#alana the brilliant

[fi-fitz-flynn]

Flynn happily tightened his arms around Holley, while he loved the comments, while he would happily take her to a room to have a little way with her, Within reason of course. but he knew she was embarrassed even without seeing her face.

"Do we? All sappy and happy. Who would have thought." After all Flynn was not the Sappy or Happy type. Or at least he figured that he wasn't.

"Though I would say we shouldn't end the night here getting rooms and all. That can always come later."

@miss-holleyshiftwell @alana-the-brilliant @crickey-itsjake

Boyfriend Test {Flolley + A Lake}

[sysig]

If the rules are “Catch them all” ZEX already has a leg up (Patreon)

[witchblade]

freddie lounds, the all knowing

[cece693]

May I pretty please request Hannigram with an SO that really likes biting things? Like they’ll just nibble on anything available, including themself or Hanni/Will

male reader if possible :)

Bite Me, Darling

pairing: hannibal lecter and will graham x male reader tags: self soothing mechanism, male reader bites things, Alana bashing, jack Crawford bashing, just everyone in general is against this relationship, innocent male reader, hannibal and will want to keep him this way

It was strange, how everything about him was normal on the surface but wildly unique beneath. The way he moved through life, unaware of the way people stared, was something that only a few people truly understood. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, for all their intelligence and their capacity for manipulation, had each found something in him—something pure and raw—that spoke to them in ways they couldn’t articulate.

You were innocent in the most innocent way. You didn’t know how to read people’s intentions, how to navigate the murky waters of deceit and pain that others swam in. You were a creature of quiet habits: chewing on pens, biting the corner of your sleeves, even nibbling your fingers. It wasn’t that you was anxious, but rather that this was your way of processing the world. You didn’t speak much, but when you did, it was with a tenderness that could disarm even the most hardened individuals.

For some, this made you seem almost too innocent for the likes of Will and Hannibal. They were two men who dealt with darkness constantly, who played in shadows. Hannibal, the brilliant psychiatrist with an appetite for blood, had found himself intrigued long before anything happened between them. How did such a pure soul even come to be? How was it that someone as complex as Hannibal could be pulled into a world where biting things wasn’t just a habit—it was part of who you were?

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Hannibal was nothing if not a man who craved complexity, and you, with your simple yet peculiar habit of biting, had an allure that he could never fully comprehend. He wasn’t sure when the lines had blurred, when you had shifted from being someone he wanted to understand to someone he wanted to possess.

Will, on the other hand, was less of a mystery. He found your unspoken understanding of him soothing. Will was not a man who found comfort easily. He’d had too many years of running from his own mind, of balancing between the need for human connection and the heavy weight of his empathic gifts. But you were different. You never demanded anything from him. There was no need to over explain; no fear of rejection. You were there, and that was enough.

The three of them had fallen into a relationship that no one, especially not Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, could understand. Jack, upset that you had a greater control over his 'asset' perceived you as a problem that needed to be extinguished immediately. While he couldn't force Will to break up with you, he began to use manipulative language more frequently, hinting that his absence was endangering the lives of people. But after a while, his words began to lose power.

"Will, you can’t just leave because he told you to," Jack would say, his voice thick with frustration. "We need you to solve this case. You're part of this team." But Will, unmoved, always told him he was tired and needed a break—as if killers would respect that and stop murdering until he felt better. Jack would then begin to retort how soft Will was becoming, as if that ever mattered when others perceived him as a madman.

Alana, on the other hand, was driven by something more personal. Jealousy. She had been drawn to both Hannibal and Will. Her feelings for them had never been simple or easy, but she had always harbored a belief that somehow, one day, they would choose her. Instead, they had chosen you. The idea of you, with your gentle biting habit, managing to capture the attention of both men—of all people—was enough to make her skin crawl with resentment. How could someone so abnormal and clearly dealing with childhood trauma have the audacity to step into their world and steal both her love interests?

She couldn’t help but feel that you didn’t deserve them. You weren't like her—you didn’t understand the complexities of their lives nor seemed to be able to handle the hurdles that came with it. And so, she set to work.

It started subtly. A conversation here, a comment there.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re a little strange?” she would ask, voice light, as if it were a passing thought. “I mean, the biting…it's something you can't help, but don't you ever want to stop it? Be seen as normal for once in your life?"

At first, you had laughed it off, thinking nothing of it. But over time, the seeds of doubt were planted. You began to wonder. Was your habit of biting things wrong? Your lovers had never raised concerns, but it would be something they'll definitely keep private, perhaps a secret only shared between Hannibal and Will. You never thought that Alana's words were connived to break your relationship apart, your naivety something the woman had taken into account and used to her advantage.

So, you tried to stop.

You started small: you tucked your hands into your sleeves when your instincts told you to gnaw at the fabric, and you opted for straws instead of biting the rim of a glass cup. You made an effort—any effort—to keep your teeth away from Will and Hannibal’s skin, no matter how comforting that gentle pressure felt against them. At first, neither man noticed; after all, it was easy to dismiss as a passing mood or an unremarkable change in routine.

But after a couple of days, small signs alerted both of them to the shift. Will began to see you catch yourself mid-motion, your hand halfway to your mouth before you stopped and pressed it flat against your chest instead. Hannibal noticed the anxious flicker in your eyes whenever you realized you were about to bite down on your sleeve—or worse, on him—and yanked yourself away.

It was Will who first chose to address it. One evening, you were curled up in his living room, dogs scattered around you like living blankets. The space was quiet, the only sound the gentle snoring of a dog and the low hum of the overhead light. You were running your thumb over your bottom lip—an almost-bite—when Will finally spoke.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, forcing a small smile. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

He studied you with those empathetic eyes of his. You knew he was reading more into your silence, but Will was nothing if not patient. “You’ve been distant,” he finally ventured, words slow and careful. “I don’t mind if you need space, but if something’s bothering you, I want to help.”

The sincerity in his voice tore at your heart. You wanted to confide in him, to say Alana made me feel wrong, and I don’t want to be wrong for you, but the fear of seeming weak or needy held you back. You simply shook your head and offered a reassuring pat to one of the dogs resting on your lap. “I’m fine,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t push. “Just tired.”

Hannibal discovered your change in behavior under more intimate circumstances. The two of you were alone in his kitchen, the scent of simmering stock filling the air. He had taken your hand to guide you closer to the cutting board, demonstrating a particular technique for slicing vegetables. Normally, a casual closeness like this was an invitation for you to lean in, maybe press your teeth gently against the back of his hand or the curve of his arm—just enough to ground yourself in his presence. This time, you didn't lean in nor brought his hand to your lips.

Hannibal stilled, eyebrows lifting in polite surprise. “Darling,” he asked softly, “what’s wrong?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You swallowed hard. “Just didn’t want to hurt you,” you offered lamely, though you both knew you had never caused him pain before. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he released your hand without comment. You wondered if your face betrayed the unease you felt, because Hannibal’s expression shifted into something gentler, concerned. But he chose not to press you then and there. Instead, he simply carried on, instructing you gently with the knife work and occasionally brushing a reassuring hand across your back.

Though both men tried to give you space, their combined worry spilled over as time went on. Neither was used to seeing you so guarded, especially around them. On a chilly afternoon, the three of you gathered in Hannibal’s study—a routine that had become something of a tradition. Will sipped his whiskey quietly while Hannibal and you browsed through his impressive collection of classical music. There was a soothing air of comfort, and for a brief moment, your doubts dimmed.

But of course, it was Will who noticed your jaw moving—saw the slight shift as your teeth worked the soft flesh inside your cheek. He placed his whiskey glass down on the table with a muted clink before pushing himself out of the chair.

“Stop,” he murmured, crossing the room with purpose. His voice was gentle but firm as he stepped close to you. Without hesitating, he brought his hand to your chin, his touch warm yet insistent. “Open your mouth.”

You stiffened, instinctively pulling away. You shook your head, trying to avert your gaze from Will’s intense blue eyes. You didn’t want to show him. You didn’t want him to see the damage you’d done to keep from biting them instead.

But then, Hannibal appeared at Will’s side, his presence commanding. He didn’t say a word, but the look he gave you—equal parts concern and disappointment—made your shoulders slump in silent surrender. Unable to deny the weight of their worry, you parted your lips, letting Will tilt your chin just enough so both he and Hannibal could peer inside.

A faint gasp escaped Will as he saw the small puncture in your cheek, the fresh bead of crimson welling against your lower molars. Hannibal’s lips flattened into a thin line, and a flicker of displeasure darkened his gaze. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small wound, but it spoke volumes to them—volumes about how you had been coping alone.

Hannibal’s voice was low, edged with concern. “You’ve been hurting yourself to avoid biting us.” It wasn’t a question; it was a quiet statement of fact.

Will let go of your chin carefully. “Why?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

You swallowed thickly, your hand hovering near your mouth in a subconscious attempt to hide the injury you’d just revealed. “Alana said it’s weird. The biting,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

A stretch of silence followed your confession, Hannibal and Will exchanged a look—a silent conversation filled with understanding and mild anger toward Alana’s interference. Will’s gaze softened as he turned back to you. “We told you before,” he reminded you gently, “you don’t have to hide this from us. You’re not hurting us—”

“—nor inconveniencing us,” Hannibal interrupted, stepping closer again. The resolute calm in his eyes steadied you. “In fact, we’ve grown quite accustomed to it, and dare I say, fond of it. Your habit is part of who you are.”

You glanced down, feeling the sting of tears threatening in your eyes. “I just…I didn’t want you to get sick of me, or to think I was some sort of burden.”

Will’s hand found yours, his fingers threading through with a gentle squeeze. “That’s not possible,” he murmured. “We miss it…miss you being comfortable around us.”

Hannibal placed a hand against your cheek, being mindful of your tender injury. “You never need to hurt yourself on our behalf,” he said, voice quiet but unyielding. “Any pain you feel—physical or otherwise—we’d much rather help you carry it, not watch you bury it inside.”

At those words, a sharp wave of relief pulsed through you, along with an ache of regret for having doubted them. You inhaled shakily, letting yourself lean just a fraction closer to Hannibal’s touch, feeling the stability it offered. Will eased his other hand around your waist, tugging you gently in his direction. Sandwiched between them, you could almost believe nothing else mattered.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “I…I’ll try not to hide it anymore.”

Will’s lips quirked into a small, comforting smile. “No more chewing on your cheek,” he said, voice warm with affection. “You’ll let us help, right?”

With a hesitant nod, you felt Hannibal’s hand slide from your cheek to the back of your head, urging you closer until your forehead rested against his shoulder. He cast a glance at Will, who leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Despite the swirl of emotions, you felt a gentle calm in their presence—a sense of being anchored.

[foxtrology]

star sailor

a reed richards x reader series

In Earth-404, there are no superheroes—no Fantastic Four, no intergalactic battles.

Just Reed Richards—brilliant, gentle, and devoted to science and education. A celebrated mentor at the Baxter Foundation, he's a man defined not by tragedy, but by quiet purpose.

You're his protégé turned partner—an introverted researcher who finds comfort in lab notes, not love letters. Together, you mentor the next generation of scientists and build a relationship grounded in curiosity, mutual respect, and quiet devotion.

But peace never lasts across universes.

A flicker. A ripple. A data signature Reed can’t explain.

On Earth-616, Mister Fantastic sees something in a quantum experiment he shouldn’t have—a version of himself without powers, without Sue Storm… with you. He looks away, but the multiverse doesn’t.

As quantum echoes bleed through realities, the fabric of Earth-404 begins to fray—glitches in gravity, shifting outcomes, creeping instability. Now, your calm, beautiful world teeters on the edge of unraveling, caught in the wake of a man who doesn’t even know he’s breaking it.

A love built in silence is about to be tested by cosmic noise.

⸻

part one - inertia

other parts in progress

⸻

𖦹 if you'd like to be added to the taglist for 'star sailor' when it releases, feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox - alana!

[crimsondinnerparty]

BEDLIA SAW IT ALL. SHE ALWAYS DID.

“Is Hannibal… in love with me?” “Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment in the very sight of you? Yes. But do you ache for him?”

Let’s be very clear: Bedelia Du Maurier is the only character who walks into Season 3 knowing exactly what story she’s in.

Everyone else — Will, Jack, Alana is still playing chess. Bedelia is reading the damn script.

She knows Hannibal is dangerous and not just intellectually. She knows he devours not just bodies but identities. And she knows he’s not just obsessed with Will he’s metaphysically bound to him.

She doesn't ask “Does Hannibal love Will?” to be provocative.

She asks because she’s already calculated the cost of being the woman standing between a god and his chosen disciple.

She warns Will. She warns Hannibal. She tries, for a time, to curate her own survival. But what makes her tragic is that she knows she’s not a participant in their story. She’s a footnote. An observer. A ghost inside the theatre.

She’s poised, brilliant, manipulative yes. But she’s also in survival mode, almost always.

Her actions are strategic not seductive. Her elegance is armor, not allure.

She’s not trying to win Hannibal. She’s trying to outrun him.

But she still ends up seated at that long table. Alone. Dressed like the final girl in an opera. Awaiting her own consumption

Not screaming. Not crying. Waiting.

Because Bedelia always knew this was the ending.

She just hoped she’d find a loophole.

SHE'S THE ONLY CHARACTER WHO SEES LOVE AS VIOLENCE

Let’s revisit this exchange:

Will: Is Hannibal... in love with me? Bedelia: “Yes. But do you ache for him?”

This isn’t just Bedelia being sly.

This is Bedelia translating Hannibal's hunger into a divine, destructive force.

She names it. She gives it language.

Not lust. Not obsession.

Ache. Sacrament. Ritual. Death.

She knows Hannibal doesn’t want to possess Will. He wants to transform him. Through suffering.

And Will — Bedelia knows — wants it too.

[specialagentartemis]

Alana Maxwell is so fascinating and died too soon. She seemed ambivalent about Goddard and SI-5 and their big picture goals. Kepler was a true believer and Jacobi seemed like would follow Kepler anywhere for scraps of validationand was happy being a weapon for Kepler/Goddard to point at stuff and tell him to blow it up. But Maxwell? She seemed so completely amoral but not even For Goddard. She seemed like she could take or leave Goddard. She wasn’t a true believer; she was making Goddard work for her just as much as she worked for them. She got to do cutting edge AI research and travel the world, fully funded. The murder and spy shit was a price she was happy to pay for that.

And through it all she’s by far the most socially well-adjusted member of SI-5. Because the murder and spy shit is really just a day job to her. Kepler is her boss. This isn’t her passion. She’d go wherever the research funding was. The murder and spy shit allows her to pursue her real passion: amoral cutting edge AI research and bonus hanging out with Jacobi. She’s a brilliant hacker/researcher who loves novelty; thrives with creative problem-solving; defines her own very idiosyncratic and self-serving ethics; and doesn’t care about other people.

And yet she’s not cold. She’s not the aloof genius type. She’s friendly. To her, none of this has to mean she’s cruel. She’s not! She’s nice. She’s sympathetic to Hera and even to Lovelace sometimes. She likes fun. She just also has a mission, has her own goals, and other people are tools to get there or obstacles to remove. Doesn’t mean you have to twist the knife. Kepler likes to gloat, to make it hurt; Maxwell does not bother with that part. It’s irrelevant to her goals.

I think Maxwell really truly considered herself Hera’s friend, and I think she really was kind of sorry at what she had to do. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to betray and use her. I think she was sad, and I also don’t think she ever hesitated. It’s not personal. It’s not because she doesn’t see Hera as a person, either. She very much does! She gets her! It’s just that to Maxwell, when real shit is on the line, when it’s her work and what she needs to do to keep doing her work, other people just don’t Matter. She’d do the same to a human in a heartbeat (probably faster; Hera was more interesting to her, more on her level, than most any other human). And she’s fine with that.

I would LOVE to know how she’d react if she survived to season 4; it feels like such a loss! Reacting to Kepler’s betrayal, but also with a far bigger more interesting problem/mystery to solve than what she thought they were being sent up there for? Maxwell would be SUCH an interesting character to have there!

[jameshawks]

James had no reason to think that Aquata wasn't joking. He highly doubted there was an actual evil mastermind in the apartments. And if there was well. Jake was an agent. He would pull them in if it was needed.

So low priority for him to trying and figure out Aquata's sister beyond the fact it was Aquata's sister.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that. I'll warm you up." James teased but he was already turning slightly to walk back. "I'm sure I'll see you guys around a bunch if we're neighbours." James mused smiling at the couple.

@alana-the-brilliant @crickey-itsjake @aquata-the-champ

Not A Drill | Agent Mermaids

[starstrucktoby]

Hunger Games Name Masterlist

Basically, I went Insane and collected name ideas for each District + Capitol. Beware, a lot are very stupid, and this is a big list. (Not my usual post, but I couldn't resist.)

District One: Luxury (144)

Ardor Amethyst Azora Apollo Argent Alistor Ardene Armor Augustus Athena Aphrodite Adonis Amber 

Brilliant Brandi Blaze Banz Bastion Beau

Cashmere Clos Calix Chic Copper Cash Chanel Charity Cedric Cupid Citrine Carnelian 

Diamond Daria Dolan Dior Diamantè Darius

Emerald Eleanor Etheridge Eros Estelle 

Feldspar Fynn Fantasy Florence Fortune

Gloss Glitter Gold Glimmer Gleam Glitta Garnet Glitzy Giorgio Gemma Geodia Glamour Golden

Hermes Hale Hera Hebe

Iris

Jupiter Jasper Jade 

Kamran Kota

Lace Lunia Lucretius Lux Luster Luncan Lapis Lustre Lovejoy Lucretia 

Marvel Marble Mace Midas Maia Muse Malachite 

Nike Nova 

Opal Orchid Odette Ottaline Onyx Obsidian 

Platinum Paris Porsche Price Precious Palladium Panache Pallas Pluto Prosper Plutus

Quartz

Ruby Radiance Royce Rolex Rafferty Ryker Rose 

Silk Silver Silka Satin Sparkle Sprinkle Shimma Sapphire Sylvia Shimmer Saffron Shneer Swan Spinel Selene 

Tiger Tilver Topaz Tashi Tiger 

Velvet Victoria Vine Valour Vulcan Vinny Velora

Zada Zillion Zircon 

District Two: Masonry (113)

Alana Ashlar Alexis Amelia Ajax Athena Ally Aegis Amazon Artemis Ares Armor Achilles Aurelia Aurelius Atticus Aegon Agatha Artulia Arielle Audrina Adonis Atlantia

Brutus Blaze Butte Bulla Boaz Beatrix Bedford Barrett

Cato Clove Cray Cob Crag Calista Cadmus Circe Clay Claudia Claudius Casey Cassandra Clytemnestra

Darius Domitia Dax Dele Desdemona Diana Duncan

Enobaria Evander

Flint

Garrison Gunner

Hero Hephestus Hestia Helena Heracles Hercules

Icarus

Jason Julius Joan 

Knight

Lewis Lana Lenna Lyme

Mason Marshall Minerva Manius Menelaus Murphy

Nolan Nero Nike

Odius Oretta Olympia

Purnia

Quartz

Romulus Roland Regime Ryker Remus Rocky Ramona

Slate Styx Slayte Setho Scilla Sloan

Terra Thor Titan Troy Thalia Tobias Theseus

Valerie Victor Valda Vulcan Valentina

Zeno Zelda

District Three: Technology (144)

Acer Amber Alex Adelle Ampert Albert Ada Apollo Athena Amp Ann Ashdiemi Adden Aicee 

Beetee Binary Bug Boolean Bolt Byte Bernadette Bit

Cable Cordin Chip Coda Cora Curie Cache Coeus Cath Ceiver Coax Codey Coil Crystal Cam Carbon 

Dayta Dell Digit Dem Della Dinah Denise Dennis Dev Dio

Electra Elecc Enna Ellie Elsie Ether Esdee 

Futura Flux Fuse Flash Fritz Fallon

Gadge Gamma Giga

Huxley Henri

Isaac

Java Juno Jack Jackie Jacqueline 

Kilo Kit Kane Key 

Lumen Lanni Linux Lithia Lenny Lenovo

Magnet Mac Marie Micheal Metis Minerva Mercury Memrie Monitor Manual 

Newton Neo Nikola Nano

Opera Oscil Oxide 

Pexey Pixelle Packard Peg Pierre Physis Piezo 

Ryam Rakesh Rosalind Roku Ram

Satis Stylus Saturn Steve Servo Silico Sidi Savas 

Techa Telle Technik Tera Toshi Thomas Tenna Tenni Teslee Trojan Tella Tee Teevee   

Urania Usbee 

Vizio Vista Virginia Virus Volta

Wiress Wifi Wye 

Xavier Xander

District Four: Fishing (137)

Annie Alge Amur Aqua Annette Ariel Angler Amphitrite Aphrodite Attina Andrina Arista Adella Alana

Brooke Brook Bay Bayou Beryl

Coral Cress Cascade Calamari Caspian Cove Cod Cecelia Cordelia Carper Cyrene Calypso Coast Caoimhe

Dylan Dory Drift Daphne Delphine Darya Declan

Ermin Esmarie

Finnick Finbar Finn Flyn Ford Fjord

Hudson

Isla

Jorden

Kai Knox Kaia Kailea Kinvara Kehlani

Lake Liam

Mags Maria Molly Marena Mizzen Marlin Monique Marina Mahi Marsh Mako Max Marlon Mira Murphy Marnie Morgan Marilyn Merlin Meli Maeve Margret 

Nemo Neptune Nile Nyle Naia Nixie Narida Niamh

Oscar Ola Ondine

Penelope Perch Poseidon Pearl Portman Porter Perseus Pisces 

Rika Roman Rio River Rush Rusher Reef Rain Ripley Ripple Ray Rybar Ronan Rory

Sedna Sirena Shad Salton Sailor Saylor Seaton Shelby Skipper Styx Selkie Stellamaris Saoirse

Troy Trent Trenton Talisa Thalassa

Ula Urchin

Wade

Zale Zander

District Five: Power (139)

Atom Albert Alba Abraham Aerial Amalle Ashia Aria Atsa Aaron Ada Argon Astatine Annie Ayla

Brites Bina Burn Bolt Bismuth 

Cyrus Comet Chip Cade Cascade Candesce Copper Caleb Cobalt Crystal

Dina Deena Dean Dawn Dyson Dinah Dyna Diode

Edison Eddie Elektra Emery Erik Elio Eliana Emeric Estelle

Foster Franklin Faraday Fisser Fluora Felicia Francis Ferrous Finch 

Genera Gale Griffin Gamma Gennie

Heller Hydro Hoover Helios Henry Hychel Hellen Hertz

Isaac Isaak Illari 

Joule Jacy Jakob

Kinetic Kane Kilo

Lymit Lynel Luna Leo Luka Lumos Lucy Lovelace Lucas

Mecha Martin Misha Matilda Muriel Max Marie Mercury Moraine

Nina Nicola Nicolas Nikola Neon

Ohm Ozma

Porter Portia Polonium Polly Phoebe

Ray Rextor Rosha 

Spark Solar Solaria Sirius Surge Sunny Sparky Suri Sorin Sterling

Tesla Turbin Terra Thesis Theia Theodore Tasela Thallium

Vida Vulcan Volt

Watt Wattson Wyatt

Xenon

Zippina Zeus Zora

District Six: Transportation (124)

Apollo Aranrhod Aran Arun Aero Autus Auta Aaron Aston Amelia Astra Aldrin Avis Axel Aeria Atlas Alexis Acela Austin  

Byke Brunel Bonnet Beatrix Brooke Benz Blaise Ben

Cara Casey Carter Cooper Celeste Chuck Carson Chevy

Demica Diesel Denver Dakota Dallas Dominica Desdemona 

Electra Elijah

Fender Ford Florence Flint Freight 

Ginnee Georgia

Hippolyte Hermes Harvey

Iris Isaac India

Jason Jet Jorden

Kiva Kyva Kirk Kia Kennedy Karl

Lexus Lorry Lillie Lade Leonardo

Martin Mercedes Moves Maureen Maverick Mack Mercury Maglev Maya Murray Montana 

Lade Lorry Lillie  

Night Neil Nova

Oto Otto Orville

Porter

Remus Raven Rusty Ryder Rivet Rayne Rain Raelle Savera Sky Stella Syringe Slick Sofia Sydney Scotland Shannon Sierra Solin 

Titus Turbo Tamara Tamora Tiberius Train Tanya Tobias Texas

Volta Virginia 

Wrench Willbur

District Seven: Lumber (105)

Ava Amber Aspen Amur Arbor Anther Alcove Ash Acacia Aloe Alder Artemis Ayla Arbor Adair 

Blight Barker Briar Birch Brook

Cedara Cane Caspum Cheryl Connie Chip Ceder Clover Cypress

Douglas Daphne Dahlia Dara

Elm Ember Ewan

Forest Forrest Fern Fox Flora

Grover Grove Glade Georgina 

Heath Hesmin Holly Hazel Hawthorn Hollow

Ivy

Johanna Jack Juniper Jasmine

Kelvin

Lindell Linda Leaf Leif Laurel Lark 

Maple Magnolia

Nairn

Olive Oak Oaken Oakley Oaklynn Olivia

Pine Palmer Paige Poppy Pan 

Rowan Root Rose Raine Ranger Rusty 

Spruce Sage Sparrow Sierra Sequoia Silvia Sylvian Silas

Tomer Twiggy Terran Thorn Thicket Tilia 

Vulcan

Wilda Willow Whitt Woody Wren

Yvette

Zephyr

District Eight: Textiles (130)

Angora Ashleen Argyle Avery Athena Audrey 

Bonnie Burton Bobbin Button Baste Brocade Burlap Burgundy Blue Batiste Breton

Cecelia Calico Cloth Crochet Cashmere Casein Chevron Corduroy Cotton Canvas Chiffon Caracalla Coco Calvin Conrad Chantilly 

Dressal Dress Denim Denin Donatella Dorcas

Ester Emery Evelyn 

Flax Flossie Fleece Fabric Fabelle

Gingham Grey Gisele Gabrielle Grace Georgette 

Hem Harper Heidi

Ivory Indigo

Jute Jean Jaquette Joanne Jersey

Kelsi Knit Kelly

Lacey Lisle Lee Luis Lea Linen Lace Leather Lydia

Musslin Marshesca Marc

Nylon Needle Ned Naomi

Paylor Penny Paige Polly Patch Polyester Paisley

Rollag Rayon Red Rose Rufus Ralph

Sash Silk Sterling Steppe Stitch Satin Seam Scarlett Stella Spade Silka

Twill Twyla Thread Taylor Tecida Tanner Tweed Thimble Tom Till Tilly

Velvet Violet Vogue

Woof Weave Weft Wool Wooly Wovey Weaver

Yarnn Yves

Zipper

District Nine: Grain (97)

Aluma Amaranth Arley Amber Ayra Amos Abilene Ambrose Angelica 

Barley Barric Basil Bran Brie Bennett 

Ceres Citron Canno Cassava Cyrus Cora Clayton Clay Caelum 

Demeter Dagger Dove Demetrius Daphne Dorothy 

Emmett Elias Eden Esme 

Farro Fonio Farina

Gwenith Grist Garner Graham 

Harvest Harvey Hazel Hayle Harvie Harper 

James Jude

Kasha Kernel Kore Kerna 

Miller Marigold Milo Marlowe Mazie Meadow Mizar Miriam Mitchell Midge Maisie 

Laurel

Omri Orzo Oaten

Panlo Paige 

Quinoa

Rye Robin Rosemary Ryen Ryan

Sunnoria Seeder Soren Sorin Scythe Sorghum Silo Sage Sprout Silas Seraphina Sheaf

Taro Tessa (Rae)

Vinea

Winnow Wheat Wheaton Waverly

Zea

District Ten: Livestock (116)

Angus Abbat Arthur Annie Ayala Aries Adriana Arturo Amalia

Buck Bulla Belinda Butch Bludd Bovine Baron Brandy Beatrice Bill Bronco Bridle Birdie

Circe Cooper Cutter Cleave Chopp Cheyenne Cleet Colt Cal Clarabelle Carmen Calandra Castor Cedro Claude

Dalton Dyani Drake

Eve Everly Eachan Elena

Fora Falco Fawn Fauna Filip Fernanda

Gael Guernsey Gunner 

Hyde Holstein Heif

Isabel

Jersey Joaquin Jesse Juan Jacinta Javier 

Keld

Lamb Lannie Levi Landrie Lark Leandra Lupe

Merona Mink Marietta Mane Maine Maite Malena Mateo

Nox

Orford Orson Oscar

Pastor Peeler Pastora Paloma Phox 

Roan Rodeo Rosalind Roebuck Roswald Robin Ramon

Sable Suzan Suzanne Skinner Stamp Silas Sadie Shepherd Spur Santiago Sergio

Talon Tanner Taurus

Una Ursula

Vivian Viscera

Weston Wrangler Wren

District Eleven: Agriculture (104)

Apple Autumn Aloe Adair Ambrosia 

Briony Bean Basil Bramble Bran Blossom Bushel Bracken Berry Balthar Bale

Chaff Caritta Cane Clementine Culler Cornflower Clement Cherry Crassula Celia Ceres Carnation Chicory Chloe 

Durian Dill Daisy Demeter Demetrius 

Eden

Flora Frey

Guava

Huckle Harv Husker Hazel Honey Huck Harvest Hilla Hull

Ivy Iris

Jenkin Jack

Koring Kernel

Logan Lavender

Martin Misty Mirabella Mill Mace Moss

Nectarine 

Olive Orin Omar Oleander

Pepper Peara Perry Posey Poppy

Quagmire

Rue Reaper Reed Rosemary Rush Rosa Rural  

Soya Sirco Spud Spring Springer Seeder Seed Summer Stark Silas

Thresh Trail Trails Till Thorn/Thorne Tilly Tulip Tile

Vitex Vale

Willow Whent Winter

Zinna

District Twelve: Coal (181)

Ash Alloy Astrid Amaryllis Arlis Ambrose Almarine Aimee Avonelle Almanzo Albert Azalea Annabelle Arvid

Brooke Burnet Bristel Burdock Blair Breaker Belle Breecher Boone Bessie Bluebell Baylor

Chock Charity Collis Cole Coal Calla Canary Charlee Cindy Corabeth Chauncey Claris Clora Corvis Cinder 

Delly Dolly Don Daisy Delia Danny Dorothy Darcy Dillard Della Dorcas

Ember Eller Eula Eulalie Ellen Estle Erynne Esther Evie Everett

Flint Floyd Faye Floretta Fern Finnis

Gale Gaia Girty

Hilt Haymitch Hazelle Hopper Hemlock Holly Hewer Haldane Hickory

Ira Ivy

Jewel Jessup Jessamine Juniper Jack Johnny Jethro Jedediah Joybell

Kolton Katniss Kurtis Keziah

Leevy Lode Louella Lucy Lenore Larkspur Logan Leroy Larkin Leander Luzetta Livvie Laurel Lizza Luscinia 

Mist Madge Maysilee Merrilee Marilla Mary Molly Maryse Meg Mace Marjorie Magnolia Mossy Maryanne Mayfair Mamie Morell Myrtle Mae Mariah Maybelle Mavis Mabel

Nelly Nettle Numa

Ore Otis Otto Otho Ocie

Peeta Primrose Pick Posy Penny Polly Pitch Pearline Paloma Piper

Ripper Rooba Rory Robin Rowan Rooker Randal Ruth Rusher

Slatia Soot Shurl Sugar Stokely

Troy Thom Terra Tilly Tulipp Thelma

Quinn

Vertie

Wyatt Wiley Wren Willamae

Yancie

Zella Zeb Zuleika

The Capitol (146)

Ajax Ammon Albus Atala Agripina Androcles Apollo Agnes Arachne Andromeda Adalaide Augustus Antoninus Aurelius Aurora Alphonse Adriana Arther Aphrodite Agamemnon 

Bacchus Boo Blythe Beatrice Beau Beauchamp Benvolio 

Clio Cinna Casca Crassus Claudius Coco Caesar Coriolanus Castor Cressida Caligula Claiborne Cartwright Celia Cleopatra Charmion Cordelia Caliban Claudia

Daphne Dionysus Drusilla Dorothea Desdemona Demetrius 

Effie Elsa Emelia

Flavius Fulvia Florus Frances Francesca Florizel 

Galla Gaia

Hero Hestia Helena Hermia Hippolyta Horatio Hera

Idum Iggy Iras Imogen

Justice Julia Juliet

Kitty

Leto Lilith Livia Laszlo Leopold Leontes Lysander Loki

Maximus Messalla Marcus Messalina Mercutio Megaera

Nero

Octavia Olivia Ophelia Oberon Onyx

Pan Plutarch Pippy Pollux Portia Persephone Palmyra Penelope Proserpina Precious Perdita

Roman Rosamond Regan Rosalind Pandarus Proserpo Puck

Seneca Sabrina Syrio Snowflake Sloane Serra Sycorax Shylock Silver

Tigris Twinkle Tax Tatiana Tiberius Tamora Titania Theseus Tybolt Thana

Veridie Venia Vesta Viper Vespasian Viola Virgilia Volumnia Venus

Yorick

Zeus

[aflamboyanceofflamingos]

Bruce: Tim, your turn, what’s your New Year’s resolution?

Tim: It has come to my attention that some people view my absolutely hilarious self deprecating jokes as concerning, so I’ve elected to redirect that hatred…

Bruce, under his breath: thank god

Tim, as he goes into his supervillain pose: To being more mean to others

Jason, as he laughs at Bruce putting his head in his hands: That’s brilliant, I want to change mine

Dick: From ‘Making more people uncomfortable with jokes about my gruesome death’?

Tim: Moving on, I plan on getting a head start on my resolution. Duke, does Ms. Prauss still teach?

Duke: The chem teacher? I don’t have her but from what I’ve heard from my friends she sucks

Steph: SHE DOES! Oh my god she was so sexist- she would yell at the girls for the littlest things but let the boys obviously cheat-

Babs: She was even worse when I had her!

Duke: My French teacher is the exact same way!

Cass: Mr. Lovegood? He’s like the best

Duke: No, he was great, we got a new one and she doesn’t even have a teaching license and we know more then she does-

Luke: That was just like Mr. Goldhorn, could not teach and always stuck me with this one guy who couldn’t get a single lab right- We were in AP Physics

Tam: Wait Tim, Steph, I think she was in your year- Do you know Alana-

Steph/Tim: OH MY GOD-

Bruce, Gordon, and Lucius as they watch their children shit-talk various teachers and classmates from highschool for a full hour: I don’t know why I expected this to go well

Tim, very happy with himself: :)

[nadinebrooks-sides]

Here is the link to my masterlist.

Will Graham: Where Fear Rests

Warning: Please proceed with caution, if you're familiar with the tv show then I assume you already know what you're getting yourself in to

Alana Bloom sat across from Jack Crawford in his office, arms crossed as she weighed his request. 

“Jack, (y/n) left for a reason. Between us, that case she worked on in Oregon nearly broke her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone spiral like that and as her friend, I refuse to let that happen again. I almost quit and moved out there with her. It was bad.” 

“I know that Alana,” Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. “But she's one of she’s the best profiler I’ve ever seen, and we need her. I can’t afford to let this case slip any further.” 

“I know she is, Jack. She’s always been brilliant. Ever since we were kids. You think she wants to come back just because you ask nicely?” 

Jack’s gaze hardened. “I don’t care if she wants to come back. I care that there’s a serial killer out there and it’s my ass on the line right now. We need her insight. Please Alana. I don’t ask you for much.” 

Alana exhaled, shaking her head. “I can ask her. But if she says no, that’s the end of it.” 

Three days later, the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit was abuzz with whispers. Alana’s childhood best friend had arrived, the legendary profiler who stepped away from the field after a case in Oregon nearly had her committed into a psychiatric unit. 

The Salem Slasher they called him. He had been on a two year-long killing spree before (y/n) was able to track him down. Nobody knows how she did it and she didn’t really talk about it. She wasn’t even deemed competent to trail when it was time for her to get on the stand.

She had barely set foot in Quantico before the gossip spread. 

Will Graham stood near the back of the room, observing from a distance as she spoke with Jack. He had read her work, seen her case studies - she was a mastermind. There was no one in the field that was better than her. 

She was also absolutely stunning. 

Not in an ostentatious way, but in a way that made the room feel smaller around her. He had expected sharp eyes, a calculating presence, someone who carried the weight of every crime scene she’d ever stepped into. And she did - but she also had an undeniable warmth about her, a softness that belied the horrors she had seen. 

She had this quiet confidence, an ease that was rare in their line of work. Her voice was smooth, her tone measured as she spoke to Jack with a firm boundary: “If this case gets to be too much, I walk.” 

Jack nodded, agreeing to her terms, but Will could see it in his eyes - he wasn’t going to let her leave easily.

Hannibal Lecter, ever the observant psychiatrist, was already watching Will.

“You seem intrigued, Will,” he mused, his voice carrying amusement. “I take it you’re familiar with her? From what I’ve heard, she’s a genius. I haven’t had the luxury of reading any of her publications.” 

Will cleared his throat, feeling suddenly like a bug under a microscope. “You should. She’s good at what she does.” 

Hannibal’s smile was small, knowing. “That sounds like an understatement.” 

Alana practically sprinted across the office to embrace her friend in a hug. The two of them momentarily caught up before Jack ushered her into a briefing room. Hannibal and Will joined the trio in the office and Will took the seat furthest away from the woman and Hannibal sat down beside him. 

“We need your help.” Jack wasted no time getting to the point. “We’re dealing with a killer who isn’t following any discernible pattern. The bodies are piling up, and we look like a bunch of dogs chasing our tails in a circle.” 

“Walk me through what you have now.” She shrugged out of her blazer jacket leaving a light pink blouse that Will thought complemented her skin perfectly. 

(y/n) listened intently as the team laid out the details of the case, her gaze flicking between the crime scene photos and victim profiles. Will couldn’t stop watching her. The way she chewed her lip in thought, the way her fingers drummed lightly against the table - it was mesmerizing. 

She spoke with the certainty of someone who had been in the darkest parts of the human psyche and came back sharper for it. There was an elegance to the way she unraveled the case, her voice steady even as she discussed the grotesque details that had Alana looking a little sick. 

After a couple of hours of going through everything they had, (y/n) excused herself to the bathroom and Alana followed to make sure her friend was alright. 

“You don’t have to stare, you know,” Hannibal murmured beside him causing Jack to chuckle. 

“I’m not staring.” Will’s jaw tightened. Hannibal simply hummed, unconvinced. 

“Will, you look like you’ve forgotten how to speak.” Jack said. “You’re one of the sharpest men I know and I get one beautiful woman around you and suddenly all that goes out the window.” 

Will scowled but said nothing, focusing instead on the case file in his hands. The teasing was inevitable, but he wasn’t about to indulge them. 

By the end of the meeting, she was already offering insights that no one else had considered. Will could see it happening in real time - Jack’s posture shifted, the weight of his shoulders lifting slightly. They had all known she was good, but watching her work was something else entirely. 

And then, just as they were wrapping up, she turned to Will.

“You’re the empath, right?” 

Will blinked. This was the first time she had acknowledged him. “Yeah.”

She tilted her head slightly. “That must be exhausting. I hope you’ve got good coping mechanisms.” 

As the team began packing up their belongings, Jack pulled Hannibal aside. “What do you think?”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked to where Will stood, still watching her as she gathered her notes. “I think she will be a great asset to the case,” he said smoothly. Then, with a little chuckle, he added, “And I think Will Graham may be in trouble.” 

Over the next few days, Will found himself struggling with something unfamiliar: nervousness. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, especially not over another person. 

She had a habit of bringing coffee to the team in the morning, and for some reason, will was always included in her rounds. The first time she handed him a cup - “A splash of cream, almond milk, and three sugars” - he was too surprised to say anything but a mumbled “thank you.” 

(y/n) smiled, then turned away before he could think of anything else to say. She went to catch up with Alana, the two of them laughing as they made their way back into the briefing room. (y/n) would be speaking to local law enforcement this morning. 

“Speechless?” Hannibal teased as he walked by.

“No, she’s just being nice.” Will shrugged, trying to downplay the way his heart had jumped. 

“Sure Graham,” Jack smirked, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

Will shot him a look before taking a sip. It was perfect. 

The tension in the case room had grown heavier with each passing day. More bodies had turned up, each more grotesque than the last. The killer was escalating, and the stress was beginning to wear on everyone - especially (y/n).

Will had noticed it before anyone else. The way her shoulder tenses, the slight tremor in her fingers when she held a file for too long, the way she went mute for a couple of moments when staring at crime scene photos. Though Will was the first to notice, he wasn’t the only one. 

Jack started to pick up on the subtle way Will watched her, how his attention always seemed to be drawn toward her whenever she walked into a room. He’d caught Will staring at her coffee cup more times than he cared to admit, watching as she took absentminded sips while pouring over evidence. Will had never been particularly good at hiding things, least of all her emotions, and Jack wasn’t one to let something like this slide. 

“You should just ask her out,” Alana said casually one afternoon, her voice light but knowing. She was perched on the edge of Jack’s desk, flipping through a case file.

Will tensed immediately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Alana.” 

The brunette scoffed. “Oh please. You’ve been making googly eyes at her since she walked into this building.”

Jack smirked from across the room, arms folded. “She is impressive. Probably the best we’ve had here. But you can’t even string together a full sentence around her.” 

“Maybe don’t ask her out then.” Alana threw her head back laughing. “That would be embarrassing.”

Will swallowed, shifting uncomfortable. It was true, he had spent the past few days in a  state of near-paralysis whenever she was around. 

She wasn’t just another brilliant profiler; she was the profiler. The one everyone whispered about in the bureau, the one who cracked the hardest cases, the one Jack Crawford had to practically beg Alana to bring in. And yet, when she was around, when she was looking at him with those curious intelligent eyes, he felt like the least articulate man on the planet.

Instead of responding, Will turned back to the case file in front of him, pretending to be engrossed in the details of the latest victim. But even then, he could feel Alana’s amused gaze on him.

That evening, she surprised him.

“Will,” her voice was soft, hesitant. He turned to find her standing in the hallway, her coat draped over her arm. 

“Yeah?” 

“I was wondering if you wanted to come by my place tonight,” she said, shifting her weight slightly. “I’m at a bed and breakfast just outside of town, and I figured … we could go over the case. Somewhere that doesn’t smell like death. Only if that’s something you’re comfortable with. You’re more than welcome to tell me no.” 

Will was shocked, hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

The drive to the bed and breakfast was quiet, comfortable. The place (y/n) was staying was small, tucked away on the outskirts of the city. It was warm inside, the scent of lavender and something vaguely sweet filling the air. It was so different from Will’s house, which always smelled like damp wood and dogs.

(y/n) led him into the small sitting area of her suite, where files were already spread out on the coffee table. 

“Do you ever stop?” he asked, sitting down beside her. 

She let out a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not really.” 

They went through the case details together, bouncing theories off one another. But Will could see the exhaustion creeping into her posture. It wasn’t just from the case - it was something deeper, something that had been gnawing at her long before she had arrived here. 

She told Will that she was going to take a shower and that he was welcome to eat anything in the kitchen while she was gone. He took that time to look around the house trying to get to know her better.

“It’s hard to sleep,” she admitted after coming back into the living room. “Sometimes a hot shower helps.” 

Looking over at her Will realized this was the first time he hadn’t seen her in business clothes. She wore an oversized University of Maryland sweatshirt and fuzzy socks.

“Because of the case?” Will questioned. 

She shook her head. “Because I don’t like sleeping alone.” 

The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken. Will wasn’t sure how to respond. He had always preferred solitude, but the way she said it, the way her voice wavered slightly, told him this wasn’t just about loneliness. This was about something else entirely. 

(y/n) dropped down on the couch and Will watched as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her around them. “Ever since Oregon, it’s been like this,” she murmured. “I thought taking time off would help, but the silence is worse than the noise.” 

He didn’t push, didn’t ask for details, though his mind was already racing. Instead he simply nodded, understanding in a way that didn’t require words. 

“You can sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll stay.” 

She studied his face, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she exhaled and leaned back against the back of the couch, pulling a throw blanket over her. “Just until I fall asleep?” 

Will nodded. “Yeah.” 

(y/n) closed her eyes, and for a while, everything was still.

Then the nightmare came. 

Her breathing hitched first, her fingers curling into the blanket. Then came the whimper, soft and barely audible. Will’s chest tightened as he watched her face twist in distress, her body tensing as if she was preparing to fight off some unseen force. He hesitated only for a second before reaching out, his fingers brushing against her shoulder. 

“Hey,” he said, voice low but firm, trying not to startle her. “It’s just a dream.” 

(y/n) jerked away with a sharp inhale, her eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, she wasn’t there - she was somewhere else, somewhere dark and terrifying. Will could see it in her expression, in the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, in the way she blinked as if trying to bring herself back to the present. 

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re here. I’m here. You’re safe (y/n).”

“Sorry,” she whispered, her fingers clutching the fabric of his sleeve like a lifeline. “That was-”

“Oregon?” Will guessed. “The Salem Slasher?”

She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Yeah.”  

They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall. Finally, she let out a shaky breath and released her grip on his sleeve. “I don’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Will said gently. “But if you ever want to, I’ll listen.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, he saw something shift in her expression. A small crack in the carefully built walls she had put up.

“He taunted me for months leading up to his capture,” (y/n) began staring out the window, not able to meet Will’s eyes. “I knew the type of man he was - young, confident, good-looking, calculating. There’s no way you murder 22 women without being those things. He held them captive for weeks before releasing them, hunting them down like prey and killing them with one single stab to the heart with a dagger. I started to close in on him and his victimology changed.” 

“They started to look like you,” Will filled in. “I’ve never seen a serial killer change like that before.” He remembered the victims changing and starting to look eerily similar to (y/n). Same skin color, same hair type, same body build. 

“I knew he was doing it to scare me. To show just how close he could get to me. He delivered a severed head to my door. For weeks I was scared to close my eyes. I didn’t want to die like those other women. I didn’t want to be hunted down. And he made a mistake. A mistake so small that if you didn’t know what you were looking for, you would’ve missed it. The last victim, Brandy Young, he got sloppy with her. Left a dog hair on her shirt. Sometimes I wonder if he did it on purpose. I didn’t even want to interview him, but he would only tell me where he hid the victims.” 

Eventually she broke down and started sobbing into Will’s chest as he held her close.

**

The first light of morning filtered through the gauzy curtains of the bed and breakfast, casting soft golden hues over the living room.  

Alana Bloom balanced a takeout try in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other as she nudged open the front door with her hip. She had just stopped by the little café down the street, intent on surprising her best friend with breakfast.

She knew how difficult it was for (y/n) to sleep, how restless the nights had been since arriving. She hadn’t wanted to push too much, but the signs were obvious. The dark circles beneath her eyes, the way she carried herself a little heavier each day, the way her walls, already so well-fortified, seemed even more impenetrable than before.

But as Alana stepped inside, expecting to find (y/n) curled up on the couch alone, she stopped dead in her tracks. There, tangled together on the light gray sectional, were Will Graham and her best friend. 

Will was on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other loosely draped over her waist. She had pressed herself into his side at some point during the night, her face half-buried in his chest. The steady rise and fall of their breathing was in perfect sync. 

A slow grin spread across Alana’s face as she set the coffee and pastries down on the nearest table. 

“Well, well,” she murmured to herself before clearing her throat. “Good morning, lovebirds.”

The response was immediate. Will inhaled sharply, jerking upright so quickly he nearly sent (y/n) tumbling off the coach. She slowly sat up, groggy and confused, blinking up at Alana’s smirking face.

“Alana?” Her voice was thick with sleep, her hair an absolute mess. “What are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Alana said teasingly before her eyes flickered toward Will, who was reaching for his glasses, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “But I think I have my answer.” 

(y/n) properly sat up, stretching before looking over at Will. He looked positively horrified. 

“Alana, it’s not -” Will started, but she held up a hand. 

“Oh, please don’t ruin this for me. I’ve been waiting for you to make a move since the day she got here.” Alana turned back to her friend. “You really had no idea, did you?” 

“No idea about what?” (y/n) blinked trying to wake up.

Alana groaned dramatically. “Will has been completely, hopelessly infatuated with you since the moment he laid eyes on you.” 

Will pulled away from (y/n), jumping off the couch like it had caught fire. “It’s time for me to go. I have work. A lot of work to do.” He practically fled, barely stopping to grab his jackets and shoes as he rushed out the door, leaving behind a stunned duo. 

“Did that really just happen?” (y/n) turned to look at Alana. 

“Yeah.” Alana sighed, plopping down on the now-empty couch. “It really did,”

Will arrived at the FBI office thirty minutes later, hoping he could shake off the embarrassment of the morning, but he had barely made it inside before he realized that was a lost cause. Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter were already waiting for him.

“Well, well,” Jack said, echoing Alana’s words from earlier. “Look who decided to show up.” 

Will sighed, adjusting his glasses as he walked past them, determined to ignore whatever conversation was about to unfold. 

“You seem … well-rested,” Hannibal observed.

“Must’ve been quite a night.” Jack smirked.

Will grounded, rubbing his temples. “Nothing happened.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said, clearly not convinced. “And yet, you look guilty as hell.” 

Before Will could even argue, (y/n) walked in, carrying two cups of coffee. She made a beeline for him, setting one on his desk.

“Here,” she said, tapping the side of the cup with her slender finger. Will looked down and felt his heart stop for a moment. Written in black ink were two simple words: Thank You 

She gave him a small, knowing smile before turning on her heel and walking away to review the case files.

Jack and Hannibal exchanged glances.

“Nothing happened, huh?” Hannibal said, amused. 

Will ignored him. 

The day went by in a blur, but it ended the breakthrough. (y/n), after hours of analyzing the case files, finally put the pieces together. The killer wasn’t choosing his victims at random - they were connected through an old case that had been mishandled years ago. She presented her findings to the team, and just like that, they had their lead. Maybe all (y/n) needed was a good night's rest. 

It should have been a moment of triumph for Will, but as the reality of the case settling came into focus, so did something else: her departure. 

Will found himself sitting at his desk long after everyone had left for the evening, staring at the coffee cup she had given him earlier.

“I don’t want her to leave,” he admitted, breaking the silence. He wasn’t sure when Alana had appeared, but she was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him carefully.

“You should tell her that,” Alana said simply.

“I don't think I can do that.” Will let out a short, humorless laugh. 

“You’re the one making it complicated. She told me about last night. Thank you for taking care of her.”

Will finally looked up at Alana, “She has a life outside of this place. She managed to get out of all of this. Why would she stay?”

Alana signed, walking further into the room. “Maybe she would stay if she had a reason to.” 

Will looked down at the cup. His fingers traced over the inked words. Thank you.

“You should give her one,” Alana said before turning to leave.

That evening, the reader had just finished packing up her case files when there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Will standing there, looking uncertain. 

“Can we talk (y/n)?” He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. 

She stepped aside, letting him in. He looked around the room, taking in the half-packed suitcase, the coat draped over the chair. 

“You’re really leaving,” he said quietly. 

She nodded slowly. “That was always the plan.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Stay.” 

She looked up at him, startled. “Will-”

“I know it’s selfish,” he continued. “But I don’t want you to go.”

She searched his face, finding nothing but sincerity there. Slowly, she smiled.

“I was waiting for you to say that.”

Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and when he took a step closer. Instead. He reached out fingers brushing against hers, a silent promise hanging between them. 

No matter how ugly it got working with the FBI, the two of them were always going to have each other. 

[ariel-the-undiscovered]

How unfair was this, to never know. To be split from the connections he made here. The life of a mermaid, To choose one life over another because you couldn't have both.

To abandon your life in the sea for saftey. To abandon the life on land for your pod.

Ariel hated it.

She didn't know what else to say though either so she just nodded, agreeing with Finn, with her sisters.

@brucewhite @aquata-the-champ @agentgrumpy-gils @alana-the-brilliant @madellaine @a-merman-not-a-guppy @arista-the-musical

Like The Tides | Mercrew

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hi,

could you please write a one-shot, where Alana Bloom takes her little sister ( early teens) to work and while introducing her to Hannibal, the reader accidentaly calls him or asks him why his name is Cannibal? He just thinks it’s absolutely hilarious. And then she rants about all the names in the office rhyming with weird things, Hannibal-Cannibal, Will-Kill.

Hannibal X Teenage!Reader: The name game

Warnings: none

Word count: 1K

You were, frankly, a little nervous. Your sister Alana was always full of surprises, but today she had promised you a glimpse into her fascinating—if not entirely ordinary—work life. You were still figuring out where you belonged, but being at the Behavioral Sciences Unit was something else entirely. Still, there was a part of you that found it oddly cool. Especially the part where she worked with him.

Alana had explained it all to you the night before. The patients. The cases. The brilliant but strange psychiatrist who ran the whole show. Dr. Hannibal Lecter. You'd heard his name more times than you could count in passing, always a whisper of something unsettling in it. You didn’t really know why, but there was an eerie allure to it. 

You couldn’t wait to meet him.

Your sneakers squeaked against the polished floors of the hospital as you followed Alana through the hallways. The scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint smell of coffee, and you tried not to focus too much on how cold everything felt. Alana had already introduced you to a few of the staff—mostly doctors and lab techs who seemed too busy to spare more than a glance in your direction—but now, it was time to meet the man himself.

Alana was talking as she led you through the hallway, explaining a case she'd been working on, her voice soft and professional. But you were too busy looking around at the sterile, clinical space to focus much on what she was saying. There was something intimidating about the way everyone here moved, like they all had a purpose, an edge. Your heart thudded in your chest as you rounded the corner and saw the office door ahead, labeled Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

As you stepped into the office, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the atmosphere settle over you. The tall man standing by the window was wearing a tailored suit, his back to you, as though he had been waiting. He turned, and the first thing that struck you was his eyes. They were dark, calculating, but strangely warm. There was an elegance to him, a kind of dangerous charm that made your stomach flutter.

"Hello Alana." 

He greeted you sister, his eyes shifting to you as he seemed to notice your presence for the first time.

“Dr. Lecter, this is my little sister. She’s spending the day with me.”

You managed a small smile, but you were suddenly aware of how tiny you felt standing close to Hannibal. He was far taller than you had expected and far more intimidating. You shifted from foot to foot, trying to hide your nerves. Hannibal inclined his head slightly, his lips curling into something like an appreciative smile. 

“A pleasure to meet you. I hope you find the day interesting.”

His voice was smooth and rich, like someone who had spent a lifetime perfecting the art of speaking. For a moment, you forgot about being nervous. He sounded kind. But then the thoughts you’d been trying to avoid popped back into your head: his name. Hannibal. You had no idea why, but something about it made you think of something… well, weird.

And before you could stop yourself, it slipped out.

“Wait, your name’s Hannibal?Like… Cannibal, but with an H?”

You blinked, realizing you’d said it out loud, and immediately felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Alana shot you a warning glance, but Dr. Lecter’s reaction was… unexpected.

His lips parted slightly, and you saw his eyes glimmer with amusement. The silence stretched for just a beat too long, and then, as if unable to contain it anymore, he let out a soft, but genuinely amused laugh.

"Cannibal. I suppose that is a rather popular misconception."

You weren’t sure whether to be embarrassed or intrigued. He wasn’t offended at all. In fact, he seemed absolutely delighted.

“Don’t worry.” 

Alana said, rolling her eyes a little as she nudged you. 

“That’s been happening for years. You should hear some of the other nicknames people come up with.”

You blinked, looking at her in surprise. 

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. There’s always something about the name Hannibal. People just can’t help themselves.” 

 She shot a look at Dr. Lecter. 

 “Hannibal the Cannibal.’”

Dr. Lecter chuckled again, the sound rich and unexpected, like it didn’t belong in this room full of serious, clinical energy. His smile was faint but real.

You tilted your head, deciding to dive deeper into this whole nickname thing. If Dr. Lecter was going to find this funny, then why not keep going?

“Okay, but why is it always the weirdest things that rhyme with names?” 

You continued, your curiosity getting the better of you. 

“Like, Will—Will Graham? Why not ‘Kill Graham’?” 

You giggled at your own joke, though the strange look that crossed Dr. Lecter’s face made you second-guess yourself. 

“Or what about Jack Crawford? What’s he, ‘Snack Crawford?’”

Dr. Lecter raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement. 

“Snack Crawford.” 

He repeated, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it. 

“I believe that may be a new one.”

Alana rolled her eyes, but there was a soft laugh accompanied by it. 

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Just having fun with the situation.”

You gave her a shrug, trying to sound confident, even if you still felt a little out of place in front of Hannibal Lecter himself.

“And what of your sister's name?”

You paused, looking up at your sister. 

“Hmm, Alana… could be… Banana?”

Alana’s eyes went wide, clearly exasperated, while Dr. Lecter let out another unexpected chuckle. You burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. Alana looked like she was about to strangle you, but even she couldn’t suppress the corners of her mouth from twitching upwards.

“I swear you two.” 

She muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

“Well, it seems we’ve found a new way to pass the time.”

 His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and then he turned to Alana. 

“I do believe you’re right to keep her around. She has an excellent sense of humor.”You beamed. At least someone around here appreciated your rhyming antics.

[cece693]

TOLD YOU SO

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader synopsis: You had mentioned to Alana that something was weird about Hannibal—yes, the man was eccentric, to say the least—but there was something else, something dark hidden behind those eyes. So when Alana dismissed your concerns and then Hannibal's true colors made themselves known, you can't help but say 'I told you so.'

You had always known.

Maybe not in words, not in certainty, but in marrow and instinct. There was something about Dr. Hannibal Lecter that made your skin buzz—not crawl, not recoil, just...buzz. Like the flicker of candlelight in a dark room, beautiful and wrong in the same breath. He was polished to the point of parody—every gesture refined, every sentence balanced on a scalpel’s edge.

But something in you—something feral—had noticed the rot beneath the gilded surface. The way his eyes didn’t blink when others wept. The way he watched you, not like a man watches a colleague, but like an artist appraising marble before the first cut.

You had said as much once to Alana one rainy Tuesday—just a casual musing, “Don’t you think there’s something weird about Hannibal?"

She laughed, like you’d told a particularly tasteless joke. "You're overreacting,” she said, eyes soft but distant. “Hannibal is eccentric, I'll admit, but he’s a brilliant man. A good man."

You didn’t tell her it hurt, being brushed off like that. Especially when you had a stupid, hollow sort of crush on her. Not love—no, nothing so noble. Just the kind of crush that makes rejection feel like your lungs have turned inside out. You let it go. Or tried to.

Except you didn’t.

That was the first thread.

And you, being stubborn, followed it.

You didn’t mean to fall in love with him. God, no. But he was relentless. He folded himself into your days like rain into soil—word by word, glance by glance, meal by meal. You would wake up wondering what kind of wine he’d pair with your favorite book. You would hear his voice in the silence between your own thoughts.

You had told yourself it was just infatuation. Just loneliness. Just—but it wasn’t just anything. By the time you discovered the truth—that the good doctor wore faces like masks and fed lies with the same hand that plated gourmet dinners—it was too late. You were in love with him.

And worse still?

He loved you back.

So, when everything came crashing down—Will’s accusations, the investigation, the bloodshed—you stood at Hannibal’s side. Not because you condoned it. But because, somehow, in the wreckage of your life, he had become your gravity.

You fled Baltimore. Together.

SIX MONTHS LATER (FLORENCE, ITALY)

Europe was different.

Colder, older. Full of secrets and silences that didn’t echo the way Baltimore’s did. And despite everything—everything—you adapted. Learned to live in the lull between opera nights and blood-soaked mornings. You even grew to love it. But there was something you never got to say. Something that gnawed at you louder than any moral conflict you might’ve once had.

You never said it.

But Hannibal noticed.

He always noticed.

It was on a quiet Florentine afternoon—sunlight poured through the arched window, catching the edge of his knife as he sliced a persimmon with almost meditative slowness. The fruit bled onto the board. Sweet, orange-red.

“You’re restless,” he murmured, without looking up.

Your gaze lingered on the courtyard below. Pigeons flapped dumbly between statues. “We’re in hiding, darling. There’s only so many chapels and intestines I can look at before nostalgia kicks in.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m assuming this nostalgia is American-made?”

You turned your head and met his gaze. “I want to go back. Just for a day. To see Alana.”

There it was—the flicker. Subtle, but surgical. A twitch at the edge of his mouth, a near-imperceptible pause in the blade’s rhythm. Jealousy, cold and sharp. Because for all his grandeur, Hannibal Lecter was painfully human in his possessiveness.

And though you had chosen him—had run with him through blood and ruin—he still hadn’t forgotten the way your eyes used to flicker when Alana entered the room. He hadn’t forgotten your voice when you spoke about her—too soft. Too fond.

“She nearly died, you know,” you added softly, watching the persimmon fall into elegant crescent moons on the cutting board. “You threw her from a window. There are things I never got to say. Before everything burned.”

His voice, when it came, was calm. Frighteningly so. “What would you say, if given the chance?”

“I told you so,” you said without hesitation. He let out a soft hum, amused in that dangerous way. But you weren’t done. “And then maybe—��it should’ve been me you trusted.’”

That stilled him.

You stepped closer. “I know what you are. I knew before Will did. Before Jack. Before the headlines named you a monster. And I didn’t flinch. I could’ve turned you in. I could’ve killed you in your sleep.”

Hannibal’s head tilted, fascinated. “And yet you didn’t.”

“No.” Your tone hardened. “But you didn’t choose me either, did you? Not back then.”

He blinked. “You think I didn’t choose you?”

“You slept with her,” you said simply. “You played house with a woman I once loved, and then looked surprised when I didn’t fall to my knees in eternal gratitude for your affections later.”

He set the knife down gently. “That was never love. That was cruelty. Toward you. Toward her. A performance for the sake of preservation.”

You stared at him. “And me? What am I, Hannibal?”

He took a slow step forward, hands stained with juice and something more metaphorical. “You are not a performance. You are my reality. My consequence. My equal.”

“Then don’t flinch when I speak of her,” you snapped. “Don’t act like the goddamn victim when you pushed her off a balcony and then asked me to toast to it over chianti.”

Hannibal stepped close, his breath touching your skin, his voice silk-wrapped steel. “And what will seeing her give you? Closure?”

“No,” you said, lips quirking. “Satisfaction.”

TWO WEEKS LATER (BALTIMORE, MARYLAND)

Alana did not look thrilled to see you. She opened the door of her home, draped in wine-colored silk and shadows, blinking like she’d just seen a ghost. Her hair was longer than you remembered, loosely curled, and her expression read like a strained symphony—grief, horror, disbelief, and a bitter trace of something else. Guilt, maybe.

“You,” she said sharply, breath catching. “How are you—?”

“Alive? Beautiful? Better dressed than last time?” You smiled wide, baring teeth. “Hi, Alana.”

Her jaw tightened. “You were with him.”

“You say that like I was abducted,” you replied, stepping past the threshold uninvited. “But no—I chose him.”

Alana turned, following you inside like someone escorting a live bomb. “You helped him escape,” she said, voice rising with each syllable. “You chose a murderer over everyone who trusted you. Over me.”

You raised a brow. “You mean the same you who dismissed every warning I gave you? The one who said I was overreacting because Hannibal was too refined to be suspicious?”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Don’t pretend you cared. You never believed me. Not once. You were so determined to protect the fantasy that lived inside your head to take my words seriously.”

“Get out,” she said, low and tight.

But you kept going, the same way a knife keeps going after its broken skin. “You laughed when I warned you that Hannibal was hiding something—and for what? To keep Hannibal, a man who didn’t even love you, in your bed because he was some sort of compliment to the idea of what you deserved?”

Alana stiffened, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The words had been burning a hole in your chest for months. “You needed him to be perfect because if he was perfect and you had him, then that made you perfect too, didn’t it?”

“I said get out.”

“Or what?” you murmured, stepping closer, voice smooth. “You’ll call the police? Tell them the man who helped the Chesapeake Ripper escape just wandered back into town for a social call? Try it. I dare you.”

Alana's face twisted with fear.

Lovely.

It bloomed across her features like a fresh bruise—disgust, realization, and the sick churn of powerlessness she had once never thought would touch her. Not Alana Bloom. Not the clever girl with her degrees and convictions and tidy sense of right and wrong, but she wasn't untouchable anymore, and you weren’t the person she'd once dismissed.

“You know what’s funny?” you asked softly, leaning just slightly closer, voice barely above a purr. “I used to admire you. Hell, I even liked you. Tried everything to get you to look at me with anything other than that clinical detachment. Like I was some case study that didn’t quite warrant your full attention.”

Alana’s breath caught, but you didn’t let her speak.

“I sat in rooms with you, craving a glance. A real one. Not the kind you reserve for difficult patients or failed experiments. I wanted to matter to you. Stupid, right?” You laughed, bitter and low. “But then he looked at me. Really looked. And where you saw inconvenience, he saw potential. Where you saw noise, he heard music.”

“You’re not in love,” she whispered, trying to sound defiant, but it cracked under the weight of her fear. “You’re just brainwashed.”

You leaned forward, breath brushing her ear. "You say that like I mind. You think this is some kind of spell I’m under? That I got dragged into Hannibal’s madness against my will? You don’t realize, Alana...I enjoy the quiet. The art. The music. The food. I’ve developed quite the palate.”

That did it.

The slap came hard and fast, a crack of sound that echoed like a gunshot in the quiet living room. Your head turned from the force of it, cheek stinging, blood roaring in your ears. For a beat, neither of you moved. You brought a hand up, fingers gently brushing your reddening skin. And then, you laughed.

Not politely. Not cruelly. But something just shy of unhinged. The sound of a match being struck too close to kindling.

“There it is,” you said, turning back to her, your voice low and breathless. “There’s the passion I always knew was hiding under all that professionalism. Shame it only comes out when you’re hurt.”

Alana’s chest rose and fell too fast. Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. Of course she didn’t. She never cried when it mattered. “Why did you come back here?” she asked, voice raw at the edges.

You tilted your head, the answer already on your tongue like a hard candy dissolving slow and sweet. “It’s petty,” you admitted, shrugging. “But I returned just to say I told you so.”

And with that, you turned and walked out of her house like smoke slipping through a broken window.

Outside, Hannibal waited inside the sleek black car, engine idling, low jazz murmuring beneath the hum of city life. He had one arm draped over the wheel, the other resting in his lap, fingers gloved in soft leather—still, composed, but you could tell he was watching the door long before you stepped through it.

The second you slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, his head turned toward you. The streetlight spilled through the windshield, casting sharp shadows across the sharp planes of his face. His eyes moved over you slowly.

Then paused.

Right there—on the red bloom staining your cheek. “Ah,” he murmured. His voice was silk over a knife’s edge. “She struck you.”

“Yes,” you said with an almost boyish grin, reclining into the leather seat. “She’s got a pretty good arm, actually. I think it surprised her more than me.”

Hannibal’s gaze lingered on the mark. His fingers flexed once on the steering wheel before letting go. Without a word, he reached over and gently brushed his gloved knuckles along the curve of your jaw, not touching the sore spot, but tracing close—like a cartographer charting his favorite ruin.

“Did she draw blood?” he asked.

“Would it matter if she had?”

Hannibal smiled faintly. “Only in that it would leave a more permanent record. And I find myself possessive of your skin.”

You chuckled. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever said mine.”

He withdrew his hand, then reached into the center console. A linen handkerchief, folded with crisp precision, emerged from the depths. Hannibal offered it to you wordlessly.

You took it, pressing it gently to the heat in your cheek. “I think I rattled her.”

“I’m certain you did.” Hannibal shifted into drive. “You haunt people beautifully.”

As the car glided into the night, he reached over with one hand and rested it atop your knee. It was casual, gentle—but weighty. A silent promise. “She’ll never touch you again.”

You glanced sideways at him. “What does that mean?”

His eyes stayed on the road, mouth relaxed in that maddening, unreadable way. “Only that you’ve delivered your message. And I shall deliver mine.”

You stared out the window, smiling despite yourself. “You’re so dramatic.”

“She marked you,” he said, almost to himself. “It would be rude of me not to return the gesture.”

[foxtrology]

alana's masterlist!

about: just a girl in her twenties writing fanfiction about her boyfriend pedro pascal.

love, alana (@foxtrology)

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completed series

series that have reached their end.

sweet sweet baby

— summary: at 54, jaded millionaire harry castillo meets a woman on the met steps who doesn’t care about his money or his past—and for the first time in years, he starts to care again. and that might be his biggest problem yet.

— paring: harry castillo x reader

— status: completed

— chapters: ten

— prompts (open)

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ongoing series

stories still in progress.

it ain't me babe

— summary: a tough, guarded woman running the jackson stables crosses paths with joel miller one winter night, sparking a slow-burning, uneasy connection built on tension, trust, and everything they don’t say.

— paring: joel miller x reader

— status: ongoing

— chapters: eleven

material girl

— summary: a girl born into old hollywood myth meets a wealthy, older man with something to prove. she’s guarded, he listens. they fall for each other slowly—intimately—like two people used to being seen but never truly known.

— paring: harry castillo x reader

— status: ongoing

— chapters: REDACTED

star sailor

— summary: in earth-404, reed richards is no superhero—just a brilliant, kind mentor. you’re his partner in science and life. but when earth-616’s mister fantastic glimpses your world, reality starts glitching. now your quiet love faces multiversal chaos.

— paring: reed richards x reader

— status: ongoing

— chapters: REDACTED

saturated (ER AU)

— summary: inspired by the pitt on hbo. set in the relentless hum of a high-stakes trauma er in austin, texas, a third-year emergency medicine resident—young and sharp—moves through the chaos. she wrestles with the burn of a broken healthcare system, all under the watchful eye (and silent shelter) of chief attending dr. joel miller.

— paring: dr!joel miller x resident!reader

— status: ongoing

— chapters: twelve

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other places i haunt

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notes

all stories are written by me. everything is tagged and filtered properly. let the tags guide you.

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[pepper-doyle]

"Riiiiiight?" Oh good, someone who actually got it. And why this was so shady. And wrong. It felt crazy to Pepper that Buster hadn't even for a single moment considered giving it to her rather than this other girl. "He says he has this sort o' close family connection with her or somethin' somehow. But I don' think tha's a good enough reason." And she wasn't fully convinced of it.

Pepper sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Well... I'll admit it wasn' my finest moment but I...well I did end up kind of attackin' th' girl, but really who accepts a gift like tha' from a man they know's in a relationship? Tha' don' make any sense!"

@alana-the-brilliant

How To Apologize | Open