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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

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are you going to hurt me? ~ hannibal lecter;hannibal

word count: 2259

request?: no

description: after she finds that one of the fbi’s most trustworthy psychiatrists is actually the murderer they’re looking for, she decides to confront him about it

pairing: hannibal lector x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of murder, violence, implied smut

masterlist

From the minute he entered his office, Hannibal knew he wasn’t alone. He carried on to his desk, waiting for her to step out of the shadows, as he was almost certain he knew who was there as well.

“You’re the murderer they’re looking for.”

Hannibal turned and was unsurprised to see the FBI’s newest intern, (Y/N), standing at the railing of the floor overlooking his office. She was still in her work clothes - dress pants, a white blouse tucked into her pants, a pair of black dress shoes. She tried too hard to impress her superiors, especially Jack Crawford, but Hannibal could tell she was an intelligent woman that didn’t need to dress so well to impress them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responded, simply.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said. “The murderer, the one taking their organs, it’s not someone trying to illegally sell organs on the black market. It’s you.”

Hannibal chuckled, amused by her discovery. “Funny that it took an intern to figure that out, not one of the professionals.”

She seemed shocked that he was admitting to it, like she didn’t want him to be a murderer. “You’re...you’re admitting to it?”

“Well, there’s no reason to lie now since you’ve figured it out.”

(Y/N) felt uneasy now. She was starting to see the error of her ways. Why would she just come and confront Hannibal like this by herself? If he hadn’t confessed, she was basically risking her job on the FBI by accusing him of murder, but now that he had confessed, she was locked in a room with a murderer, and no one knew she was there.

Hannibal approached the ladder that led to the floor. (Y/N) took a step away from the railing, thinking he was about to come up after her. He stopped, noticing her hesitation.

“Humor me,” he told her, “tell me how you figured it out.”

“I heard you and Will talking,” she responded. “You were telling him about the black market and people stealing organs for it. Up until then, he hadn’t even considered that to be an option. He just thought that the murders were that of the Chesapeake Ripper, or a copycat. Or both. Then, when we were talking about it today, he started talking about black market organ selling. He was convinced that that’s what the Ripper, or the copycat Ripper, was doing. He was trying to convince us into looking into the black market to find a suspect, and everyone believed him.”

“Everyone but you.”

She nodded. “I’ve been in toxic relationships, I know what manipulation sounds like. You were manipulating him to get him off your scent, and it worked.”

She was perceptive, he was impressed. But now that she knew, a million solutions to his problem were running through Hannibal’s head. She had come alone, he could kill her right now and no one would even know she had been there. Of course, he’d have to wash down his office to rid it of any fingerprints that she may have left. But could he get away with killing another FBI intern? He had gotten lucky with Miriam Lass, maybe he wouldn’t have been so lucky with (Y/N).

He was also shocked to find that he didn’t want to kill her. Hannibal had grown fond of (Y/N) over the short few months he had known her. They had grown such a close bond that he often invited (Y/N) over for dinners, and he found himself excited when he would enter Jack’s office, or follow them to arrest a killer, and (Y/N) would be with them. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to kill (Y/N) like he had everyone else.

She began to descend the ladder, an action that her mind was screaming at her not to do, but her heart was telling her she could trust Hannibal. He wasn’t going to hurt her, not now anyways.

“I have to know,” she started, “are you...are you the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Hannibal nodded. “I am.”

“So...you killed all those people? Even the newest victims, the ones missing their organs?”

“I did.”

“There was never a copycat. It was always you.”

Hannibal nodded to confirm again.

(Y/N)’s entire body was shaking. She was standing inches from a murderer. Of course, being an intern with the FBI, this wasn’t her first time coming face to face with a murderer. But this was different, for one, she actually knew this murderer. It wasn’t some unknown face in the crowd, it was someone she considered a friend. And two, she wasn’t protected this time. No one knew she was there. He could’ve killed her and disposed of her body and no one would even think to question Dr. Hannibal Lecter for the murder.

“What happens now, (Y/N)?” Hannibal asked, approaching her again. She fought the urge to back away from him. She had to seem brave in this moment, not weak and afraid.

“I didn’t come here to turn you in,” she admitted. “I came to get the confirmation, to find out if I was right about my suspicions.”

“And now that you have?”

“I’m impressed,” she admitted. “You’ve been so close with the FBI, with Will, close enough that your cover could’ve been blown at any moment, but you’re so confident that you weren’t going to be caught.”

“Not confident enough, so it would seem.”

They were inches away from each other now, but (Y/N) suddenly didn’t feel scared of him. She wasn’t sure if he was going to hurt her or not, but it was as if she didn’t really care anymore.

“What happens now, Dr. Lecter?” she asked him, looking up into his brown eyes.

Instead of a response, Hannibal acted on impulse and wrapped his hands around her throat. The action took (Y/N) by surprise as he began to lift her off of her feet, squeezing her throat between his large hands. The air escaped from (Y/N)’s lungs quickly and she felt herself becoming lightheaded. In a moment of panic, she began to swing her legs, managing to make connection with Hannibal’s stomach. He doubled over in pain, dropping her to the floor.

(Y/N) landed with a thud and began to breathe heavily. She had mere moments before Hannibal would regain himself, and she knew she had to use that time wisely. While still gasping for air, she got to her feet and raced for the door. Just before reaching for the knob, she felt an arm being wrapped around her throat and her airways closing again. Hannibal began to drag her back into his office as she flailed her arms and legs, trying desperately to get out of his grip.

She managed to start clawing at his arm, digging her nails so deep into his arm that she managed to pierce the skin under his shirt. Hannibal exclaimed in pain, but only loosened his grip on (Y/N) slightly. It was enough for her to wriggle free. She turned to face him and swung a punch, managing to connect with his face.

Before she could make another get away, Hannibal grabbed her and shoved her back until her back collided with his desk. He shoved her so she was leaning back onto his desk and grabbed a nearby knife that he always kept for cases like this. He held the knife to her throat, the cold blade just lightly touching her skin. (Y/N) knew she should’ve been terrified, but she couldn’t bring herself to be properly scared. Instead, she looked into Hannibal’s eyes yet again, waiting to feel the blade pierce her skin.

“Are you going to kill me, Dr. Lecter?” she asked, her voice just barley a whisper.

Their faces were inches from one another and they were both panting from the fight. Hannibal had planned to press that blade to her throat and to kill her right then and there, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Above all else, he couldn’t imagine not seeing her anymore, to live with her death on his conscious, and that was a feeling that he had never had before.

Instead, he dropped the knife onto his desk and kissed (Y/N) in one swift movement. (Y/N) was caught by surprise, but it didn’t take her long to melt into the kiss. Hannibal took hold of her shoulders and pulled her so that she was sitting up on the desk instead. He placed himself between her legs, wrapping his arms around her so he could hold her as close to him as he possibly could.

(Y/N) moved her hands to start unbuttoning his blazer and his shirt, while Hannibal wasted no time in ripping her shirt open, her buttons flying off and scattering over his floor. His hands slipped under her shirt and ran over her bare skin, causing her to shiver at his touch. She pressed herself as close to him as she could as she put a hand on the back of his neck to deepen the kiss.

~~~~~~

Some time later, they were tangled together on the couch in Hannibal’s office. (Y/N) had her head resting on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat beginning to slow back to normal. She was mindlessly tracing circles on his chest with her hand, still trying to grasp what had just happened.

“You’ll have to burn this couch now,” she joked.

“I may,” Hannibal chuckled. “Or I may leave it as it is. A constant reminder of what happened on this couch, even when a patient comes and sits on it.”

(Y/N) moved her head to look at him. “That’s dirty, I like it.”

Hannibal smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“So, what happens now?” she asked him. “With me knowing your secret, and now us having slept together.”

“I trust you knowing my secret, I don’t think you are going to tell anyone, especially not Will or Jack,” he responded. “As for us sleeping together, it does cause a conflict of interest if anyone within the FBI finds out, especially Jack. We may not be allowed to work so closely together anymore as it could be argued that we’re being bias towards the other if they know we’re together.”

Hannibal’s choice of words intrigued (Y/N). She sat up slightly so that she could really look at him. “Together?”

“Maybe I’m being a little too ambitious with my phrasing,” Hannibal said.

“I’m just shocked that you’re so willing to decide we’re together after sleeping together once,” she admitted. “Most guys aren’t like that, not the ones I’ve been with anyways. They use you for sex then they’re out of your life for good.”

Hannibal at up as well to cup (Y/N)’s face with one hand. She looked into his eyes yet again. (Y/N) could get used to having those eyes looking at her with so much affection, it made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“I’m not like most guys,” he responded. (Y/N) tried not to chuckle at this, as it was very apparent that Hannibal was not like most people at all. “I don’t believe in having sex with someone without having some sort of affection for them.”

“Neither do I,” (Y/N) agreed. “Does that mean you have feelings for me, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal smiled. “I believe you should start calling me by my name if we’re to be intimate like this again.”

(Y/N) smiled so wide her cheeks were hurting. She couldn’t help herself as she leaned forward and began to kiss Hannibal again, lightly pushing him back on the couch so that she could straddle him again. They were so lost in one another that they almost didn’t hear the sound of Hannibal’s phone ringing, but when it continued with persistence, they realized it couldn’t be ignored.

Hannibal shifted (Y/N) so that he could carefully place her on the couch before reaching for his phone, which was in the pocket of his discarded pants on the floor.

“Hello?” There was a brief pause as whoever was on the other end spoke. (Y/N) sat up and began to kiss Hannibal’s exposed shoulders, moving slowly to his neck, in an attempt to tease him. It worked, as Hannibal moved his head to give (Y/N) more access to his neck, and she could see he was holding back a groan. “Yes, I am free. You can come over as soon as you can. See you then.”

(Y/N) pouted as Hannibal stood.

“Will is on his way here for an emergency session,” he explained. “I don’t believe it would be good for him to walk in on the two of us like this.”

(Y/N) sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I should get going.”

Hannibal offered her his blazer. "I can replace the shirt that I ruined.”

She gratefully took it and pulled it on over her exposed body. It didn’t hide everything as much as a shirt would, but she was going straight home so it wasn’t like she had to worry too much.

As Hannibal ushered her out of his office, he grabbed her arm to stop her before she left completely. (Y/N) giggled as he pulled her to him, giving her one last kiss.

“I will see you again soon,” he promised her.

She smiled and responded, “I’ll be waiting.”

i was originally going to call this imagine “are you going to kill me?” but figured tumblr wouldn’t appreciate that

#hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter x reader #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen imagine #mads mikkelsen x reader #hannibal #hannibal imagine #one shot #imagine

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darling-i-read-it · 3 years

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And the Woman Clothed With the Sun...

3x09

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, nightmares, talk of children and having them

Author’s Note: I really really liked this episode. I love playing with dynamics SO MUCH. I hope you guys like this?

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: As the search for Francis Dolarhyde (Richard Armitage) continues, Will starts imagining himself in Dolarhyde's tormented psyche -- and asks Hannibal for help with the serial killer's profile; a new woman (Rutina Wesley) enters Dolarhyde's life.

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

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif)

“That’s the same atrocious aftershave you wore in court,” Hannibal said. He turned around slowly, acting as though he were not surprised to see you and Will together. The thin line of glass between the two of you Hannibal seemed so thick.

The truth was, you had never truly gotten over Hannibal. You had pretended to, for the sake of Will, but you had never really stopped thinking about what he could be doing. There was a link that the three of you had with each other that was unexplainable. You had started a new life. But your old one still called your name.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” Will said simply. He was contained. You fed off of his energy to keep yourself in check as well.

“Hello, Will. Y/N.” He stepped closer to the two of you. “I believe congratulations are in order. I apologize I couldn’t make it to the wedding. Alana gave me some pictures, to taunt me presumably.” You smiled. You thought about Hannibal holding the pictures of you and Will laughing, beaming at each other. “Did you get my note?” You nodded.

“We got it. Thank you,” you said simply. You and Will stood close together. He had his coat draped over his arm and you held the papers from the cases.

“Did you read it before you destroyed it? Or did you simply toss it into the nearest fire?” Hannibal asked. You scoffed a bit.

“We read it. Then he burned it,” you promised. He nodded.

“And you came anyway.” Hannibal eyed you. “I’m surprised you let that happen.”

“We all falter in some ways,” you said simply.

“I want you to help me, Dr. Lecter,” Will said to break the conversation. He still didn't trust Hannibal with you. Reminiscent of the days you used to work with Hannibal.

“Yes I thought so. Are we no longer on a first-name basis?” Hannibal asked.

“I’m more comfortable the less personal we are,” Will said. Hannibal looked over at you, eyeing your entire body. He made note of the scent. The scent off of both of you.

“Your hands are rough Will. I smell dogs and pine and oil beneath that shaving lotion.” He looked at you. “Did you steal that perfume from my home?” he questioned. You stiffened. You had gotten some perfume from his home as they cleaned it out. You ended up liking and buying another bottle over the years.

“I’m here about Chicago and Buffalo. You’ve read about it, I’m sure,” Will said.

“I’ve read the papers. I can’t clip them. They won’t let me have scissors, of course. You want to know how he’s choosing them,” Hannibal commented. You held up the case file.

“Thought you might have some ideas.”

“You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself Will? Or your wife?” Will let out a sigh.

“I expected more of you, doctor. That routine is old hat.” Hannibal nodded stiffly.

“Whereas you are new people,” Hannibal said. “Let me have the file. An hour, and we can discuss it like old times.” You nodded happily at that, pleased he would help. You shoved the file through the document tray and into the cell. Hannibal came close to collect it.

“Thank you,” Will muttered.

“Family values may have declined over the last century, but we still help our families when we can.” He took the papers. “You’re both family.”

Will grabbed you around the waist, eager to leave. Your eyes lingered on Hannibal’s for a moment longer before you and Will left the room, swallowing his true words.

You looked around Alana’s office. You hadn’t seen it since she had moved in. It looked better than when Chilton had run it. Perhaps that was just because you liked Alana more. The problems you once had with each other had mostly scabbed over. She was maid of honor at your wedding. Interesting, considering the fact you had once fought feverishly over Hannibal.

“It’s good to see you looking well. But I can’t help wishing you weren’t here,” Alana said. She sat on her couch. Her suit was pristine, her hair perfect. You admired her.

“You aren’t the only one,” you commented.

“I was surprised Jack came back in one piece,” she said. You nodded, running a hand over your pants before sitting down on the couch beside her. Will stood up, looking out the window.

“You weren’t the only one,” Will said, turning to both of you.

“How did it feel to see him again?” she questioned. You looked at the ground. Will sat down beside you, in between you and Alana.

“Like Hannibal was looking through to the back of my skull. Felt like a fly flitting around in there. I had the absurd feeling that he walked out with me. Had to stop outside the doors and look around, make sure it was just Y/N,” Will commented.

“I know that feeling. At least Jack Crawford’s pleased.” You pursed your lips but stayed quiet.

“He showed me pictures of the families. I looked at Y/N and couldn’t say no,” he argued.

“Damn my presence,” you joked softly. Will slung his arm around the couch behind you, his fingered brushing your shoulder.

“And Jack was counting on it.”

“Are you still with Margot?” you asked, eager to change the subject. She took a deep breath and nodded, thinking fondly of her wife.

“Yes. We have a baby. A Verger baby. A son,” she said. You smiled. You and Will had talked about kids. You wanted one. You were working for one when Jack spiked both yours and Will’s stress levels.

“Good for Margot,” Will said.

“Good for me. I carried him. He’s my son. He’s the Verger heir.” You smiled.

“Then what are you doing here? You’re set for life,” you pointed out.

“There are only five doors between Hannibal and the outside. And I have the keys to every one of them,” she said. A daily ‘gotcha’ to Hannibal. Will admired that. “Hannibal has never been great with boundaries. ‘He who sups with the Devil needs a long spoon’.”

“I am not letting him in, Alana. Don’t worry about me,” Will said. She looked at you sympathetically.

“Last time, it didn't’ end with you Will.”

“I want you to stay here,” Will said, standing outside Hannibal’s cell door. He hadn’t stepped inside yet. Hannibal could not see him. You scoffed.

“We’ve been over this. I follow you, even if you say no.”

“This time, I mean it. I think I’ll get more out of him if he isn't’ distracted with you.” You raised an eyebrow.

“You sure you aren’t jealous?” He gave you a look. “Fine, fine. Please be quick.”

Will stepped into the room, leaving you outside to wait. Hannibal looked up at him from his desk.

“This is a very shy boy, Will. I’d love to meet him,” Hannibal said. He looked around. “Just us?”

Will nodded.

“Just us.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he’s disfigured? Or that he may believe he’s disfigured?” Hannibal asked.

“That’s interesting.”

“That’s not interesting. You thought of that before.” Will nodded.

“He smashed all the mirrors in the houses, not just enough to get the pieces he wanted. The shards are set so he can see himself. In their eyes. Mrs. Jacobi and Mrs. Leeds. And their families,” Will said. Hannibal pulled out the picture of a dead Mrs. Jacobi.

“Could you see yourself in their eyes, Will? Killing them all?”

Will instantly regretted leaving you outside.

The two boys imagined themselves in the crime scenes, looking across the dead bodies of the families.

“The first small bond to the killer itches and stings like a leech,” Hanibal said. “Like you, Will, he needs a family to escape what’s inside him.” Wills head shot up but he did not look at Hannibal. “You know a fair amount about how these families died. How they lived is how he chooses them.”

“How is he choosing them?” Will asked.

“I was surprised to hear you actually married Y/N. Not because I thought you weren’t a match made in heaven but it made more sense for you to start a family from scratch. No one that had even an inkling of me in their eyes. Find a mom with a stepson or daughter, not having to breed. You know better than to pass the terrible traits that you fear the most,” Hannibal said. Will did not look at him. Hannibal continued. “But Y/N wants children with you. How will you stand to look at a child you may have ruined before they were even born?”

Will desperately wished he hadn’t left you outside.

“Why are there no descriptions of the grounds? I see floor plans, diagrams of the rooms where the deaths occured, no mention of the grounds. What were the yards like?” Hannibal continued, satisfied with how he had shaken Will’s personal life.

“Big, fenced, with trees. Why?”

“If this pilgrim feels a special relationship with the moon, he might like to go outside and look at it before he tidies himself up. If one were nude, say, it would be better to have outdoor privacy for that sort of thing. One must show some consideration for the neighbors, hmmm? Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will?”

Will suddenly saw himself in place of the killer, naked, drenched in pitch black blood.

Will snapped back and nodded quickly.

“Thank you Dr. Lecter,” he said before stumbling out of the door. You sat on the outside in one of the waiting chairs. Will looked over at you and seemed to relax but not completely.

“Will?”

He grabbed you and you stood up quickly, hugging him tightly. He buried his head in your neck and you let him, rubbing your back.

“This is why you don’t go without me places,” you muttered. He scoffed but his breathing was already evening again. “What did he say?” He moved back and shook his head softly.

“We’ll talk about it later. I want to see the backyards.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, I suppose.”

He walked out of the asylum, holding your hand tightly. Freddie snapped a couple pictures from the bushes.

“Have you come to wag your finger?” Hannibal asked as Alana entered the room behind him.

“I love a good finger-wagging.”

“Yes, you do. How is Margot?” Alana ignored the remake as she gleaned down at the picture of her as Botticelli’s Fortitude.

“Your cogs are turning, Hannibal. I can hear them clicking.”

“Click, click, click, boom,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re planning with the Grahams. But you’re planning something. Why wouldn’t you be? You’ve already cracked the lid, can’t resist peeling it back.”

Hannibal pursed at the name. Alana noticed this.

“You can’t comment on her last name anymore you know. They’re married. She is, in the eyes of the law, a Graham now.” Hannibal stiffened.

“They came to me,” Hannibal said, ignoring her words.

“Yes, they did.”

“I advised them against it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t have Y/N and Will’s best interests in mind?” he asked. Alana scoffed.

“I’m stating it as a fact.”

You stepped into the room with Hannibal’s cage. He looked up, quite surprised to see you. You held your purse in both hands, stepping closer to the cage.

“Hello love,” he said quietly. You let his words fall off of you like rain. They stayed for a moment, dripping down your arm before hitting the ground. “I don’t imagine you’re here to talk about the murder cases.” You shook your head softly. He walked up to the glass quietly. You stepped close to it, so you were really only a couple of inches apart.

“I came to yell at you,” you said. He raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever for?” You smiled gently and shrugged.

“Lots of things. Firstly, you didn’t kill Jack when you got the chance. I’ll never forgive you for not feeding him to me in soup.” His eyes went wide.

“Careful Y/N. Alana watches these tapes.”

“She would probably agree with me.” You took a deep breath. “Secondly, not coming to my wedding. I know you were otherwise indisposed but I thought it was rather rude.”

“I thought it was rude of you to get married.” You shook your head playfully. The same banter. Joking with a cannibal serial killer. Just another Tuesday.

“Third, I told you to leave.” The air seemed to calm.

“Does Will know you’re here?”

“No. I didn’t tell him.”

“Did he tell you he’s scared of his own children?” You raised a finger, shaking it gently.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Will is no longer my boyfriend I dated a couple of months. He’s my husband. You can’t wedge yourself between us no matter how hard you try.” You wanted to put your hand against the glass but you didn’t. “But I miss you.”

“Where do you work nowadays?” You shrugged.

“I had to get another secretary job but I’ve mostly worked up enough to take this amount of leave. My last employer wasn’t exactly the best reference.” He laughed.

“I suppose you’re right.” He paused. “Eating well?”

“Better. No people in the diet these days.”

“Pity.”

“Will!” You broke Will out of his thoughts. You were standing in the back of the Jacobi house. Will had just found a small sign on one of the trees. He was about to get into it but you had broken him out of his mind. “It’s Freddie.”

Will walked out from the trees and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Now are you just keeping America clean or is that evidence?” Freddie asked.

“You’re trespassing, Freddie,” Will said sternly.

“I was trespassing before the blood dried. When did they call you? Interesting to see The Bloody Valentines back at action. Beautiful ceremony by the way.”

“We aren’t talking to you,” Will said, grabbing your arm. You followed him.

“We’re co conspirators, Will. I did for you and your cause.”

“You didn’t die enough. You came into my hospital room while I was asleep. You flipped back the sheets and shot a picture of my temporary colostomy bag,” Will said, turning to her.

“Covered your junk with a black box. A big black box. You’re welcome,” she said.

“Justly so,” you argued carefully.

“You culled us the ‘murder threesome’. Little crude, don't you think?”

“You did run off to Europe together. Doesn’t help that the two of you ended up getting married. How does the Tooth Fairy compare to Hannibal Lecter? Haven’t seen anything like this since the Massacre at Muskrat Farm. Funny thing about that massacre. Not only did Dr. Bloom survived, she got rich. Lecter’s living in the lap under her care. What kind of arrangement you suppose they have?” Freddie asked.

“A complicated one,” you said sternly.

“Couldn’t be more complicated than your relationship with Hannibal. Both of you. You paid him a visit? Before you lie, know that I know that you did,” she said quickly.

“Good-bye Freddie.”

“I read your note before my office forwarded it to the Grahams,” Jack said, standing in front of Will. Hannibal swallowed, understanding.

“To whet their appetite or yours? You’ve placed him back in the pot and you’re letting him cook.”

“We’re all in this stew together.”

“Arguable considering how close Y/N is to drowning you.”

You stepped into the hotel room where Will was already sitting on the bed. You ran a hand through your hair and let the chilly cold wash over you as you entered the warm room.

“How are the dogs?” he asked.

“Good. The dog sitters said they were missing us but other than that, they’re okay,” you promised. You looked down at the dog that was laying on the ground beside the bed. “She’ll be right at home with them.”

You sat on the bed and Will sat up, putting his arms around you from behind. You smiled about him, happy to see he was feeling better.

“I’m worried about the kids,” he whispered.

“The kids who don’t exist?” He laughed gently.

“Yeah. I don’t want them to end up like me.” You nodded slowly.

“So that’s what Hannibal said that got you worked up.” You took in the information. “If the kid isn’t like you I don’t think I’d be able to love them as much as I love you.”

It was his turn to take in the information.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Nope. I’m serious. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I’ve had the pleasure of loving you Mr. Graham.” He kissed your neck gently and smiled to himself.

“I love you too Mrs. Graham.”

You let out a small sigh of relief.

Will screamed as he sat up quickly, sweating aggressively, blankets flying. You got up just as quickly, turning to him but he had already gotten up, rushing into the bathroom. You followed him, sleep that had just taken you over long gone.

You practically ran up to him. He was looking at himself in the mirror, fear in his eyes at his reflection. You grabbed him quickly and he turned to you, wrapping his arms around you. You didn’t speak. You didn’t ask questions. You just held him as close as you could get him.

Nightmares had come back. Neither of you had had those in a while. You rubbed his back and let him breath.

3x10

#will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal imagines

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zacharybosch · 5 years

Text

Playing God - chapter 5

in which something else is served for dinner

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

chapter 3: tumblr / ao3

chapter 4: tumblr / ao3

read Playing God chapter 5 below or on AO3

“You, uh… You got any more of that steak?”

Will had not been able to stop thinking about the meal he’d shared with Hannibal, brooding over it late into the evening for the past several days. All reasonable people were in bed at such a late hour, but of course Hannibal picked up the phone when Will called. Hannibal was not reasonable people.

“I’m so sorry Will, but I believe we ate the last of it.” Will could hear the smile in Hannibal’s voice, the smug, satisfied curl of it. “But if you wanted to come round, I’m sure I could find something else for you to eat.”

“Isn’t it a little late?”

“Not for you.”

Hannibal’s ‘something else to eat’ turned out to be himself. Will should’ve seen it coming; in fact, he had seen it coming, the numerous other times throughout his life when people had tried to pull a similar stunt. But Hannibal seemed to have an uncanny ability to blind Will in a way no-one else had ever quite been able to.

It sounded so simple and easy when Hannibal said it. Just a quick bite, an innocent little taste. For a few seconds Will even allowed himself to believe it, before common sense came crashing back into his brain.

“I can’t. They’ll know.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Hannibal said, as if this were all just some amusing game.

“It’s not just that. I’ll be different. Warmer, brighter, stronger. I’ll look alive. They take measurements with every feeding. Next time I come in, they’ll see something’s different. They’ll know.”

Jack had, in fact, already dropped some very unsubtle hints that Will should bite Hannibal if he thought it would help ensnare him. But Jack didn’t know the full extent of Will’s rules around feeding, and why they were there in the first place. Like everything else surrounding Will, it was a need-to-know basis, and Will’s Keepers had decided that Jack didn’t need to know. They told Jack that there was to be no feeding under any circumstances, and assumed that would be enough, not counting on Jack masterminding a secret entrapment plan and deciding that the “no feeding” rule probably wasn’t that important.

But Will knew how important it was. It wasn’t the blood itself that was the problem; he drank pretty much every day and didn’t crave more than what he was given. What he craved was the heat of it pumping fresh from the source, a warm body pressed against his, and the choice to take one sip and be done or drain a person dry. That was what the no feeding rule was about: it wasn’t about feeding at all. It was about Will’s self-control, and ensuring he wouldn’t be in a situation where it would undoubtedly fail.

Hannibal was so willing, and he didn’t even realise what it was that he was really offering himself up for. Or perhaps he did, and that was the thrill of it, the thought that Will could drink him entirely.

“I could lose control,” Will said. “I could kill you.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t frighten you?”

“No.”

“It should. It frightens me.”

“I’ve not yet heard a ‘no’, Will. Tell me no and I’ll not ask again.”

Will moved his mouth and found that the word wouldn’t come out. He was so ready to sink his teeth in, could feel the strain in his jaw as he fought to keep his fangs from extending. If they came out, it was all over.

Jack knew the dangers. Will had tried his best to explain why every single part of his plan was a bad idea, and Jack had listened carefully and then pushed forward with it anyway, convinced it was the only way to get results. He wanted a quick play and a neat end to the very un-neat situation he’d put Will in.

Hannibal wanted to draw Will more closely to him, and to experience the thrill of having death itself eating out of the palm of his hand. So to speak.

And what did Will want? Will just wanted to bite.

Perhaps everyone could have what they wanted.

“Go sit on the sofa,” Will said, looking anywhere but at Hannibal’s gleeful face. “You need to be able to hide the bite mark, so before you even think about asking, your neck is completely out of the question. Take off your jacket.”

Hannibal obeyed without question, and Will sat down heavily next to him. He was really going to go through with it. He hadn’t had willing blood for… he didn’t want to think about how long it had been. “I’ll do it on your arm, inside the elbow. Just don’t roll your sleeves up too far for the next few weeks, okay?”

“Understood,” Hannibal said. He began to unfasten the cuff of his sleeve, but Will stopped him before he could reveal more than an inch of wrist.

“How attached are you to this shirt?”

“I would have little trouble obtaining a replacement.”

“Okay. Good. There needs to be as little skin-to-skin contact as possible, so I’m going to bite you through the shirt.”

“Is that really necessary, or is it due to your own personal hang-ups?”

Will levelled Hannibal with a withering look. “Stop talking about things you know nothing about. It’s for your own safety, and mine.”

With no further ceremony, Will took up Hannibal’s arm and bit down into the yielding flesh. Hannibal hissed and jerked his arm involuntarily, but Will just tightened his grip and sucked. He’d become so used to his clinical subsistence appointments, the tube pressed directly down his throat and the anaemic, joyless trickle of blood, that he’d forgotten how good it felt to have hot, rich, free-flowing blood flooding his mouth, salty and metallic and messy.

The heat swept through Will’s body like fire over gasoline. He could feel his bones strengthening, his skin thickening, sparks racing across neurons and nerve-endings. The fabric of Hannibal’s shirt sleeve was becoming soaked, and it was in the way of the only thing that mattered in that moment, so Will tore it open. The first hungry press of his lips against Hannibal’s slick, blood-dark skin felt like biting into the heart of God himself.

Will was vaguely aware of something at the very edge of his consciousness, an alarm or sudden movement or something else that didn’t matter to him at all. He began to move bodily over Hannibal, caging him in with arms and legs, biting deeper, sucking harder…

And then suddenly Will was on his back on the floor, head swimming and pinprick stars clouding his vision.

***

Will found Hannibal in the downstairs bathroom. He had replaced his ruined shirt with a clean sweater, and was carefully applying neat strips of tape to the edges of a bandage. The sink was splashed with pink.

“I should’ve taken you seriously,” Hannibal said, not looking up from his bandage.

“Yes, you should. I’m not going to apologise. I tried to warn you.”

“But I’m glad I disregarded your warnings. You were breathtaking.”

“That was nothing.”

“I can only imagine what kind of savagery you must be capable of. Such possibilities I never dared dream.”

“Maybe you won’t have to imagine. If I told you I was going to kill you, I don’t think you’d try and stop me.”

Hannibal looked positively starry-eyed, staring at Will in the mirror. “Never.”

“It’s easy to give yourself up for death. No consequences.” Will crowded into Hannibal’s personal space, pressed his chest into Hannibal’s shoulder and continued low into his ear, “You’d die for me, but would you let others die in your place?”

Hannibal said nothing, just watched Will’s reflection in the mirror as he pointedly let his gaze drop to the fine skin of Hannibal’s neck.

“What if I told you I was going to kill someone else, would you stand aside and let it happen? If I was to kill a friend, a colleague?”

“Yours, or mine?”

“Is the distinction important?” Will said, barely more than a whisper breathed into the shell of Hannibal’s ear.

“Perhaps.”

Will said nothing for a long moment. He’d known murderers, serial killers, too many violent people to mention; the common thread that ran through them all was the desire to be acknowledged and congratulated for their power and cunning. Dismissal was unbearable. Will had already decided that presenting the meat as evidence wasn’t viable, for a variety of flimsy reasons that he didn’t want to look at too closely, so in the absence of any other evidence, getting Hannibal to confess was his only option.

He stepped away abruptly and said, “You don’t even know what it is you’re saying. You have no idea.”

And there it was, the irritation flickering over his face, there and gone again. Hannibal wouldn’t be so stupid as to come out with it right now and say that actually, yes, he knows exactly what he’s talking about because he’s killed however many hundreds of people in a variety of fun and clever ways. But the desire to do so had undoubtedly crossed his mind, and that was good enough for now.

After that, it was almost too easy. The slight bruise to Hannibal’s ego left him wanting to prove something, and Will took full advantage. Blood-drunk as he was, even after only a small amount, Will let the vestiges of his human persona slip away as the wave of his vampire nature rose up to consume him.

It was a simple thing to stalk back over to Hannibal, to turn his body so his back pressed against the sink, to hold him hard and kiss him harder and murmur against his lips that there were so many things he could tell Hannibal, so many delights and horrors spanning his long life, but he didn’t give his stories out for free and wouldn’t Hannibal give him something in return?

Hannibal could’ve said anything, up to and including a full, detailed confession, and Will wouldn’t have heard it. The mere act of asserting himself, of caging someone in and knowing that in that moment he held the entirety of their life in his hands, gave Will such a heady rush that all he could think about was the next move he needed to make in order to get Hannibal more pliant, more willing, more ready to offer himself up.

But he didn’t have to think about it very hard. If it were anyone else, Will would’ve called it a pathetic, desperate display; but on Hannibal, the act of sinking to his knees was so sweetly submissive, so uncomplicated in desire and intention, that Will couldn’t help but place his hands on Hannibal’s face, cradling his cheeks, stroking his lips.

I don’t even need to turn him, his teeth are sharp enough already, Will thought to himself, and then stopped. Had the thought of turning Hannibal already occurred to him? And why was he even entertaining the idea? But then Hannibal’s hands were on him, gripping him through the fabric of his trousers and tugging at his waistband, and Will couldn’t remember what he was thinking about, couldn’t remember why he was here, couldn’t remember the last time someone had done this for him.

Will put a hand on the back of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal’s mouth was impossibly hot, and Will could feel it burning him even through the layers of fabric that still separated them. When Hannibal did eventually peel Will’s clothes away and applied his mouth directly, it felt just like it did when Will had put his mouth on Hannibal; that same sudden fiery rush, like being engulfed in a great wall of flame. And Will knew that the feeling would never let up: no matter how long Hannibal stayed down there on his knees, taking Will’s cock into his mouth, the sensation would never lessen. It was always going to be the absolute most, the very edge of what Will could handle, like his mind and body were constantly shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, over and over.

Will had been revered as a god a small handful of brief and brutal times throughout his life, but he had never truly felt like a god until Hannibal was kneeling before him. It wasn’t about greed or control or power; fearful scrambling and sycophantic devotion had never done much to excite Will or curry his favour. It was Hannibal’s simple, lucid decision to bend before him, to anticipate what Will wanted and to deliver it perfectly, to honour him as one god bowing to another.

It was a feeling that was shared between them. Will’s shattered, gasping pleasure stoked the fire in Hannibal, and spurred him on to open his mouth further, to take more of Will inside himself; he’d finally found someone to sit beside him at the top of the food chain, and now he was going to eat him.

Hannibal let his teeth drag against Will’s cock, harder than any human would’ve enjoyed, but Will’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he began to move, fucking into Hannibal’s mouth, meeting every downward swallow with an upward thrust. He was breathing again, heavy and ragged, and Hannibal thrilled to think that Will was breathing at all, but specifically breathing like that, because of him.

“Fuck, Hannibal, fuck, I’m gonna--” Will pulled his cock from Hannibal’s mouth and jerked it roughly with his own hand. Hannibal remained where he was, mouth open and tongue dripping. He pressed his tongue against the shaft of Will’s cock and his rapidly moving fingers, then dragged it along the length in a hot, wet stripe. Will screwed his eyes shut and came, spilling himself like a baptism all over Hannibal’s lips and tongue and teeth.

They stayed there for a while, Hannibal panting on the floor with Will stood over him, grasping the sink for balance. Eventually, Will lowered himself until he was level with Hannibal, and slowly, purposefully, swiped two fingers through the come that was still splattered over Hannibal’s mouth.

“Will--” Hannibal began, but Will shoved his fingers into Hannibal’s mouth, and whatever he was about to say was forgotten.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #vampires #vampire au #my fic

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aion-rsa · 5 years

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Dracula vs. The Marvel Universe! 14 Times The Lord of The Undead Fought Superheroes!

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Hey, remember that time Dracula fought the Hulk? Or the X-Men? Or Spider-Man? No? Well, you're in luck, because we do!

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Dracula. The very name conjures images of sexuality, corruption, and decadence. From the original novel written by Bram Stoker in 1897 to the moment Bela Lugosi donned the famed opera cloak in 1931, the character of Dracula has been an iconic horror staple.

In fact, Dracula has been the subject of over 200 films, second only to the number of films starring Sherlock Holmes. But films, novels, and television aren't the only genres that have contained Dracula’s bloodlust. Comic books have been a compelling source for new Dracula material. Marvel Comics in particular have been a happy hunting ground for the Lord of the Vampires.

After the easing of Comic Code restrictions in the early seventies, Stan Lee and Marvel were eager to explore classic monsters in the pages of their books. When the code loosened its grip, Lee and company were able to resurrect the four color boogiemen that lay forgotten for so long. In 1972, writer Gerry Conway and artist Gene Colan introduced Tomb of Dracula and a legend was born. Now there was a version of Dracula that borrowed from Stoker and Lugosi stalking the same fictional universe as Spider-Man and the Avengers.

Soon, writer Marv Wolfman would take over the writing chores on Tomb of Dracula and create one of the greatest continuing horror sagas in comic book history. Within the pages of Tomb of Dracula, Wolfman introduced the vampiric detective Hannibal King, Lilith (Dracula’s Daughter), and most importantly, Blade, the Vampire Hunter, who later helped kick off the current superhero movie boom.

Amazon has all your Marvel Dracula needs

Dracula existed within the Marvel Universe, but other than rare occasions not many Marvel heroes appeared in Dracula’s book, giving the title a sense of isolation from the rest of the Marvel Universe. That is not to say that Dracula has not stalked the titles of the mainstream Marvel heroes. Oh no, dear reader, the Prince of Darkness has cast his shadow on many Marvel heroes, making him one of the greatest, if often overlooked villains in Marvel history. Here is a look at times Dracula, the greatest monster of them all, has stalked the Marvel Universe.

Dracula Meets Spider-Man

Giant Sized Spider-Man #1 (1974)

In this tale, Aunt May is suffering from a rare blood disease because she’s Aunt May. Spidey learns that the only man that has the cure is an eccentric doctor that refuses to travel by plane. Spider-Man learns from Reed Richards that the scientist is traveling by ship, so Spidey gets his webbed ass to the ship to find the doctor.

Also on board the ship are members of the Maggia who want the formula, and of course, Dracula himself who is also after it. Hilarity ensues as Dracula dispatches the crooks one by one, and throws the Maggia leader overboard.

read more: 13 Essential Horror Comics

The book is a send up of the classic death at sea sequence of Stoker’s Dracula, as Dracula feeds off the Maggia onboard. While never featuring a direct confrontation between hero and vampire, this issue served as a warning...Dracula is out there.

Buy it on Amazon

Allied with the Avengers (1973)

Avengers #118

Ironically, one of the first times Dracula was drawn into the events of the Marvel Universe, he did so to defend humanity! In the Avengers/Defenders war, often considered to be the first true crossover in comics history, the Dread Dormammu opened a dimensional gateway to Earth. The Avengers and Defenders were stuck in Dormammu’s dimension so could not defend the Earth from an incursion by the savage Mindless Ones, headless beings that thrive on destruction. A group of super-powered champions on Earth, not knowing where the Mindless Ones were pouring on from, took up arms to protect their home.

read more: The Weird History of Marvel Superheroes vs Monsters

One of these beings was none other than Dracula, who along with such heroes as Power Man, the Fantastic Four, and Ka-Zar, fought back against the Mindless Ones. But don’t think Dracula was acting magnanimously true believers; imagine if a horde of beasts was smashing your favorite eatery. That’s what Earth is to Dracula, a theme restaurant with an all you can eat buffet of jugulars.

Yes, Dracula fought the Mindless Ones, but in doing so he made sure his food supply remained strong and proved to Marvel readers just how badass he was by taking on the Mindless Ones...creatures capable of going toe to toe with the Hulk!

The Creation of Baron Blood (1976)

Invaders #7

One of Captain America’s most enduring foes was created by none other than Dracula. What’s more evil than a Nazi vampire? Pretty much nothing, which makes Baron Blood one of the most vile creatures in the Marvel Universe. In the dark days of World War II, John Farnsworth was an English aristocrat obsessed with vampire lore. When he travels to Transylvania, he encounters Dracula, who transforms Farnsworth into the living dead.

Dracula sends blood to England to punish the country for the actions of Dracula’s nemesis Jonathan Harker. As Baron Blood, Farnsworth fought the Invaders, Captain America, and even his own brother who adopted the heroic persona of the first Union Jack.

read more: The Best Modern Horror Movies

Blood’s days of fighting for the Axis were cut short when the Sub-Mariner staked the bejesus out of him. Blood was resurrected in the modern day by a minion of Dracula and fought a legendary battle with his old foe, Captain America. Now, a Nazi vampire is pretty badass, but a Nazi vampire created by Dracula himself? That’s some legendary bloodsucker right there!

Available in - Invaders Classic: The Complete Collection Vol. 1

Dracula vs. Doctor Strange (1976)

Tomb of Dracula #44

The Lord of Darkness fed off Doctor Strange (he probably tasted like sage, cinnamon, and quickly forgotten dreams), in the pages of Tomb of Dracula #44. In Strange’s own book, Dracula locks the Sorcerer Supreme in a dungeon so he can watch the embraced Doctor arise as a vampire. That’s quite a sense of irony Marvel’s Dracula possesses, huh?

read more: Doctor Strange Comics Reading Order

Little did Dracula know that Strange astral projected out of his body before Dracula could finish the fateful bite. Strange uses his astral form to mess with Dracula who furiously arrives at the dungeon after days of being mocked and prodded by the wizard.

An awesome fight ensues between a vampiric Doctor Strange and Dracula which Strange wins by conjuring a blazing crucifix. The edge in the battle went to Strange who seemed to be one step ahead of Dracula, but let us not forget that during their first encounter Dracula easily dispatched Strange with one bite. Dracula’s mistake was letting Strange have time to plot, but the first struggle would foreshadow a climatic future encounter between the magician and vampire.

You can read it here.

Dracula vs. Howard the Duck? (1980)

Howard the Duck Magazine #5

Not all Dracula appearances in the Marvel Universe are legendary but that doesn’t make them any less cool. The following is a treatise on why comics are awesome.

While visiting Cleveland, Dracula spots Howard the Duck. Thinking Howard to be a midget in a duck suit, the Lord of the Undead bites Howard (did I just type that?) but is disgusted by the non-human blood flowing in Howard’s veins. However, Howard is transformed into Drakula (not Duckula or Quakula?) and preys on other ducks.

read more: Upcoming Horror Movies Heading Your Way

Howard is restored to his normal self and is actually able to stake Dracula before the vampire can feed off Howard’s girlfriend, Beverly Switzer.

Dracula Joins The Defenders (1981)

Defenders #95

Ah, the Defenders. Long before they were edgy TV stars, they were the parking place for awesomely odd Bronze Age characters.

In one of the non-team’s most memorable storylines, the Defenders were being beleaguered by the Six Fingered Hand. With newer members Hellcat, Gargoyle, and Son of Satan in tow, the Defenders arrive back to Doctor Strange’s mansion only to be attacked by a possessed Dracula. It seems the Six Fingered Hand had gained control over all vampires.

Proving his awesomeness, the Son of Satan breaks the Hand’s control of Dracula, and agrees to help the Vampire Lord take back Transylvania from the Hand. The team with powerhouses like Strange and the Asgardian Valkyrie are just window dressing as the Son of Satan kicks the Hands' collective butts, destroys a metric ton of vampires by summoning sunlight, and saves Dracula’s undead bacon.

read more: 13 Essential Dracula Performances

This was the first time Marvel used Dracula as an anti-hero in a super-hero title, an honorable villain who was as comfortable in the role of defender of his people as he was bloodsucking fiend. It was a brief union, but among his many roles in the Marvel Universe, Dracula will always be recognized as a Defender.

Dracula vs. The X-Men (1982)

Uncanny X-Men #159

Monster mash-ups are a staple of the genre. While not traditional monsters at all, mutants meeting Dracula have the same cache as Dracula versus Frankenstein or the Wolfman, it’s just a match made, erm...not in heaven.

Structured like a classic horror film, Uncanny X-Men #159 sees Storm the victim in a very odd mugging. When someone overpowered the weather goddess and cut her throat, Storm suddenly finds herself wanting to die, inviting a stranger through her window at night, drawing back from Kitty Pryde’s Star of David, and shunning sunlight. You don’t have to be Bram Stoker to see where this is going and an epic confrontation between vampire and mutant takes place. The X-Men take out Dracula’s monstrous rat and canine minions, but fall before Dracula, all except Nightcrawler who has the faith to drive the vampire off with a makeshift cross.

When Storm arrives, Dracula finds that he cannot control the primal Storm, who stands tall and proud. In an awesome moment, Dracula tells Storm it was her inner strength that compelled him and after a standoff, Dracula retreats. This was Claremont at his finest, giving each X-Man a moment to shine and writing a classic and pretty damn scary Dracula in the process. The issue created an indelible bond between the X-Men and Dracula, one that stands till this day.

read more: Frankenstein - Comics' Greatest Monster

In the 1982 Uncanny X-Men Annual #6, the battle between the X-Men and Dracula continues as Kitty Pryde is possessed by Dracula’s daughter and one of his most enduring foes, Lilith. It was another compelling confrontation that deepens the threat Dracula had on mutantkind.

Dracula vs. Thor (1983)

Thor #332

Not satisfied with feeding off ducks, mutants, and wizards, Dracula sets his sights on embracing Lady Sif. In Thor #332, Dracula succeeds in feeding and turning Sif. In issue 333, Thor must face a Dracula empowered by god blood (comics = awesome), and an embraced Sif.

read more: The Best Horror Movies on Netflix

This story was significant in showing what a powerhouse Dracula was and established the idea that if Dracula fed off a non-human being, he would be fueled by their powerful blood. Thor managed to free Sif, but not before fans realized that Dracula was a threat to everyone, god, mutant, or human.

The Death of a Legend (1983)

Doctor Strange #59-62

In Doctor Strange #59-62, Strange and a group of companions including Dracula hunters Blade and the vampiric detective Hannibal King close all the plot threads left over from Tomb of Dracula and close the door on Marvel’s vampires for a quite a while. Aided by Avengers Captain Marvel (then Monica Rambeau) and the Scarlet Witch, Strange and company race to secure the Darkhold, a book which contains the Montessi Formula, a spell that will rid the Earth of Dracula and the curse of vampirism. Keep in mind that the Darkhold is an ancient magical book that created vampires in the first place.

read more: The Bleeding Heart of Dracula

These issues are the type of storytelling that made Stern a legend, taking elements from Dracula’s appearance in X-Men (the first mention of the Formula) and Thor (whom Dracula is reluctant in facing when he sees the other Avengers by Strange’s side). By the end of the story, Strange does recite the formula and Dracula is finally destroyed.

Like all good vampires, Dracula would eventually return, but the storyline has an epic sense of finality to it. After years of being plagued by Dracula, the Marvel heroes fight back destroying all vampires. For now…

Dracula vs. The Fantastic Four (2000-2001)

Before the Fantastic Four: The Storms

Dracula’s shadow is cast far and wide across the history of the Marvel Universe. Before they were legends, Sue Storm and Johnny Storm find a mysterious amulet. The young siblings are attacked by zombies seeking the amulet for its power, zombies controlled by none other than Dracula, who lays inert, staked and comatose, using his mind to control the zombies so they may deliver the amulet to the vampire.

read more: The Best Horror Movies on HBO

The Storms, before they were Fantastic, must stop the zombies from taking the amulet to Transylvania to resurrect their puppet master. Even immobile, Dracula proves to be one of the most evil and capable beings in the Marvel Universe.

X-Men: Apocalypse vs. Dracula (2006)

The cool thing about this series is that it gave added weight to the idea that Dracula has had an impact on the history of the Marvel universe and that his ties to the world of mutants did not begin the day he tried to embrace Storm. Dracula begins embracing members of Apocalypse’s cult which wakes the legendary mutant to defend his followers. The book ties the history of the Van Helsing family into the war between mutant despot and vampire lord.

You can read it here.

Dracula on the Moon (2009)

Captain Britain and MI:13 #10

The so-called end of vampires arc in Doctor Strange was a large scale storyline bringing in many mainstream Marvel mainstays, but it had nothing on the grand tapestry of cool that was the Dracula arc in the late, lamented Captain Britain and MI:13 title. So, Dracula gathers a sect of vampires on the moon to set up a front for his attack on Earth. Just typing that sentence was awesome. Dracula forms a non-aggression pact with Dr. Doom and only the magic of MI:13 led by Captain Britain and Pete Wisdom has a hope of stopping Dracula.

read more: The Best Horror Movies on Hulu

During the course of the arc, fans find out how brilliant Pete Wisdom is, that Dracula still holds a grudge against Muslims stemming back from his Vlad the Impaler days, that seeing Black Knight duel Dracula is pretty much better than anything else in the world, and that the legendary sword Excalibur wielded by a Muslim woman is more effective against Dracula than any crucifix.

Seriously, stop reading this and track down this storyline, we’ll wait.

Hulk vs. Dracula

Part of the Fear Itself mega-event, this battle between two legendary monsters took a form fans did not expect. During the course of Fear Itself, the Hulk was transformed into Nul, the Breaker of Worlds. When Thor knocked Nul into the Carpathian Mountains, the Hulk became a threat to Dracula’s sovereignty. Once again taking up the mantle of reluctant defender, Dracula most take on Nul with a group of vampires, the Forgotten at his side. The event book was another step into the modern evolution of Dracula and was the first time he appeared alongside the Hulk.

An X feud renewed (2011)

X-Men: Curse of the Mutants

Dracula’s return to the X Universe also served as the introduction of the modern interpretation of the Lord of the Undead. Gone is his rocking ‘stache and suave opera cape, arriving is the white hair and Coppola-esque armor. The story is pretty cool, if needlessly complex at times, and introduces Dracula’s son, Xarus. Xarus goes to war with dear old dad with the X-Men and a group of Atlanteans caught in the middle. The whole thing ends with a fierce reminder, family or not, do not mess with Dracula.

It's available on Amazon.

The new look for Dracula would stay consistent across all Marvel media as it was this look that appeared in an episode of Avengers Assemble on Disney XD. The story arc also brings vampirism closer to the X-Men as never before as Jubilee, once the most innocent of the X-Men, is transformed into a vampire. What Claremont and company began in the early '80s continues today as Dracula’s influence on the X-Men looms like a constant shadow over the heroes!

read more: 31 Best Streaming Horror Movies

Read and download the Den of Geek NYCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Feature Marc Buxton

Oct 20, 2019

Dracula

Doctor Strange

Marvel

31 Days of Horror

from Books https://ift.tt/2pzZdMQ

#aion-rsa #Books

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freshlyjuicedbeetles · 5 years

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Drakgo Fic - Gap

Drakken feels weird about how much older he is than Shego when meeting her friends.

Drew Theodore P. Lipsky AKA the infamous Dr. Drakken had overcome many obstacles in his life. He fought Kim Possible more times than he could count (and he could count pretty high). He managed to evade punishment for his many dastardly deeds in the past. Even when he was captured, prison wasn’t that bad; a Hannibal Lecter-esque high tech cell that sounded alarms every time his back popped is quite cozy once you get used to the electronic hum. Although, meeting his wife’s best friends was one obstacle he wasn’t sure he could conquer successfully.

Drakken had already met Shego’s immediate family with mixed results within the first few months of them dating. Not that Shego cared if he met her family but she couldn’t deny how awkward it would be if the first time they met her husband was at the wedding (even if they did elope). Her brother Heath turned up the machismo and pulled the ‘if you hurt my baby sister blah blah blah…” Michael seemed annoyed that he was dragged into this and had better things to do. The twins Wesley and William didn’t care, just a quick hi and they ran off to play. Her mother, Kate, thankfully, seemed to be the only one with a good head on her shoulders and only a little intimidating. Her father, well, Shego hasn’t spoken to him in a long time. He was invalid in her mind. Drakken meeting her friends was an actual priority for Shego. It took some orchestrating since they went to different colleges and lived in different states but finally made it work for a long weekend together.

They were throwing a small housewarming party. For many years, home was a lab that happened to have living quarters for Drakken and Shego and barracks for the henchman. Now, the lab was across town. Global Justice didn’t like them on too long of a leash. They managed to get out many of their personal belongings from all the past lairs (after GJ checked them of course) before destroying the lairs. That didn’t stop Drakken from starting a new lab down in the basement…

He didn’t know what to expect at first. The Mothman? A Chupacabra? A pack of wild wolves? Drakken couldn’t imagine Shego having normal friends, especially when her life changed drastically at such a young age. So, he did some sleuthing. Okay, okay, he searched Shego’s friend's list on Facebook. If he had an actual lab at home, he could unleash his real computer skillz.

Savannah Coffman, 27, BFA in visual arts, working towards her Masters, both from CalArts; unemployed.

Jill Nesbitt, 26, BBA, owns her own business in New Orleans. One citation for yelling ‘come at me, bro!’ at a living statue street performer.

Okay, nothing too alarming.

As their arrival time drew near, Commodore Puddles was put outside in the fenced backyard with water and plenty of toys to keep him busy. He really did not like company. When the doorbell rang, he started barking furiously and running back and forth to each side gate and back to the backdoor. How dare those filthy humans not let him have his prey!

“Don’t be weird,” Shego whispered harshly, before opening the door.

“Stephanie!” Jill and Savannah screeched, excitedly.

They enveloped Shego in a tight hug. Drakken was surprised that Shego didn’t seem to mind, even reciprocated. She didn’t let just anybody touch her. There were times when she wasn’t crazy that he was hugging her.

Drakken stood there in awkwardly as they greeted each other, complimenting each other’s looks and remarking on how long it had been since they last seen each other.

“Guys,” Shego said, nodding her head towards Drakken.

“Wow, you aren’t what I was expecting,” Jill said.

“Thanks?” Drakken replied, not sure how to take it.

Savannah studied him, “Yeah, I guess I expected the tall and dark type.”

“Yeah,” Jill added, “You guys were evil and whatnot at one point. You kinda look like my dad, but on a bad day.”

“I mean, he has a scar…”

“He got it from shaving,” Shego said, barely holding back laughter.

Jill got very close to Drakken’s face, who tried to lean away “What’s with the blue veins?” She asked Shego.

“Okay!” Shego interrupted, “This is Drew.” She said as she pulled Jill away from him.

They exchanged awkward hellos. Drakken already wanted to find a cave and hide.

Shego quickly ushered them into the living room while handing Drakken the bottle of wine Jill had brought that was forgotten in the welcoming frenzy. He had always wanted to see New Orleans, he thought as he set out to make the drinks. Shego was more of a Jack and Diet Coke kinda gal.

“Shit Steph, you have an actual place. I practically live in a closet above my shop.” Jill said.

“Same. Student Housing.” Savannah added.

“Don’t follow my example,” Shego warned, throwing herself on the couch with her legs across it.

As Drakken prepared their drinks, the women talked hurriedly and loudly in excitement and howled with laughter. It sounded like a coven of crazed witches planning their next ritual. He was just really glad that Shego was having fun.

He brought in the drinks and sat down next to Shego, moving her legs. She scowled at him as he did so but ignored her.

“Steph, look what I found,” Jill said, pulling out a worn, furry blue photo album.

Shego’s nickname hit his ears. She was very selective with who she let address her by her real name or any part of it.

She gasped in recognition as Jill and Savannah crowded around them.

Drakken peered over Shego’s shoulder. There were pictures of the young girls at sleepovers with butterfly clips in their hair, first days of school on sunny mornings, them pulling faces in a school hallway in front of lockers (Shego had braces?!), a group picture of them at prom and at graduation. A picture taken of the girls at a dance in line for the Cha-Cha Slide with Shego dressed tight jeans, focusing on her footwork. Shego was blonde at one point!? Shego with a purple streak in her thick, raven hair, Shego and her friends scowling at the camera with thick black eyeliner circling their eyes. Shego with alternative, teased hair, sticking her tongue out.

“No!” Shego howled, covering her face in embarrassment, “Burn that thing! It’s too cringey!”

Damn. Even some of his teenage photos were in black and white. Was their age gap that severe? Some of the slang Shego used sounded like a foreign language to him. What if they had kids? Drakken didn’t want to senile before his child’s graduation.

Their age difference of ten or so years never truly crossed his mind until then. As much as they were opposites in personality, they agreed on many things. Just different enough to keep things interesting, similar enough to keep a relative peace. In fact, the only time age was an issue was with the radio setting, when Drakken wanted to listen to the 70’s or 80’s station and Shego would roll her eyes and call the music corny. That, or have no idea who was playing.

Drakken had long ago accepted the fact that Shego was way out of his league, that he was the picture of a flattered fool. Even though he was a scientist, and scientists are taught to question everything, he chose not to. He knew Shego loved him and that she was trustworthy. Still, things got to him.

“Hey, Doc, has Steph told you about the time she tripped during eight grade graduation and knocked down our entire line?”

“No, no, no,” Jill said waving her hand excitedly and putting her glass down on the coffee table. “Remember the time she projectile vomited all over Amberlynn in tenth grade and everyone called her puky-lynn until we graduated?”

“Well, she was being a bitch and I had the stomach flu. It was just good timing,” Shego replied casually, playing with her hair.

“You should have seen it! She looked like the kid from the Exorcist!”

“And she looked so proud of herself afterward!”

“I was proud of myself afterward!

They lost themselves in stories of teachers; the good, the bad and the ugly, field trips and other school memories. Feeling self-conscious, Drakken excused himself with little notice from the women.

Shego, however, noticed and could tell something was wrong. She gave him some time before slipping away while Jill and Savannah argued about who really stole Savannah’s rainbow gel pen in fourth grade. Spoiler alert, it was Shego.

She found her husband in the bedroom, “What? Do we have cooties or something?” She teased as she sat down next to him.

Drakken was lost in thought, not looking at his wife. “Am I really that old?” He finally asked, not exclusively to Shego.

Shego scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes! I feel like I’m robbing the cradle!”

“You need to chill. Don’t put much stock into what Jill says. I’m not entirely sure she’s human.”

That got a chuckle from the scientist.

“Has anyone who we actually like cared about our age gap?” Shego urged.

“Well, Mother was concerned- “

Shego cut him of dismissively, “She doesn’t count. Look, we’ve been through a lot of stuff together. How many times have we been separated because one of us was in jail and yet we got right back to where we were like it never happened? Drew. I hate to admit these kinda things, but you are more mature and wiser than me. How often do I rush into something stupid and you pull me back, telling me to think?”

The time she wanted to spend a good chunk of her bank account on a new purse when what she really needed was a new pair of boots for her suit came to mind.

And the time she really wanted to go BASE jumping while she was recovering from a concussion brought on by Ron Stoppable.

And anytime she speeds or runs a red light.

Despite all the stress he felt worrying for her general safety, she did keep things interesting.

“Not just that, remember the time we decided we wanted to go see the Northern Lights on the spur of the moment and we just kept traveling for nearly a month? Or that mosh pit at the Ghost concert last Halloween? Naked Twister? What about Rex the crocodile? She wouldn’t have survived if we didn’t take care of her for that month after she was injured in that hurricane. Tell me, would some broad your age go for all those things? I’m even including the crazy and exciting things we did and still get to do as part of our jobs!” She said.

Shego sat down on Drakken’s lap, wrapped her arms around him and looked into his eyes, “You aren’t the type of guy I’d date, let alone marry, but those guys were actual idiots. I don’t know how they’re still alive, whether from forgetting to breathe or staring at the sun for too long. I found out that I want substance in a guy and to have an actual conversation with my significant other. I found out that that’s what I want.”

Drakken smiled contently, “Thank you, Stephanie. I love you.”

“I love you, Drew.”

They sealed their proclamations with a kiss.

“You’re still a doofus though,” Shego said once they pulled away.

Drakken groaned. She could only be so nice.

“Are we good?” She asked.

Drakken nodded.

“Great, because Amberlynn lives around here and we’re gonna go egg her house,” Shego said, grinning deviously.

“I’ll drive and get my bat to knock over her mailbox!” Drakken replied giddily.

“See? We’re still a perfect team!”

#drakgo #drakken #shego

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years

Text

My Design Verse IV

He was running late.

It wasn't a completely unusual occurance in the last six months since he'd been cleared of any involvement in the Copy Cat murders, but it still was enough to make Will feel on edge.

He couldn't quite tell when, but at some point during the night there had been a power surge from an electrical storm. His alarm clock had stopped and he had over slept. His months under Chilton's care however helped ensure he was up early and only running fifteen minutes behind schedule.

It was an unusual time of year for such storms though and he could hear the soft, knowing voice whispering to him that it was a sign, an omen. That electrical storms were the start of darkness descending upon an area. He fought hard to shake the voice from his head and the shiver it brought up from his spine. It had been a month since he'd seen her, and he was determined not to fall back into madness chasing after another ghost.

Will raced across the lawns of Quantico towards his lecture room. Hopefully the students wouldn't have left yet despite his tardiness. Today's lecture was on how to test a profile against another.

As he approached the lecture hall, expecting silence or the dull hum of many voices talking to each other at once, he found himself frowning when only the sound of his shoes on the tiles and one professional sounding voice could be heard - though the exact voice and words were muffled by the closed lecture hall doors.

Someone else was lecturing his class.

Walking faster, Will propelled himself forward and pushed through the doors quickly, calling out harshly, "Sorry that I'm late class, we're good to begin in a moment."

"No need to fret, Will dear. I've already started today's lecture for you."

The voice froze him in place, eyes wide as he looked across into the space beside his podium and his desk, where she stood. His bloody angel, illuminated in the glow of the teaching spot light.

She didn't look like herself though, her true self with bruises and blood stains and a smile that made his stomach twist every morning that he woke up having been inches away from claiming it amongst the blood and hauntingly beautiful imagery his brain would concoct for her each night. She appeared to have a brunette wig on, a shoulder length one at that which was almost dead straight with full bangs that drew him into her eyes through the bright red glasses disguising them. She was wearing a suit too - a navy pencil skirt and blazer with a plain white blouse. The heels she wore made him want to cry for the dirty boots she'd left beside his door.

However different she looked on the outside, as he stumbled towards her, he could see her - see you - underneath it in the twitch of her lips and the dark of her eyes. Will knew abstractly that his students would be whispering about him, about his jerky movements until he was at her side, about his hand twitching out to touch her arm to confirm she was really there. But they would have no idea what it was really about.

"Thank you for arriving though, Mr. Graham. I'll just continue now after the interruption." Her voice had a cool professional tone to it, as if discussing the weather not how to profile a serial killer, and held none of the warmth and twang he had come to associate with her. Just as he thought he was imagining her onto someone else, his lure shot him that smile as she clicked the teleprompter - flashing the crime scene he'd queried her about onto the board.

"Now, this here is a particularly hard case. Three victims. All young women. No signs of forced entry. Of any kind, mind you." her words were punctuated with a change in crime scene photo illustrating each point. "Each victim killed through a different means. Throat slit and fire. Disembowelment. Torture." The photos were almost too gruesome for the images to be shown to a class, and a few of the students appeared to be getting very near I'll. "Various markers around the scene - knife marks, the shaved hair clumps, the displaying of the last victim. What are your theories?"

There was a murmur through the class. Will rarely requested input in his lectures during such disturbing times - the last image being displayed a close up of the once blonde girl's face, bloody finger trails down her chin and to wrap around her bruised and choked neck - but their guest lecturer was unphased and unmoved as she stared about the class.

"Anyone?"

"They're another copy cat. With the presentation!" One of his cockier students in the third row called out, with all eyes suddenly focussing on Will for a few seconds.

"Wrong. This individual cares nothing of the evil doing of any one else nor hiding their tracks by copying." She corrected the response so quickly, flicking through a few more images - the pool of entrails at the brunette's feet, the knife mark in the hallway, the gas fireplace with the redhead's charred remains. "Next profile?"

"A sadomasochist - the torture was to get them off for some reason. Punish the girls too. Like a... Ted Bundy?" One of the few female students suggested, uncertainty entering her voice as she finished.

"Oh he wishes he was Ted Bundy." His angel's laugh was still the same and Will found himself leaning towards her at the sound, like an alcoholic in the desert trying to get to the last drop of liquid in his bottle. "Where the punishment is there, it's clearly not of a sexual nature. Can anyone hazard a guess how we know that?"

"He shaved her head." Will found himself answering, feet drawing him closer to her to lean in, hand laying so tantalisingly close to her own atop his desk. "She lied to him. She made him think she was someone else, that she was his real target. But she was a fake blonde and didn't live up to expectations. She had to be punished for tricking him so."

"Exactly, Mr. Graham, the hair gives it away." He might have been imagining it, but he could have sworn she sounded breathier than usual. Sounded fixated. Sounded drawn in too. He thought he felt her fingers twitch like they wanted, needed, desired to touch his as much as he did too. "She wasn't his target and so she must be punished for it."

Neither one spoke for a long moment, staring at one another as his pendulum swung and he realised how close her insanity ran to his. If he'd just take the leap, just take the plunge, just surrender to it.

"What about the other two then?" The voice of one of the students snapped the trance like a jolt. Like a lightening strike. Like an electrical storm.

"The other two... Yes, the other two! Why were they killed in the order and fashion they were? Any one?" Her breathy tone returned to the clipped professional, non-region specific accent she'd been masking herself with, as the fake brunette turned to look around the room. "Why was the red head first and why was she torched after death?"

"He had a thing for blondes?"

"She was the first to open the door?"

"She struggled first?"

Her head shook with each answer, though Will thought he'd detected a small laugh of a cough at the first shout. The more questions she asked, the more his students found themselves engaging like he'd never seen them engage with him before. His heart felt constricted watching her so close to him, so close to a potential reality for them side by side teaching the next generation all they knew from their own tortured psyche.

"There's truth to the blonde theory - he was there for her, after all. But there must be a reason to destroy the body. Incinerate it beyond almost all recognition. The only reason we know she's a redhead is from dental records and the last photo of her from that night. Why would someone destroy something to that extent?"

"Because he hates it. Because it torments them to see it." The seductive voice came from the auditorium doors and made the bile rise up on Will's throat at the sound. He couldn't be here. He couldn't come near his angel, couldn't be allowed to see her - see you - or touch her or taste her. Doctor Letter entered the room, stepping into the slightly darkened door passages from where he had been lot behind like a halo of light surrounded him before being swallowed by the dark. Will barely noticed Jack entering beside him in his blind panic to conceal his lure from his tormentor. "The man wanted it gone, never wanted to see it again. It hurt him to see."

"You'd be right and wrong at the same time. No one would go to such lengths to mask one type of death with another while also having the psyche to have left the clear markers on the other bodies - so clearly there is emotion involved." Her voice cracked at the word emotion, his angel's face transformed in an instant at Hannibal's interference with her lecture into something that made Will's stomach twist almost as much as her smile did. Or perhaps it was how her fingers finally touched his own, rubbing gently and unseen against the inside of his wrist. "But hatred? If he hated it, he would have shorn her like the other whom he'd since despised for her lies. This was a remnant of a love. A long forgotten or buried one, but from that source comes a toxic, rage-inducing and all consuming reaction to it, that clearly has left an impact still such that he hates to continue to see it any further."

As Hannibal moved to open his mouth, her voice cut over him rudely - so rudely - to announce the end of the lecture. There were sounds of dismay from the class as a whole, but the teleprompter shuttered down devolving the room into darkness. She'd not reset the lights so there were calls of confusion and laughs from the students as they began to make their way out.

He felt more than saw her shift beside him, her hand squeezing his once tightly as she whispered softly, "That monster has nothing on yours. I'm sorry I suggested otherwise before." There was another squeeze and he wished he could have held on forever before her fingers slipped from his grasp.

Will could tell Hannibal and Jack alike were waiting to speak with him, and possibly be introduced to the guest he'd allowed to teach that day. But Will knew the moment that the lights would be back on she'd be gone, lost in the sea of students.

As one of the exiting class members flicked the lights on, Will steadied himself to discuss whatever the pair were there to talk with him about. He didn't have to turn to know she'd be gone. As the duo spoke to him about some new case, Will nodded where he had to and smiled his awkward smile they were used to before agreeing.

It wasn't until he began packing away her notes that he realised the photos weren't the FBI's photos but seemingly her own with their own notations. On the back of the photo of the fireplace, there was a post-it not asking him the most taunting question of all - How was she set on fire with no wood or gas connection on?

#AU stories #my design verse

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elfnerdherder · 6 years

Text

Ill Intentions: Chapter 20

[Read on Ao3] [Join My Patreon!]

A special thanks to my patrons, that saw like 4 drafts/progress posts of this before it finally was finished: @jenacar @evertonem @frostyleegraham @kenobi-is-king @starlit-catastrophe @sylarana @frostylicker Mendacious Bean, Superlurk, Duhaunt6, and Cecily! <3

Chapter 20: The Climactic Reveal

A/N: This is being posted via a chromebook, and as such copying and pasting has somehow obliterated my indents and spaces between the paragraphs. I fixed it on Ao3 but don’t have the time here, sadly! Depending on how it views on your webpage, you may want to just click the link for Ao3 sadly. Thank you for understanding!

Hannibal didn’t see things the way that many other people did. He saw the way a mother’s hands shook as she fought to open her Xanax bottle, baby sleeping peacefully in the stroller. He saw the depression in the lines of a businessman’s face as he joked and laughed with colleagues during lunch. He saw the dips and sways of an alcoholic’s stumble, fumbling for car keys he’d pickpocketed off of them so that they couldn’t make a fool of themselves. He often missed some of the tics and twitches of those considered normal; time gave him a better understanding of it, though, so that he could mimic and relate to them. He often missed the meaning behind things like ‘empathize with him,’ or ‘I can’t hurt him because I care too much.’ He tried to see those aspects of people, but oftentimes it was difficult to relate. He didn’t care much for most people. They were easy to dissect, a series of chemical responses in the brain that was first a primitive reaction, then something more nuanced.

Now, death was another matter. He didn’t particularly enjoy thinking of the first times he witnessed death; that was too raw and painful a thing to bear, so cruel and contradictory to everything Hannibal knew to be true about society and the strict rules of it. Time after such a jarring horror as that had given him enough understandings and skills with a scalpel to observe that societal rules were only as good as the people that kept them. Despite all of this, death was one of Hannibal’s most favorite of things. He observed it as often as he could. Made notes of some of the most perfect of ways to consume people. Consumption was the only true way to understand, and Hannibal wished to understand everything that suited his fancy. One way or another. One could partake in many, many ways, you see. Death was consumed through his hands, his knives. The taste, then, was victory laced with a good, strong bourbon. Sometimes, death was sipped through envious lips, savored like spices and mulled over. That paired with an aged merlot, and savored before a fire lit for ambiance. Sometimes, death was all within the eyes, something so poignant and raw that it stayed deep within the recesses of Hannibal’s memory for long after, playing and replaying and replaying without ceasing. Those people were interesting to him, and he sought them out afterwards, to visit. In that moment, fighting Tobias Budge for his life, Hannibal seeing Will burst through his door oddly tasted like Coq Au Vin. He’d likely find a chardonnay to enjoy with it, something that left an oaken taste for long after on the tip of the tongue. Seeing Tobias strangling Hannibal made something within Will’s expression shift, change. Hannibal noted the exact moment that Will Graham’s eyes seemed to almost fade; what took place instead was something he’d been waiting for, something he’d been hungry to see since that moment in the alleyway when the man that had appeared so weak and drunk suddenly looked otherwise. Then, he charged. Will was slighter than both Tobias and Hannibal, but he hit like a concrete wall and took them tumbling over the coffee table. The wire was loosened from Hannibal’s neck; he gulped in a breath and wriggled out from the tangle of limbs. Things like pain were irrelevant when he had decided that something ought to be done about Tobias Budge. He took in another breath, mind racing rather that focus on the blood oozing from furious wounds. He’d hoped that Will would have pieced it together sooner rather than Tobias ultimately ambushing him in his own office –he’d wondered about maybe Will deciding to kill Tobias on his own. Whatever his thoughts were, they were nothing compared to what he was currently witnessing. Somehow, the truth was all the better for Hannibal having not guessed it. Will stood and dragged Tobias Budge to his feet, striking twice; his lip was a snarl as his knuckles broke flesh. Before Tobias could quite get his footing, Will struck once more, a rough slap to his ear, likely bursting the drum. Tobias howled, and Will grabbed him by the shoulders, throwing him back until he was stumbling towards the couch, grappling for the wire that’d slipped from his hands. Will tackled him over the couch, snarling something in a guttural voice that Hannibal had only heard once from him before. Yes. There was a scream, a stifled grunt. Something cracked, and someone sobbed. Silence. What followed after was a decadent silence, and Hannibal tasted death once more. Quiet enough he heard the tremor of his breath, felt the humidity of the air on his cheeks. It stayed like that for several minutes. When the man stood up, Hannibal tracked his movements. He somehow looked bigger, stronger. Rather than the slouch and curved spine of a writer not used to much else but causing his own scoliosis and struggling for the perfect metaphor, he stood with a straight back and shoulders set, and the way that he spit Tobias Budge’s ear out of his mouth would stay with Hannibal long after, filed away within the many rooms of his memory palace to remember so long as he lived. He stared at Hannibal, head tilted slightly as he considered him. Unwilling to break the quiet, sacred as it somehow was, Hannibal could only watch as the man picked his way over to him with careful deliberation, squatting down so that they were eye level, staring at one another. His eyes were flat, ungiving. Devoid of the sort of expressions that Will’s normally held. “Dr. Lecter,” he said slowly. His voice was rough, the exact same tone that Hannibal had first heard so long ago, when he’d stood at the mouth of the alley and debated killing the rude man from the bar. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of speaking with?” “I’m Francis. Francis Dolarhyde.” “I’ve tried to meet you before, Francis,” Hannibal murmured. “I know.” “You were disinterested?” “Unnecessary.” His tongue stuttered over his ‘S’s, and a scowl grooved deep into the lines on his face. “Do you only take control when Will’s life is on the line?” Hannibal wondered. “He lives, and I live. He wanted a protector, a Great Red Dragon. He got me.” Hannibal pondered this, and he stood to his feet, brushing dust off of his suit jacket with care. In truth, his heart beat steadily, but it was a steady surety of just where he’d gotten after so much careful planning. Things were going wonderfully well. “How old are you, Francis?” Hannibal asked. Francis tilted his head, crooked like a dragon might. A Great, Red Dragon. “I am beyond a realm of age. I exist as a weapon, a thing to be used. Age does not affect me as it does you.” “How many times have you come out?” Francis righted the chair that’d fallen over, and he sat down in it. Hannibal took the chair across from him, and he ignored the wretched sight of his toppled bookcases and the ripped painting, a favorite of his. It’d been gifted to him from Jack Crawford after careful insight to an interesting case of Existential Crisis. “Once, after his dad died. Once, after a shitty home that fed us nothing but corn puffs and Mac N Cheese. Once, when some idiot tried to stab us. Once, when some idiot tried to slit you.” Hannibal licked dry lips. He watched Francis track the motion, gaze alert to any movement. He was…flawed. His cleft palate, his enormous stature that seemed to take up so much space. His movements were predatory, what Hannibal imagined a child would suppose a dragon to do when trapped within the skin of a man. A child, hurting. He wondered when Will had to dream of such protectors. “How many people have you killed, Francis?” Francis smiled, cold and cruel. “Three, now. I thought three before, but you said the addict’s alive.” “He’s alive,” Hannibal agreed amiably. He considered Francis, stiff and as taut as a hair-trigger. “Did he create you to do the things that he was too afraid to do?” “No,” Francis said slowly. His brow drew down, and he stared off to the corner. “Do you suppose –” “Are you going to try and kill us, Dr. Lecter?” Francis asked, and he glanced back to Hannibal. Hannibal thought to maybe wet his throat with a glass of water, but it was just across the room to his desk. The thought of moving, of breaking the spell of conversation around them with something so petty as needing a drink, was appalling. Hannibal held just as still as the man across from him, more than aware of the line they were walking, toeing the whisper between life and death. “Is it you or Will that entertains the worry? Or is it a shared thing?” “Apart from his mental space, we don’t share much at all.” “Then it is your worry?” Francis shook his head, but it was an uncertain motion. “I’m a better killer than you,” he said. “They’d never find the body.” “Do you suppose I’d mount you in some grotesque fashion?” Hannibal wanted to laugh, but he held in the impulse. He didn’t suppose Francis shared the same dark humor as Will did. “I wonder if you’d think of it as beautiful, if you could be around to see it after.” “You’d elevate him,” Francis said after some thought. “He’d appreciate it, but that is because he is foolish.” “Not you, though,” Hannibal observed. “While he wondered at your metaphors, I’d wonder at our death.” “Then you are his practicality?” “I am his violence.” Hannibal couldn’t resist, drawn as he was to the way Will’s face looked absolutely nothing like Will’s face. It was him, but somehow not, some form that was altogether different and wholly interesting. “And what am I to him?” “I think you’re a puzzle to him. But he’s finally figured it out. Do you think you’ll be special then, Dr. Lecter?” Hannibal had wondered much the same, in the short time he’d studied Will Graham. Would Will Graham still be interesting after he’d peeled back every layer and devoured every inch of his inspiration? After he consumed his words, his spirit, his soul, would he still continue to inspire, to ignite some sense of purpose within him that’d first even provoked Hannibal to begin this wildly spontaneous dance with the public world and the FBI? “Do you hold his darkness in, Francis?” Hannibal questioned. “Or do you let it spread, relentless, encompassing everything like an oil spill?” “His darkness is his own,” Francis hissed, leaning in. “I am merely the fist behind his wrath. I do what he will not because he will not Become that sort of person. The killer.” “But he already has,” Hannibal reminded him. He softened his voice. “In making you, however long ago it was that he did, he put his wrath within you and let you kill for him. Whether his own hand, or the hand of you, both of you coincide within Will Graham. You are the same. Perhaps his subconscious is cruel to him because of that, because some part of him is well aware of the capacity he has for violence, considering however long ago it was that his trauma created you to be violent for him.” Francis held still, as if poised to strike. “He made some part of himself able to live with the idea of having taken a life,” Hannibal realized. “Because he knows his empathy would destroy him at the thought. But not…but not you.” “I carry what he cannot,” he snarled. “His cruelty,” Hannibal realized, delighted. “You carry his cruelty, therefore he can acknowledge his violence without having to entirely touch it.” Some part of Francis contorted, shifted, at that and he let out a snarl, horrible and fierce before he looked back to Hannibal, livid. Livid, and yet…tired. Something in him was fading, fading, and Hannibal could only witness, enraptured. He did not let out a great bellow; Francis Dolarhyde slipped into an unconscious state quietly, with the sort of dignity Hannibal hadn’t necessarily expected. After some thought, he conceded that perhaps it could be expected. A Great, Red Dragon wouldn’t cause such a scene as to scream and roar as they faded back into themselves. Perhaps a snarl, something small and dangerous. It was a tantalizing thought. Hannibal sat poised just on the edge of the leather chair across from Will Graham for some time, thinking. With each new thought, a new door appeared within his mind palace, the place in which he locked away all precious thoughts he’d surely regret losing. - Will woke with the sloppy crashing of waves of consciousness. They crested over him, relentless, then caved away beneath his resistance. Something inside of him wanted to sleep, to push away the persistent urges to open his eyes, open his eyes, open his eyes… He opened his eyes and sat up, dismayed, within Hannibal Lecter’s study. “You have two suitcases currently taking up space within a derelict automobile,” Lecter said, strolling into the office. “Were you planning on running away with me, Will?” Will stiffened, and he took careful stock of the office around him, muscles taut. Everything was in a horrific disarray, the coffee table decimated as though someone had tackled it to the floor. Books were scattered from where a bookcase had toppled over, and one of the stands that’d housed a brass sculpture was broken on the dented floor. Real brass, then. Real brass, a real dent, and Will quite suddenly had a very real problem. “What happened?” he asked. “Tobias Budge happened,” Hannibal said gravely. Will didn’t see Tobias Budge, nor did he see any evidence necessarily of him having been there –a break-in? His mind leapt, dizzied, and he felt somehow drunk from it, like he’d consumed a lot of whiskey in a short amount of time. He looked around, then had to lean back in his chair to stave off of a rush of vertigo so strong he wondered if he’d vomit. A break in because… “He was the Maestro,” Will realized. He looked to Hannibal who was currently burning something in the fireplace –it took much too long for Will to realize that that’s exactly what he was doing –and continued, “you and your damn favor…” Do you think he’s going to escalate his crimes if you don’t give him the attention he’s seeking? “It’s a gift,” Hannibal said, and he turned back to the fireplace. “A gift,” Will scoffed. Once his legs felt sturdy under him, he stood and walked over to watch him burn what appear to be a stack of files. The corner of the one on top read ‘Brown, Ha—’ “Yes, a gift. I thought to give it to Jack Crawford, since he surely would be too overcome to try and hunt two serial killers as opposed to one. A gift to you, as well, if you want to see it that way.” Hannibal glanced to Will out of the corner of his eye, and his lip quirked ever-so-slightly. “And am I the one giving him the gift when he takes me to the safehouse?” Will wondered. Somewhat of a joke, somewhat of a test. He was more than aware of the heat just in front of him from the fire that slowly grew with each stack of files, but he was also hyper-aware of the heat just beside him, close enough to lean into, close enough to touch. Something was stirring inside of him, seeing the file and the name curling and greying to ash. Although tired, aching like after a particularly violent fight, his mind was jumping, quick bursts as he began to see more and more of the room: the suitcase by the door, the purposeful care of all of the books on what shelves left standing turned around the wrong way, and the empty spaces where surely important books and documents used to be. His throat was parched. His watch, surprisingly, didn’t beep to remind him to drink water. He wondered if some part of him was dreaming, but no; he was very much awake. “Only if you want to be,” Hannibal replied. He tossed the next stack of files into the fire, and he smiled wanly. “Your prints are everywhere, here. You could carry the story of your survival, as well as an eye witness account right to Crawford’s lap. You’d be a hero doing something like that.” “Jack can’t wear his wedding band again until he finds you,” said Will, and he thought of the stripe of pale skin, how it stood out so much now that Will knew the truth of it. “I wonder if that makes you more curious than concerned,” Hannibal said, and he turned to face Will squarely, hands clasped behind his back. “You who only engaged with me because you wanted to have fun.” “No,” Will rebuked kindly, and something was twisting just behind the thickness and density of his ribs. He wondered if Molly had gotten the letter yet, or if Beverly had, too; he wondered if right now Freddie was cursing him as they went over the edits for his final words to the column ‘Will Intentions,’ or if Charlie was thinking of ways to attempt to entice him back to Tattler News. He wondered if Abigail was panicking yet, if she was waiting for a sign or a call that could never come because Will was many things, but cruelty towards the innocent wasn’t one of his strong suits. “You said you wanted to be my friend,” Will reminded him, looking over to him. Hannibal smiled, and it made his eyes shine bright in the firelight. It transformed his face, made him appear less predatory than he ever had before. “I did.” “I am missing gaps of my memory,” Will said, tracking the movements of his face. “Oh?” Hannibal’s expression didn’t shift the slightest. Will smiled, and maybe it was the disarming way in which it felt utterly genuine despite what they were doing, the things they were saying. Hannibal’s perfectly calm poker face remained perfectly calm, but something about it felt all of a sudden rather rehearsed, like he’d had to think on it for awhile before settling on expression such as that. “Can I trust you, Hannibal?” he asked. It felt dangerous, saying it like that. “Such a question poses its own challenges, don’t you think?” Hannibal replied. His expression remained the same. “Because I’m trusting you to honestly tell me whether or not you’re trustworthy.” “Yes, that.” Silence, save the devouring of perfectly flammable paper. Will licked his lips and tried again. “I’d like for you to read something later,” he said, looking back to the fire. “I think I’ve gotten it into its final editing stage.” “A bout of inspiration?” Hannibal asked, and somehow he was much closer than before. Will kept staring at the fire, and suddenly he wasn’t thinking of Beverly or Molly or Freddie or even Abigail, confused and probably scared as she was. He wasn’t even thinking of their dance with words, how somehow they could share so much yet standing side-by-side now Will wasn’t quite sure where to even begin. “Yes.” “Are serial killers your muse, Mr. Graham?” Hannibal wondered, and he lifted a hand just close enough to ghost along his shirt. It brushed just shy of his throat, and he shifted close enough that Will could smell the scent of his cologne, something oaky and expensive. “…Yes,” Will replied, and it sounded an awful lot like a confession. When he turned to Hannibal, he was surprised at the lack of space between them, intimate. “You wouldn’t know, but I waited by the clock tower each day waiting to see how long it took for you to arrive,” Hannibal revealed. It was honest, genuine, and it somehow balanced Will’s confession with his candor. “I worried perhaps I’d misunderstood you completely. I wondered if you were so clever.” “Someone like you would more than likely enjoy building walls up to see if someone is clever enough to either tear them down or climb over them,” Will scoffed, but it was light. He felt oddly…light. “Then I assume you have another letter to write, for Jack Crawford,” Hannibal decided, and he dipped down and put his mouth remarkably close to Will’s. “As you’ll only continue to have inspiration for your works by coming along with me.” Will held his breath, and he nodded. He grabbed the bastard by the curve of his lapels, and he hauled him in , thinking of the way he’d held him in the dark at the gala, the heat of his body as he whispered ugly things in his ear. “You’ll tell me what I’ve forgotten and why,” he warned Hannibal, soft enough he wondered if he’d even spoke. “After our more pressing situation is over. You’ll tell me.” That close, Hannibal looked mildly amusing; his eyes crossed slightly as he looked at Will’s mouth, then lifted his gaze so that they were staring one another in the eye, the most direct eye contact they’d held since the moment when Hannibal first sent him a letter asking if he had wanted to play a game. “Then we have a deal,” Hannibal murmured, and he closed the distance between them, arms wrapped tight around Will’s waist. His mouth made Will think of things much like warm hands, cool Spring mornings, and sealing a deal with the devil by the giving of a kiss. - Beverly Katz cornered them at the Texaco twenty miles out of Baltimore where they were gassing up at the farthest back pump. She had a gun on them, and it’d never occurred to Will that Beverly would have ever hunted him down with a gun. Let alone hunted him down at all. “You know, I wondered the last time we talked that you were maybe going to do something irrational,” Beverly said conversationally, poised at the back of their sedan. They’d stolen it –Hannibal had stolen it. Will had wondered over the theft, the desperate and afraid person stuck finding the empty parking spot the next morning, and the large but revealing furry head set with care in the back seat. “Beverly –” “Then, I thought, ‘he’s not that stupid’,” she continued. Despite her blasé tone, her arms were stiff and unyielding as she kept the gun poised on Hannibal. Hannibal, for everything, had all appearances of a mildly unrumpled and wholly bemused individual. He took her lack of shooting him immediately in great stride, and he seemed content, when Will looked at him, to allow him to continue reaching out to her. “How’d you find me?” “I’ve been following you around since the night after the gala!” Beverly snapped, and her mouth thinned to a flat, crooked line across the bottom of her face. It was her favorite feature, she’d once boasted. A crooked smile. Made all the boys at the bar nervous. Will went very, very still. “Yeah,” she said, and her eyes darkened. Will supposed that most of the trouble –should he live through the encounter –would be the fact that he’d be stuck remembering that expression for as long as he lived. “Yeah, I know that you broke into his house. I know you knew about this long, long before all of your bull shit excuses.” She may have been a writer, but confrontation wasn’t necessarily Beverly’s forte. Like Will, left in the aftermath of her reveal, the punch in the gut that left him suddenly guessing everything took far too much for him to recover from. She stared at him, Will stared back. He sucked in a breath and thought of the night he’d first asked her to come along, when he’d treated himself to top shelf liquor and she’d promised to help him kick Freddie Lounds’ ass. “We need to kill her,” Hannibal said lightly, just beside Will. “No.” The fact that Will spoke at the same time as Beverly didn’t soften her to him. Her glare was fixed between the two of them, switching periodically as her suspicion rose and lowered respectively. “You have a letter waiting for you at home,” Will said. “Oh, is that why you don’t want to kill me?” “He’s spared your life before, you know,” Hannibal interjected. “At the gala, he informed me that you were not part of our game.” “Funny, I’m feeling a bit played here, Will,” Beverly said pointedly. “Did you see the blood on my shirt?” Will asked. Beverly smiled thinly. It somehow didn’t suit her. “You think you can hide a stain like that? The moment you sat down in the car, I saw some of it. You’ve been lying to me for a long time, Will.” Will nodded slowly. Something was scalding hot on his tongue, and it felt an awful lot like a confession. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” “You are sometimes so full of shit,” Beverly hissed. “You think I haven’t called the cops and the FBI? Do you think friendship is keeping you alive right now?” “Beverly –” “You’ll lower your gun, or you’ll have to take a nap,” a familiar man said, and Will stared gaping awe as the homeless man from the alleyway strolled up behind Beverly with a pistol cocked lazily at his hip. “And I don’t mean the cat-kind.” Abigail Hobbs skirted around him, although if she had a gun Will couldn’t quite see. She was determined not to look at Will, it seemed, as she stationed herself just behind Hannibal, luggage bag at her side. “I thought I’d stalled her long enough,” she groused. “That wasn’t funny,” Beverly said, turning her head to glance back at the homeless man. She lowered her gun to the ground and lifted her hands out to the side. “You’re not shooting her,” Will said, although he couldn’t be sure if he was sayign that to Hannibal or to the man behind her. “She’s going home unharmed.” “Fuck you, Will,” Beverly snarled. “I didn’t entirely fuck you over, you know,” Will replied, and he motioned back towards the city and where she likely had a very important package waiting at the house. “Go home, Beverly. Your front page awaits you.” There was something chilling in the way she didn’t break eye contact, even as she backed up just enough to skirt around the homeless man. She climbed into her car, and maybe the pistol hadn’t been a personal token to her because she didn’t try to negotiate for it. Will stooped down, picked it up, and checked the safety. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said hollowly, and he jabbed towards Hannibal hollowly. “You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.” “Fuck you,” the homeless man said cheerfully.

#LiaS scribbles #Ill Intentions #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #hannibal au #journalist!Will #dark!WIll #Grey!Will #Francis Dolarhyde #hannibal x will graham #beverly katz #shit hits the fan yall #but it aint over yet

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tethered-heartstrings · 2 years

Note

I don't think Will would win against Hannibal. Hannibal is not only strong he's fast and has reflexes and skills. We can see how he can dodge attacks and his tactics in the fight against Tobias, dodging the piano wire, when he lured Tobias to the ladder and broke his arm, etc plus I think he was holding back so it would look like a real struggle. When the Verger men came to kidnap him he managed to dodge an attack from behind, do a spin kick, knock one out and kill another. Then he killed more and subdued and abducted Mason after he was strung up and Will set him free when they had guns. He fought well against Jack despite being weaker, making use of his environment. He also killed 9 Verger men who also had guns in Digestivo in a deleted scene. Will has strength but we don't see him have any MOVES, Randall literally just got stuck and Will kept punching him. Saying Will would win because he's scrappy makes no sense when Hannibal would be used to desperate fights and subduing and killing opponents, and he also fights dirty.

I think Will and Hannibal are evenly matched. They both have advantanges the other doesn't have. Will is also strong, they both are. That is not really a factor at play here. Hannibal's show height advantage is negligible. Will is also wider at they shoulders. And book Hannibal is small. It helps him stay unassuming. Both also have incredible pain tolerance. We get a lot of instances of seeing Hannibal fight in the show, you are right. And he comes out on top. But he was bested multiple times. He had to play dirty to have a chance against Jack in their first fight. He faked passing out. Jack also beat him to smithereens in Contorno. The thing is, we don't see Will fight but once. By all right, Tier should have won. He had a suit on that was mechanized and built for killing and tearing flesh from bones and leaving a massacre. Will threw his gun down and used just his hands. That is strength and speed and endurance. The point of that fight was not to showoff his skill but to show him fantasizing about killing Hannibal with his hands, to have Will realize his killing potential. But he needed speed to win that fight. It was boiled down to a quick struggle against an imagined stagman and pummeling Tier's face. But that fight lasted longer, and Will survived with no injuries except to his hands, injuries he gave himself technically.

Just because we see how Hannibal fights doesn't mean he would automatically win. And of you think Will wouldn't fight sorry to survive, we did not watch the same show. Will literally survived more than any other character in that show. If its using just their fists, Will not only stands a chance, not only would they be equally matched, he might come out on top.

#will fucks and will fights #anonymous #the curious clown

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cult-magic · 7 years

Text

Hanniween #2 - Princess

Alana may be a princess but she is not a damsel. Also, Hannibal is a dragon who likes to play matchmaker. Posted on AO3 under the same name.

Alana pulled up the hem of her dress and trotted down the stone steps of her tower. “Hannibal,” she said, “are you a hundred percent sure they’re coming? I’d rather not get my hopes up again, especially after someone-” she shot a nasty look at Will “-decided he liked the dragon more than the princess and someone else-” she did not shoot a nasty look at Hannibal, only because she had to step around the boneyard Hannibal decorated the foyer with “-ate the cute entomologist.”

Will smiled only a little sheepishly. Hannibal shrugged completely unrepentantly. “I did not find his intentions satisfactory.”

“You’re not my dad, Hannibal,” Alana chided. She crossed her arms and cocked a hip. Will smirked and ducked his head. Arguments with Alana were the best when he wasn’t on the receiving end of them.

“I don’t intend to be your father,” Hannibal soothed, “but it is my job - given to me by your father, might I add - to only allow you to leave with a worthy suitor.” He grinned, showing off crooked dragon fangs and that creepy forked tongue. Sometimes Alana wondered what Will’s sex life must be like. “But I quite like this suitor.”

Alana glared at him. “What? Is he a pretentious, self-righteous dick of a dragon too?”

Will smothered a laugh in Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal glanced out the window, then leveled her with a cool stare. “You are about to find out, Lady Bloom.”

Shortly after, the clop of hooves could be heard from the window. Four horses appeared at the tree line, each with a single rider. One was dressed as a knight, tall but wide and audibly yelling. Another had bright red hair and a journal and quill open as she rode. Another was sat so straight it looked painful and had a cane braced across his thighs. Another rode tall in sensible riding clothes, blonde hair pulled in a bun.

“Tell me the screaming one isn’t my one true love,” Alana groaned.

Will laughed again. “No, that’s Jack Crawford. He’s security. The one with the red hair is Freddie Lounds, she’s a journalist. The one with the cane is Frederick Chilton, I’m not really sure why he’s here. Your girl is the one in red.”

“A woman?” murmured Alana. “Finally, someone got my letters.”

Hannibal leaned against the wall and smiled, smug as ever. “Her name is Miss Margot Verger. She’s the new heiress to the Verger fortune.” His voice became tinged with amusement. “I ate her brother.”

“He was a real piece of work,” said Will when he saw Alana’s intention to protest. “He literally drank orphan tears.”

“And he fed his enemies, real and imagined, to genetically modified pigs.”

“And he tortured people with this weird eel he kept in his chambers.”

“And he tried to steal Will’s face.”

“Not with magic, he did it manually.”

“I saved him, of course.”

“Shut up, Hannibal, you couldn’t have done it without Margot’s help.”

“And she would not be here without my help. Please, Will, stick to the facts.”

“Children,” interjected Alana, “the both of you.” She stared out the window for a few more seconds. “Should I wait in the tower?”

“If you want a minute alone with her,” said Will. “If you decide to go with her, this’ll probably be your last opportunity for alone time for a while. Being important kind of makes your private life into your public life.”

“You know this from experience?” remarked Alana.

Will shrugged. “Everyone knew I was being paid quite well to come save the princess. I assume it was fairly big news when I didn’t come back.”

Hannibal straightened abruptly and brushed the nonexistent dust off his suit. “Please, retreat to your chambers, Lady Bloom. We will send Miss Verger up when she arrives.”

Alana nodded. “Right. Wish me luck, boys.” She waved and weaved her way through the decorative boneyard to the stairs, then stepped up quickly. Halfway up she could hear the door open and picked up her pace.

Inside her chambers, Alana straightened out her hair and reapplied the paint to her lips - a bright, bold red that made her look intimidating. Even if this suitor was a woman, no one was going to look at her like a damsel in distress. She pulled apart the back of her corset to try to loosen it a bit (she had been wearing trousers around Hannibal and Will for so long she had forgotten how constricting they were) and sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap and gaze firmly on the door.

The woman that opened her door a moment later had the calculating look of someone who had fought to stand where she wished and won. Her jaw had a pleasant roundness to it that almost bellied those cunning eyes and venomous mouth. Alana wasn’t in love but it was near thing.

“Miss Verger,” Alana said evenly. She didn’t let her admiration show on her face - couldn’t, not yet.

“Lady Bloom,” Margot replied. Her voice was soft, delicate, but held the same promise of danger that swirled in her eyes. Alana wanted that danger, wanted it more than she ever wanted safety or a home, perhaps because that is what the danger promised - home.

“Have you come to take me away?” asked Alana.

“Only if you want to be taken,” replied Margot. She approached. “Though, I imagine you do.”

Alana smiled, slow and coquettish. “It may take some convincing.”

Margot returned the smile with her own devilish smirk. “Luckily, I am very good at convincing.”

…

An hour later, Alana and Margot emerged into the kitchen to find the Verger party and the Bloom guardians gathered around the dining table. Hannibal stood at the hearth, cooking in his typically flamboyant style. Will was engaging in hesitant conversation with the others, eyeing Freddie Lounds with particular wariness.

“It’s more complicated than ‘I liked him so I stayed’,” grumbled Will.

“There had never been such a violent, self-effacing courtship,” said Alana. All eyes turned towards her. “I can’t even remember how many times you two tried to kill each other.”

“At least four times each,” said Will. He traced a finger lazily over his stomach. Hannibal had a puckered scar on his side where a spear had been run through as retaliation. That was the biggest mess of them all.

“Five,” chimed Hannibal, voice almost dreamy with reminiscence.

Alana turned to look at Margot. Her tall collar was a little lopsided. “I’m leaving with Miss Verger,” she informed Hannibal and Will without turning away from Margot, who smiled faintly.

Nodding slowly, Hannibal said, “I guessed as much. I will fetch a horse in a moment. I assume you will not be needing your clothing?”

“No, thank you, Hannibal,” Alana said just as Chilton said, “That won’t be necessary, we brought our own horse,” and held up a little box. Only Hannibal could hear the quiet whine of magic, but everything could see the faint blue glow surrounding the box.

So that’s why he’s here, thought Alana. She said, “Thank you all for letting me join you.”

Jack Crawford grinned, all big white teeth and intimidating cheer. “It’s our pleasure, Lady Bloom.”

“It’s what we came here for,” said Lounds, who still hadn’t looked up from her notebook, quill dashing across the page.

Alana smiled at everyone, then looked down. Will was watching her with guarded eyes and Hannibal still hadn’t turned around, no longer cooking with enthusiasm.

“Of course,” she said, “I expect the two of you to visit regularly if that’s all right with Miss Verger.” She glanced at Margot from the corner of her eye.

“I would expect nothing less,” replied Margot, answering smile sly.

Hannibal hummed, his movements picking up speed. “I believe that can be arranged.”

Will’s eyes were no less guarded when he agreed, but his face softened a bit. Alana counted today as a victory.

#hannibalhallow #hannibal #hannigram #marlana #fanfic

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darling-i-read-it · 3 years

Text

Dolce

3x06

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, blood, drugs

Author’s Note: I don’t want to leave Florence :( but i do be missing the dogs

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: Jack seriously doubts Will's loyalties as the two renew their alliance. Mason Verger plots Hannibal Lecter's capture, while Lecter plans for his final stand.

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

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif)

all gifs @/rocktheholygrail

Hannibal sat in the bathtub. His head leaned against the side of it. Bedelia sat beside him. She wrung a sponge over his broken, beaten and cut body. Hannibal's eyes landed on hers and his pain saw you, wishing that you were there. He had been waiting for you and Will to arrive, wishing that it was going to happen. He wanted it to be you cleaning his wounds.

He needed it to be you cleaning his wounds.

His wish to have you come with him in the first place that was so strained he didn’t even realize the severity of it until just that moment. In pain, bleeding, sensing the end of something.

Jack Crawford looked at the dead body of Pazzi. It was being carted off by the police, the duck tape still pressed onto his face. Jack was tired. He had gotten a few scratches from his fight with Hannibal but none as severe as Hannibal’s.

Will walked up to Jack. Jack saw him out of the corner of his eye and situated himself toward his former colleague.

“He’s wounded and worried.” You emerged from the crowd behind Will and gave Jack a simple look. Both of you were scratched up. Dried blood covered Will’s forehead and there was a scratch on your cheek. You both clearly had been through something but Jack had not time to ask.

“Hannibal doesn’t worry. Knowing he’s in danger won’t rattle him any more than killing does,” Will said. The three of you looked into the Atrocious Torture Exhbiit, the place where Hannnibal and Jack had fought it out.

“If Rinaldo Pazzi decided to do his duty as an officer of the law, he could have detained Dr. Fell and determined very quickly that he was Hannibal Lecter. Would have taken thirty minutes to get a warrant,” Jack said solemnly.

“All those resources were denied to Pazzi. Once he decided to sell Hannibal, he became a bounty hunter,” Will stated. You scoffed.

“Serves him right. Mason Verger is trying to capture Hannibal himself for purposes of personal revenge. I've often wanted to use my own resources to drop him in his pig's den,” you muttered.

“Have you told la polizia they’re looking for Hannibal Lecter?” Will asked Jack.

“They’re motivated to find Dr. Fell inside the law. Knowing who he is..and what he’s worth, will just coax them out of bounds.”

“It would be a free-for-all,” Will pointed out.

“And Hannibal would slip away.” Jack paused. Both you and Will were facing opposite directions, looking at different artifacts. “Would you slip away with him?”

You and Will shared a look.

“Part of me will always want to,” Wil said.

“You have to cut that part out,” Jack argued.

“You aren’t FBI anymore Jack. You can’t tell either of us what to do,” you sneered. You believed that. Jack had no bearings over your feelings for Hannibal. You were annoyed he thought he had any.

“So you’ll go with him to jail?” Jack asked. You faced him completely.

“If I had come with him to Florence he wouldn’t be going to jail.”

“And that’s what you want?” Jack challenged. You stepped forward to him.

“I hate to see you win Jack.”

“You had him. He was beaten. Why didn’t you kill him?” Will asked, stepping in. Jack, eyes still on you, considered it.

“Maybe I need you to.”

Hannibal looked out the window. He was wearing a cozy sweater, cuddling into it for the last glimpse of hope he may get before a cage. He sketched into his book. Memories of Florence.

“I want to be able to draw these streets from memory. I want to be able to draw the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo,” Hannibal said whimsically. Bedelia approached him and took the book from his hand.

“You won’t be coming back here for a very long time,” she whispered.

“Memories of Florence will be all I have. Florence is where I became a man. I see my end in my beginning.”

“All of our endings can be found in our beginnings. History repeats itself and we can’t escape it,” Bedelia stated, turning into the home. Hannibal glanced at the small suitcase. Hsi coat was draped over it.

“You packed lightly,” he stated.

“I packed for you.” She paused a moment and off his questioning look, moved forward. “This is where I leave you. Or more accurately, where you leave me.”

Hannibal nodded slowly. His eyes scanned from the suitcase to her eyes. In essence he was aware he was giving up his Florence hope of you and him. He was aware that he was saying goodbye to Bedelia and also your alternate self.

In hopes to see you again, perhaps for real this time.

Bedelia put a needle carefully on her table. She saw the face of Chiyoh in the back of her mirror and turned around simply, confused at her presence.

“You must be looking for Hannibal Lecter. One of his patients?” she questioned.

“No, not a patient. Where is he?” Chiyoh asked. Her gun was in her hand delicately. It looked like it weighed a feather.

“Gone. Seeing how you let yourself in, I hope it’s not too forward to ask, who the hell are you?”

“Family,” Chiyoh landed on.

“Ah. You’ve come a long way from home,” Bedelia pointed out.

“Who are you?”

“I’m his psychiatrist.” Chiyoh glanced at the ampoule and needle. Bedelia shrugged.

“Medicinal purposes.” Chiyoh studied her further, her eyes narrowed.

“You’re like his bird. I’m his bird, too. I met another one, on the train ride here. He puts us in cages to see what we’ll do.”

“Fly away or dash ourselves dead against the bars,” Bedelia suggested.

“You haven’t flown away.”

Hannibal Lecter looked between the Primavera and his sketchbook. He was drawing it for the thousandth time but this time, in place of the garlanded nymph was your face. In place of pale zephyrus was Will.

Over Hannibal’s shoulder, Will walked into the room. Slowly, the suit that he was wearing suddenly seeming so stuffy. Will’s eyes landed on Hannibal for the first time since Hannibal gutted him. Both men battered and bruised.

He moved forward and gently laid a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal looked up at Will and smiled, pleased to see him. Will sat down beside Hannibal and for a moment they both absorbed the moment.

“Good to see you,” Will said.

“If I saw you everyday forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal said as he stared at the man that he loved. They stared at each other for a moment and Will’s smile seemed the brightest thing Hannibal had seen in so long.

“Strange to see you in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven’t been in years,” Will stated.

“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig,” Hannibal said lightly.

“I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. She wondered if our stars were the same.”

She.

You. “I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.”

“I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear what I was seeing,” Will explained.

“Where does difference between the past and the future come from?” Hannibal questioned.

“Mine? Before you and after you.” He paused. “Yours? It’s all starting to blur. Mischa. Abigail. Chiyoh.”

“How is Chiyoh?”

Between both boys shoulders, you emerged. You were wearing a gorgeous dress that you usually wouldn’t have pulled out. You bought it here in Florence. It reminded you of Hannibal. Plus your other clothes were bloodied. You looked just as battered and bruised as they did.

You all pulled it off with a regal amount of elegance.

“She pushed us off a train,” you said. Hannibal turned around to see you. The first time you had laid eyes on each other since you had kissed. It was interesting for Hannibal now. He had to double check that Will had heard you too.

“Atta girl.”

“Ah, it hurt,” you said. You walked around the bench and sat between them. They allowed you enough room. You looked at Hannibal and smiled. He smiled back at you.

“We have begun to blur,” Will said after a moment more of absorbing.

“Isn’t that how you found me?” Hannibal questioned.

“Even as the possibility of free will dissipates, my experience of it remains the same. I continue to feel and act as though I have it.”

You looked over at Will and then back at Hannibal. You placed your hands on your lap.

“Why did you let Bedelia live?” you asked. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I figured she had been long dead, gone through and out of your digestive system at this point. There should not have been an ounce of her left so imagine my surprise when I see her completely alive. Confused and lying, but alive.” Hannibal looked into your eyes and you understood.

“I think you know why.”

You held your gaze and then had to leave it in fear of getting emotional.

“Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Not just Abigail’s murder, but every murder streching backward and forward in time,” Will said after a moment.

“Then what’s left to do? Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you, they’re the same. No longer seeing you in people who aren’t you Y/N. You are part of his equation just as much as Will and I.”

You smiled solemnly.

“We’re conjoined. Curious if any of us can survive separation,” you mused.

“Now’s the hardest test: not letting rage and frustration, nor forgiveness, keep you from thinking.” Hannibal stood up and gestured for you to take his hand. “Shall we?” You took it and stood. Will’s hand was already interlaced between yours, something you did subconsciously when you sat down.

You all stood.

“After you,” Will muttered.

Together the three of you left the gallery. Worse for wear but something blossomed in your hearts, something that only the other two could bring out. You had walked only a few steps before Will was shot to the ground.

Hannibal held Will close to him, trying to get him into the chair. You stood beside him, helping him take his jacket off. Will winced and fell forward, his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Will’s shirt was soaked with blood. It was dripping down his arm from where the bullet wound entered.

“The bullet is still inside you. This will hurt.” Hannibal took the jacket all the way off and Will watched as Hannibal cut off his shirt. The three of you hadn’t been this close since you were last covered in Will’s blood.

“Chiyoh’s always been very protective of me,” Hannibal said as he looked into the wound.

“Tell her to back the hell off,” you sneered.

“Did she kill her tenant or did you?”

“She did,” Will choked out.

“Excellent.” Hannibal took Will’s knife you didn’t know he had with him, back into his limp hand. “You dropped your forgiveness, Will.” You stared at the blade, bloodied. You caught Will’s eyes. He hadn’t told you he had brought a weapon. “You forgive how God forgives. Would you have done it quickly, or would you have stopped to gloat?”

“Will?” you whispered.

“Does God gloat?” Will asked.

“Often,” Hannibal answered.

Hannibal moved a sharp needle into Will before you even noticed he had it. Will dropped the blade into Hannibal’s waiting hand. Will passed out.

Your mouth hung open as your gaze held the knife. You still had your hand putting pressure into Will’s wound but it loosened.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, looking up at Hannibal.

“I know,” Hannibal responded. “You wouldn’t have done it anyway. I’m going to dress his wound and get the bullet out. Would you mind waiting in the kitchen? Dinner is almost ready.”

You were so stunned that you stood up. You felt the pull of needing to be by Will but wondered what he would have done to Hannibal. Would you have gone with it?

Chiyoh was right.

You were not the kind of girl who followed a man's lead.

You grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder and pulled him up.

“Why are you staying?”

“Why didn’t you come with me?”

You stared at each other.

“I love Will.”

“The Bloody Valentines.” You scoffed and took the knife from Hannibal’s hands. You threw it off to the side.

“Will is drugged.”

“Are you going to drug me Hannibal?” You stared at each other and he kissed you feverishly, the way he had wanted to since you kissed him last. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him for dear life. You hadn’t touched him in so long.

You pulled away after a moment.

“I wanted to go,” you whispered. “I regretted now going.” You pulled away and stepped back. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Please fix Will.”

Will’s eyes fluttered open. Hannibal walked into the dining room with a large bowl in his hands. Will had a dish set out in front of him.

“I do not indulge much in regret, but I am sorry to be leaving Italy. There were things in the Palazzo Capponi I would have liked to read,” Hannibal admitted. In from the kitchen came you, holding a different dish. You placed it on the table.

A last dodge attempt at normalcy.

“I would have liked to play the clavier and perhaps compose. I might have cooked for the Widow Pazzi, when she overcame her grief. I would have liked to show you both Florence.”

You sat down beside Will and spoon fed him some soup. He looked over at you, confused, doped up.

“The soup isn’t very good,” he slurred.

“It’s a parsley-and-thyme infusion, and more for my sake than yours. Have another sip, let it circulate,” Hannibal explained. Will took another spoon from you. Will and you finally noticed the final place setting at the end of the table.

“Are we expecting company?”

Hannibal grabbed your arm tightly and stood you up.

“It will be Jack,” he told you.

You glanced at Will, out of his mind and slowly losing sight. Hannibal was giving you the invitation you had wanted since Jack stepped into Will’s classroom to talk about Garret Jacob Hobbs.

Jack opened the door to Pazzi’s home. He had his gun held up high as he looked around every corner before he stepped forward. Eventually, Will at the end of the table came into view.

He walked forward and up to Will who blinked, focused on Jack and took a deep breath.

“Hannibal’s under the table, Jack,” Will muttered. Before Jack could react you had grabbed him from behind and a blade slashed Jack’s achilles heel.

Jack dropped hard.

Hannibal turned to you and his gaze softened.

“You will not join me in prison,” he whispered. Your eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed your arm and shoved a needle into your side. You let out a small, betrayed sigh and passed out.

Jack came to and found himself seated opposite Will.

“I’ve taken the liberty of giving you something to help you relax. Won’t be able to do much more than chew, but that’s all you’ll need to do. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask you during our last encounter, but did you enjoy the exhibition? A different kind of evil minds museum,” Hannibal said to Jack.

“Not so different,” Jack retored. He noticed you were gone from the room.

“The promoters are failed taxidermists who formerly got along by eating offal from the trophies they mounted things that bring people together.”

“We were supposed to sit down together back in Baltimore...the three of us. And Y/N.”

“You were to be the guest of honor,” Hannibal said, ignoring the mention of your name. Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine and took a leisurely sip.

“Where…” Will started but he didn’t finish.

“Jack was the first to suggest getting inside your head,” Hannibal said. “Now be both have the opportunity to chew quite literally what we’ve only chewed figuratively.”

Hannibal held a bone saw in his hands. Jack suddenly realized what was going on. For a moment, all Jack could think about was what you would say if you were in the room.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Blood trickled down Will’s head despite his protests.

3x07

#hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal imagines

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flickdirect · 6 years

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Where to begin?!? Where to begin! I suppose with ALERT: THERE WILL BE SPOILERS! Now then… While a fan of Marvel, its Cinematic Universe, and Thor in all film appearances (& beyond, er, before…), the Thor films have not been among my favorites. That is until now. Directed by Taika Waititi (What We Do in the Shadows; Flight of the Concords), Thor: Ragnarok lands among the best of the Marvel Cinematic Universe's 17 film releases to date with a hero make-over that goes beyond the aesthetics. (Hello, Stan Lee!)

In his seventh film appearance (eighth if you're counting "Easter Eggs"), both Chris Hemsworth (Ghostbusters; Vacation) and his alter ego have evolved. There is a confidence and maturity in both character (c'mon...the dude's like 1,000[ish] years old, now) and portrayer (far younger than 1,000 making it a little more impressive...I suppose) that allow for some deft Asgardian humor that is intentional rather than merely situational amongst Midgardians.

The Lord...er, God of Thunder might only be slightly more humble, but he has learned to laugh at himself even when the punchline hits him right in the gut. The synthesis of ego and gained humility allow for a more aloof immortal who is (somewhat) more relatable to mere mortals. Yet, he remains determined, commanding...throne worthy.

As the film opens, we get a recap of Thor's adventures through the galaxy (ies?) courtesy of some boastful reminiscing on his part. In a cocksure feign of reluctance, he concedes his lack of success in obtaining any of the Infinity Stones. However, he's not catching up with Jane about their time apart, or chatting up a Valkyrie over an endless tankard of beer. No. His attentive friend is a skeleton with whom he shares a hanging cage. The humor in the opening scene sets the stage for what is to come...plenty of laughs throughout in the undoubtedly funniest of Thor films (& one of MCU's, too).

Of course, director Taika Waititi makes sure to remind us that this is still a world in which there will always be battles to be fought with plenty of exhilarating action. So, after one last chuckle at a fashionably late hammer, we are bestowed with some classic Thor wielding and soaring in a Hel-a well-executed choreography synched to Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song." Fitting in so many ways. (Some which extend beyond film)

Speaking of Hela...Cate Blanchett (...Benjamin Button; Lord of the Rings; how does one narrow the list??). Yes. Just Cate Blanchett, because how does one capture the essence of a preternatural occurrence within a supernatural realm with mere mortal locution. The challenge could be likened to preventing Ragnarok. Alas, similarly, it has already begun.

Blanchett makes for a magnificently mesmerizing and majestic Hela, Goddess of Death. Ambitious, vile, violent, and exceptionally exquisite every evil instance such that she captures one's adoration, adulation, and complete devotion. She is Thor's (lest we forget Loki's) spectacularly sinister sister. Odin's first-born; executioner capturing the nine realms at his side. Rightful heir to the throne?!? Oh, let the sibling rivalry ensue. Alas, the Goddess of Death can be as droll and sardonic as only a depraved sibling can be while unleashing sadistic brutality upon any and all.

Which brings us to Loki (whom we sorta skipped over, but Hel-o, Cate). Of course, Tom Hiddleston (Kong: Skull Island; High-Rise) is equally enchanting; unfailingly charming in his reprisal of Loki, God of Mischief. When Thor returns to Asgard from his rocked out Zeppelin driven defeat of Surtur, he discovers monuments and memorials to his "late" brother Loki have taken over. Stumbling upon Odin (Sir Anthony Hopkins of...really? Ok...Hannibal; The Elephant Man) feeding on grapes, he is met with a bewildering theatrical reenactment paying homage to the royal family (with Loki as the beloved hero played by none other than Matt Damon! And Thor by another Hemsworth...Luke!). Oh, the fear in Odin's eyes when...wait a minute...Loki!

Off to New York in search of Odin. The laughs continue on Midgard (Earth, people. It's frickin' Earth, OK.) Some wizardry not at the hands of Loki, and we're off to a family reunion of sorts...Thor, Loki, Odin, Hela; courtesy of Benedict Cumberbatch's (Star Trek: Into Darkness; Sherlock) Dr. Strange and a strand of Thor's h. Dr. Strange, it seems, has also unearthed a sense of humor. (I look forward to more of it in his future appearances.) Needless to say, as often happens when family gathers, all Hell[a] breaks loose. A sibling brawl ensues that leaves one's toy (Thor's Mjölnir) destroyed by another (the bratty Hela), and results in all three (Thor, Hela & Loki) coming to blows on an astral rainbow highway straight out of MarioKart. (Just a typical day in any multi-child household.)

As with any highway, there are going to be some wacky exits along the way. Thor's exit off the sparkly highway lands him in Sakaar where he can only be food...or, a contender. As he is subdued and about to be made a meal by a gaggle of scavengers, a ship arrives and out stumbles Thor's drunk rescuer. His hero(ine)'s intentions turn out to be less about benevolence, and more about survival. She, 142, presents him to the Grandmaster (supreme ruler of Sakaar) and collects a generous reward for his delight in the contender that she has brought him. Tessa Thompson (Creed; Dear White People; Westworld) is commanding as the fierce and feisty 142.

Jeff Goldblum (Jurassic Park; Independence Day) tickles as the fanciful, freaky, 14 million(ish) year old Grandmaster that teased us in a GoG2 Easter Egg. (Perhaps, you're more familiar with his brother...Benicio del Toro's Collector.) Goldblum infuses the "First Lost/First To Be Found" with his quintessential quirk. Palatable in a rather endearing way; pushing creepy just the same. Spared the melting stick (yes, it really is called that), Sparkles, the Lord of Thunder (as the Grandmaster has baptized him) must now enter the gladiator ring in the "Contest of Champions."

Imagine Thor's delight and Loki's mortification (yes, he's in Sakaar...arrived weeks ago) when the current (& reigning) champion is none other than a friend of Thor's from work! It's Hulk! More comedic territory to cover with Mark Ruffalo (Now You See Me; Shutter Island) re-emerging as Hulk (and, eventually, Bruce Banner), but it's best to watch for yourself. We'll just fast forward through the highlights…

142 turns out to be a Valkyrie (legendary Asgardian female warriors & Thor's childhood dream job). She joins Thor and his friend Bruce (with whom she shares this feeling of familiarity as if they've met before...blah, blah) who's also the strongest Avenger, but wearing Tony Stark's Duran Duran Rio t-shirt (shout outs all over the place there). They form "The Revengers" with Loki as a sorta member, sorta prisoner, a sorta hero (wait, what?!?), sorta not; and, start a revolution with the help of Korg (delightfully animated by none other than a playful Taika Waititi). Out of The Devil's Anus (you heard [read] me), they soar to rescue Asgard which is a people, and not a place. (Phew! That was a mouthful.)

The elegant Idris Elba returns (& captivates) as Heimdall. Karl Urban joins as the imbecile Skurge. If you've seen any of his more outstanding performances, or have had a chance to speak with him as I have...Commercial Interruption: Check out my interview with Skurge's alter ego, Karl Urban! (Shameless cross-promotion is in my job description.) Back to my point, his performance as the moronic, survivalist Skurge is superb as Urban is a complete contrast to his onscreen alter ego.

Written by Eric Pearson, Craig Kyle, and Christopher L. Yost; based on comics by Stan Lee, Larry Lieber, and Jack Kirby. Presented by Marvel Entertainment from Marvel Studios for Walt Disney Pictures (or, something like that), tickets for Thor Ragnarok are now available. GO! NOW! RUN! Fill in the blanks for yourself! Peace out. Wait...I almost forgot! There are TWO Easter Eggs! [drop mic] Grade: A+

About Judith Raymer It was the classic movies shown Saturdays after the morning cartoon lineup that piqued Judith's curiosity for film. That curiosity would give way to a lifetime of exploration and contribution to media productions of all sorts — meandering through the worlds of fashion, public relations, advertising, film and television.

Read more reviews and content by Judith Raymer.

via FlickDirect Entertainment News and Film Reviews

#IFTTT #FlickDirect Entertainment News and Film Reviews

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years

Text

Futamono

2x06

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, sorta cheating? If not i’m walking a fine line

Author’s Note: This episode! It hit different. In particular there are a few scenes that I am very excited for you to read so reactions are greatly GREATLY appreciated because I love love reading them as they come. I really hope you enjoy! not gonna lie its hard to write something that might hurt will so i might just protect him through and through lol

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary : A city councilman's body is found intertwined with a tree, Jack crashes Hannibal's dinner party to investigate Will's suspicions, and a revelation shocks everyone

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

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95

(not my gif)

The Baltimore State Hospital was colder than usual. You felt it as you walked down the hallway to where Will was. You felt odd. Like your stomach was in knots and you never had that with Will. He never gave you that feeling.

As you stopped in front of the cell he turned around. He sat down, like he would usually when you were there. He kept note that you did not sit down on your white line, nor did you approach the bars. You weren’t scared of him, he knew you weren’t. But you didn’t look exactly happy with him either.

“Hi,” Will said, breaking a crackling loud silence.

“Hannibal Lecter is alive. In case you were wondering.”

“I was not,” he told you. You let out an annoyed sigh and looked down at the ground. You had thought about how to approach this with Will but every rehearsed conversation felt wrong. This didn't feel exactly right either.

“Will,” you whispered and met his eyes. He stared at you and you stared at him. You shared a few words with your eyes.

“Chilton will have a hard time figuring out this conversation,” he muttered and you cracked a small smile.

“You can’t send a man to kill Hannibal even if you think that he is the Ripper.” He raised a betrayed eyebrow.

“I didn’t send anyone to kill Hannibal. And are you saying he isn’t the Ripper? Did his kiss persuade you that much?”

You imagined Chilton hearing that over the speaker. Probably got popcorn to accompany this conversation for the dramatic guy he was.

“I still think he is.”

“And you have no problem with that?”

“Of course I have the problem with murder,” you breathed. You sat down on the white line finally and he was happy to see you at his eye level again. You stared at each other hard and he knew you knew that he sent someone to kill Hannibal. There was no need to say it. “This isn’t going to help you in the eyes of everyone,” you whispered.

“I’m not scared anymore,” he admitted. You mulled that over for a minute.

“I’m glad. I still don’t condone murder on either side.” Will smirked a bit, laughing.

“Actions speak better than words.”

“Jacks gonna come speak to you about this.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Oh I have no doubt. I’m just giving you a girlfriend worthy heads up so you could plan.”

You walked into Hannibal’s house with the spare key he had given you. You put your bag down quietly as you heard the sound of piano through the air. It calmed you immediately. Your emotional turmoil had been something else.

There was much confusion in your brain but really you were mostly worried about both of the men in your life while also being more worried about your dogs. You had to walk them tonight but you decided to stop by Hannibal’s to see how he was doing.

You walked into the main room and Hannibal continued to play. You listened quietly, leaning against the wall. Eventually he stopped to put something else in his composition. You walked up to him and put your hands on his sweater clad shoulders. He smiled, not having to turn around to know it was you.

“That was beautiful,” you whispered. You wrapped your arms around his neck from behind and looked over the composition like you understood it.

“It’s proving to be more difficult than I was hoping,” he said honestly. He grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit beside him. You did so.

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly. He shrugged, writing in another note before turning to you.

“I feel as though that noose were still around my neck. It’s strange to have nightmares. Never used to,” he whispered. You nodded solemnly. You understood that better than most.

“You’re always welcome to call the house if you need something,” you said quietly and honestly. Your nightmares hadn’t gotten much better but you were trying to pull through at the house by yourself. Still, knowing Hannibal was there had made you feel better.

“Thank you,” he whispered back to you. You looked at the piano and then back at Hannibal. He stared at you. “I can no longer work with Jack. Or Will.” You were surprised to hear that. Then again, you should have expected it. Almost dying can do that to a person.

“What does that mean?” you whispered.

“I won’t be consulting on any cases with Jack. You’re welcome to continue to work for me and be my…” he paused, “friend but I can no longer assume that I can help Will. I can’t trust him. He’s in a dark place where the shadows move. It’s not safe to stand with him anymore.”

You looked away from Hannibal and at the wall in front of you as you processed what you were being told.

“I hope you understand that I care about you Hannibal,” you whispered, turning to him. “But I will continue to see Will.” He nodded.

“I understand.” You weren’t sure where you stood with him then.

“Play it again,” you told him, voice barely audible.

He put his hands on the keys and you imagined those hands taking a life.

It wasn’t much of a stretch.

Alana walked beside you as you walked the dogs. It was nice to be around them. It was almost like Will was with you at the same time. You were walking through the barren land around the house and she accompanied you upon your request.

“My head is full of conspiracies. There are too many versions of events. He said. She said. He said. He said. She said. It’s maddening,” Alana told you, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. “The one thing I have clarity on is, Will tried to kill Hannibal.”

You glanced at her.

“He believes that’s the only way to catch the Ripper.”

“And you think the same thing? I notice how you’ve gotten closer with Hannibal.” You shrugged, still sore from the last conversation you had with the man.

“Jealous?” you teased.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she whispered. “And no.”

“I think that Hannibal is more capable of senseless murder than Will. They’re both capable of murder. Will has never lied to me.” You paused. “He only lies to me when he knows I can see through him.” You turned to Alana and stopped walking. She stared back at you. “And you? Where do you stand?”

“I haven’t given up on Will. Just re-evaluating who I think he’s become.” You glanced at her.

“Will has always been this way. He just didn’t like to show it.”

“I feel like I’ve been watching our friendship on a split screen. The friendship I perceived on one side and the truth on the other,” Hannibal said. Will sat in his cage and stared at his former therapist. They stared at each other with a sense of competitiveness and a mix of entertainment.

“It’s a terrible feeling isn’t it?” Will asked, numbly but with a stab at Hannibal.

“You’ve been lying to me, Will.”

“I don’t have a gauge for reality that works well enough to know if I’ve been lying or not,” Will said simply. Hannibal had a sense Will had him right where he wanted him. It was impressive.

“You understand the reality of Beverly Katz’s death. You understand your role in that.”

“What was my role?”

“Beverly died at your behest. You’re as angry with yourself as you are with whoever murdered her.” Will didn’t show much emotion but spite.

“Actually, I’m not. I’m singularly angry at whoever murdered her.”

“You tried to kill me, Will. It’s hard not to take that personally. However, if I were Beverly’s murderer, I’d applaud your effort,” Hannibal said. They shared a look.

“I’m no more guilty of what you’ve accused me of than you are of what I have accused you of,” he stated simply.

“Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom and Y/N Y/L/N believe you are responsible,” Hannibal stated.

“Or Y/N Graham as the people say,” Will said simply. Hannibal fought his amusing anger. “And where does responsibility begin and end, Dr. Lecter? With a final act or the events that led to it?” Will asked.

“I don’t expect you to feel self-loathing or regret or shame. You knew what you were doing and you made your own decisions. Decisions that were under your control.” Will scoffed.

“You think I’m in control?” Will asked. “Where does Y/N stand with you Dr. Lecter?” Will stared hard. “Are you still actively pursuing her? Are you pursuing me? Or perhaps the fact that she’s still dating the man who allegedly tried to have you murdered is putting a dent in your plans.” Hannibal put his hand on his arm, holding it. The two men stared at each other, not as men competing for a woman's love but as men who were toying with the idea that there was a connection they weren’t going to sever. Hannibal hoped to cut that link despite the fact he knew it wouldn’t work.

“We were friends before I met you and I imagine we’ll be friends after we part ways.” Will smiled in arrogance of the knowledge you would likely do anything for him.

“Well I’ll be curious to see how that works out for you. She’ll tell me at her weekly visits.” Hannibal raised his chin and hardened his look.

“Good-bye Will.”

Will was not amused.

As Hannibal walked to his car he opened his phone. He dialed the top number on his phone.

“Hello,” you said, sounding distracted. “Sorry, feeding the dogs.”

“I’m throwing a dinner party tonight. You’re attending I hope.” You hummed a yes.

“Of course.” Hannibal smiled.

“I’m glad.”

Hannibal put his hand on your hair and fixed a piece that was out of place. You both held champagne glasses in your hands and were talking to some of his colleagues. You had been complimented on your look seven times already, twice by Hannibal.

You had yet to touch the food. You believed Will there.

Jack and Chilton spoke, watching the two of you chat.

“Prosciutto roses. Heart tartare. Beed roulade. Needless to say, I won’t be eating the food,” Chilton said.

“Dr. Chilton,” Jack chastised.

“Hannibal the Cannibal That’s what they’ll call him you know. And look at Mrs. Graham. Curiously enough I have no idea what her angle is.” Jack nodded.

“She’s always been a bit confusing.”

You laughed at something a guest was saying as Hannibal laughed about it. You were barely listening.

“I didn’t know you had a lady friend Hannibal. Are you Mrs. Lecter?” one of the ladies said. You paused which made Hannibal laugh. You hadn’t been prepared for that.

“No, I’m...we aren’t together,” you said simply although your voice didn’t sound very convincing. Jack grabbed your arm and you turned to him, surprised. “Please excuse me.”

He pulled you aside.

“Have you eaten something?” he asked. You shook your head.

“Amazing you think I don’t listen to my own boyfriend.” You stared at Chilton and shook your head. “No, I have not.”

“I’m...I can’t believe I’m telling you this... I’m listening to Will,” he said. Your mouth flew open.

“Wait a second, you can listen? You can listen to people?” you asked sarcastically. Jack gave you a look.

“I’m telling you, just in case.” You nodded and Hannibal walked over.

“Jack, I’m happy you’re here. In many ways, you are the guest of honor. You saved my life, after all,” Hannibal said, putting his hand on the small of your back. You didn’t move it. Jack made note.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay. But I’d like to take some food to go.”

You stared at him and he stared back.

Maybe Jack did listen after all.

You sat at the piano by yourself after the dinner party. You put your fingers on the keys and started to play the only thing you knew by heart.

Chopsticks.

Hannibal walked over and sat beside you.

“The ending to my composition has been alluding me. You may have solved my problem with Chopsticks,” he said laughing. He put his fingers on the keys and played a background to the simple tune you carried.

“If only all our problems could be solved with a simple waltz,” you said honestly. Hannibal didn’t look at you.

“I’ve walked away from Will, but I’m still trailing his accusations that you believe,” he told you.

“Alana has also walked away. You’ve both continued to make eventual fools of yourself,” you said simply, pushing a key down loudly before meeting Hannibal’s eyes.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I believe him. You know that.” Hannibal turned to you and you stared at him. Silence ensued the Lecter household. You broke the quiet.

“Would you like to stay the night?” he asked.

“Hannibal Lecter, I’m not that kind of girl,” you said laughing a bit. “But yes. I would.” You turned to him quietly and stood up, holding your hand to him. He took it and the two of you walked to his bedroom where you tossed a shirt from his dresser at him while taking one for yourself. You got dressed facing away from each other and then got into bed.

You stared at each other, hair pressed against the pillows.

“Goodnight Hannibal,” you whispered.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You nuzzled your head into the pillow and he leaned forward. He kissed you and this time you let him. You brought your hand to his cheek and he leaned over you. His hands caressed your hair.

You pulled away after a moment.

“I’m not that kind of girl,” you whispered back at him again. His lips were still practically touching yours as he spoke.

“I know you aren’t.”

He leaned back into his side of the bed.

“If Alana Bloom had stayed behind, this would be a different story.” Your mouth dropped open and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wow, I’m sorry should I call her?” you asked, laughing. He shook his head.

“I prefer you. You help with nightmares.”

“It’s my magic power.”

Both of you thought about Will.

You moved forward and Hannibal wrapped an arm around your shoulder, your head on his chest. You both fell asleep to even breathing and a peaceful room.

You woke up, your head nuzzled into a pillow. You opened your eyes slowly and met the face of Hannibal Lecter. You had expected to see Will. Despite that disappointment you smiled at the fact that for the first time since the murder, you had a dreamless sleep.

“Peaceful sleep?” you asked. Hannibal opened his eyes, stopping from pretending to sleep.

“Yes. You?”

“No nightmares. Not even a dream,” you said dreamily. “Perhaps you have a superpower too.” The bell rang and you both looked up startled.

“The last person who rang my doorbell this early was you,” he admitted. “And it clearly isn’t you.”

He slid out of bed and put on a robe before walking to the front door. You walked to the bathroom, finding one of the old robes in there. You walked down the hallway, the sound of Hannibal's voice echoing.

“Here. All night,” Hannibal said. You rubbed your eyes.

“Anyone beside you can verify that?” You walked in without thinking, not even registering the voice as Jacks until it was too late.

“She can,” Hannibal said simply. His face flashed surprise but he tamped it quickly.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” you said but Jack shook his head.

“All I need to know is if you were here all night.” You glanced between the two and nodded simply.

“He was here all night. We both were.” You glanced at Hannibal. “I’m gonna go,” you said quietly and he nodded solemnly. You turned around but you felt four eyes on you and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

You walked into your home. It still smelled like Will. Maybe Will smelled like the house. You couldn’t quite distinguish it. The dogs pooled around your feet and you pet them, glad you were back early enough to where their food schedule wouldn’t be off at all.

You fed each of them and they walked around the bowls together.

You walked to the made bed and felt guilt rise in your chest. It didn’t feel like you had cheated on Will. He knew Hannibal was pursuing you. You knew Hannibal was almost in a backwards way pursuing Will.

But still as you sat on the bed you grabbed Will’s blanket you got him for Christmas and held it to your chest. He would be back. He would sleep beside you again.

Even if you were mad at him you loved him to pieces.

You imagined you always would.

You wanted to go see him. You got up to do so when the phone rang. You picked it up on the second ring after noticing it was Jack.

“Hello?” You were nervous he was gonna bring up the morning you had had.

“I got the results of a murder that happened a few days ago. And Will didn’t kill any of the people we thought he did.” You wanted to make a sarcastic quip because duh but you just sat back down on the bed. It felt so nice to hear Jack say what you knew in your heart. You grabbed Will’s blanket with your hand without looking at it.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

He was silent as you assumed he prepped to tell you that you were right all along.

“We’ve found four lures that are almost identical to the ones we found at your house, made with materials from the exact human remains. There was no copycat. It was always the Ripper.” He paused again. “Will and you were right.”

You let out a shaky sigh and smiled widely.

“No shit,” you muttered and Jack had the heart to laugh.

“I’ll call you with the details later.” He hung up the phone and you sat on your bed and you let a few laughs of happiness out mixed with some tears of happiness.

The dogs came to you and you pet them each individually. You spoke to them in a happy tone.

“I think dads coming home.”

2x07

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter

219 notes · View notes

darling-i-read-it · 4 years

Text

Buffet Froid

1x10

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, mental health problems

Author’s Note: The art of making it look like i like hannibal when he annoyed the fuck out of me this episode. Also it is so hard to write this cause my HEART i just wanna hug will UGH

I took lines directly from the script so some may seem familiar. Those sentences are not mine.

Official Episode Summary : Two victims' faces are similarly mutilated. For the first time, Will contaminates a crime scene thinking he committed the first murder and an MRI shows he suffers from Advanced Encephalitis.

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

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll

(not my gif)

You sat in the car. You were outside of a crime scene, the house looking ominous as it loomed over what had happened inside. There were so many people outside, taking pictures and talking. Will was inside. You had driven him, per his request. You usually didn’t come to the crime scenes but they had been acting off, like he was almost on autopilot when he asked you to take him. Your fingers drummed on the steering wheel as you stared out, trying to catch glimpses of people you knew.

You saw Bev walk out quickly making her way to the car. You rolled down the window and she shook her head a bit as she walked up.

“You should go talk to Will,” she said.

“What happened?” Bev looked back at the house, at Jack who had just exited the house. You looked at her, the worried look on her face evident.

“He contaminated the crime scene. He’s never done that before,” Beverly said. “His hands were around her throat.”

You were surprised to hear that, rightly so. You unlocked the car and got out, walking across the yard beside Beverly who was quick to give anyone a look that even thought about protesting to your presence. Will had come out when you weren’t looking. He was talking to Jack.

“I got lost in the reconstruction. Just for a second. Just a blink,” Will was saying as you walked up to him. Jack barley took notice of your presence but Will looked at you, surprised to see you there by his eyes. He didn’t protest it though. You knew before he could tell you. He had lost some time.

“I know you don’t like to be a subject of concern, but consider me officially concerned,” Jack said. You scoffed and Jack glanced at you but didn’t show any emotion.

“Officially,” Will said.

“About time,” you muttered.

“Wait in the car,” Jack said to you. You raised your hands in defiance.

“I’m here on a warning from Beverly,” you said, glancing at Will. He shook his head.

“I’ll be there soon,” he muttered. You nodded and he reached out to grab your hand and for a second he held it, quietly, looking confused and worried and scared. Your hand slipped from his and you walked over to the car.

“Thought the reason you have me seeing Dr. Lecter and not an FBI psychiatrist is so my mental well-being stays unofficial,” Will muttered, watching you go.

“Have I broken you?” Jack asked. “Is your girlfriend right this time?”

“Do you have anybody that does this better unbroken then I do broken?” Will asked. “And she’s always right.”

“Fear makes you rude, Will,” Jack said as Will walked to the car. His hands shook. He always seemed to be shaking. He stooped at the drivers window and you looked at him, elbow resting on the open window and your hand propped up by your palm.

“We should go to Hannibal after this,” you muttered.

“Why are you here?” he asked. It wasn’t rude. He was only asking.

“You asked me to drive you.” He nodded, glancing back at the house. “I have to look at the body again.” A beat of silence.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Gutting a fish,” he whispered. You nodded. He had gone fishing yesterday though.

“We’ll go to Hannibal’s together.”

“Sit in,” he whispered, referring to the session.

“I will.” He nodded and walked back to the house. You fought the tears threatening to fall from seeing him in so much confusion.

“I can’t remember seeing her dead body before I saw myself killing her,” Will said. He glanced at you sheepishly. You sat on Hannibal’s desk which was your resident spot when you sat into sessions. You didn’t do it often and you only did it with Will’s request or permission. He wanted a witness today, to whatever it is that Hannibal had prepared for him.

“Those memories sank out of sight, yet you’re aware of their absence,” Hannibal inquired. Will was pacing around the room, his mind on fire.

“They left a slick on the surface of my mind where they’re supposed to be,” he said.

“Where you hope they’re supposed to be, but fear they never were.” Will looked haunted. The false memories made him reel. The dying human under his hands had felt so real.

“There’s a grandiosity in the violence I imagined that feels more real than what I knew is true,” he said.

“What do you know to be true?” Hannibal asked.

“I know I didn’t kill her. Couldn’t have. But I remember cutting into her. I remember watching her die.”

“You must overcome these delusions that are disguising your reality. What savage delusions does this killer have?” Hannibal questioned. He was walking around the room as well, but in smaller spaces.

“It wasn’t savage. It was lonely...desperate...sad,” Will said, his eyes glossed over.

“Are you lonely Will?” Hannibal asked. Will shook his head then paused. Your heart sank and you hung off his answer.

“No. That was the killer,” he said. “But I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked through me, past me. Like I was a stranger,” he whispered.

“What could this be? It has to be something that we can treat,” you said. Will looked at you and nodded.

“It could be a blood clot. Or a tumor. Just an answer is better than anything,” Will said. Hannibal glanced at you and Will as you stared at each other, nodding in agreement. Your emotions hung off Will’s. It didn’t matter if you were an empath or not. You knew Will well enough to know when enough was enough.

“I can recommend a neurologist. But if it isn’t physiological then you have to accept what you’re struggling with is mental illness,” Hannibal said.

“It isn’t,” you whispered.

Hannibal looked only at you as you seemed to bore holes into the ceiling now. You had a dangerous knowledge of Will Graham. Hannibal thought that might be a problem.

You were with Hannibal and Will into the medical office. You held Will’s hand and he held yours like a lifeline. You sat at chairs beside each other that happened to be far enough away where his hand slipped out of yours. He held them now in his lap, fingers fidgeting.

“What did the headaches start? In earnest?” Dr. Sutcliffe asked. Will glanced at you.

“Two to three months ago,” Will said and you nodded in agreement.

“About the time Will went back into the field,” you said.

“When I met him,” Hannibal added.

“The hallucinations?” Sutcliffe asked.

“I don’t know exactly when they started. I just slowly became aware that I might not be dreaming.”

Hannibal walked with Sutcliffe behind a large piece of glass. You stayed with Will for a few minutes, taking his clothes in his hand as he put on the hospital dress. He let out a small sigh as you looked at him.

“What if nothing comes up?” he asked.

“We’ll deal with that when it comes.”

Will looked at you and you looked at him. He was ready to go but he waited. Eyes glancing around your body wildey.

“If nothing comes up than I am, by definition, likely insane,” he told you quietly. “And if-”

“I’m not going to go anywhere,” you said. Will looked broken. He looked tired. You grabbed his hand and brought it to your lips, kissing the back of it. “I love you.”

His breath seemed to relax. He knew you but he wasn’t sure that when he woke up you would be gone. He might be seriously ill but knowing you were there still made him feel better.

“I love you too.” You kissed him and he kissed you back desperately.

“Go get your brain scanned now. You have lipstick on your lips,” you said as you pulled away. He laughed very subtly adn shrugged, wiping it off with his hand.

“I don’t think it’ll mess up the results.”

“You never know.”

You stood beside Will again before the doctor. He pointed to the brain scan.

“We didn’t find anything abnormal. No vascular malformations, no tumors. No swelling or bleeding. No evidence of stroke. Nothing wrong with you neurologically,” the doctor said. Will’s face was clearly troubled. “Usually when I tell a patient that, they’re happy to hear it.”

“So... what I’m experiencing is psychological?” Will asked.

“Brain scans can’t diagnose a mental disorder. They can only rule out medical illnesses, like a tumor, that can cause similar symptoms.”

“And there’s no chance you’ve mixed up the photos? Or maybe the machine was malfunctioning? I hear that happens,” you said stiffly.

“Y/N,” Will muttered but you shook your head.

“We can do more tests if it’ll make you feel better. Take some blood samples, but I imagine they'll be just as inconclusive.”

For some reason you doubted the truth in that but you didn’t voice it.

You walked into Jack Crawford's office. He took off his glasses and looked up at you, clearly not excited to see you.

“Does Will need something?” Jack asked.

“Stability. A new brain perhaps,” you said. Jack looked you up and down and he knew that you meant business.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice monotone.

“Will’s always been a bit odd. Always. It was what drew me to him in the first place,” you said.

“Listen-”

“Shut up.” He shut up. “When Will went back into the field it was because you wanted him to. Will wants to please people. He wants to save lives. He wants to use his gift for good but for each life he saves a little piece of him is burned and singed. You broke Will Jack Crawford and I won’t let you forget it,” you said evenly, looking down at him.

“Do you have a life outside of Will Graham?”

“I did before you broke him and now I have to advocate where he cannot.”

“We were never going to be friends,” Jack said.

“No, no we weren’t.”

Come midnight when Will hadn’t arrived home you woke up. You were getting a suspicious amount of sleep. You had gone to bed, assuming he would be back soon after you fell asleep. Jack sometimes had him out late hours and he was likely to be back. But when you woke up and he was still gone you started to panic a bit.

You calmed yourself, trying to reason that he was maybe still at work. You called his cell. No answer.

You got up out of bed and put on some clothes. With him sleepwalking, losing time, he could be anywhere. You told yourself to add a tracker to his phone.

You got into the car and drove the streets for a few minutes. He wasn’t there. You then drove to Hannibal’s which was the only other place your mind could come up with. You knocked on the door at about 12:30, shaking from the cold and worry. It took Hannibal a moment to come to the door but he eventually did, wearing his robe and rubbing his eyes.

“I thought you were Will,” he admitted.

“Will hasn’t come home yet. He won’t pick up the phone but I’m guessing he’s not here,” you said, looking past him.

“Have you tried the crime scene?” he questioned. You shook your head but that must be where he was. It had to be.

“No but I’ll go there now. I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t apologize.” He was about to shut the door when you turned around but he stopped. “He’ll be there. I’m sure your expertise in finding strays will help,” Hannibal said simply. You nodded and walked back to the car.

On your way there you got a call from Will.

“Where the f-”

“I just sent you the address. Come quickly.” He hung up and you did as you were told, driving faster to the destination you were already going to. You were there in under ten minutes from where you had been on your drive and you got out, walking quickly up to Will.

“I thought you were dead!” you yelled, throwing your arms around him. He shook his head but let you hold him.

“Not yet,” he muttered. “I called Beverly to help me figure out the crime scene,” he said.

“Then why did you tell me to come?”

“Emotional support.” You nodded and held him tighter.

You woke up with a start. Will was thrashing beside you and you put your arm on his side instinctively. You couldn’t tell what had woken you up. It could be anything. The weather, your dreams but you felt like it was something out. You looked around for any disturbances. The dogs were still sleeping but you got up and looked around, trying to find what had woken you.

You walked through the kitchen and the downstairs but you couldn’t find anything. When you were back in the bedroom Will was awake, standing up.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“Something woke me up. I was trying to figure out what.” You walked back over to him and back into bed.

“Probably wind,” he muttered. You put your arms around him as he got back in too and he put his head on your chest. You kissed his curls.

“Probably,” you whispered.

Will went in for more tests a few days later. He looked up at you as you stood in the same spots you had, with you holding his clothes as he stripped them.

“Jack talked to me,” he said.

“Proceed with caution,” you whispered and he chuckled.

“He thinks I stayed in the job because of the stability. That Jack created stability for me, a foundation.”

“If he keeps going on like that you’re going to be investigating his murder,” you muttered bitterly. “Would you still date me if I murdered someone?” He shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. I mean, I’d have to consider it.”

“Wrong answer Graham,” you said laughing lightly. He loved these moments. Moments where it was just laughing, joking.

“I would date you if you killed someone. I mean I might have to turn you in but prison can’t be that hard on a relationship,” he said. You nodded.

“Right back at you bubba,” you whispered.

“I have killed someone.”

“And look at you, still a free man.”

After the tests Will walked around, trying to find you or the doctor or someone. You were waiting for him and you walked up with his clothes in hand.

“Have you seen Sutcliffe?” Will asked. You shook your head.

“Not since earlier,” you admitted. “Let’s go find him.” You held his clothes in hand as you walked through the hospital. You peaked in rooms and eventually found Sutcliffes office. You pushed open the door as it was ajar.

You gasped and Will grabbed you and put himself between you and the body, bleeding from a chunk that had been taken out of his face.

“Don’t look,” he whispered.

“I can,” you muttered. “Call Bev.”

The FBI came soon after. Beverly gave Will a look over, Jack concerned he might have had something to do with the murdedr.

“He was with me until he went in. And I would have seen him leave,” you promised. Bev nodded.

“You’re clean. You couldn’t have done this without getting something on you and there’s nothing on you,” Beverly said.

“I don’t feel clean,” Will whispered.

“Murder weapon has the same diseased or damaged tissue on it that we found at Beth LeBeau’s house,” Jimmy explained aloud.

“What connection does this guy have to the first victim?” Will let out a sigh.

“Just me.”

Will woke up and you were already sitting up. He followed your gaze that was at where one of the dogs growled at something under the bed. He grabbed your hand and shook his head.

‘Stay,’ he whispered. You shook your head vigorously and he nodded, getting off the bed and looking underneath. He slid underneath and you leaned your head over the bed, heart pounding in your ears.

“I see you, Georgia,” Will said under the bed. You couldn't see his face. There was a woman under your bed. “Think of who you are. It’s midnight. You’re in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Your name is Georgia Madchen. You are not alone.”

“Am I alive…?” came a voice, a raspy whisper. Will nodded.

You stood with Will in the hospital room, looking down at the living body of the woman who had slept under your bed. You held Will’s hand as he glanced over her.

“She’ll recover,” Will said.

“Hopefully she’ll stay out of our bed,” you whispered.

1x11

#will graham x reader #will graham imagines #hannibal imagines #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter

226 notes · View notes

elfnerdherder · 7 years

Text

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 17

You can read Chapter 17 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 17: One Eye of Love, One of War

It was the blood that stopped him. The blood, and the way it’d seeped through the denim to stick to his leg and taint it with the ugly discoloration. He was pressed against the doorway to the bedroom, gasping for air that refused to come, and as Hannibal worked the jeans off of his hips, he looked down and saw the blood.

“No,” he murmured, and it seemed to shock the desire out of him, a cold douse of water to his system. He shook his head, like it could dispel the image. It didn’t. Streaks of blood, faded but still present. A cop, dead by his hand. No, no, Red Dragon’s –weren’t they the same, though? Didn’t Will exist in this form because Red Dragon existed? Weren’t they, in some odd sort of way, two parts of a convoluted whole?

He wanted to meet Red Dragon. He was sure they had a lot in common.

Hannibal glanced at his face, then to the streaks that continued down to the top of his calf. He passed a hand along the skin, but the blood was long since dry and didn’t wipe off so easily.

“No?”

“No,” Will said, and Hannibal nodded. Perhaps it was something bleak in the way Will stared down at himself, trembling with desire, underwear tented with just how hungry he was. Perhaps it was the way Hannibal was so in tune, so completely part of Will now that he’d tasted him that he could feel the coil of disgust, of self-loathing that was fast replacing his want.

Either way, he helped Will out of his jeans. Instead of taking him to the large bed, he took him to the adjoining bathroom. Will’s feet were cold against the tile, and he shuddered in his flannel shirt that clung to his back, from sweat and what he now remembered as the blood that’d coated the seat in the cop car. He’d pressed himself to it in his exhaustion. It clung to him now, accusing.

He stared at the ridiculously glorious tub, and the cubicle shower beside it burst to life under Hannibal’s adjustments, the room quickly filling with steam as he adjusted the water temperature. He turned back to Will, jumpsuit halfway down to reveal a white t-shirt underneath, and he padded over, fingers going to the buttons on his shirt.

“No,” Will said, mournful. Hannibal hmm’d low under his breath in agreement and nodded.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Will thought to say no again, but under his touch he was clay. He nodded mutely, and when he stood naked before him, he didn’t find himself feeling exposed or vulgar. It was action, reaction, a disconnect between the part of him that yearned and the part of him that thought of the ease in which Hannibal had tossed the body from the car. Will’s hands passed at the hem of Hannibal’s shirt, lifted it over his head and helped him undress in turn.

He led Will into the shower, and he stood him just under the waterfall of water, fingers tousling his hair for it to better soak up the delicious heat that hit his skin and soothed him. His body hummed at the contact, approving. Hannibal reached for the shampoo, but when Will tried to take it from him, he tsk’d and shook his head.

“Allow me,” he said, and he turned Will so that he could tilt his head back and wash his hair, fingers digging into his scalp lightly, soothingly. He sighed under his touch, leaned back against him where his chest was broad and his skin was warm.

“Are you so very far into your own head, Will?” he asked as he rinsed his hair. “Where nothing but the monsters play?”

“I think I’d have used the suppressor, too,” he said at last, as Hannibal grabbed soap and a washcloth.

“Homemade by the looks of it.”

“But I think…to just leave them like that, in piles every which way, was tasteless.”

“He wanted to set a crime scene where there was no doubt we were not the culprits, but it could certainly look that way to the untrained eye. Jack Crawford will know exactly what happened there.” He slid the washcloth along his back, working at removing the stains of just what’d happened only hours before. Will nodded mutely.

“I’ve been trying to see the world through his red haze…hear the cold drips of kerosene in his darkness,” Will said. There was something vastly intimate about sharing that with someone, especially someone like Hannibal. Like whispering secrets to the devil, lips pressed too close to his ear.

“I’d imagine it’s difficult, now that you’ve experienced your own darkness.” Hannibal passed the washcloth along his neck, paused at the scar tissue. “This is the first since Garrett Jacob Hobbs. It would no doubt be harder to imagine him killing now that you have the taste for it yourself.”

Unjudging. A distinct lack of morbid glee at his struggles. Will nodded, a quick jerk of his head.

“To kill is to entertain the most intimate of moments with someone as their life flees. You shared that moment with someone else, though, didn’t you?” Hannibal asked.

“His daughter.”

“She bore witness to your own becoming.”

“It was just an interview,” he said bleakly. “I was curious, so I wanted to talk to him.”

A smooth, steady pass across his chest. He stared down at the soapsuds and watched the water beat them away as quickly as they’d risen –marveled at the understanding.

“You knew, though. In the back of your mind, you knew it was him, and you merely needed something more substantial for Jack Crawford to bring him in.”

“He knew. I got there, and he’d already killed his wife. Had his daughter in the back room when he sat down with me, and…something. Something in his eyes, something…in his smile. I spent so long trying to know him, see him past the slides, the grainy pictures of the dead, the tender way he returned the one whose meat was wrong…we’d do the same thing, same time of day. Different location. We moved in sync, it felt, and I looked at him, and I knew that he knew.”

“What did he do?”

“He lunged across the table, grabbed me. We fought, struggled…he had me by the neck. Dragged me in the other room where his daughter was curled up, crying by her mom. Screams sat on the air, fat. His knife got my gut, and I just…bled everywhere. Fell to the ground, trying to hold my stomach in. I told her, ‘it’s going to be okay.’”

“Did you keep your promise, Will?” Hannibal asked. “Was everything okay?” Will turned to him, studied his jawline and the way water droplets pearled then fell. He nodded, glancing to Hannibal’s shoulder where a long healed bullet wound lay.

“He got the knife in her neck by the time I got the safety off, but I got him. Took ten shots to get him down, then I just…held her neck until paramedics got there.” A laugh, unamused. “They said I tilted her head just right. If I hadn’t, she’d have died, bled out.”

Hannibal’s fingers danced along the Glasgow smile across his abdomen, his mark of ‘heroism’. Will put his thumb to the long healed circle at Hannibal’s shoulder and pressed lightly.

“You had him for so long though, the sudden sensation of his death must have undone you far more than your own potential demise,” Hannibal noted.

“They didn’t know it, but I had encephalitis.” A pause. “I didn’t know it. Made me…see things. I thought I was him. I thought that I hadn’t gotten him,” Will confessed. “My brain was on fire, and every time I looked in the mirror, I thought it was him. So I got rid of him to make sure Abigail would be okay.”

“And is she quite okay?”

“She’s in college now…one more semester and she’s done.” He smiled, bleak. “She e-mails me to tell me about her studies in criminology, sends Christmas gifts. Birthday gifts. Thanks me a lot. She avoids eyes, too. Her dad claimed he was her soulmate –one sided connection.”

“She owes you her life. You almost lost your own in more ways than one, and I’m sure she realizes that each breath she takes is borrowed because of you.” Hannibal’s hand passed over the scar tissue once more, and he dipped his head in to drag his tongue along the line Will had made with his own two hands and a mind on fire. Will’s breath caught; he nodded.

“No matter what, though, I’m still the guy that murdered her father. I won’t forget that.”

“You couldn’t. So you left, made a new life for yourself once you pried him from your veins; tell me, is the Great Red Dragon so deep inside of you that you’re going to try and carve him from your skin, should you live through this?”

Will thought about lying, but he couldn’t. He was too worn out to, too stunned by his capacity to endanger everyone around him for the sake of his own selfish desires. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I see him sitting beside me, mirroring me. Dust motes coalescing, suspended in the air to almost take the shape of his face. I think he and I are a lot alike.”

“When Red Dragon comes, Will, I want you to deal the killing strike,” Hannibal said kindly. “You have already become so dear with him, it’d be selfish of me to take that moment from you. Don’t use a gun this time, however; when the time comes, you should find a way to make it more intimate than lead and fire.”

They stayed in the shower until the water temperature cooled just enough to be mildly uncomfortable. Hannibal turned it off, left Will dripping on the bathmat, and returned with a robe and a thick, plush towel. After, he led him towards the bed and guided him onto it, hand hot against his hip, lips cool against the juncture of his jaw to his ear.

“I’m relieved to finally have washed away that stench of hotel aftershave,” he whispered to him. Will couldn’t help but smile.

Hannibal’s clothes were about a size too big, but Will managed. His belt cinched the slacks, and he tried to find the least expensive looking button-up in the closet. After he cleaned the blood from his shoes, he deemed those good enough for reuse, and he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, scowling at himself. From the underwear to the socks to the soap he smacked of something that was not himself, but he reasoned that he hadn’t exactly packed a bag. It’d have been suspicious to pack a bag.

He felt Hannibal through four walls away, and it was as much a comfort as a sign of too much touching. He was drunk off of it, the knowledge of knowing exactly where he was at all times, like he could reach out and find him, even blind and at a distance. He’d woken with his face pressed into his neck, like he could somehow inhale the very essence of him.

He didn’t like acknowledging that it was the best sleep he’d had in months.

He fingered the small phone Jack had given him to hide in his wallet. It was smaller than his debit car, as flat as four cards put together. He considered telling Hannibal about it. Considered against it. Jack needed to know where they were for when the time came –came for what, Will wasn’t sure anymore.

Will tried to reason it was an overload of chemical reactions in his mind at being so close to his soulmate, but that wasn’t pleasant to think of. Why make science of what just felt so fucking right? It wasn’t chemicals that made Hannibal understand his mind with Hobbs. It wasn’t chemicals that made him understand where he went when he saw the blood of someone else plastered to his skin.

He went into the kitchen of smooth, marbled counters and chrome appliances, and he hovered near the door, watching. Fingers tapped on the doorframe, and he studied everything with quick, sweeping glances.

“Good morning,” Hannibal said pleasantly. The way he moved among the bags of groceries was vaguely reminiscent of how he moved while behind bars. There was a little more freedom of gesture, a little less animal in the curve of his step. Even now though, there was still something predatory in his motions, a sleekness in how he turned his shoulders. Will didn’t think time would ever leach that out of him. Wasn’t sure if he wanted it to.

Maybe he just didn’t look cornered anymore, an animal one breath away from a defensive bite.

“Chiyoh brought food?”

“She already left, unfortunately. She is mildly reclusive in nature, and she doesn’t tend to desire being involved in any of my antics unless completely necessary. I told her to go and enjoy herself.”

Will watched him among a spread of wildly bright fruits, and he moved closer to inspect what smelled like gourmet coffee. At what had to be a hungered, wild look in his eyes, Hannibal poured him a glass and stirred sugar into it, offering it to him silently.

“…Thanks.”

“There is an art gallery nearby, and I wanted to see it. Would you care to join me?” he asked, turning to his array of fruits. Will sat down on a stool to watch him chop, slice, and create. A quiet pang in his stomach reminded him of Molly’s Pinterest recipes he’d never get to try. Not after this.

Definitely not after this. Oh, Will.

“We’re supposed to be on the run,” he said, sipping the coffee.

“Even when I was ‘on the run’ I still stopped to enjoy the beautiful things. There is no reason we can’t now.”

“When were you on the run? You were arrested right after Alana turned you in.”

“In Florence, mostly. They called me ‘Il Monstro’ there,” he mused, and he paused to glance up at Will with a devilish, knowing smile.

“…Is that what your drawings are? Florence?” He hated that he remembered. When Hannibal circled him to find something in the pantry, his fingertips grazed his back. An unconscious gesture, but it lingered in a pleasant way –made him think of ripples in a pool of water.

“Mostly Florence, although there are places from France, other parts of Italy, Spain; I traveled to many places in Europe, each more beautiful than the last. Florence was mine, though,” he said, returning with something vaguely resembling an ugly root. “Florence was mine.”

“Is that where you’d go after this?”

“Would you go with me?” Hannibal wondered. He looked up from the knife that he used to carve kiwi into stars, and he surveyed Will, the light from the windows illuminating the blue of his eye.

“I don’t know what to do after this,” Will admitted. “I just…”

“Couldn’t stand the thought of our separation for one more moment,” Hannibal finished for him. His flash of a smile was all canines. “I really was pleasantly surprised –it was a wonderful gift.”

“I told Jack that I was going to kill you after you killed Dolarhyde,” he said, and he took a gulp of the hot coffee to have something else to do with his hands and mouth rather than reveal too much.

“I assumed as much.”

“That’s how I got him to agree.” A beat. “Alana said it was the worst idea she’d ever heard.”

Hannibal hmm’d, as though he could imagine just how well that conversation had gone.

“She told me I’d regret it if I did.”

“At the school the two of you attended, and many others much like it, there was a distinct lack of personality among the student body in the psychology department. Alana was one of those that stood out from that rabble.” He mulled a memory over, eyes glazing as he thought back to something. “During my trial, you sat beside her the entire time,” he said, setting the kiwi aside to focus on the mangos. “She seemed far more upset than a person who’d discovered their teacher’s interests delved into a socially unsavory side.”

“You asked her to be blind, and she wasn’t,” Will replied. “She respected you, cared about you, and you were the Chesapeake Ripper. She couldn’t reconcile the two, and she couldn’t understand why you didn’t kill her when you could have.”

“You understand, though,” Hannibal said, glancing up at him. His head tilted, a saccharine smile on his face at the knowing of the depth of Will’s understanding.

“She was smart. It would be a waste of a mind, let alone a mind you’d helped mold. You thought maybe you could twist your way out of it, but they made it to your basement before you made it to Alana to convince her not to say a word.”

“I asked her to be blind, and instead she was brave,” said Hannibal, and there was an odd expression on his face, like he wasn’t sure whether to be proud or infuriated at the thought.

“Don’t hurt her just because you’re free,” Will warned.

“I did promise her I would, though,” he replied amiably. “I always keep my promises, Will.”

“It’d…” he fumbled, chewing his words around in his mouth. The thought of Alana dead by his hand through proxy made his intestines clench like he was being stabbed all over again. Then it’d be Matthew Brown, Frederick Chilton, Alana Bloom, eight cops, an FBI agent, and an orderly. “Please don’t.”

Hannibal looked up again, and be it the panicked expression in Will’s eyes, or the remembrance of how much it’d hurt him to hurt Will with Molly, but something in his eyes softened. He pursed his lips and nodded, just once. Will nodded back, just once.

“I like you in my clothing,” he said, and at the distinct turn of conversation Will found himself flustered.

“What?”

“It suits you,” he added, and the hungry, possessive look was deliciously depraved.

Will found it best not to answer. He couldn’t have been sure if the answer would have been appropriate for a breakfast table.

After breakfast –a fruit medley with the creamiest parfait Will had ever tasted in his entire life –took them to the neighboring town an hour and a half away that did indeed boast a small art gallery. At Will’s insistence, they wore hats and layers of clothes that wouldn’t immediately identify them. Hannibal drew the line at sunglasses, though.

“You can’t see the art properly if you are looking through tinted lenses,” he rebuked.

By the time they gained admittance, Will wasn’t sure whether to call it a dream or a state of limbo. The vertigo at attending an art gallery with Hannibal Lecter of all people was enough to make him laugh so hard he cried into his stupid pamphlet, and when a girl with two perfectly matching brown eyes eyed them and smiled with want and hope for her own future, it made his chest squeeze tight.

“They haven’t changed much in the years it’s been, but they do boast one such piece I’d like to see,” Hannibal said, walking along the walls and stopping every so many steps to eye a particularly riveting design.

Sometimes, Will let him draw ahead in order to watch his gait, the smooth and assured way in which his hips twisted just slightly, the way his shoulders stayed straight. The mark of a hunter. He was content to watch, to observe. He’d never really seen Hannibal outside of handcuffs, no matter how much Hannibal claimed to know of him during his college years. There was a passion, an energy radiating just off of the edges of his clothing that made him enticing, the ripest fruit at the tallest part of the tree. If Hannibal noticed it –and surely he had to, with as many times as Will had done it –he made no comment. His eyes were for the art, the oil paintings rendered with such skill and passion.

It wasn’t until the final piece, one boasting a short visit before being returned to the London Art Gallery that Will found himself observing the art as much as he was observing Lecter. Years since school robbed him of the name of it, but as he stared at the painting, he found something odd inside of him that took away the ability to form coherent speech.

“Mars and Venus,” Hannibal murmured, his breath tickling the edge of Will’s ear. He gave a small start, unaware that he’d moved close enough to touch hands to the velvet rope that kept him from the painting. “Botticelli, circa 1483.”

Will didn’t say anything. He was at a distinct loss for words.

“It is an allegory to love and valor, but one of my favorite arguments is the supposition that love conquers war.” A hand glided along his hip before pausing, and Will didn’t think to brush it away. “Do you think so, Dr. Graham? Can love conquer war?”

“I think it softens it. Waves against the shore, beating rock to dust and sand.”

“How he dozes, unassuming of her alert manner and ability to pierce him where he lays. Love makes us blind, makes us ignore the things we’d normally see within an instant. Do you suppose she means to kill him with it?”

Will swallowed with difficulty. “Maybe in the last moment, she’d wake him so that he saw when he was beaten.”

“Would she give him a chance to make amends before she pierced him? Or would she only let him see his defeat before striking?”

Will thought of the small cell phone tucked away in his wallet, and he twitched a shoulder into a shrug. He thought of his mismatched eyes and how brazen he was in the open with them, even as they were ‘on the run’. His borrowed pants itched with the secret, and he scratched the side of his neck.

“I think it depends on just what Mars did to Venus to make her feel the need to aim a lance at his face,” he said. “Sometimes, love is the killing blow, and it’s not one you can recover from.”

“Does love destroy? Or does it only create anew?”

“Love is a poison,” said Will quietly. “Some people fight the effects, others succumb completely. War, despite his nature, seemed to comply well enough. That was ultimately his downfall.”

“You’ve decided just what Venus will do when Mars wakes, then?” Hannibal wondered.

“I think so,” he said heavily. He peeked up at Venus’ eyes, quelled under the look of her perfect, calm assurance. “She has mismatched eyes.”

“Botticelli purposefully kept Mars’ eyes closed, that you could not see whether or not he was her intended.”

“We have mismatched eyes.”

A grin against the shell of his ear, a teasing tingle of pleasure that snaked downwards. “That we do.”

On the steps of the art gallery, as Hannibal left to pull the car around, Will fumbled for the small phone, cradling it like it was a fragile, delicate bird. He stared down at it with perfect, calm assurance, and he dropped it to the ground, marveling at the sound it made when it hit. He sighed, considered it, and he decidedly crushed it under his shoe. When Hannibal pulled up to the curb, he climbed into the car and allowed his hand to be taken, a kiss pressed to the center of his palm.

Dinner was light, and the French doors were open to the elements as they ate, although at the mention of wine, Will was quick to decline. Off the bandwagon, but not under the wheels he’d told himself. Despite his lack of European grooming, he found himself eating with the tines down, small cuts of pork along a blackberry hoisin ginger sauce.

The wind was cool against his back, the air tangy with the comings of a storm. Occasionally, Hannibal would reach out and drag his fingers over the back of Will’s hand, like he had to reassure himself that it was not a dream that he was free. Will allowed it, intrigued by the action that gave Hannibal an almost human appearance rather than the monster Will knew him to be.

He played music after, and Will laid on the ground with his hands over his eyes, letting the bold, tender notes wash over him. There were little to no words, little to no thought in their behaviors around one another, an action and reaction from something that required no verbal agreement. Despite the storm on the way that let thunder rumble in the distance, he felt quite calm –dare he say content.

Exposed as he was to Hannibal, the whisper to touch wasn’t so all-encompassing. It was there, but it was a gentle whisper, a reminder that the world stopped spinning around so dizzyingly when he was touching him.

“You cover your eyes to better hear the notes.” Hannibal said, stroking the keys with utmost reverence. Will felt his gaze on him, and he liked it.

“When I walked through a crime scene, sometimes I’d take off my shoes and only wear the cloth boots they handed out with the gloves. I heard better then, too.”

“What sort of things did you hear?”

“Things like this. Things like…something too silent. Walls draped in tears, longing laid out in the crudest form, passion that made the air smell like hate and shoe polish. Serenades. Discontented sighs.” A pause as he thought of Mrs. Hess’ bedroom. “The sound of screaming. Naked flesh and skin parting under eager blades.”

“Beautiful,” Hannibal murmured, and his playing paused, the hum of the strings surrounding them, fading slow and quiet out to the building storm.

The breeze teased the bottom of Will’s slacks. Hannibal found him beautiful.

“Did you avoid eyes because of the shell your father became, living a life without the one thing the chemicals in his mind demanded he needed, apart from oxygen and sustenance?” he wondered; his voice was just low enough that Will could have ignored it in favor of the gentle hum of the F harmonic minor scale he began.

“Quid pro quo?”

“If you like.” A teasing lull in his tone. “If you have need, dear Will.”

Dear Will. Good-fucking-god. “My father did what he could, and he made no excuses for the pain he felt at my mother leaving.”

“You saw it, though. Your empathy made it so that you always saw, even when you tried not to.”

“…Even without soulmates, eyes still show too much.” A short, quiet breath. Hannibal shifted to Clair de Lune, a piece he recognized from enough romantic comedies on the couch with Molly, knee pressed to knobby knee. “Like covering my eyes to hear the music; I think better when I’m not distracted by the eyes.”

A soft hum of understanding. Will felt a question on his lips, and he pressed his hands down harder to his eyes to concentrate on it.

“Would you take me to Florence if I asked you to?”

“Will you kill Dolarhyde, since I asked you to?”

Will curled his bottom lip into his mouth, wet it, and sighed. He kept his hands pressed over his eyes. “Maybe.”

“A maybe is far better than a no,” Hannibal said. “No matter how one tilts their head to look at it.”

#LiaS scribbles #the fault in my code #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal fanfic #will graham x hannibal #i'd say someone help will graham #but he doesn't seem to be asking for help #soulmate au #hannibal soulmate au

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