elusiveaspects

[elusiveaspects]

[ first of probably a ton of small headcanons for jeri: she has scars from the attack in s1. not every cut scarred because she worked like hell to make sure those injuries healed without a trace, but the palms of her hands have visible scars on them. she won’t talk about where they came from. ]

[elusiveaspects]

@mcrtyrdom​:

                    someplace else brings a sigh of relief to his lungs he can neither explain nor set free. anyplace else would make this feel less like a memory he’s buried beneath the body of a drowned identity, less like the interrogation that had haunted his dreams for months after the fall. someplace else is exactly what they need. someplace else, and a drink. through the anxious turn of his stomach, he forces a smile onto his lips. 

                    ‘ i’ll, uh, call home, then. ’  thumb traces the underside of his engagement ring, jagged and dull compared to the wedding band that rests beside it.  ‘ there’s someone who should know i’m bringing company. ’ 

With a curt nod, Jack knows full-well who is waiting at home for Will.   --   He isn’t sure how to prepare himself for that kind of thing. People have stopped looking, have put themselves at ease by assuming the worst for the Tooth Fairy; dead or incarcerated someplace else. But the case had been set on Jack’s desk and it had cost him.

                    Will got too close, he’d thought. Again.   --   Only this time he’d lost Will Graham for good. Jack had spent years trying to reconcile that thought along the same road as knowing Will was still alive. This, as far as Jack is concerned, is a best-case find.

                    Will got close enough.

-   -   -

“ -- and it’ll taste just like real chicken wings,”   Francis assures Nikola, a smile touching the corner of his eyes at the beagle’s doubtful look. He’d tossed the old dog a piece of cauliflower before dousing the rest in wing sauce to bake, but the kittens had taken it to play with; none interested in eating the vegetable.

                    When his phone chimed in his back pocket, a different sound from the influx of Instagram notifications, he pulled it out right away to answer without so much as a hello:   “Nikola doesn’t think I’ll make good junk food from cauliflower.”

[elusiveaspects]

reblog if you would ship with more than one muse on a multimuse.

i’ve never been really sure if people are okay with multiple ships with multiple characters on a multimuse blog and i wish this were more common :-/

[elusiveaspects]

@vicemirrored​:

“ what? ” looking almost comically horrified, the doctor snatched up his phone, keyed in the passcode, and started to thumb through his message history. “ did i send you something? what did i send you? when? ”

“ Saturday. ”   Chloe doesn’t need her phone to recall the timestamp on the message. It had woken her up in the middle of the night.   “ Paperwork trouble with Hyde, you were saying to somebody.   --   Figured you’d noticed this point. ”

[elusiveaspects]

[elusiveaspects]

@vicemirrored​:

“ what? ” he wearily rubbed at his left eye and stifled a yawn. “ i’m fine, chloe. i slept last night. just been a long day, that’s all. ”

“ Uh huh, ”   she replies, not even trying to sound as though she’s humouring him; not even looking up from her dinner menu.   “ Well.   --   Even after the long days, you should probably double-check who you’re sending your texts to. ”

[elusiveaspects]

[   HENRY;   ]

“ Henry, when’s the last time you got a decent night’s sleep? ” 

[elusiveaspects]

@mcrtyrdom​:

                    persistence suits jack crawford much better than luck ever would, like it’s wrapped up in his pocket square will knows bella taught him to fold so nicely. luck is what will wears on his face, on his stomach, on his ring finger——-  luck is those jagged edges of close calls and a set of legs always ready to run. each man is what the one on the opposite side of the desk does not have. it’s always been this way.                       it’s old habit, the way jack turns the entire office around when he takes a seat, and the way will remains on his feet, allowing him to. he commands the room, but an authoritative personality can’t close the tooth fairy case the same way a pair of handcuffs can.                       ‘ i guess i owe you a few answers. ’  a pause; then,  ‘ and a beer. ’

A beer sounds like a blessed wonder in the face of jet-lag   --   and to help Jack digest whatever old stones he would be overturning here. It’s also a marker of his status: purely unprofessional, pursuing his own answers, his own friend. In his entire career, Jack never drank on the clock, and he knows that Will knows it. 

                    Jack Crawford is no threat, here.

                    “Answers I’m sure you’d rather share someplace else.”   Perhaps someplace where some remnants of Will Graham remain, but Jack isn’t going to be the one to invite himself in. He doesn’t miss the irony of how closely this parallels his role in hauling Will back into the Tooth Fairy case.   

                    “Been a long time since I’ve had a good German beer.”

[elusiveaspects]

🎄  Hannibal Advent - Day 5 Coquilles

[elusiveaspects]

and kids that’s how I met your father

[elusiveaspects]

@mcrtyrdom​:

                    he’d been well enough acquainted with that analytical gaze to know the stock it takes as it travels the mess of the office——-  far from chaotic, but lived in, the same way his desk had always looked at the academy in virginia when it still bore professor graham’s name. immediately does he feel himself profiled in his former colleague’s mind, suspect, almost. he makes no movement to re-cover the titles found among his things; jack crawford is not who they are hidden from.                      ‘ academic writing in german is outside my skill range for a few more years yet. ’                     an arm folds over his chest, his sleeves rolled once at the wrists, fingers half consciously raised to his face to cover, in part, the scar that splits his cheek.  ‘ was i careless, jack? ’  he asks.  ‘ or were you lucky? ’

“Careless? No.”   The old echo of their past repertoire -- the aggravating back-and-forth -- it brings on something like a smile, but not quite. He’s still mad as hell.   “And I wasn’t lucky, either. I was persistent.” 

                    Jack knows to replace the pamphlets exactly where he’d found them: tucked out of sight. He shrugs out of his coat, draping the broad shoulders of the thing over the back of the visitors’ chair, and when he sits down it feels a lot like he’s back on the owner’s side of the desk, with Will standing antsy and hard at work in front of him.

                    “Now, I’m retired.”

[elusiveaspects]

#HannibalAdvent: Contorno

By: thejennire

Check the Tags!!! [x]

[elusiveaspects]

@gutyou​:

making no effort to hide his self-congratulatory grin, macfarlane tipped back in his seat, lifted his own glass of gin in a brief toast of acknowledgement, and swallowed a generous sip before replying. “ that doesn’t sound low at all, i think. that’s nine leads further than we were before the broadcast. if our luck keeps up like this, we’ll be netting the man in no time, if you ask me. ”

“How’ll you feel? After we’ve ‘netted’ him?”   Before letting Macfarlane answer, he clarifies with some added direction:   “What I see in forensics and homicide investigation units are two types...”   Jack held up his ring finger, the ring itself at the bottom of the Arno, in Italy.   “The type that wants to speak for the dead and support the people left behind,”   and then his middle finger,   “and the type that wants to see some son of a bitch pay his dues for crimes he thought he’d get away with.”

[elusiveaspects]

@gutyou

“I was right to put you in front of the camera, Macfarlane.”   Jack took a sip of his celebratory gin, eyes warm but watchful. No matter how much he wanted to like Wolfe Macfarlane, the man’s charm brought up a new kind of caution.   “Eighty-seven phone calls since the 11AM broadcast and nine of them came up as real leads. -- And you might think a ten percent grab is low, but in high profile cases, this is a major step forward.”

[elusiveaspects]

@mcrtyrdom​:

                    it’s not a dream.                      it’s not a dream, and he knows that the moment the real, living, breathing jack crawford speaks to him instead of throwing him face down on the desk in a set of handcuffs, or holding him at gunpoint for the bodies he left in scotland, or gazing at him vacantly, silently, disappointment in his eyes that demanded to know why. will has seen those reactions in his dreams; within the reach of his weighted conscience’s vivid imagination would never have been the calm and rational air of the real jack crawford.                      speechless, he steps aside, quietly shutting the door behind his old colleague. old friend.                      ‘ you’re a long way from home. ’

“You came a long way to make a home.” 

                    Jack scans the books on the shelves: easy stuff for Will, easy psychology. -- And then there’s a book on William Blake. It looks like a gift, barely cracked at the spine. There’s a pamphlet on the desk, hastily stuffed under a pile of grading that Jack pries out to read: Modern Diagnostics in Psychology Presents: Understanding Species Dysphoria. And in another stack of periodicals, The Limits of Species Identity Disorder.

                    “Couple weeks ago, I read Doctor Rogers’ article in The Journal of Applied Psychology. When I realized it was your voice reading it back to me, I got on a plane.”

[elusiveaspects]

@mcrtyrdom​:

                    he thinks of his time at the bureau because all corpses dumped hastily in the river float to the surface again eventually——-  the only difference is how rotten they’ve become during their time in such reckless concealment. so he sits, and he thinks, and he listens to the ticking of the clock on the wall above the door, listens to try and fill his head with something, anything else. will graham doesn’t want those memories sinking into the carpet. professor rogers doesn’t want to remember will graham.                      knocking startles him from something of a trance, and he glances at the clock. late. later than most of his students would care to come see him, and later than all of them would expect him to still be around. wondering if it’s francis outside, coming to take him home, maybe with dinner, maybe just with a cup of coffee, there’s a touch of a smile at his lips when he stands.                      it all but drops off his face to shatter on the floor when he opens the door.                      he’s sure he’s asleep, at first. dozed off at his desk. manifesting his anxiety through a nightmare he’s had before. jack crawford, here to take away what little good he’s salvaged from the wreckage of his life.                      ‘ jack, ’  will says, a breath more than a syllable. are you real? he wants to ask, but his chest is too tight to allow space for words. are you real? the clock tick, tick, ticks away above his head. 

“Professor.”

                    He knows better. Jack doesn’t barge in and he doesn’t put on airs or draw any attention whatsoever. In his business-casual and overcoat, he fits in with everybody else, just like Will’s done for himself. Professor Rogers looks different, carries himself differently than Will Graham. There’s an ugly scar on his cheek, but he’s got a well-kept stubble, ring on his finger, the shadow of a couple affectionate bruises at his neck, and his clothes are a bit too big. Maybe he had time to gain weight and lose it over the past couple years.

                    It doesn’t occur to Jack that the clothing aren’t Will’s. 

                    “May I?” he asks with a gesture to the door. 

[elusiveaspects]

@mcrtyrdom

Doctor Steve Rogers had been a coincidence. The way wounded man had been a coincidence for Miriam Lass; the way finding the Chesapeake Ripper had been a coincidence for Will Graham. But Jack isn’t on a chase for a killer -- just answers. He’s on a chase for his beauty sleep, which hasn’t come to him in a long damn time.

                    He knocks at the office door. He doesn’t know how else to do it. A phone call or an email wouldn’t have been enough for him. Jack needs to look at him, to look him in the eyes and know Will Graham is alive, so he’s flown halfway around the world to this university, just outside of Berlin. He stares at the nameplate on the door, wonders why the hell Graham thought Captain America was a good alias. Because he’d killed Hannibal Lecter and the Red Dragon? Slaughtered one and wrenched the other into the sea? 

                    Jack scratches anxiously at his forehead and wonders what kind of man he’ll find on the other side of that door. He wonders whether they let dogs on these campuses.