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voxmortuus · 3 years

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Hannibal x reader please? In this I want reader to ignore Hannibal until he has enough of it and deals with them himself. Reader isn't trying to be mean it's just that reader has nothing to say to him. Hannibal is intrigued by the behavior and pushes reader to open up to him but reader avoids him at all costs as it makes them uncomfortable. What Hannibal does is up to you, I'd like to see what you come up with 😉 (also no noncon s***al as***lt please, if you want to go this route, make reader want it at least lol)

PAIRING: Hannibal x F!Reader

UNIVERSE: Hannibal

WORDS: 585

SUMMARY/PROMPT: See above <3

Trigger Warning(s): Silent Treatment | Natural Herb Drugging | Implied smut | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this…

NOTE: Sorry if this isn't what you expected, I'm hoping this finds you well love!

IMAGE CREDIT: Google I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OF THESE IMAGES. If these are yours or you know who the creator(s) is please INBOX me and let me know. Thank you.

My Master Masterlist | Hannibal Masterlist | Taglist

REQUESTS: 500 FOLLOWER EVENT REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN UNTIL AUGUST 15TH!

He was tired of your silent treatment. He was tired of working so hard on maintaining what felt like a one-sided relationship with you. It was like he was putting in all this effort, and for what? Silence? It was starting to wear on him. Sitting there eating dinner with you, he sat there in silence. Looking at you, he attempted to make some sort of conversation attempt.

"So how was work today, love?"

The sound of a clink of your fork against the plate.

"Sessions were good today. Thanks for asking. What are your plans for tomorrow?"

The sound of you taking a sip of your wine and the glass tinking against the table.

"Well, I know tomorrow is your day off, maybe we can see that new gallery you had been eyeballing." He suggested.

Nothing.

With a sigh, he rubs his forehead, and you two finish your dinner in silence. Gathering the plates, he watches you walk to the library, and he was hit with an idea. He knew that cannabis got you talking. He also knew it opened you up a bit. He smirked and made his way to the kitchen and started to brew a tea making it just for you. He leaned against the counter and checked his watch as it brewed. It isn't the first time he had made this for you, he had all he needed ready.

By the time it had finished brewing, he had gotten you a little something sweet and your cup ready. It was a beautiful arrangement, he put a lot of thought into this. Letting out a loaded breath, he made his way to you. Setting the silver tray down, he handed you your tea. You didn't say anything. You took the cup and took a sip, and took a bite of the pastry. Taking a sip of his own tea and his own pastry, he leaned back and let out a soft breath.

"Well, this is nice." He stated almost sarcastically.

Rolling your eyes, you kept to yourself with your nose in a book, taking another sip, you glance over at him. He sat there, quiet, and sipping on your tea with a mental smile.

After an hour, you stand up to go to use the restroom, and by the time you get back, you're smiling ear to ear. He looks up at you and tilts his head.

"What's so funny, love?"

"I just think everything is funny, this whole thing is funny. Life is funny. That book, that book is so boring, and you, you're so relentless." You chuckle shaking your head, your body tingly, and you're feeling good, jiving with the feeling. You walk to him and lean over and kiss him sweetly. "Don't ask me why I've been quiet, I have no idea, maybe to get under your skin, maybe because I just have nothing to say." You let out another chuckle and fall into his lap.

Looking over his face you lean in and kiss him again.

"Are you feeling better, love? Feeling a little more yourself and a little less silent? I do like to hear you talking." He tells you with a smile.

"Yeah but now I want to jump your bones..." You blurt out and your eyes go wide and you giggle again.

Chuckling shaking his head he looks at you. "Okay, dear, and after, we can have a nice long talk."

"Anything." Smiling he looks over your face and carries you to the bedroom.

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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...okay, so I know nothing about Dexter except he's like the but what 'if I kill a 100 killers?' meme, but what I DO know is him looking like a homeless lumbercjack in snow cause fandom had a meltdown over it - AND YOU TELLING ME HE'S IN MIAMI CAUSED ME TO QUESTION REALITY! D: [And hey, if you'd wanna advertise me the show my ears are open... xD]

RIGHT? Totally different vibe. Beard!Dexter is a blight on this fandom, for legit reasons other than just facial hair and snow, but those are still unforgivable in their own ways lol. I mean, Dexter's promotional material was a pretty cool mix of playing on his job as a blood splatter analyst (oh ho ho did he cause the splatter?) and playing on his outward image as the supposedly perfect family man (the ketchup he's using is actually blood!), but we also had stuff like this:

The setting is really crucial. If we were set wherever we are at the end of the series (I clearly loved the ending enough to remember where he moved to lol) that would very much mirror the whole serial killer thing; a dark, cold environment to reflect his real self. But by making it Miami, there's this wonderful contrast going on that feeds into both the show's premise — totally normal dude goes about his normal life in this bright, happy, gorgeous weather place — and, by extension, feeds into the show's humor too. It's harder to take Dexter seriously when he's out being all serial-killer-y in a Hawaiian shirt... and alongside enjoying that image, we understand, textually, why no one really suspects him. You know that post going around where OP shows that shot of Hannibal being all creepy in his library and it's like "Oh yeah there's NO WAY anyone would EVER think you're a SERIAL KILLER, guy whose name rhymes with 'cannibal.'" Dexter is the exact opposite of that. At the start of the series one coworker thinks he's shady — presenting expected problems for Dexter — but he's very much the outlier. You don't have to suspend disbelief to go along with everyone trusting, liking, and even loving Dexter. He is lovable.

And that's the cool moral premise. I mean yeah, he's a serial killer. Insert the inevitable tumblr comment about how you can't like the bad guy (/s)... but you're supposed to. Dexter starts the series with a wife, kids, beloved sister, friends at work, and he does love them all. It's not an act put on to get by. The show is very clear that the persona Dexter embodies to not get caught, while inevitably tied up in that Good Brother/Husband/Father lifestyle, is not the sole reason why he created those ties. The premise of Dexter is not "If a killer kills a killer, there are still the same number of killers on Earth, I am so intelligent." It's "What if a cop realized his son would inevitably become a serial killer, so out of love for him taught him to only kill other people who were a danger to the community? And then the son grew up desperately trying to maintain the life he'd built while also keeping his "Dark Passenger" at bay? Would that be fucked up or what?" Dexter is interesting both because he has his code — there are legit conversations to be had both in the story and out about what, if any, merit there is in this kind of vigilante behavior. It reminds me of a similar Criminal Minds episode where a victim hopes a killer won't get caught because he killed her abuser — and because he, outside of the whole killing thing, is a pretty likable guy. You're suppose to struggle with liking him, question what it means to be a monster, figure out what you're willing to ignore for someone you love, etc. Dexter isn't the Joker reveling in chaos for the sake of chaos, nor is his struggle such an angst fest that the show (at least most of the time) feels too edgy. He treats his "Dark Passenger" like a particularly annoying pet he has to take care of. Yeah, it gets dark and serious a lot, but it's also funny as hell.

All of which is made better by casting Michael C. Hall. He's phenomenal in the role.

I don't think any clip encompasses this tongue-in-cheek "He's just a normal dude, doing normal things, definitely nothing to see here ;)" energy quite like the opening does. It PERFECTLY uses the context the viewer has to make everyday actions seem sinister and then contrasts it all with the final shot: how everyone else sees Dexter. It is, totally seriously, one of my favorite openings of anything ever:

youtube

Absolutely watch Dexter. Yes, there comes a time when it goes off the rails and the finale is up there with the likes of Supernatural imo, but you can ignore that + the new season might fix some things if we're very, very lucky lol. If you enjoy police procedurals, monster of the week formatting, morally driven storytelling, unreliable narrators, and fantastic ironic humor, Dexter 100% deserves your attention.

#Dexter #mymetas

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iesika · 7 years

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This is a companion post for my Hannibal fic What The Water Gave Me which is, as far as I know, the only fanfic ever to need a companion post about flood hydrology. On Saturday, May 14, 2011, while Hannibal was shopping in the French Market, the Corps of Engineers opened one quarter of the gates on the Morganza Spillway and flooded about 4,600 square miles of south Louisiana. In places the flooding reached 25 feet. This was in addition to the previous opening of the Bonnet Carré spillway Sgt. Germaine Grant mentioned in chapter 2, which flooded a stretch of land between the Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain near New Orleans. You might even remember Sgt. Grant telling Jack and Hannibal that they were in a record breaking drought at the time. How, you may be asking. Why? You should be asking. It's insane. The Why is such a big deal it might have actually started the Great Depression, reversed the main political parties of the US, reshaped the racial demographics of America's cities and created a musical genre.

This is the watershed of the Mississippi River. Every bit of water that flows from every bright spot on that map, from rain, drains, toilets, crop irrigation, whatever, eventually makes its way, like the world's grossest funnel, down, more or less, to a single point at Red River Landing, Louisiana, where the Red River meets the rest. Not too south from there, the Atchafalaya river splits away from the Mississippi. Over the last few hundred million years, the Atchafalaya and the Mississippi have wiggled all over the place, as rivers do, and at any given time, which one was the major outlet to the sea has changed. Rivers do a lot of predictable but unpredictable things, but the most predictable thing they do is seek the lowest ground and the easiest path. If there isn't an easy path the river will make one.

In 1927, due to heavy rains all over the watershed, the Mississippi River flooded 27,000 square miles up to 30 feet and displaced well over 600,000 people, mostly in Arkansas, Mississippi and Louisiana. Monetary damages were equivalent to about one third of the entire Federal Budget at the time, or, in modern dollars, over a trillion dollars. Crop failures were huge, driving up food prices nationwide. Let me repeat that. 630,000 internally displaced refugees within the US, within the last century. Did you learn about that in school? I took 2 Louisiana History at two different schools, then took three American History classes at a college in the flood zone, and I learned about this because I googled a Randy Newman song in 2005.

200,000 of the displaced people were poor black people from mostly rural areas, most of them one generation removed from slavery. Most of these folks had little to nothing to use to relocate or to live on, so they were herded into refugee camps where they were stuck with nowhere to go and minimal supplies until the water started to recede months later. Racial tensions were sky high, and the racial disparity in aid, rescue and support was extremely clear. As soon as the water was low enough, tens of thousands of displaced black families joined what we now call The Great Migration - they didn't have a home to go back to, so they went to the big cities, both in the south and, for the first time, up north. Anybody you can think of from the classic Chicago blues scene? Probably ended up there after being displaced by this one event. Mahalia Jackson, who I spotlit last chapter, moved to Chicago at this time as a victim of The Great Betrayal (man, the 1920s were Great, huh?)

President Coolidge put Herbert Hoover in charge of managing the camps, where he made a whole lot of promises and ended up president. When he didn’t fulfill any of his promises to the black refugees, the entire black voting block swung, more or less permanently, to the Democrats. Huey P. Long rose to power in Louisiana on a wave of socialist populism and probably would have been president a decade later if he hadn’t been assassinated in the middle of the capitol building. If you don’t know about the Kingfish, look him up, because holy fuck our country was almost really, really different. As for the Great Betrayal I mentioned?

Wealthy (white) businessmen in New Orleans arranged to dynamite a levee in Caernarvon, Louisiana, flooding areas of St. Bernard and Plaquemines Parish where tens of thousands of (poorer) people lived and worked. Reconstructions have shown this was pointless and New Orleans would have been fine, because so many levees had already breached in other locations. Basically no one was ever consulted or compensated for loss of property and livelihood. So it's no wonder that, during and after Hurricane Katrina, there was widespread belief that the flood protections had actually been deliberately sabotaged to flood the lower 9th ward and save downtown. People remember when you fuck them over and they never trust you again. Every school I've ever attended would have been underwater during the 1927 flood, but I never learned anything about this, or about how we've stopped that from ever happening again. Sit tight, it's nuts. Prior to 1927 levees were local projects and they were largely homemade by non-engineers. Surely one big pile of dirt is the same as another, right? But levee construction is an art and a science. Alluvial dirt wants to settle; the ground is wet and it wants to move. After the shitshow of the Great Floods, the federal government created the world's largest flood control project. This is what federal governments are for. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, those unsung superheroes, planned and built a carefully planned and, one hopes, carefully maintained series of interconnected levees, dams, floodgates, spillways, canals and wetlands stretching across that whole area in the top image, but mostly along the Missouri, Ohio, Red, and Mississippi and Atchafalaya Rivers. It's known as the Mississippi River and Tributaries Project (MR&T) The Lower Mississippi and the Atchafalaya Basin in particular got a complete makeover.

We'll start at the very bottom, because it's simplest. The Bonnet Carré spillway was built 12 miles west of New Orleans to divert the Mississippi around the city in case of very high water. This spillway controls what was a natural flood route for as long as we've been keeping records and is opened on a fairly regular basis - every decade or so. This was one of the first parts of the MR&T completed, just four years after the flood. It's a mile and a half long and runs alongside of the river. When it opens, a channel about six miles long is flooded, dumping the river directly into Lake Pontchartrain and the surrounding marshlands to save the more populated areas. Lake Pontchartrain is huge (home of the longest bridge in the world!) and it has a wide opening to the Gulf of Mexico, so it can basically absorb as much water as we could possibly throw at it. Upriver a bit, things are a little more complicated. I'm not going to go super in-depth. There are numerous control structures connecting the Atchafalaya and Mississippi. The biggest and the one most relevant to our story is the Morganza Spillway, located in Pointe Coupee Parish, upriver from Baton Rouge. If the water gets too high, it will overtop and undermine levees, and the force of moving water becomes so great that it would just shred the other existing control structures, even if they are wide open to let the most possible water through. There needs to be another emergency safety valve to take pressure off the system. The Morganza Spillway is about a mile long, and when it's wide open it lets 600,000 cubic feet of water through per second. That's about half the flow of the entire Mississsippi river at moderate flood stage, passing through one man-made structure, under the control of a handful of human beings.

So in the worst possible flooding scenarios, as happened in 1927, in 1973, and in 2011, the ACoE opens a little gap in the weir. They've never opened it all the way - max capacity has never been tested. This is a projection map from 2011 for what the flooding would look like with the system running at one quarter of total capacity (which is the scenario that ended up happening). Because yeah, people live in those areas! The area's also farmed for timber and drilled for oil. There isn't much commercial fishing - that mostly happens in the Gulf - but there's fish farming, including crawfish ponds. Mostly it's protected or semi-protected wetlands occasionally dotted with camps. I'm not sure if that word is in common usage with the same meaning elsewhere, so just in case, a camp is a (usually but not always cheap or rustic) house or structure not intended for full-time residence, where one can stay for access to water or hunting. You actually have to get a lot of surveying and permissions to build anything anywhere on any body of water in south Louisiana, because the balance of flood control and wetland preservation is so important and precarious, so most of the places in this area will have been grandfathered in rather than freshly built. The Morganza Spillway has been opened twice, once in the 70s and once during this fic. There is a huge, eight parish long and wide river moving over land that's been dry or swampy and only sparsely inhabited for 45 years. Think of all the things it might pick up on the way to sea?

#what the water gave me

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devereauxsdisease · 7 years

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Good Cannibal, Sit

This is my late (sorry) entry to @hannibalcreative‘s #ReleaseTheCrackin! It’s also dedicated to the ever wonderful @evertonem, because I promised her dog-related crack in the hopes of bringing some cheer. I hope you enjoy!

In retrospect, Hannibal could admit that giving Will psilocybin mushroom tea might have been a bit of an overreaction. Will had been unusually quiet for days, and Hannibal had let fear, of another cliff or another person, get the better of him. He’d tried speaking to Will, but was greeted with eyerolls and the invitation to “shut his big bazoo”.

Still, perhaps it wasn’t wise to drug the one you love. Will certainly hadn’t reacted well to the stabbings, so he probably wouldn’t react well to surreptitious hallucinogens. Hannibal made the decision to bring out a tray of goodies and replace Will’s tea with a slightly less nefarious chai blend. If Will wanted to be moody, then Hannibal would just have to let him.

“Will?” Hannibal walked along the flagstones toward the patio that overlooked the Loire Valley, a tray of fresh blackberry jam and brown sugar scones in one hand.

“Hey! Put that down!”

Hannibal turned to see Will stomping toward him, stern expression on his face. With a raised brow, Hannibal took a few steps and placed the tray on their wrought iron table. When he turned, Will flicked him on the nose.

“Bad! No stealing food!” Will swatted Hannibal on the ass. Hannibal opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when noticed Will’s empty teacup by the tray of scones. A hallucination then, but of who?

Will looked at Hannibal for a long moment, something soft creeping into his eyes. Hannibal cocked his head taking in the expression. Will yanked Hannibal to his chest, his hands sinking into the doctor’s hair and scratching roughly.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Will whispered into Hannibal’s disheveled locks. “Who’s my good boy? You are, Winston. You are!”

“Will…” Hannibal tried to disentangle from Will’s grip. Clearly, he’d overestimated Will’s tolerance for the mushrooms. He should probably have him lay down and hydrate before dinner.

“What are you doing? Feeling frisky, huh?” Will laughed, ruffling Hannibal’s hair and dragging him to the ground. Hannibal pushed back and frowned at the grass stains on his cashmere pants. “Want to play?”

“No.”

Will rolled his eyes and produced a tennis ball. Hannibal cocked his head again, wondering where on earth Will had procured such an item. Will laughed and pointed.

“A-HA! I knew you couldn’t resist your ball!” Will stood, shaking the ball before Hannibal’s eyes before throwing it down the bank and into the flower field behind the house. “Go get it, boy!”

“Will,” Hannibal straightened up, attempting to brush pieces of leafy detritus from his person with as much dignity as possible. “I’m not chasing a ball, I’m not going to tolerate any more ear scratching – I’m not Winston.”

Will looked as if he’d been struck. Tears came to his eyes, his shoulders hunched forward while his chin dropped to his chest. Within a breath, the fierce Will Graham that had sprung from the waters of the Atlantic was replaced with the cowed empath that hid in the woods of Virginia all those years ago. Hannibal felt his pulse quicken, pain creeping into his chest as he watched the transformation.

“Oh,” Will whispered. “You haven’t forgiven me. Winston, I’m sorry I left you, boy. I- I had to go with Hannibal, I had to- God I miss you every day. Please, please boy, I’m so sorry.”

Hannibal closed his eyes. Truly, there was no debasement greater than love. If only Alana or Frederick could see him now, they would finally see what it meant to best Hannibal Lecter.

“Pardon me,” Hannibal said with a weary voice. “I have a ball to retrieve.”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Hannibal marched down the hill, hoping the pollen wouldn’t cling to his shirt, which was at least salvageable from this little experiment gone awry.

After thirty minutes, Hannibal had a list of things he hated most in life. At the top were the deceptively steep hill in their backyard, his aging knees, tennis balls, and the patch of stinging nettles that Will kept throwing the infernal toy into. Though he was about ready to put their gardener on Thursday’s menu for not clearing the nettles, Hannibal couldn’t seem to muster any ill will for the man jumping up and down at the top of the hill, smiling broadly as he encouraged his best boy to fetch. The scar on Will’s cheek drew his smile broad as he beamed at Hannibal trudging back up the embankment.

"Honestly, how you can love a creature so bemused by this game..." Will snatched the ball from Hannibal’s outstretched hand, before sinking his fingers into Hannibal’s sweaty bangs to offer a good ear rub.

"Winston, why are you so grumpy? You love fetch.” Will tucked the ball into his pocket, freeing both hands to pet Hannibal. “Who's my grumpy boy? Who is he? Who is he?"

"Will, I've asked you not to ruffle my hair."

Will smiled, Hannibal was taken with how easy his smiles came today.

"Do you need a belly rub? Do you?"

Hannibal paused, taking a moment to picture Will splayed alongside him in the grass, absently stroking over Hannibal’s stomach. The image was shamefully appealing.

"...I wouldn't be opposed."

"Ok buddy, if you're good. Go get the ball boy!"

Hannibal sighed. "Will, you didn't throw the ball. You just feigned throwing it."

"WHAT A SMART BOY!"

Heaving another sigh, Hannibal reminded himself that he had fought for this moment. For this chance to be with the annoying man still scratching behind his ear.

"Such a good boy!" Will pulled Hannibal closer, pressing kisses on his nose. Hannibal felt something warm flood through his chest. “My smart boy.”

"Well, I suppose I am rather smart..." Hannibal leaned into the pecking kisses. He waited for three years for Will to finally see the beauty in what they could create, he could last another hour or so until the mushrooms left his system.

Will frowned, rubbing a spot of dirt on Hannibal’s cheek. “Hmmm, I think someone’s going to need a bath.”

“I’m sorry?” Hannibal took a step back.

Will moved with a surprising quickness, snatching the collar of Hannibal’s shirt and dragging him toward the house. “Don’t you fight me on this, Winston!”

Hannibal allowed himself to be shoved toward their home – at least he wouldn’t have to go down the hill anymore.

Though Hannibal had permitted Will to march him up the stairs and to their en suite, and had only minimally fussed as Will stripped him, there were some things he just wouldn’t do. He stood in the tepid bath water, arms crossed and lip curled, looking at Will.

“I will not.”

Will’s hand shot out, smacking Hannibal on the nose again. “Don’t you bare your teeth at me. Bad! Bad dog.”

Hannibal’s lip dropped to a frown, but he stood resolute as Will pointed to the ground.

“No.”

“Honestly, Winston, how the hell am I supposed to bathe you if you don’t stand properly?”

“No.”

Will sighed. “Winston, buddy, I can’t wash you if you keep standing on your hind legs. Please, bud?”

Hannibal hated Winston. He hated Will. Mostly, he hated himself for glaring one final time as he lowered himself to all fours. Will smiled, and Hannibal leaned into the hand that scratched behind his ear – he was getting used to the sensation.

Will dropped to his knees, lathering his foul-smelling shampoo between his hands before sinking soapy fingers into Hannibal’s hair. The fingers left his scalp and Hannibal could hear Will choking out soft breaths. Something odd hitched in Will’s breathing, and for a moment, Hannibal wondered if the empath was crying.

When he looked up, suds stinging in his eyes, Hannibal found Will gasping for air on the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks as he laughed.

“Will?”

“I- Jesus Christ, I-” Will swallowed a few breaths, trying to stop the guffaws. "I can't fucking believe you let it go this far."

“What?” Hannibal’s lips thinned, he swiped at the mound of suds sliding down his nose.

Will offered Hannibal a shit-eating grin. "You know I poured that fucking mushroom tea down the sink right? Earl Grey my ass."

"You were not drugged."

Will shook his head and offered a shrug.

"I was just curious to see what you would do." Will slapped Hannibal's wet ass. "You were a very good boy."

Hannibal recoiled, scrambling to stand tall and maintain what little bits of sudsy dignity he could. "I can't believe you would-"

"Be a manipulative shit just to fuck with you? Yeah, where could I have learned that?" Will stood, still chuckling as he took in the enraged cannibal before him. “You know, my dad used to say I looked mad as a wet hen sometimes. I never understood that phrase until this very minute.”

Hannibal leaped out of the tub, grabbing wet handfuls of Will’s shirt and pinning him to the wall. He snarled at Will, sharp teeth edging closer to his neck. Will grinned, the heartbeat under Hannibal’s knuckles was steady and unafraid.

“I’m furious with you right now,” Hannibal seethed. “You’re going to have to work very hard and bend into a plethora of uncomfortable positions before I forgive you for this.”

Will’s grin grew, Hannibal watched as the empath’s pupils dilated. Hannibal leaned closer to Will’s ear and continued.

“But when I do forgive you, in a week or so, perhaps it’s time we go to the animal shelter and pick out a small dog. Something to keep you happy and keep me from walking up that hill with a filthy tennis ball.”

Will’s arms wrapped around Hannibal’s soapy frame, pulling him into a warm hug.

“Thank you. I promise, no more than 12.” Hannibal rolled his eyes, but accepted the kisses pressed into his neck with a small smile. Will pulled back, eyes dancing. He scratched Hannibal behind his ear. “You really are the best boy, you know that? Now, who wants a belly rub?”

Will slipped from Hannibal’s arms and ran for their bed, Hannibal heeling behind him.

#fic #Hannibal #Hannigram #ReleaseTheCrackin #crack #Don't drug your boyfriend #An old dog learns new tricks #Hannibal is good at fetch

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