in-possession."

Will thought about it; the news hadn't gone much into detail on how he was displayed. He was glad he'd had the thought to forbid pictures. Pictures would have made him see, and he didn't want to see Hannibal's wrath after being threatened in his own home by something so artlessly tasteless as a gun. "How was he displayed?"

"A single stab wound to the chest and a small surgical incision in the back. He took the kidneys."

"How do you know it's the Chesapeake Ripper, then?" Will asked dubiously.

"That's what I'm talking to you for. The media's looking for answers, but I won't give them one until I know for sure."

Will stood up and took Jack's empty cup, using that as an opportunity to think as he went through the motions of making another one. When he set it down, he leaned against the post on the porch and frowned, cramming his hands into his pockets.

"Could have been someone harvesting organs," he said slowly. He thought of one of the late night guest speakers on the news. "Normally they leave them alive, though, don't they?"

"Yes."

"Could've gone wrong."

"The painting on the easel was Jael and Sisera," he said, and his expression sobered as he looked Will over. "Does that mean something to you?"

"Should it mean something to me?"

"I'd show you a picture if I thought it'd help," he offered.

"I'll look it up later," he promised.

Jack looked out over the field, and if his memories of those awful days haunted him, it didn't show on his face. Only time did. Time, and a bitter sense of wounded pride. Will wondered how much crow he'd had to eat when the time came that he'd realized Will wasn't the killer. A dark part of him wished he'd lost his job over it, but the FBI takes care of their own. The good old boys club, and Jack was just trying to be a good, old boy.

"It's a bible story," he explained. "Jael promises aid to a defeated Canaanite leader, Sisera, and while he sleeps she drives a peg through his head. One of my guys said it's pretty symbolic."

"Pretty something," Will grimaced.

"You think you're in danger, saying it's him?"

"No," Will lied, only it was the kind of lie he'd practiced in the hospital, the kind orderlies didn't think to look for. "I'm not the only thing that revolves around this guy, Jack. He was killing long before me, and he'll kill long after if he's not caught."

"I don't think that's necessarily the case," Jack argued.

"Who says he's not threatening to kill you? Lull you into a sense of security, then drive a peg through your head just when you think you're getting close."

It was like being at the crime scenes again, only Will wasn't eighteen and sick and terrified and naive. Age didn't feel like wisdom, but it made it easier to talk back to Jack, to pick up his ebb and flow of speech and accidentally mimic it. He wondered what they'd done with the FBI jacket he'd used to tote around--likely rotting in an evidence locker somewhere.

Jack scowled, and he sat on that for a bit. "...What's that mean for the body?" he asked the coffee mug.

"Fuck all about the body, it's just another tool to him. Humans are tools to him."

Winston trotted back once more and laid down.

"Who's he trying to direct it at, then," Jack mused. "Me or you?"

"I bet he's hoping you ask me that, and you did." Will grinned. "What's that say about you, Jack?"

Jack stewed on that, and he didn't finish his second cup of coffee. They watched the breeze tease small shoots of tall grass out in the field.

"How's he choosing them?" Will murmured, more to himself than Jack.

"Don't you know?"

"If I knew, I'd have found him a long time ago." Will chewed on his thumb, stewing. Some symbolic, some close, some far away and strangers. "I wonder what connects them."

"We're looking for connections, but apart from the ones that all had relationships with you they don't have any correlation. Seemingly random, even before you came along."

Will had nothing for that. He thought about the artist, and he resisted the urge to ask for a photo.

When Jack left, he didn't promise not to call, but he didn't say they'd be in touch soon either. Will took it as a bit of a win, and he went back to mend a bit of fence he'd noticed needed repair while they talked.

Will looked up Jael and Sisera on his phone long after Jack left, and he stared at it for awhile, thinking. Thoughts leapt like the fish in the river back behind the house, plentiful and distracting, and he supposed that if it was the Chesapeake Ripper's response to Will pointing a gun at him, it was time that he toss the line in again. He had a fish ready to bite.

Jael, knelt, poised, her lap the pillow Sisera lay his head to sleep. The expression on her face was not violent as she pressed the nail to his ear. For a moment, he saw it much like her carving thoughts, ideas, beliefs into him. He blinked, and the hammer just above would surely strike too hard to be of any aid once she had finished crafting his mind. Surely the mallet would strike, and her creation would be obliterated? Surely everything would be destroyed in the aftermath of her actions?

An artist recreating it, only they were interrupted. Had he finished the painting? Was Sebastian stopped halfway, a single stab wound to the chest the only thing keeping him from finishing his work? Jael's mallet never striking the nail, dust never again beaten from the marble. Frozen on the canvas, she looked to Will much like Hannibal, carving secret things into whatever dark crevices he could find. Had Will killed him that night, would Hannibal's creation have been considered finished? Or would Jael's hammer have fallen and taken Sisera with her in the end?

Will couldn't have said, but he thought about it long after. Insomnia was a bitch, and so was Jack Crawford.

#LiaS scribbles #Opus Dei #Hannibal fanfic #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #ish #grey!will #nbc hannibal #will graham x hannibal #Peter Bernadone

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sweetdeathwrites · 5 years

Text

You Are The Right One

Pairing: Gokudera Hayato/Reader

Summary: Gokudera knows what you mean to him. But what does he mean to you?

Warnings: fluff, romance, some sexual situations/suggestiveness (i.e. Gokudera is thirsty), angst

Word Count: 6,929

(Songfic to You Are The Right One by Sports)

(re/cross?posted from my AO3 and Luna! Original A/N below)

(Hi!! I know I've been gone a long time and I'm SORRY!! I've been going through a lot of stuff (I've been in 3 productions since the last time I've posted .. i think it's only 3.. but I've been a NAMED character in 2 out of 3!! the third one doesn't count bc it was a bunch of skits and so strict plot... so i guess that means... i was a named character in BOTH of my productions?~ I just performed in Grease 2 days ago on friday as Jan, my twinkie girl!! I got to eat twinkies on stage!! It was v exciting and I had a blast! some people I know from the hawaii theatre came down to see me and one of my dad's movie friends and they loved me! one of them told my mom i'm going to broadway! haha!!! ^v^ isn't that sweet? I don't think so but that's a lovely hope, isn't it? I'd like to dedicate this fic to someone who means the world to me, the lovely GuardianAngel07! I love you so much and I know that you're going through a lot right now and I just want you to know I'm always here for you, no matter what, and I know that you are busy and have a lot on your mind, and I just want you to know I'm never mad if we don't talk for a while! I think you get a little worried and feel guilty when we don't talk, but that's not it at all! I care for you so much and if your mental health needs you to take a break, then TAKE that break, honey!!!1! I'm always here to support you and I want what's best for you, mentally, physically, and emotionally!! I care for you a whole lot, okay? I'm always in your corner!!! I'm sorry that this fic isn't what I originally planned to gift to you (the original was much sweeter!! and less angsty!!) but this was the one that was most finished and I figured that anything with our lovely KHR boys would help to cheer you up! I hope you like it!!,, Uhm.... I've also got a lot planned! I released a LONG hannibal fic on AO3 and it's not the best bc I started it 2 years ago.yikes... but I'm finally gonna write for it again after a year but I'm going to revamp it (at least fix the grammar!) before I release it here! It's v violent and prolly gonna get really sexual too, so there's a warning, but i'll warn again when I actually post it. to be truthful, I had this almost fully done for months. I just hated it and hated it and hated it. I've been hating my writing a lot recently which isn't good bc I want to finish a book before I graduate and I'm taking an AP english exam on the 16th, so it's awful timing. I haven't been doing the best but I'm looking forward to summer........ only 18 more days left before I'm free.... then I have summer then I'm a senior and ..yikes....;;; but I've got some summer plans! I'm going to cut and dye my hair (I just realized nothing is stopping me from getting a Guzma cut and dye... then I can dye my hair pink!! and any other color after!!!) and I'll visit a friend in alaska, then I'll get a job somewhere.......... i got no college fund........... sorry for dragging on and on!! uhhhh just expect more from me (hopefully soon..... @GuardianAngel07 i hope ur ready for more awful songfics from me.... because i've written some reeeeaaaaallll angsty and sad ones, already with u in mind!! why do you always get the worst of the bunch.......,,,) love u all! and please leave a review if u enjoyed this! I seriously would've stopped posting all together if it wasn't for some incredibly kind people (looking at you, GA07!!) and a recent review for my hannibal fic on AO3 (or rather, reviews. yes, this person left MULTIPLE. very detailed and heartfelt, and I was giddy for days after!! So if you want more, PLEASE leave a review!! it's not fun to post and feel like you're just yelling into a void!! yell back at me!)

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You were the right way I was just waiting for you to look at me Is there a wrong time? Baby, I’m guessing Just let me know He can never get a break, can he? Gokudera sighed, smoke curling past his lips into the chill autumn air. The leaves were just beginning to change color and he cursed how the light cast amber shadows over the smooth plane of your face, cursed how he couldn’t trace the honey light with his fingertips and kiss the darkness away. His tongue clicked against his teeth and he took another drag of his cigarette. Hayato tried to ignore you. He really did. But how can he, when you look as good as you do with a rose-pink blush that covers your cheeks and ears when someone cracks a joke that makes you laugh until you can barely catch your breath? How your jaw drops open in delight before you remember where you are and hide your smile with your hand– something he desperately hoped you would lose the habit of because, god, did you look pretty when you smiled– and blot away the joyful tears in your eyes? How could he not give you his complete, undivided attention when you were as sugar-sweet as you were? His jade eyes flickered back to you again, almost against his will. Your face was bright, eyes glinting in the soft light of the dying afternoon as you teased one of your friends, grinning widely as they swiped playfully at you in return. Gokudera groaned and his head slumped back against the pillar he was leaning against a little too quick, sending an unpleasant shock up his spine. “Shit,” he hissed, stomping out his cigarette on the concrete behind Namimori High and massaging the back of his skull gingerly. What a day. First, Tsuna and Yamamoto had nearly been killed on their way to school again; of course, Gokudera saved both of them, although Yamamoto he saved slightly more reluctantly. Gokudera was strong– of course he was, he wasn’t Tsuna’s right hand for nothing. He just wished he could prove to you that he was strong enough for you, too… Then, that bastard that patrolled the school like some kind of obsessive freak was on his back again. Something about being late for class. Reborn showed up and solved the matter rather quickly, but that didn’t keep Gokudera from steaming out the ears for another hour or so. But the worst part of the day? It was definitely you, without a doubt. You filled his head, turning his thoughts and coherency to cotton in his head and made his mouth as dry as summer. Summer… Gokudera remembered, during lunch period, that you had gone to the beach with him and his friends. You wore a red bathing suit. Red as the fireworks at the summer festival, where he almost told you his feelings but panicked at the last second– but that was a story for another time–and, at one point, clung to his arm to whine about how hot the sun was, and how you were definitely going to get a sunburn. When Gokudera grumbled something back to you about reapplying sunscreen you had winked at him, grinning wide and asking if he wanted to help you with that. By then, there was no doubt in his mind that his milky skin was as red as your bathing suit. From his blushing, dazed haze, you managed to squeeze a frozen lemonade and a plain vanilla ice cream out of him and his wallet. “Share?” you gently cocked your head to one side and held out the icy drink for Gokudera to taste. His mouth was incredibly dry, as it always seemed to be around you– damn you, and damn him for being so weak for you– and he hesitated. You sipped your lemonade languidly and blinked up at him, heavy eyelashes fluttering and all doe-eyed, and his chest clenched in such a way that it brought him agony and ecstasy in equal measure. “Hm?” you hummed, waiting for an answer. He opened his mouth to deny your offer when a heavy stream of melted ice cream rolled down the side of the cone and over your hand. A surprised yelp and a curse left your throat as you hurried to clean the treat off of the cone. When you switched the cone to your other hand to lick the drops of vanilla from your palm, Gokudera’s brain snapped back to being fully functional and he hurriedly agreed to sharing with you. As you complained once again about the heat and the lack of more interesting ice cream flavors at the snack bar, Gokudera thought of how silly he was being for thinking of sharing the ice cream as an indirect kiss– an indirect tongue kiss, more accurately. But more honestly, it was more like the two of you just swapped spit–but that’s not a very pleasant thing to think of, no matter how much he liked you. He wasn’t in middle school anymore; he shouldn’t be so swayed by this! He shouldn’t feel so hot and his heart shouldn’t be beating so fast. A cool ocean breeze swept your hair away from your face as you shook ice chunks in your frozen lemonade, loosening them enough to drink. Gokudera turned his gaze to the clear blue sea, his friends wading in it, and the lazy scrawl of puffy white clouds across the sky and he wondered if he could gather the courage to ask for a sip of the lemonade, too. If he was only going to get an indirect kiss, he wanted a proper one. Slowly coming out of his reverie, Gokudera realized he had been looking at you the whole time. The shade that Namimori cast over him wasn’t enough to cool his embarrassed blush and he hoped you hadn’t noticed. Gokudera nearly jumped out of his skin when something in his pocket buzzed. He fished out his phone– obviously, of course it was his phone. He must be more tired than he thought, to be startled by his own phone. [Baseball Freak] whatcha lookin at? Snapping his head up, Gokudera scanned his surroundings, looking for any sign of Yamamoto. God, how embarrassing to be caught staring at his crush by the person most likely to tease him about it… [Baseball Freak] up here Yamamoto was leaning out of one of the windows of a classroom far above Gokudera’s head, waving at him without a care in the world. It was then that Gokudera remembered why he was waiting outside at all, staring at you so wistfully– Tsuna and Takeshi had to attend an after school remedial session for their poor grades… No matter how many tutoring sessions they both received from Reborn and Hayato and a variety of other eccentric characters that always seemed to appear out of nowhere, they still couldn’t retain anything they learned… especially not math. Shaking his head angrily, the silver haired boy punched out a response to him but his phone buzzed again before he could send it. [Baseball Freak] see something over there u like? I think u do~~~ aren’t they just sooo cute?? >///7///< Gokudera bit his tongue. How dare Yamamoto say that about you?! It was true, he had to admit, but his pride was hurt from being so easily caught, heart read with such dead-on accuracy that he responded the only way he knew how to. [Me] PISS OFF A rich laugh filled the air above him and only served to spur Gokudera on, cracking his knuckles, clenching his jaw, and wishing he could beat Takeshi into taking what he said back. [Baseball Freak] u know, if u don’t make a move, someone else will………….they’re so pretty and smart and nice!! who wouldn’t want to date them?~ Gokudera’s rage calmed, eerily still. He knew that someone would make a move on you if he didn’t soon. He didn’t miss the way that the boys in the class would offer to carry your bags and would do anything to get just a little closer to you to sling their arms around your shoulders, pretending to show you something in a book, and to breathe in your light perfume. Or the way that girls would bite their lips and giggle when you told a joke and how they would bat their eyelashes and tease you and play with your hair just a little too much for it to be considered strictly friendly. Hayato knew he wasn’t the only person looking to add you to his dating pool and he also knew he wasn’t the best candidate to win your heart. It was a subject that often haunted his brain late at night, a miasma of doubt and self-hatred that cut deep into his heart when no one was there to see him cry. He was too loud, too violent, and too crude for someone like you to fall for. Too dangerous. It didn’t help that Yamamoto was the polar opposite of him– warm, friendly, and kind enough to be anyone’s dream man. And it definitely didn’t help that Yamamoto often wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought you into his chest when there was nothing else for him to do with his hands. That happened often and made Gokudera more broken hearted than he would ever admit. [Baseball Freak] so? r u gonna say anything to them???? Gokudera had his heart set on you but his brain told him, quite logically, that you would never like someone like him back. Whoever said that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all was a damn fool. [Me] mind ur business. Up above, there was a sigh loud enough for Gokudera to hear and he knew instantly that he had made the wrong move. He looked up just in time to hear Yamamoto call your name in a sing-songy voice, to see him through weak, orange sun rays, waving cheerfully at you. Gokudera snapped his gaze to you to see your hair bounce with each cute head turn as you looked for the source of the voice. Yamamoto called your name again and Gokudera registered that not only had he used your first name but he added a “-chan” to the end of it– what a double-crossing bastard! You found him and Hayato’s lungs felt tight, but not as a result of his chain-smoking. Your face lit up–your pretty, beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous face– and you yelled back a greeting and swung your arms around wildly back at Takeshi, heels lifting off the ground in delight with your ministrations. Hayato’s gaze flickered back up to Takeshi just in time to see the brunet pointing down at him vigorously. Your sight followed Takeshi’s direction and you locked gazes with Hayato. His breath caught somewhere between his throat and chest and his heart pounded against his ribcage, furiously trying to escape this terribly humiliating situation. Just let me know As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened slightly and you gave him an embarrassed, genuine smile as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It was strange; he didn’t think that you had anything to be embarrassed about. You were deathly adorable when excited, even if it was because you were excited to see that baseball idiot. He hoped to whatever higher being that was out there– and he knew something was out there: aliens, at least– that he hadn’t imagined that sweet, pink blush that dusted your cheeks and ears and ran down your neck. He was smiling back at you, equally as shyly, before he knew it. Well, it’s been a long time Since you’ve been lonely So what will I do? You are the right one And I’m just a boy who Is looking at you “Hey, Hayato?” you called. His spine straightened, vertebra by vertebra, at the sound of your voice. You had used his first name– sure, you had been doing it for a while, but still every time you called him so endearingly, it sent hot, smoky electricity up his spine. The way the bed sheets creased under your small body and lazy afternoon sunlight dappled your visage had his head reeling. There you were, lounging and at peace with the world, in his apartment, in his bed. “What?” He didn’t mean to sound so brusque– but then again, he doesn’t mean many of the things he says with his angry disposition. Especially to you. “Why do you turn down everyone that confesses to you? Don’t you want to… well… I don’t know, fool around with someone? I mean, we’re in highschool, this is supposed to be the most reckless time of our lives, right? Why not live a little?” Your head tilted to the side, hair falling into your eyes. His fingers itched to brush it out of your face and your own fingers played with something on your phone. Probably texting, some faceless guy or girl, flirting, playing coy and– “Hayato?” He shivered, loving how his name sounded on your soft lips. “I don’t know, idiot. I’m mean, but not mean enough to do something like that to some kid stupid enough to think they like me.” He settles for brushing his own hair out of his face. You turn over on your stomach, “I guess…” Something about your tone when you say that makes Gokudera narrow his eyes in suspicion. Did something happen to you to make you upset? Why were you bringing up this topic now? Why were you bringing it up to him? “I just think it’s a waste, y’know?” you ran a hand through your hair and locked your phone, placing it to the side. Your eyes slid closed and Hayato realized how close your head was to his lap, how easily he could pet your hair and have you doze off in his embrace. You looked sleepy enough anyway– would a little nap hurt the both of you? “Hayato, don’t you know how handsome you are?” you mumbled dreamily. “You could get anyone you want, anyone, and you chose to sit here and do nothing. Why?” Hayato couldn’t think. His head was full of steel wool and his blood thrummed loudly through him. You called him handsome. You called him handsome. When his breath came back to him in a barely noticeable gasp, he couldn’t filter the words that tumbled out of his mouth. “I can’t.” “What?” your eyes slowly opened and you leaned up on an elbow, looking quizzically up at him. “I can’t get anyone I want.” “Why not?” His lungs filled shallowly and he turned his face away from you, focusing on the empty street below, through his room’s window. The sun cast golden light and deep, lavender shadows across the world and Hayato knew that if he looked at you right now, everything would go to shit. He’d see your face; all the perfections and beautiful flaws and you would see through him as if he were glass blown, see how desperate he was for you and how his insides were twisting and trembling in fear and reverence, in equal measure, of your power over him. You would recoil, disgust drawn over your lovely face in terribly sharp lines and you would see how his heart would break over and over again. “Sometimes you just can’t.” Your lips curled into a frown and his brows furrowed; he could tell that much by your silence. Unsatisfied with his answer, you huffed and threw yourself back down on the bed, the crown of your head knocking against his thigh. Your hair splayed out around your face, angelic, and Hayato was lucky that your eyes had once again shut to accept the call of the dream world, because if they hadn’t, you would’ve seen how absolutely helpless he looked, gazing at you. So what will I do? His tongue darted out to smooth over his dry lower lip and he felt the faint sting of the thin skin there– cracked. He tasted iron and swallowed thickly. Gokudera wished he was closer to you, so much closer to you than he was, but he was doubtful his heart would be able to handle that. Your breathing started to slow and Hayato found his hand smoothing over your soft hair and you jolted violently, startling the both of you. You stared up at him, eyes full of stars and planets far away, and he laughed airily. He shook his head, silently telling you, No, don’t wake up just yet, everything’s fine. You accepted this without question and closed your eyes again. This time, Hayato gently slid his hands under your head and guided you towards his lap. He arranged himself comfortably on an array of flattened pillows and stroked your hair as you lay, safe and happy in his lap. A single eye peeked at him– slyly, cat-like– before you hummed and shifted closer to him. A contented sigh slipped through Hayato’s lips and he himself started to feel drowsy. In his dreamy stupor, his hand trailed down your face, down your neck, and down, down your arm until he had your fingers gently entwined with his. Sure, it may have just been an unconscious reaction, but the way your hand squeezed his back made his dreams lovely and surreal and hallucinatory, in all the best ways. I tried the wrong way I was guessing Biding my time You are the only One I can picture By my side “Gokudera, what’s up?” Takeshi nodded at the silver-haired bomber as he approached, strangely insightful today with his clear, milk chocolate eyes. The boy in question merely grumbled vaguely, hands shoved deep in his pockets, as if he was fishing for the answer to Yamamoto’s question down there as well. “That bad, huh?” Gokudera rolled his eyes. It wasn’t rare for him and Yamamoto to arrive at Tsuna’s house before the young mafia boss could flee from it, already anxious and sweaty. Today was no different. “Hey, at least you tried, right?” Yamamoto offered a weak smile, knowing how much you meant to Gokudera. His shoulders were hiked up to his ears and Takeshi didn't miss how the hot, red ring on Gokudera’s cigarette quickly crawled down to the filter before he was tapping out another from his near-empty box and sucking on the new cigarette, lighting it with the dying butt of the used one. He tossed the old one down and ground it into the asphalt. Takeshi frowned. The baseball star shifted the bag on his shoulder uncomfortably, his bats for after school practice clinking metallically. “ … I didn't.” Gokudera kept his gaze locked on a lamp post down the block. Takeshi blinked, not expecting a response from Gokudera’s sunken frame. “What?” “I didn't try.” It took Takeshi a moment to understand what Gokudera meant before grimacing with a little more than a dash of friendly pity in his eyes. He shifted his weight from his hip, seeking to comfort Gokudera, but decided against it at the last moment. “Why?” his voice came out in a gentle rasp. Gokudera still refused to look at him, green eyes clouded and trained on a particularly colorful poster on that singular lamp post. Seconds ticked by before Hayato groaned and dragged a hand down his face, pinching his cigarette in frustration with his other hand. “I can’t! I just can’t. I know they don’t feel the same and I know I’ll break if they have to say it to my face. I can’t handle that. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to handle that. God, Yamamoto, I just can’t take that chance.” Being around them is– it’s just too much and too little for me to take– I’m going crazy here, driving myself in circles and spinning out, spinning my goddamn wheels because of them. It’s fuckin’ sickening but I don’t want a cure. I feel so helpless and I hate it, I never want to feel this way again. What the hell did I do to deserve this?” Gokudera’s eyes snapped shut, face contorted in agony. “I can’t tell them. I can’t. I want them to be happy. It’s better this way anyway. I’m not good enough.” Gokudera’s voice cracked on his last word before his declaration faded into the morning’s stillness. Yamamoto was insulted– his best friend talking about himself this way? Not in a million years, if he had any say in it– but Gokudera snapped at him before he could get a word in. “And don’t say shit about me being good enough, because we both know I’m not good enough for them. I’ll never be good enough, Yamamoto, that’s not me. I wouldn’t be able to hold them as much as I should, to kiss their gorgeous fucking face– I wouldn’t be able to be fucking honest, Takeshi. They deserve more than the bullshit excuses I’d spew to cover our fucking asses when we get the crap kicked out of us on a bi-weekly basis. They don’t deserve that.” Silence weighed like velvet over the two of them and the sun was now calling out songbirds, sleepy murmurs from the neighborhood beginning to wake from the heavy slumber of the night. Yamamoto didn’t know what to say anymore and Gokudera put the cigarette back where it belonged: between his lips, funneling poison straight to his lungs. “ … I don’t think it’s like that, Hayato. You’re being too harsh on yourself. I really don’t think they feel that way about you.” Hayato said nothing and kept his eyes glued to that single poster again. Yamamoto reached out and awkwardly patted his shoulder, mustering as much comfort as he could before he knew he would overstay his welcome. Hayato needed time to clear his head. “ … I’ll go inside to check up on Tsuna. Come inside soon, alright?” The response that didn’t meet him was enough to know Gokudera wouldn’t get better as quick as that. Takeshi sighed in sorrowful compassion before slowly making his way to Tsuna’s front door, carefully piecing together his cheerful mask yet again. The door shut quietly, and voices and vague, worrisome sounds came from within. Gokudera raised his hand to scrub furiously at his misty eyes, his bracelets clinking together and rings scraping his face and leaving thin, red lines around his eyes. He leaned back against the wall around his best friend’s house and his head banged against the concrete, painful and painfully familiar to something that had happened recently, involving you. “Fuck,” he hissed into the empty street. Class was boring, as it always was. There was nothing that could entertain him that was in Namimori’s curriculum. Tsuna managed to convince Gokudera to take college classes too, so that his development wouldn’t stall (and also because Gokudera being bored meant a bit more trouble for Tsuna, but he was genuinely concerned about Gokudera’s personal growth). But even those classes were much too easy for him. Something that wasn’t easy? Seeing you every damn day and not being able to do a thing about it. Getting closer, getting further, cutting you off completely– he couldn’t bring himself to do any of those. Gokudera tapped the eraser end of his pencil against his desk and sighed, staring out the classroom window into the clear blue sky. He couldn’t wait for summer again but, boy, did he like seeing you all bundled up in wool and cashmere and simply drowning in soft fabrics and cozy patterns. You were so cute with your nose red from the cold, lips burning pink from being bitten so much– he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, no, he would take this to his grave– but what he wouldn’t give to be the one to bite your lips instead, to hear you whimper and moan, just for him, and– A small collision with the side of his head brought him out of his daydreams. Curious and annoyed, Hayato brought a hand up to his hair and picked out a crumpled wad of paper. Who the hell had the balls to throw shit at him? He was still the scariest guy in Namimori (and no, Hibari doesn’t count, either). If anything, he should be terrorizing the rest of the class. Taking a less than subtle glance around the room, he caught your eyes staring at him eagerly. Taking a moment to compose himself, he averted his gaze to your note instead. Of course it was you that threw it at him. Who else? Wanna go to a bakery after school? Kyoko-chan was talking about it earlier and I can’t get it out of my head… I’ll pay if u want!! I want cake~~~ Hayato didn’t hold back the happy grin that spread over his face, sparing a glance at you, impatiently waiting for his reply, before scribbling something in his mostly neat penmanship under your barely legible chicken scratch. No need to pay. But yeah, that sounds p cool. Meet me right after school at the front gates? The teacher still had his back turned to the class, writing something that Gokudera already knew on the blackboard, droning on and on about logs and bases and inverses and irrational numbers or something equally useless. He knocked his hand back and threw from the shoulder, the small, now neatly folded note landing in the middle of your desk. You snatched it up quickly, hiding it just in time for the teacher to turn around and call on one of your classmates to answer a question. Gokudera couldn’t see you unfold the note but your arms were moving under the desk and you grabbed a pencil off the desk too. Gokudera remembered that pencil; it was thin, cute, and pink– with a brown bear on top. The bear held a red heart and its nose was in the same cute shape. There were patterns of hearts and stars in red and yellow and white, and Gokudera knew all of this because Kyoko had helped him pick it out to give it to you for your birthday. He thought giving you a gift with so many hearts was a bit forward– tactless, even– but Kyoko gave him a stern look and told him that nothing he could do would be forward enough when it came to you and, spluttering and flushed, he tried to deny his affections for you but only ended up confessing how he felt about you to Kyoko. Smiling gently like the angel she is, Kyoko let him talk her ear off about you for nearly an hour and a half. She earned a milkshake and a slice of strawberry cake for her bravery. You spun in your chair, clutching the edge of it in your small hand, and flicked the paper back to him. The message was a little more timid, he noticed. actually, can we meet on the roof after school?.. I have something I want to talk to u about, but it shouldn’t take long… We can go straight to the bakery if u don’t want to, tho!!!!! ^v^;; Gokudera recognized how you were trying to hide something from him with your overwhelming facade of consideration. Whenever you felt insecure about something, you always spent time making sure other people felt more comfortable and happy than you were, as if that would make you feel better yourself. A frown carried over his pale face and when he looked up, you were staring at him again. This time, you seemed to have carefully examined his face and your brows were furrowed. As soon as you met his eyes, you jumped, shaking your head and waving your hands to tell him, Don’t mind me, it’s nothing. Gokudera was just about to pen down a reply when the teacher turned around again and began talking to the class, not looking like he was going to turn his back on Gokudera any time soon. Hayato caught your eyes with his green ones and nodded quickly, mouthing ‘I’ll be there.’ Lunch was as it normally was. That is, filled with shouts and explosions and general chaos. However, this lunch period was noisier than it previously had been; a fact that only would have been noticed by the people present if they paid very careful attention to their volume. Gokudera noticed. Damn right, he noticed. Sure, you usually sat next to Takeshi. Sure, you had a habit of clinging to him as you laughed and whispering in his ear. And sure, sometimes you would call him Take-chan as you fed him bits of your own bentou– a fact that pissed Gokudera off endlessly. But what was different? Today you were nestled in Yamamoto’s side, tucked neatly away under his arm which alternated from wrapping around your shoulders to hold you to him and pulling you in by your waist to bring you nearly onto his lap. It stung Gokudera something awful. Watching the two of you laugh and whisper to each other felt like you had run Hayato’s heart over shrapnel and soothed his wounds with lemon and salt. He averted his jealous, but startlingly gentle gaze from you to the sky above you, willing tears not to come and cursing himself for feeling this way about you. “Hey, Take-chan!” You tugged on his shirt, the fabric over his chest, to bring his attention back to you. “Hmm?” You stole a glance at Gokudera and whispered giddily into Yamamoto’s ear. When you’re finished, Yamamoto made a sound that can only be described as pure elation, and he tugged you in even closer, tickling you in the process. You laughed and shrieked at him to stop and he only did so when you’re nearly in tears. Tsuna is having a muted conversation with Gokudera and he is trying to pay attention– honest– Gokudera is trying so goddamn hard, but it’s next to impossible when a grass-green snake hisses low in his belly over you writhing and laughing so happily in Takeshi’s lap. Yamamoto whispered hotly back into your ear and Gokudera sees something he wished he would never see from the two of you: you, with a hot blush crawling up your neck and Takeshi with his face practically in the crook of it, grinning all pearly white and eyes staring at you with such fucking dedicated tunnel vision. Gokudera wasn’t hungry anymore. Lunch ended and you gave Yamamoto one last quick hug before cleaning up your trash and putting everything away that you wanted to keep. Gokudera was slower than normal, taking all the time in the world and then some to get ready for class again. The door to the roof clanged shut and Gokudera let out a heavy sigh, eyes closed and trying to feel everything that he could– everything except his feelings, that is. He relished the cool breath of wind that blew against his face, tossing his hair around and whistling softly to him. He took account of the ground beneath him, hard and sturdy, and the sounds of teenagers filtering back into the school, complaining about their classes and each other. The one thing he didn’t hear–not until it was too late– was you. “Hayato?” you tugged on the back of his shirt, scaring him witless. He yelped like a kicked puppy and spun around to face you, composure long lost. He tried to say something but nothing left his lips; nothing coherent, at least. The hand that grasped his shirt didn’t cease touching him. It got even closer than before as you took a step, and then another, into his personal space. The height difference between you was just too much for him to handle and Gokudera felt himself simultaneously trying to pale and flush, unsure which won over in the end. Your hand slid along his waist, his side, and up his chest lightly. The smile that took root on your face was weak and bashful, even– and you bumped your forehead on his chest before you looked back up at him, an emotion he didn’t recognize dancing in your eyes. “Don’t forget, we’re meeting here after school, Hayato. You wouldn’t want to keep me waiting, would you?” Your finger tapped his chest teasingly, adding another beat to his pulse and he felt fire crawl up the base of spine at your nail scraping through his shirt. You blinked curiously up at him and his voice whispered to you, hoarse and against his will, “No, I wouldn’t.” Satisfied with that, you made sure that he had everything he had brought up to the roof with him, promptly forced him to offer his elbow to you, and curled yourself happily over his arm before leading the both of you down the stairs to finish the rest of the day’s lessons. The roof was empty except for Gokudera. As soon as school was over, he bid Tsuna and Yamamoto goodbye, telling them not to wait up for him. Yamamoto had a big, stupid grin on his face– But when does he not? Gokudera rationalized. There was something about that smile that showed that he knew more than he let on but Gokudera was much too preoccupied with thoughts of you to care. He leaned against the rails, not trusting it to hold him, careful not to put too much weight on it. He took a steadying breath. Breathe. It’s fine. Nothing’s wrong. But no matter what he told himself to stop the rapid, staccato drumming in his chest, his anxieties were not relieved in the slightest. He was afraid– god, how he was afraid. What did you want to talk to him about? Did you not want to be friends anymore? Did you grow tired of him? Did… Did you want to tell him you were dating Takeshi? “Hayato?” oh fuck Gokudera jumped. The amount of times you scared him witless was embarrassingly high. “Hey.” You smiled slightly. “Hey.” Something about you was different. Something was… off. The way your eyes drifted from him every other second before coming back to his concerned gaze was unusual, but even more unusual was the way your hands fidgeted behind your back. “So,” Hayato tried to get the words to come out. The light breeze that tossed your hair around your face in a halo didn’t help much, but he appreciated it anyway. “What’d you wanna talk about? I’m hungry as fuck.” It slipped out– Hayato’s cursing habit hijacked his mouth, nerves making him go on autopilot. At least you took it well; your eyes glinted in amusement and some of the tension between the two of you dissipated. A pink tongue darted out to soothe your dry lips and Hayato was a little too aware of it. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while, but I just didn’t know how to tell you– it’s a bit… embarrassing, so don’t make fun of me, okay?” Your mouth was set in a firm line, eyes pleading and vulnerable. “Sure.” That wasn’t the reply you wanted but it was what it was. By my side “I…” you began, then lost the words you had planned. “You?..” Gokudera offered. He wasn’t sure he was ready for what you wanted to tell him or what it entailed, but he was sure that if it meant your happiness, he would do anything at all to keep you smiling. “It’s just that… You know, I–” you fumble over your words, frustration visible on your face. Gokudera scolded himself for thinking of you in this way when you so clearly don’t want him but he can’t help it. He’s worried over your affect on him before, but he never considered how weak he is to you or how strong your natural beauty is under the glow of a late afternoon and the crinkle of your brow with your courageous efforts… courageous efforts that you try to spell out but they fail, perched above your tongue. Your soft hands come down in frustration upon the hem of your shirt and you try again, slip again, and Gokudera is privy to the realization that this isn’t something he should take lightly any longer, no matter how much it calms his nerves or keeps him from facing the possible reality of him losing you. He leans forward to grasp your hands from distressing your shirt, to keep you from distressing yourself, with full knowledge that this moment could be the end of you allowing him to be graced with your presence. Hayato decided that your momentary comfort before unleashing hell on him was worth more than a thousand lifetimes of you by his side in the masquerade mask of lukewarm passion if you backed down from rejecting him now. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” And he touched you and nearly recoiled when your face whipped up to meet his, nearly let go of you because your skin was hot as forged iron and nearly as red. He tried to let go but you wouldn’t stand for it, as you used his hands over your shoulders as leverage to place your palms, clammy and shaking, over his smooth cheekbones and bring his face down to yours. Hayato’s eyes were wide as he met your lips, glossed and smooth and clearly prepped for this specific moment, specific kiss, specifically with him and he could have withered away in embarrassment of his rough mouth and nicotine lungs if it weren’t for how warm you were against him and how securely you held him, despite how insecure you had been seconds prior. Gokudera barely has the brains left to close his eyes on the skyline of Namimori but when he does he sees stars and he kisses you back and there’s a scrape of his teeth against your bottom lip and you shiver and he groans into you and now he’s just as red, if not redder, than you are. A slick noise of separation, then the both of you don’t know how to deal with the awkward intimacy of it, or what to do with your hands, but Hayato managed to gather enough sense– or maybe he’s running on what he’s fantasized on doing after your first kiss together and is on a daydream-guided autopilot– and he brings you into a tight hug and buried his head into your wild hair. You laugh into his chest and when he tried to bring you out to ask you why, you clung to his wrinkled white shirt even more and blindly found his hands, tangled with his bracelets and rings, then laced your fingers soundly with his. Gokudera can hardly believe the kiss happened, can believe he’s still alive even less, but he’s sure you can hear the quickened palpitations of his heart and that notion does no good for his health either. You’re an absolute dream and Gokudera is ready and happy to die right there, but you pull away from him, hands still interwoven, and smile so beautifully that he is sure that angels exist and you’re the vision of seraphim, disguised as human so barely that if you were anymore angelic he would surely fall dead where he stood, kiss-dizzy and sweetly dazed. From his dazed mouth, stupidity falls out. “So what was it that you had to tell me?” You laugh and press a kiss– more confidently this time– to his collarbone. At his affirmative, stuttered, elated hum, you press another and another, up his neck and jawline and chin until you reach his lips again and he kisses you back with adoration and love and his still evolving understanding of your feelings for him. “I’m not sure how to say it any clearer,” you said with a laugh that rang like the church bells that sounded in Gokudera’s head as clearly as he imaged they would on your wedding day, as he pressed his own kisses all over your face and held you close with the intention of treasuring you as long as he had a pulse and then some. “Hayato, I really, really like you.” And that was the day that Gokudera Hayato had come to face the reality, one that he had long accepted, that he loved you more than anything and you felt the same, but most importantly, that you were the right one for him. And that he was the right one for you.

#gokudera hayato #gokudera hayato/reader #gokudera hayato x reader #reborn #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #reborn fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #gokudera

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ladysophiebeckett · 5 years

Text

a loophole

Santa Clarita Diet\The Good Place Crossover AU

(spoilers for both shows)

for you my love, @ssaalexblake . happy birthday. I apologize for it being so late. And not making an edit for this. also this is dialogue only. so, again, I’m sorry. pls enjoy

Summary: The Good Place fights for Joel and Sheila Hammond.

Joel: ‘Everything is Fine’? Everything is not fine. I’m dead. My wife is dead. We’re dead. We’re real dead! Like, for real dead!

Shelia: Joel, calm down. I’m sure this Judge—this very fair and might I add stunning—Judge, will explain everything.

Gen: Ya Dead.

Joel: Oh my god.

Sheila: I can’t die!

Joel: We can’t die!

Sheila: We don’t die!

Joel: We’re realators!

Gen: You know you lose points every time you mispronounce that.

Joel: FORK!

Shelia: Points?

*****

Joel: So you can make anything appear?

Janet: Yes. Except people who are currently alive. I also cannot ‘make’ people. I already did that and my Void cannot go through that again.

Joel: Right, my Void can’t do that either.

Janet: You don’t have a Void. You are not a Janet. You are a Joel.

Joel: …Right. I’m a Joel. Huh. That feels oddly reassuring.

Janet: I’m here to help.

Joel: Thank you, Janet and if it is at all possible, I would like to request a quart of ice cream—

Janet: I physically cannot do that.

Joel: But—

Janet: I can give you frozen yogurt in any flavor. We have all of them.

Joel: I’ll have another shrimp cocktail.

Janet: Of course.

********

Shelia: So this is your house?

Eleanor: Yup. ‘Icelandic Primitive’.

Shelia: That’s your essence?

Eleanor: Um, no. I mean, yes. Now. What? You don’t think I can be Icelandic Primitive?

Shelia: I didn’t say that. I just don’t think it captures you.

Eleanor: You’re not a real estate agent anymore—

Shelia: Rea-Hm. Realtor.

Eleanor: Still can’t pronounce it huh?

Shelia: It’s a surprisingly hard word.

Eleanor: Real-tor. Real-TOR. Realator. Oh.

Shelia: See?

*******

Shelia: Is it just me or does everything feel a little bit off?

Joel: You feel it too? It was the shrimp wasn’t it?

Shelia: Yes!

Joel: They said they were jumbo but they were medium at best. God, I miss writing yelp reviews. I would give ‘The Good Plates’ 3 stars.

Shelia: 3 stars? That’s a little harsh. You weren’t nearly as hard on Japopos and their clams literally killed me.

Joel: It’s the taste. It’s off. Like they’re using lemon instead of lime. They’re both part of citrus family but their taste is very distinct.

Shelia: …Right. That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s off. This is supposed to be paradise.

Joel: It is. Sort of. Except no ice cream. We can’t curse. We live in this house—which is not our essence at all.

Shelia: I thought this house was your essence?

Joel: Why would my essence be a Spanish Colonial? Yeah I want to spend eternity in a Chris and Christa Knock Off Home. I’d rather die again.

Sheila: Oh my god.

Joel: Shelia, we’re already dead, again. It’s not offensive.

Sheila: Joel.

Joel: Sheila.

Sheila: The Spanish Colonial isn’t my essence either.

Joel: But I thought---

Sheila: No. I’d rather spend eternity in—

Joel: Our starter home.

Shelia: This isn’t The Good Place.

*******

Eleanor: Let me get this straight—this couple from Santa Clarita dies. They’re zombies—

Sheila: The term is ‘Undead’.

Joel: We don’t like the ‘Z’ word.

Eleanor: ---You pop into Earth for 5 seconds and in those 5 seconds you see these, Undead people, and you feel bad for them? So instead of being impartial, you hide them here?

Gen: It’s complicated.

Eleanor: What about our experiment? This puts it in jeopardy. Somehow—I don’t know how but it does.

Gen: It doesn’t because this is case is different from yours.

Joel: Can someone explain what’s happening?

Eleanor: How is it different? They’re bad people and you’re trying to hide them in a controlled Good Place that’s supposed to help us show that your point system is flawed. That’s unethical. You’re being unethical.

Gen: If Chidi were here--

Eleanor: Don’t bring him up.

Sheila: Who’s Chidi?

Joel: That moral philosophy professor. We met at that welcome party. He couldn’t stop talking about almond milk.

Sheila: Oh. The guy with the stomachaches.

Gen: As I was saying—If Chidi were here—he would understand.

Eleanor: Well he’s not. And I am. So explain your oh so complicated reasoning.

Gen: Joel and Sheila Hammond are good people.

Joel and Sheila: Thank you.

Gen: But they’re also bad people.

Joel and Sheila: Fork.

*****

Sheila: We’ve been judged on points our entire lives?

Gen: Yes. And when you died the first time your point system paused for approximately 20 seconds. And when you came back your points rebooted. While Joel…

Joel: Lost a lot. Because I’m the reason she died.

Shelia: It wasn’t your fault.

Gen: It was. Every murder you committed had a positive and negative impact.

Eleanor: You’re murderers?!

(Joel and Sheila stare at Eleanor)

Eleanor: Oh wait. I already knew that. Why am I surprised? Oh wait. It’s because you ate your victims. Mr. and Mrs. Hannibal Lecter everybody.

Shelia: I’m sensing judgement.

Joel: We only killed bad people.

Shelia: You’re taking this way worse than Abby ever did and she was only 16 when she saw us bury Gary in the desert.

Eleanor: What the fork? Ugh. I hate the swear wards. It’s a bunch of bullshirt.

Joel: How do you think we forkin’ feel? Abby would hate it here.

Shelia: I know. I miss her.

Joel: Me too.

Eleanor: Who the fork is Abby?

Sheila: Our daughter.

Eleanor: Zombies raising a daughter in suburbia.

Joel: Undead Realators doing our best to provide for our daughter.

*****

Eleanor: So killing Nazi’s is okay.

Gen: Yes. Nazi’s are terrible people and them getting murdered was a good thing.

Joel: See? We’re good people.

Gen: But the point system gives you an even amount of good people points and bad people points.

Sheila: Because even though they were bad people, the act of murdering—

Joel: --Despite who you are murdering—

Gen: Correct.

Eleanor: …What are their points?

Gen: Are you ready? It’s a doozy.

Joel: But we saw our points when we got here.

Shelia: Unless…those weren’t real.

Gen: Yeah, they’re not. Take a look.

Eleanor: Oh. I wish Chidi were here.

Gen: Told ya.

*****

Shelia: Well then. The Solution is simple Gen. Can I call you ‘Gen’. I feel like we’re very familiar now that I see that you hold our afterlives in the palm of your hand.

Gen: You may. ‘Judge Gen’ was only fun for the first millennia.

Eleanor: This isn’t simple at all.

Joel: Yeah it is. Sheila goes to The Good Place—

Sheila: Joel no---

Joel: And I go to The Bad Place. It’s logical. The points are pretty self-explanatory. Which is something I never thought I’d say because I am very bad at math. Remember when I calculated our first commission and I was off by a 1000 dollars?

Sheila: There has to be something---

Eleanor: It’s ONE POINT! Can you just--

Gen: Why do you think I hid them away with you? I was buying time. As a Judge, I have to be impartial but when I saw their case—

Eleanor: You thought that if we could properly prove that bad people could change in the afterlife, it would show that the point system was flawed. But then they died, again, and they were already good people but the point system would separate them. And you were hoping that if our case succeeded it would support their case---

Gen: Yes.

Eleanor: So this whole time you were just hiding them from The Bad Place because if they knew about them they would go to some afterlife trial—like Mindy St. Claire’s case. And they would end up in some Middle Place but still not together.

Gen: Separate Middle Places. Yes.

Sheila: We’re not separating!

Joel: Shelia look at the points! They don’t lie!

Shelia: The points don’t matter! Haven’t you been listening! It’s flawed! Look, I don’t care about The Good Place. Let them take me instead. It’s my fault anyway. I’m the reason you died the first time.

Joel: And I’m the reason you died the first time.

Shelia: I’m the reason you died the second time! If I had been—

Joel: It wasn’t your fault.

Sheila: It was supposed to be date night---

Joel: Sheila, it’s okay. I made a vow that night. Do you remember? I swore to be loyal to you and only you. I promised to protect you, to protect our family—no matter what. No matter the sacrifice. This is me—honoring that.

Sheila: That’s not fair.

Joel: Maybe not, but it’s the right thing to do. I go to The Bad Place. How bad can it be? I used to eat people. And bleed black ooze. Which was gross to me every time. I never got used to that.

Sheila: There is no Good Place for me without you. As corny as this may sound…You are my Good Place.

Joel: And as corny as this may sound, you’re mine.

Eleanor: Fork. Does anybody have a tissue?

Gen: Here’s my sleeve.

*****

Sheila: Thank you for letting Joel have ice cream one more time.

Gen: It’s the very least I can do. I recommended a burrito but he said no.

Shelia: He loves them, but they make him gassy. I tried to explain that that won’t happen here—

Gen: Oh it will. Trust me.

Sheila: Oh. Hmm. Well, look I’m not gonna pussy foot around it—I can say ‘pussy’? Huh. A loophole. Anyway, no time. I’m not gonna pussy foot around it. Let me take Joel’s place instead.

Gen: I can’t do that. The points—

Shelia: Fork the points. It’s one point. You managed to hide us here with fake points. So just—give him one of mine.

Gen: Do you know how hard it was to even to do that? It’s not easy Sheila. I know I make it look easy—these robes are very misleading. But—

Shelia: I don’t care. Let me take his place.

Gen: I will look into it. But I can’t make any promises.

*****

Joel: Did Sheila talk to you?

Gen: (sighs) Yes.

Joel: Did she ask to take my place instead?

Gen: No.

Joel: Okay, good—

Gen: She demanded it.

Joel: Dam it. Dam? Oh. Dam. Like the beaver or that thing that stores water. A loophole. Did not see that. Anyway, no time. Don’t listen to her. Whatever she told you. This—it’s the right thing to do. I just have one request.

Gen: You already had your last meal--

Joel: The ice cream was great, thank you, but no. Something else.

Gen: I can’t let you go back to earth and tackle Chris to the ground. He is 6’5, he would still win.

Joel: That’s not—Really? Even as a—

Gen: Those 3 inches make a difference.

Joel: Whatever. Not what I wanted.

Gen: It’s one of the things you wanted.

Joel: Anyway. I just—can you promise me—Can you guarantee that Sheila not only goes to The Good Place but that she’s happy? I’m not a big fan of this ‘soul mate’ thing—but I can’t stand the thought of Sheila being alone.

Gen: I can promise you that she will get into The Good Place.

Joel: And?

Gen: That’s it. What happens after is beyond me. I can’t promise you anything.

*****

Sheila: So he goes into one vault and I go in the other?

Gen: You’re gonna get a little sick but it’ll pass. Just don’t breath through your mouth. The vomit just flies---

Joel: Why does that sound grosser than anything we’ve ever done?

Eleanor: Are you sure there isn’t anything else you can do?

Gen: No. This is it. Say your goodbyes. Anymore time wasted and—well nothing happens. Time isn’t a thing here. We could all chill and catch up on Grey’s Anatomy. They have thirty-six seasons. Thirty-Six! But we’re only delaying the inevitable.

Sheila: This is it then.

Joel: Forty-five years.

Sheila: We only made it to one Bop.

Joel: I have no regrets.

Sheila: I do. Just the one.

Joel: What’s that?

Shelia: We should have mailed that deed to Gary’s niece. It would have reduced our carbon footprint. And then maybe—

Joel: I don’t care. I would do it all over again.

Eleanor: (crying) How does keep happening to me?

*****

Eleanor: I can’t believe it. They’re just gone? They’re good people. Like, real good people. I mean, a little problematic because of the murder. But it was just one point--

Gen: Yup. One point. Unless---

Eleanor: Unless what?

Gen: They were human and still accumulating points.

Eleanor: Wait. What?

Gen: Think about it.

Eleanor: You know I am not good at that.

Gen: You humans are so slow. On earth they were Undead. Then they died, again. When they arrived to your neighborhood Good Place, they were human. The points rebooted.

Eleanor: What?!

Gen: It’s complicated. Serbia is…complicated. Being dead and then undead and dead again—it’s everything cancelling each other out. It’s like—

Eleanor: A loophole.

Gen: I cannot confirm that.

Eleanor: You—their points---

Gen: Are even.

Eleanor: I don’t---

Gen: Let’s just say, they both asked something of me in their final moments. And it evened them out.

Eleanor: But they went into different vaults?

Gen: Leading to the same place.

*****

Sheila: What are you doing here?

Joel: What are you doing here?

Shelia: I’m taking your place!

Joel: She promised me you would go the real Good Place.

Sheila: Unless this is—

Joel and Sheila: Fuck!

Sheila: Wait--

Joel and Shelia: Fuck?!

Sheila: FUCK!

Joel: FUCK!

Sheila: HOLY FUCKING FUCK !

Joel: MOTHERFUCKING FUCK !

Janet: Hello!

Joel: FUCK!

Janet: My name is Janet.

Shelia: We’ve met.

Janet: No, we haven’t. I’m your neighborhood’s Janet. There are millions of me for every Good Place neighborhood.

Sheila: Say that again?

Janet: Hello, my name is Janet—

Shelia: No, the other thing.

Janet: There are a millions of me—

Shelia: No—

Joel: This could take hours—Janet where are we?

Janet: This is The Good Place. Neighborhood #6969.

Joel: Wait—

Shelia: Later, Joel. No, not that like that. Well maybe like that—

--Fin—

#ssaalexblake #santa clarita diet #the good place #my fic #a lot of this doesn't make sense but i trust you to just go with it #you will have questions---i may have some answers

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queerhannibal · 5 years

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I recently finished watching Hannibal for the first time. And I'm a little bit confused. The fandom seems to agree that Hannibal loves Will. But why did he do all these terrible things to Will when he is supposed to be in love with him? I mean, he tried to kill Will multiple times. What was Hannibals intention?

I mean it’s not like we all just came to some random consensus and say “yeah this guy who keeps stabbin Will is in love with him”, it’s stated multiple times in the canon of the show that Hannibal loves Will

But the thing is that Hannibal is not a person who is very competent at managing his own strong emotions, largely bc he doesn’t feel strong emotions involuntarily very often and so doesn’t have much practice and also bc he’s mentally ill as hell and he’s never really had a moral compass to begin with.

So his reactions to feelings aren’t really what most of us would have, you know? And he doesn’t even feel all the emotions most people feel, or at least doesn’t feel them in response to the same sorts of things. Basically, his brain works in a very different way than the typical brain. Specifically he doesn’t have the same sorts of inhibitions when it comes to causing others harm that most people do, which is why he’s out there murderin assholes instead of just tolerating them like the rest of us do

like the thing you have to understand about Hannibal is that when he gets upset by something instead of thinking about a bunch of solutions to that and then maybe eventually getting to “I wish I could just kill them”, his absolute first thought any time something bothers him is “time to stab”

Anyway I’d say that his intentions vary a bit depending on which horrible thing he’s done to Will we’re talking about?

Basically all the terrible things he did to Will in season one were motivated by his desire not to be arrested. Hannibal knew that Will was more than clever enough to realize that he was the copycat killer and the chesapeake ripper, and he didn’t want that to happen in a way that would give Will a chance to turn him in, you know? He also, at that stage, absolutely has not realized the depth of his attachment to Will; he thinks this is a game, and it’s a game he’s got all the cards to so he’s very confident he’s going to win it, even if sometimes a Feeling works its way through that isn’t super fun (think, that scene where he’s super upset about Will missing his appointment in Sorbet)

Season two has a lot of indirect shit... I guess you could say sleeping with Alana was to hurt Will but I think the motivations for that were clear and mundane. And Randall Tier, I guess, but he fully expected Will to survive that and merely intended to push Will into more killing, as far as I can tell. The stuff with Margot was less about hurting Will and more about just stirring shit up; also some normal jealousy that Margot was going to take some of Will’s attention if she had his baby. He wants Will to have no one but him.

And then we come to Mizumono. Hannibal in that scene is incredibly hurt. He’s let someone in in a way he’s literally never let anyone in before and it turns out that person (Will) was playing him the entire time. Hannibal fell in love with someone he believes didn’t really exist, and he wants to punish Will for doing that to him. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d killed Will altogether there lmao; the fact that he didn’t is evidence that he cares more about Will than he does about other people by far

When he tries to saw Will’s head open, that’s really... largely because of Bedelia. He’s sitting there like “god I have all these feelings and they SUCK” and she’s like “eat him” and Hannibal is like “seems like as good a plan as any” and tries to do so, after Will pulls out a knife and makes it clear peaceful coexistence isn’t an option. His goal there is to rid himself of the pain of not being able to be with the man he loves

And then when he sends Dolarhyde after Molly and Walter I feel like, again, the motive is relatively obvious? He’s in love with Will. Will has married someone else and left Hannibal to rot in prison. What do you expect a serial killer to do?? He knows as long as going home to Molly is a viable option Will isn’t ever gonna choose him, and he’s a fundamentally horrible and selfish person. Of course he does every awful thing he can to fuck that up.

So really his primary motivation (post season one) for hurting Will is that he wants to be with Will but can’t be and lashes out? Which, while shitty, strikes me as being more evidence that he’s got a big attachment to Will and not less

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannigram #meta #mine #asks #anon asks #this got very long so it's got a cut #also it was written over several days so it's perhaps not cohesive #the real thing is that for Hannibal loving someone and not hurting them don't correlate #or if they do it's not in the same way they do for most people

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wellntruly · 5 years

Text

KILLING EVE - S2 Ep 3 & 4

We’re back to S1-style doubles because somehow I lost track of posting my 2x03 watch-notes last week!

Anyway I’m still watching three different shows right now, and this is the one that I most wish I could just watch another episode of immediately. It’s very addictive 4 me. There’s just something about a spy-crime show set in broad daylight that’s just great actresses in incredible costumes delivering big, silly, sincere performances to a score of moody, stylish lady-ballads. I could watch this: forever.

Season 2, Episode 3 - ‘The Hungry Caterpillar’

oh I APPRECIATE the seamless editing from the Previously On to this episode, nice. usually someone besides the show editors cuts the Previously Ons (which is why Mad Men’s were so fucking perfect, because then Matt Weiner would go back through and take out everything he thought was too revealing and basically turned them into Dadaist black out poetry)

aw oh no his daughter. “Change the subject,” that was so bluntly endearing.

Konstantin: “She gets into your brain, she eats you up to make space for herself.” DANG. GOOD ANALYSIS.

“Look what happens to people she loves. She loves you to death.” aahhhh! listen I love new Scarf Philosopher Konstantin

Jodie Comer does so. many. accents.

she’s so happy to get back into it, aw murder kitten

I’m pretty sure that woman paused with Villanelle on the sidewalk and didn’t start walking toward her again until she started first — the Ghost???

Villanelle just judged this man for day drinking and it was hilarious

Villanelle’s conception of “boring and discrete” is to strangle a man with his own tie held outside a rising elevator

what’s terrible Raymond’s game here. he’s deliberately making Villanelle paranoid that Eve will forget about her and jealous and resentful of the Ghost — how does this help The Twelve, or whatever they’re called? this just feels like it’s courting messiness!

a) good lord posh boy, you tool b) the acting here just elegantly articulated the different ways men and women respond negatively to a skeevy sexist comment: Eve and Tess both turned to level an unamused look at him, and Kenny turned away to level an unamused look into the middle distance. the women shamed him with their attention, the man with his lack of it. THIS IS FASCINATING.

“~Add~it~to~the~bill~”

constantly chuffed at what a direct continuation this is from John le Carré—now the spies are sharing how they were personally recruiting out of university due to their language skills and Vague Other Qualites

ohhhhh shit, Villanelle’s trying to take out Niko!!! like socio-politically take out

is she…making macaroni art

she made a macaroni art NECKLACE. Villanelle’s attention to detail…..

damn Eve, that blue dress IS sexy

goodness SAKES this woman is awkward

it’s interesting that she seems to think Eve won’t see through all of this. I mean obviously Niko won’t, she’s fine there, but you’re supposed to adjust when other women are around

Carolyn’s house infuriates me, these windows...want

holy shit Carolyn. holy shit. she’s the perfect spy. she’s always been careful, about loving her family. aaahhhhh

she has Sam Neill’s wine!!! staaahp, Sam Neill The Actor exists in this universe

Niko is flirting with Eve by ALSO talking about which male math legends he thinks is most fuckable

LIPstick. I really really like the flirting-through-murder I’m not gonna lie. it’s like Hannibal but hyper-literal instead of just the world’s most textual subtext, and also, I don’t know, I kinda find this emotional honesty refreshing, because Villanelle and Eve are so blatant and showing how much you care is kinda uncool? like, this show is obviously super stylish, but there is not much aesthetic posturing to hide behind when you’re just straight up sending someone you have a crush on lipstick love notes. I don’t know this is hard to really explain. but I feel it.

aw, kinda burned that relationship with Kenny didn’t ya Eve

Konstantin, or Konstant-ly wearing scarves

well who does that mean!

why does the classical music make me think it’s Konstantin, going to find Villanelle first instead of telling Eve because that seems like exactly something he would do

because it is!

YEESSSS HUGGGSSS

do it. I love you two together, go be freelance assassin weirdos, I support it.

see!!! Villanelle’s just literally swooning watching Eve through the peep hole! she’s so openly, embarrassingly smitten! and it’s HOT.

is Fiona Shaw wearing a jumpsuit. help.

Villanelle derpily, earnestly singing along to this sappy love song is SO GOOD. this also is what I mean! it’s shockingly uncool! and therefore feels so sincere!

aaaahhhh she put a razor blade in the lipstick!!!!! KINKY BLOODPLAY MURDER FLIRTING. you two are so cute and silly and campy and also FUCKED UP.

EVE TOUCHES HER LIP!!! YOU TOO, YOU ALSO ARE THIS WAY

Season 2, Episode 4 - ‘Desperate Times’

captivated by this poor man’s Dan Stevens eyeballing at her while he types at his desk

Fiona Shaw is wearing a long, collar-less leather blazer

thank god Carolyn’s boss is YET ANOTHER WEIRDO WOMAN. they showed her stripy socks leading into loafers first---bunch of teases making this show

“Bit of a cock up, really, isn’t this, Karen.” haha oh my god

do we know “Paul”? well, Paul’s boyfriend left him

the lines flew fast in this scene, and they were good

damn, Ms. Legs For Days

it occurs to me to be grateful that these two Russians speak in English for our benefit

anyway Konstantin what are you wearing

“Don’t go shopping alone again”---thank u Vill

aahhhahaha, the actress who played Jess was on Doctor Who. also of course Eve’s Companion crush is Rose, the cute flirty blonde. (Jess was on a Rose ep, lol)

wow his lawyers are so closely on retainer that one can materialize in about 20 seconds

I mean that is an interesting point though, that private companies now hold more data and information than intelligence services, so what does that mean for nation states

AAHHHHH. Amsterdam looks GOOD on our girl.

aw she’s eating that dumb Dutch sprinkle toast!

I like Eve and Jess working together, it’s good they’re letting us have this—Eve was getting pretty isolated

she looks SO CREEPY with this pig mask on. normally I can at least logically see the appeal of someone’s kink, but this is like...legit horror film territory, my dude.

Jodie Comer is doing some real good mask work here, and I am zero percent surprised

people rag on Niko a lot as Eve’s “boring husband” but I wonder if he actually kind of rules. funny, kind, cleans up nice, patient, sense of humor. like, man is alarmed to find they’ve been assigned a SECURITY GUARD because of his wife’s dangerous work, and he just sits him down at the table, pours them both some wine, and starts making dinner. what a guy! Niko is totally the wife role, I’m suddenly realizing—characters who are actually cool but we feel like we dislike them because the narrative only gives them one note to play over and over: frustration with our scattered hero who constantly lets them down. these characters have a thankless role in both their relationship and the show, and they get more flack than they probably deserve.

no, Carolyn don’t keep her postcard! you’re Emma Stone in The Favourite-ing this situation! risky!

“Well, we tried. Bye, Aaron.” this is hilarious

best day ever for this sex worker: just gets to hang out and nap on the giant wad of bills Villanelle handed her while she Juliets at the window waiting for Eve to arrive across the street

Hugo developing a crush on Eve is kinda weirdly fun. he’s so prurient, and young. and this little horny Oxford posh-boy getting steamed over Sandra Oh is pretty delicious.

god the styling onVillanelle this episode….every fabric she’s been in is so lustrous and vibrant. she looks incredible. and very her to swing far into glossy glamour as soon as she’s healthy and monied again. and feeling a little anxiously unconfident about Eve’s wandering attention. fashion therapy.

“Both.” she says both. she means BOTH. they’re gonna...yeah I told you! I mean Don’t though, thank god for the text buzz whew

honestly this is good this means you can keep Hugo fucking leashed

this is an EXTREMELY underground club

Villanelle’s free floating fear and insecurity right now feels shockingly her given how much it sounds like it shouldn’t! that’s good acting---making even new sides feel like they’re innately of your character.

ohhh my gosh they’re letting Sandra Oh speak Korean! THANK YOU I LOVE THIS. it’s just her casually on the phone with her mom this is fantastic!

oH WHOA, two immediate things!!! 1) ANOTHER ASIAN ACTRESS PLAYING THE GHOST, two Asian women on 👏 this 👏 show 👏 2) was Eve staging that call so that the Ghost would feel kinship with her?? holy shit, but yeah that feels like an Eve move

anyway I’m into the Ghost plot actually moving along at a pretty swift clip here, they’ve caught her and they’re only halfway through the season---opens up a more interestingly unusual back half with what will happen next

aww, Konstantin sleeping on the floor next to her bed

German ‘Angel of the Morning’ cover, ja ja ja [EDIT: Dutch! this makes a lot more sense given that Vill...is in Amsterdam]

wow Jodie Comer is killing it this episode, this is a hell of a crying into the mirror jag. her eeeyyes! that she gradually looks almost dazzled to find herself so hurt.

god I’m adoring this new facet of Villanelle. heartbreak still in her style of slippery and indulgent and pure. and meanwhile Eve’s becoming even more of your classic detective sweaterbadboy, brilliant and inconsiderate and kinda sexily strugglebus-ing and burning bridges. NEAT-O.

Killing Eve Watch-Notes

Season One: Ep 1 & 2 - Nice Face, I’ll Deal With Him Later | Ep 3 & 4 - Don’t I Know You?, Sorry Baby | Ep 5 & 6 - I Have a Thing About Bathrooms, Take Me To the Hole! | Ep 7 & 8 - I Don’t Want To Be Free, God, I’m Tired

Season Two: Ep 1 - Do You Know How To Dispose of a Body? | Ep 2 - Nice and Neat

#Killing Eve spoilers #Killing Eve #Tarra takes notes #assassin chat

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frejaultor · 5 years

Text

Been thinking about myself as an avatar of the entities...

The Eye: I people watch all the time so this isn’t too hard to picture. I can and will give you that sense of impending doom that only the clapping at a restaurant when it’s your birthday can exude. Do you hear the clapping when you’re in public, not anywhere near a food establishment, or is that just your imagination? Also, I will make you tell me your true feelings. Secrets aren’t your friends.

The Spiral: I love staring at colors and patterns that are painful to look at (my art is evidence). Those seizure-inducing optical illusions? LOVE THEM. You will, too. You have no choice. (Side note: would rickrolling count as something the spiral is capable of since it involves misleading someone? because I love that song). I will move the furniture in someone’s house just enough to not be really noticeable but drive you mad.

The Lonely: Being completely without interaction is a powerful way to clear your mind and set your priorities. (probably not how this works but...) When I release you, you better freakin appreciate your friends, coward. If being semi-benevolent doesn’t fit the bill, trapping NASTIES and feasting on their fear would be nice.

The End: I’m already practically a skeleton so why not make it official? Who doesn’t want to be a cool reaper? A Not Dead? Or someone going around like, “hey, the way you’re living is BAD and you need to stop.” (Like the Lonely, I’m not entirely sure I’d be allowed to do this sort of thing but Terminus will get them eventually, right?) You might not be afraid to die, but suffocation and being about to hit the ground tends to get people to realize what they’d want to live for.

The Stranger: Who wouldn’t want to jump into a preset life, look at the one person who sees you as WronG and whisper, “What are you gonna do about it? No one will believe you.”

The Desolation: I live in the desert and my metabolism makes me warm constantly, so I feel like I’m already there... Who doesn’t want to live like a superhero and/or Godzilla and just smash some buildings without a care in the world?

The Slaughter: Will it be with a knife? Or a pencil I have on hand? Who knows? Don’t know when, don’t know how, but it’ll happen. Also, as someone who lightly studied torture, being tied to a rack and observing a multitude of tools you don’t know the use of would most likely induce a psychotic break.

The Vast: If I had the ability to yeet myself and just fall for 30 minutes, you bet yer bippy, I’m gonna. Ability to yeet myself and others into the stars? I’m Ready. Polluters/people who think sharks are evil or refer to it as “shark-infested waters” get sent to the Naughty Trench.

The Buried: COZY. I’m burrito and now so are you. With so many people trying to shoulder everything about their lives all by themselves, it’s so easy to push them a little further until it’s too much. (All those people choking up Mount Everest should be crushed by it. It’s a mountain; it shouldn’t be a damn tourist park).

The Dark: The only unknown in the darkness that I fear is furniture. As a person who lives in the desert, I absolutely believe we should blow up the sun. It is a bastard that mocks us. You know why we always see drawings of the sun with shades and a shit-eating grin on its face? BECAUSE IT’S MOCKING US. Screw you, flaming orb. Screw. You. Bring on the night and let its children play. >:3

The Corruption: Things I wish I could be in terms of this entity--

dressed as a plague doctor who lifts their robe and it’s just a swarm of rats

curl-up/ roll-up/ sow bugs because I love them and they’re precious

cicadas. I want to scream. A lot.

Slugs and/or snails.

SHROOOMS

Things I would most likely be-- crickets and/or locusts. I hate them and their ugly little faces. Crickets and their obnoxious “screw me” song they sing when they’re in your house and NOWHERE near another cricket. Locusts are just as ugly and they eat everything and then DIE. What a life.

The Web: You know those super controlling parents? Those friends who aren’t friends and manipulate everyone around them? IT’S THEIR TURN. Who’s pullin’ the strings now, kids?? Spiders are adorable with their beedy little eyes, teeny fangs, and large careers goals. I admire them. I’d also love to appear as Shelob but that’s unlikely.

The Flesh: I will admit--I like fondling meat. I poke the chicken in the store and giggle at the pork tenderloins. I have also held a human lung. I am a fan of Hannibal Lector. Humans as they are now are basically cattle soooooo.....

The Hunt: I will admit once and openly here.... I am a monster lover. You got fangs and hands that are too sharp? Nice. Sneaking up on people is also one of my Special Skills (like my only skill tbh) so this is my niche. I will happily hunt poachers and stalkers. I would also hunt down Sims and tell him I LOVE HIM and be freakin’ nice to him.

#the magnus archives #tma #spoilers #I know some of these don't really work that way #im just brainstorming and self-analyzing #if you manage to read all of this bravo #the entities #I would love to draw myself as each of these #the crickets and locusts would be a pain but i must press on #if i were to pick which i fear the most out of these #corruption #the eye #the stranger #swarms of bugs freak me the fuck out sir #says the person who has blown a vuvuzela over an anthill to watch them scurry #i feel like i could slide into the avatar life a little too easily

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xtattlecrimex-blog · 5 years

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Canon doesn’t work that way [AKA: Why Hannigram Isn’t Canon]

This is an actual comment I received on an Instagram post I made explaining why Hannigram isn’t canon. Let’s take a look at it:

This isn’t how canon works. At all. Canon is like well, a bible of information. Something literally written in stone. In fact, that’s the origin of the word. From biblical times. Though I can agree to some extent, some, the bible is open to interpretation there are still a bunch of things the bible does or doesn’t say and still hard and fast rules the vast majority of Christians will all agree with, no matter how they interpret the bible otherwise. For instance, the ten commandments. No matter if you go to a Catholic church, a Baptist Church, an Evangelical church, everyone has pretty much all agreed that the 10 commandments are solid rules to live by. Even when you do find that the bible has a slightly different interpretation than others, you will not find something so wildly outlandish that it doesn’t make any sense. This is what canon is and why it exists. It’s rules that are written down, set in stone, and definitely words that define a story, ideology, whatever you want to call it.

Once canon is written it cannot be changed. This has been the rule since, well, the beginning of Goddamn time. I know I’ve already brought this up but apparently it needs to be repeated because the Hannibal fandom still doesn’t understand what canon is and what fan fiction is. It really doesn’t help that the creator of the show, Bryan Fuller, doesn’t seem to understand this either. We are talking about a guy who literally got fired from a show for demanding he be able to write fan fiction instead of follow the book adaptation, and not only is this ridiculous but he demanded the actual author allow this when the author was the producer on the show. If the creator of Hannibal is this freaking self entitled, all he does is pass it onto his fans who believe him but will defend him.

Case in point: Hannigram. It is not canon. Not by any stretch of the word. It’s not even open to interpretation given the actual facts of the show and the events that took place. You cannot possibly interpret Hannibal’s behavior towards Will as love or romance. It is factually abuse. End of story. If Bryan Fuller wanted this to be canon because he writes the canon he had all the power in the world to make it canon. He failed to do that and all the “Hannigram is canon” tweets in the universe will not change the content of the show or the scripts that he already wrote. That’s not how that works. Let’s look at the plot, just the plot, not speculation or emotion. Just straight up facts of the show as it pertains to Will Graham and Hannibal’s relationship. I’ll go in order as sort of a timeline to make it abundantly clear how bad Hannibal was to Will.

Hannibal messes up Will’s investigation into the Hobbs murders by calling Garret Jacob Hobbs to warn him that the FBI is coming for him. This triggers Hobbs into murdering his wife and attempting to murder Abigail.

Hannibal uses this situation against Will almost immediately because he notices how guilty Will feels about what happened to Abigail so he just makes it worse. On purpose. Using Abigail as a pawn to manipulate Will.

Hannibal recognizes that Will has Encephalitis. Instead of doing literally anything to help him as a friend or doctor, Hannibal lets the disease get worse and worse to use it to his advantage to manipulate Will even further.

Hannibal starts to plant evidence for his eventual crime of framing Will for murder.

Hannibal starts to sew seeds of doubt in the minds of the FBI and Will’s friends so when it finally gets to the end, no one will believe Will when he says he isn’t the copy cat and hasn’t murdered anyone. Hannibal continues to use Will’s undiagnosed condition against him.

This entire time Hannibal has been feeding Will (and several other people) human flesh without their knowledge.

Hannibal is successful with his set up and though Will eventually gets treatment for Encephalitis he ends up being framed for murder and going to prison.

This is just season one, okay? I didn’t even include episode 11 where Hannibal blatantly gaslights Will by telling him no one is there when Will brings Abel Gideon to his house. What exactly, in all of this, denotes anything more than sadistic emotional torture on Hannibal’s part? Where is the love, respect, and care this awesome, romantic, “murder husbands” relationship is about? Even if Hannibal “completely changed” and totally stopped being evil at this point, is this still not bad enough that Will should ever forgive him? Could? Especially after one of the murders Hannibal made Will think he committed was Abigail’s which basically destroyed him? Really? This is your romance? Okay, let’s move on to season two events…at least to the best of my knowledge.

Hannibal pretty much knows the whole time Will is in jail he didn’t do it but does very little of anything to help him, until he hires Matthew Brown to help.

Hannibal moves in on Alana and uses her for sex and an alibi to cover up other crimes that he intends to commit.

Hannibal also somehow has Abigail alive, not that it makes any sense, but the events of season three show he was brainwashing Abigail the entire time so this pertains to Will mostly because of how Will cared for Abigail. It’s straight up disrespectful towards him and his wishes.

Hannibal nearly kills Jack on a rampage during their fight in the kitchen, stabs Will with a linoleum knife, and then to top it all off he slits Abigail’s throat while Will watches as some sort of punishment or revenge.

Okay, so I’m willing to bet if this happened to someone or their friend in real life, at this point people would recognize the reality of the situation, namely being that this isn’t love. This is high level abuse and manipulation. Now, just to be clear, the specific shippers I am talking about are the shippers that insist this is romantic, Hannibal loved, cared for, and respected Will, and literally nothing is wrong with their relationship. I am not against toxic shipping or people shipping people DESPITE the abusive or dark nature of the ship. What I am against are people turning crap like this into romance to justify the ship. Calling this behavior LOVE and not abuse. That’s what I’m against. Ship these assholes all you want but at least admit it’s not healthy. Moving on to season three:

There’s at least one scene with Will panicked and depressed in Hannibal’s kitchen thinking he can’t live without him and not in a good way. This scene denotes massive signs of codependency which, once again, isn’t love. It’s the result of extreme emotional and physical abuse on Hannibal’s part.

Will chases Hannibal all over the world to find him and does but Hannibal attempts to cut his head open and eat his brain. Seems like he would have done it had he not been stopped by whatever deus ex machina plot device happened, think it was Chiyoh but whatever it was, trust me it was bullshit.

Hannibal and Will are brought back to Mason in the states and once again endure a bunch of torture and none of this is anything that would have happened had Hannibal not dragged Will into all of this in the first place.

They eventually escape after Hannibal kills basically everyone and takes Will home. Will tells Hannibal, point blank, he wants nothing to do with him anymore because Hannibal is bad. Very bad. Will openly recognizes this to be the case and states it. Hannibal gets upset and turns himself in just so “Will can always know where to find him” and if you wanna tell me that’s not the trademark of an emotional abuser you don’t know what emotional abuse is.

Will actually goes on to get married and loves his wife. He’s dragged back into working with Hannibal to catch another killer. Will seems to try to avoid bonding or getting near Hannibal at all costs but it’s too late. The codependent bond has already been formed, Hannibal gets into his head again.

Will, recognizing that this is a very bad situation but he’s never going to get away from it, decides to kill both Hannibal and himself instead of living this life of torment he so clearly hates. The end.

Now, if you read all of that and thought “Wow this is a beautiful romance story with loving caring devoted husbands” I got news for you, you’re insane. If you had a friend who went through all of this with a partner, you’d get them away from that partner and never let them go back. You also wouldn’t call it love or caring or anywhere near the sort, except these Hannigram shippers they do. They overly justify this behavior and call it romance. It’s sickening. It’s like they are willing to ignore 90% of the actual events of the show to insist that this ship is canon. It’s not.

Not once in the show did Hannibal and Will kiss. Not once in the show did they say “I love you”. Not once did the show establish they were actually a couple or even gay. Not once was there any factual on screen indication via dialogue or action that showed these two being sexually interested in each other or romantically linked. If these events weren’t shown or stated in the show then their relationship isn’t canon and a tweet doesn’t make it canon. All the Bryan Fuller tweets and fan service in the world can’t make it canon. What the idiot shippers bring up THE MOST is the scene where Will asks Bedelia if Hannibal loves him as if this is “the scene” where Will totally confesses his love to Hannibal. Except, that’s not what it means at all. Here’s what’s actually going on here:

If I think that a person I know has a crush on me, and I ask a friend of theirs “Does so and so love me” what indication does that give about my feelings towards that person? Did you guess none? Asking the simple question “Does X person love me” gives no indication as to how the person asking feels about the person they think loves them. None. Will never actually followed that by saying he loved Hannibal as well, and the “bride” comment the Fannibals site was clearly said in a dark sarcastic way, they remove the context to make it real. When you have to jump through this many hoops to say a ship is canon, then your Goddamn ship isn’t canon. Furthermore, Bedelia was a well established liar, manipulator, and former victim of Hannibal’s. WELL ESTABLISHED. There is literally nothing to say she actually knew what she was talking about or she wasn’t just fucking with Will. None. Because that’s all she did through the entire show was fucking lie and meddle with people, including her own patients which was shown in season three. Bedelia has no credibility on this matter because she was already established as a liar.

I do honestly wonder sometimes if I watched an entirely different show than these people. Alright, so even though I covered this before I will say it again and explain it a bit better this time. This is why Bryan Fuller tweeting “Hannigram is canon” doesn’t make it canon. Casual viewers of the show don’t follow his twitter or interviews. I know dozens of people who watched the show and only did that. Watched it. They didn’t go see what anyone had to say about it. They didn’t stalk Bryan Fuller on twitter. They didn’t read every fucking interview that ever happened. This means that what casual TV viewers saw was an absolutely NON-ROMANTIC NON-CANON relationship between Will and Hannibal. People saw what I listed. People saw abuse, manipulation, emotional anguish and torture. They weren’t cross checking with Fuller’s twitter and interviews to make sure their agenda was being pushed. This means that the only place this is canon is literally in fan fiction in the mind of Fuller and in the minds of the fan girls who believed him. It does not make this canon to the show and it certainly does not make the behavior romantic at all.

Even if, at the end of all this, after all Hannibal had done to Will, they both confessed love to each other why would anyone forgive that? Why would anyone call that romance? Why? When this was clearly a system of abuse designed to brainwash Will into codependency and anyone with two brain cells can see that. Why would you want this to represent “Gay love” why would you think this is good representation for gay couples? Why in the hell do you think this matters so much that a show that is literally about one man with power abusing another man be seen as GAY CANON. Why not choose a better more healthy relationship for your cause? What the fuck is the point of all of this? At the end of the day, Hannigram isn’t canon to the show. Hannigram is and always will be fan fiction. Since any “example” of love or romance anyone can give me boils down to nothing more than actual abuse, torture, and murder I’m going to say that it just doesn’t exist. If you want to WRONGLY BELIEVE that it’s canon you go ahead, but you’re still wrong. Opinions do not change facts no matter how badly they hurt your feelings.

#Hannigram #Hannibal #Hannibal Lecter #Will Graham #Bryan Fuller #Fannibals #Fannibal Family

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archetype-online-blog · 5 years

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Archetype’s Great Choose Your Own Villain Adventure

You’ve finally done it — you have written an amazing hero.

She has all of your own best traits: kindness, bravery, stubbornness, cute glasses. You don’t know if you want to be her or marry her. Readers will see themselves in her and dress to match her style. Critics will fear her. And best of all, she is wholly, undeniably, ready carrying the weight of your complex plot.

But now you need to craft your antagonist. And this fellow really needs to measure up.

Don’t worry, though—in this post, we’ll break down some of the many tools you can turn to when creating someone to foil your protagonist’s plans.

Just how bad is bad?

A. An Evil Villain? This villain has no morals, or if she does, she buried them deep down a long time ago. She’ll sacrifice her family, friends, and everyone’s free will for eternal beauty, unlimited power, or world domination. Think the Evil Queen from Snow White or Sauron from Lord of the Rings.

B. A Disgruntled Opponent? This villain's had a lifelong streak of bad luck. His parents were killed by someone eerily similar to the hero, global warming flooded his lair last week, and the hero spilled coffee on his pants while saving a cat from a tree this morning. Really, all he wants is a nap—if he has to chain up a few good guys for some peace and quiet, it’s no more than he deserves. Think Luke Castellan from the Percy Jackson series.

C. A Good Person with Questionable Goals? Rational people presented with the same situation won’t always agree, because at the end of the day all people, even equally good people, have different values and morals. If your hero wants to flip the switch and save five people on the train track but your antagonist doesn’t think the one man on the other side should die, you’re probably going for this dynamic. This is Captain America: Civil War through and through.

Just how serious are they?

A. Funny and exaggerated? A villain like this is there to put a wrench in your hero’s plans (and probably provide lots of comic relief), but not seriously threaten anyone with bodily harm. They may think they’re irredeemable and say they couldn’t care less about another person, but they’re either confused or wildly incompetent. Think about it: nobody believes Dr. Doofenshmirtz is going to do anything more than mildly inconvenience them.

B. Menacing and exaggerated? Your villain shoots lasers out of their eyes. Their knuckles are embedded with knives. One whiff of their breath causes paralysis. One word from their mouth has civilians leaping off cliffs. They wear only black, and their evil lair says “Evil Lair” on the front door. They also probably have a lot of henchpeople. Basically, everything about them screams Bad Guy, to the point where it’s definitely not realistic. A good example is Gru from Despicable Me.

C. Spookily realistic to the point of goosebumps? The world is a scary place, and sometimes it’s important to represent that in your work. Antagonists can be made all the worse by the fact that they’re just regular people doing reprehensible, unforgivable things. Think Frollo in Hunchback of Notre Dame or Mother Gothel in Tangled—attempted sexual assault and child abuse are no joke.

Was your antagonist …

A. Brought into being because of the actions of your hero? Some villains might have been a cashier down at the 7-Eleven if it wasn’t for that chance encounter with your hero all those years ago. Now, though, they’ve sworn to get revenge for their slighted pride—stupid heroes and their ego, right? Buddy Pine, AKA Syndrome from The Incredibles, is a great example of this.

B. Morally transformed by a dramatic life event? Sometimes good people do bad things when they’re under a lot of stress, especially if they’ve been traumatized. Have they been forced to make an impossible choice with consequences that haunt them? Tortured because they were good? Watched their family die? Depending on who you ask, the Punisher falls into this category.

C. Doing the wrong thing for the right reasons? Sure, your antagonist stole the diamonds and fired a warning shot at the reception outside the gala, but the real baddie is holding her wife hostage at home. Your hero would have done the same thing—right? Think the origin story of the Hook-Handed Man from A Series of Unfortunate Events, or Killmonger from Black Panther.

On a related note, does your antagonist …

A. Have a history with your hero? In many cases, the protagonist and the antagonist go way back. Maybe they were once friends (this has tons of potential—do they know each other’s weaknesses? Have certain pet peeves they’ve sworn never to exploit?), or maybe they’ve just fought about this issue many times before. Have they dated? Were their parents friends? Think Catra from Netflix’s She-Ra reboot.

B. Fear your hero’s reputation? This antagonist knows your hero is coming, and as much as he tries to deny it, he knows he’s not ready. Maybe there’s a prophecy. Maybe the hero just has a really good PR team. Either way, the villain is going to try to shoot first—and if he misses, he probably won’t get another chance. Voldemort.

C. Have no interest in your hero whatsoever — the hero wants to stop them, but they don’t think the hero is a threat. There’s always a chance, though, that your villain doesn’t even think your hero is worth the time of day. Maybe they’ve heard of him, maybe they haven’t—what does it matter when they’re not going to be stopped either way? This villain feels toward your hero what Irene Adler feels toward Sherlock Holmes—totally unbothered, and maybe occasionally amused.