#abigail hobbs fanfiction

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Slow Days

Also on AO3

Relationships: Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader, Abigail Hobbs & Fem!Reader (Platonic), Hannibal and Abigail are also platonic.

Summary: Prelude to "Kiss of The Angel of Death" // In the time leading up to The Mizumono Incident ™️, only semi-aware of your fates, you and Abigail decide to make the best of things.

WC: 2.9k words

Warnings: MINORS DNI, ANGSTTTTT (this one hurts), no happy ending, mentions of death, corrupted reader, lmk if anything is missing!

-------

Rain pattered softly against the window as you moved around the kitchen, making breakfast. You flipped pancakes and checked on the bacon, humming a little to yourself. The house was quiet and most of the lights were off. Hannibal had been out since earlier that morning, so you’d been alone with the silence for a few hours.

On cloudy mornings, you usually let Abigail sleep in. When it was cold, she’d be burrowed so sweetly beneath her quilt, her features finally smooth from all concerns. You couldn’t bring yourself to rouse her from one of the only moments of true peace she had. 

Since Hannibal had orchestrated her fake death and your disappearance, the two of you barely left the house and spent a lot of time hiding upstairs. He trusted only you when it came to her, so you grew close rather fast, tethered to each other like two buoys in a tempestuous sea. 

She was like the sister you never had, and it felt oddly comforting to have a semblance of family. Even if you knew how fickle they could be.

While isolation wasn’t always easy, you could tell Abigail was enjoying having that time to lay low. Every day, you strived to make things more bearable for her, and therefore more bearable for yourself. Both of you had things to miss, entire lives that had vanished at once. It was one of the things you’d bonded over.

But it wasn’t all misery between you, happier memories eventually surfacing as well. It was during those bouts of nostalgia that you learned the most about who she really was. 

Abigail liked her pancakes fluffy and her bacon crispy. She also liked lavender tea to calm her nerves, and finding random shapes in the clouds. She was quite cunning, often wise beyond her years. She had already seen too much, known too much, and you were well aware of the burden of knowledge. 

Her respite was the forest – that silent, labyrinthine fortress. The only place she knew how to completely blend in. She would often scan the trees and listen for deer, standing completely still. She had the patience of a hunter, but excitement could get the best of her. 

Recently, she had stopped hiding the scar on her neck at all times. She let herself smile more often, her features opening, blue eyes crystalline with mirth. Even if it was the beginning of winter, she sometimes reminded you of a flower in bloom.

“Good morning,” you heard the sleepy rasp of her voice as she stepped into the kitchen. “Oh, that smells so good.”

You smiled, plating some food as she yawned and stretched her arms over her head, like a cat in a patch of sunlight. 

“Sleep well, I take it?” you said, handing her the plate. 

“Yeah, I didn’t dream again,” she said, pouring maple syrup all over her pancakes. “Or maybe I did, but I just don’t remember. Kind of sad isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“Well, when I was a kid I used to believe dreams were exciting. Like, an adventure of sorts, where I could do anything, go anywhere,” she shrugged. “But of course it’s never that simple. I didn’t consider how little control I’d have over them.”

“Such is life, right?” you said.

“Yes. We barely have control of anything, really.” She glanced around cautiously. “Just us today?” 

“Yep. Just us,” you confirmed, pouring hot water into two mugs. “He might be back for dinner, he said, but he wasn’t sure. There’s been… A lot of movement at Quantico.”

The two of you shared a long, significant look. You lapsed into a momentary silence, one that weighed on you heavily. Both of you were fully aware of Hannibal’s plans, but seldom did you want to give voice to it. There would be no point to it, other than tormenting yourselves.

Life seemed the most ephemeral when you were walking the tightrope. Every gust of wind and tick of the clock bringing the inevitable closer to you. Were you supposed to find happiness in that?

As impossible as it seemed, you were at least determined to try. You sat across from her, nudging the food on your plate with your fork but not eating quite yet. 

“I’m not sure the rain’s gonna stop today,” you said, changing the subject. “What do you want to do?”

“Actually.” She smiled mischievously. “I think I’d like to feel the rain. What do you say?”

You were about to argue about the strong possibility of a cold, but it suddenly felt worth the risk. A runny nose should be the least of your worries, anyway.

You nodded, smiling softly. “We’ll sit by the fire after.”

Abigail ate quickly and eagerly, barely talking. Her excitement was infectious, making you feel jittery. As soon as she took her last bite, she sprang out of her chair. 

“Last one out the door has to wash the dishes!” She exclaimed, dashing off.

Your chair scraped loudly as you stood, following after her. “Hey, not fair! I cooked today!”

The melody of her laughter trailed out into the downpour. You hesitated at the threshold, one last moment to steel your nerves, and then ran out. 

The rain was an icy shock that made you gasp, but elation still filled you. You couldn’t help a hysteric squeal once breath re-entered your lungs, your whole body shivering. 

Abigail had her arms spread to the sides, face turned towards the sky and eyes closed. Her dark hair was already slick against her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

You mimicked her stance, eyelids twitching as raindrops pattered against your face. The world disappeared for a moment, yet your body was firmly rooted to the earth. 

You wondered what she saw, if anything, in the blue darkness of her eyelids. The water felt like a blessing, cleansing the two of you from all impurities; Every sin, transgression, and rotten notion.

At least, that’s what you hoped would happen. 

You turned to her, tapping her arm quickly before hurrying out of her reach, yelling, “You’re it!”

She chased after you, the two of you quickly becoming clumsier as your clothes were weighed down by the water. Soon it was just running for the sake of it, weaving around trees, laughing and screaming like girls at a schoolyard.

After a while, when the cold got too unbearable, you made your way back inside and hurried to the laundry room. Then you, dutiful as ever, took care of drying the wooden floors while Abigail went to ready the fireplace with kindling. 

Your teeth were still chattering as you joined her, handing her a towel for her hair. You wore one of Hannibal’s shirts, which reached a little past your knees. Abigail had changed into sweatpants and a hoodie, rubbing her arms as she watched the flame start to take.

“Completely worth it,” you said, adding a small log to the hearth. 

When the fire finally grew to a full blaze, you and Abigail extended your legs in front of it. Slowly, color was returning to her face, flushing her cheeks a deep pink. The heat began to spread as you gently toweled your hair.

“I’m glad we did it,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve felt like that in a while.”

“Felt how?”

“Alive.”

You said nothing, watching as she swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. It seemed the rain had been cathartic after all, and the dam inside her was close to breaking.

“I’ve wondered a lot if I even deserve to be.” She stared into the hearth pensively, orange light dancing in her eyes. “I am no saint, you know.” 

“I’m not one either,” you said. “And yet here we are, just as worthy as anyone else. Wanting to take back the things you’ve done is pointless. It’s just a way to torture yourself.”

She shook her head slowly, and you could tell she was too far gone to listen. Her chest hitched with her shortening breaths.

“I feel like Lady Macbeth,” she said, looking down at her hands. “I can’t seem to wash the blood off my hands.”

Her shoulders shook and you saw tears drip onto her palms. You drew her into an embrace, her head against your chest as she let out a sob.

“But I don’t really want to die either,” she murmured, her voice tremulous and thick with tears.

You bit down your own sorrow, opting to comfort her instead. You couldn’t even promise her that everything would be okay, for that would be false hope. If there was one thing you could give Abigail, it was the absolute truth, always. It was an unspoken agreement between you.

You let her cry it out, holding her all the while. In the time you’d known her, she had only cried one other time. To carry so much was an arduous task, and you admired the strength she had for someone so young. 

In many ways, she reminded you of yourself, though you were much more forgiving when it came to her.

“Do you want more tea?” You whispered as she started to calm down.

She nodded, squeezing your arm in appreciation. You kissed the top of her head, smoothing down her hair and disentangled yourself from her to hand her a tissue box.

“I’ll take care of the dishes, by the way,” she said softly, dabbing at her puffy eyes with a tissue.

You waved her off, the barest of smiles on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. Though maybe you could help me make dinner later?”

She nodded, giving you a watery smile in return. “Thank you.”

——————

By supper time, Hannibal still wasn’t back, which was a blessing at the moment. He had called briefly to let you know he’d be back closer to midnight, and you’d vowed to stay up to wait.

Abigail’s batteries were drained, so after a shower and a long nap, she helped you make a hearty potato and leek soup. She seemed in slightly better spirits, back to her teasing self. 

It made you feel slightly more relieved, and thus it seemed to render you more open. It was while the two of you smoothly moved around each other in the kitchen that you shared more stories from your own cloudy past.

The words spilled from your lips like a river — a sinner’s hasty confession in the face of damnation. You’d never pretended to be otherwise, of course, but there was a lot you hadn’t spoken of in a very, very long time. Your eyes stung, but you did not cry.

She listened attentively, mostly staying quiet. She knew just as well that this was a rarity, and all she could do was offer the same support you’d offered her. You loved her all the more for it.

“Can I ask you something?” She said over the rushing sink water, peering over at you sideways as she scrubbed her dish.

You nodded, and she continued. “Despite everything… You’ve already made your choice, haven’t you? You’ve chosen him.”

Immediately, you knew the question wasn’t about her. She already had her answer about that, despite never actually having spoken about it.

“Over what?” You countered casually, thinking of Will’s tender gaze whenever he looked at you. 

She gave you a pointed look, eyebrows raised, and you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the counter. 

“I couldn’t imagine it any other way,” you said. “At least with Hannibal, there will never be betrayal. He will always be who he is.”

She said nothing, and that was answer enough. 

Shortly after dinner, Abigail retired for the night, leaving you to your vigil for Hannibal’s return. You lay down on a couch in the living room, reading. Anxiety kept you glancing at the door repeatedly, the night seemingly growing darker and longer. 

It was well after midnight when you finally heard the faint rumble of his car’s engine out front. You’d made sure to turn all the lights off except for the lamp beside you, which would be a sign for him to come investigate. His footsteps were nearly silent as he made his way to the living room, and suddenly he appeared in the doorway, unsurprised to find you up. 

You smiled tentatively, seeing the exhaustion on his face despite his mask of composure, and his features softened some. 

“How was your day?” You asked.

“I’d much rather hear about yours,” he sighed, taking off his coat and throwing it over the back of an armchair. 

The rain still droned on outside, although less intense than earlier. He sat next to you, his knee touching yours as he faced you. You recounted some of the day's events, omitting the conversations you’d had with Abigail. Secrecy was another sacred thing between you, and there were lines you would not cross. 

Hannibal took your hand, gently squeezing it. “I am glad you two have had each other during this time. I know it has not been easy.”

A slight inclination of his head told you he acknowledged his role in that. You squeezed his hand in return, searching his face. There was no remorse, but perhaps the slightest flicker of guilt.

“Will you tell me what happened now?” You asked, uncertainty and dread like a knife at your throat. 

“I was with Will, at my office,” he sighed heavily. “We spoke…Formulated a plan of sorts.”

He seemed to want to say more, but stopped himself. His uncertainty was very much apparent, and fear threatened to grip you like a vice. His nose detected this spike in adrenaline. His eyes met yours and he held your gaze steadily. 

“And how did he seem?” You asked, willing your voice not to quaver too much.

Hannibal considered the question for a moment. “I suppose not much different than his usual self. Though I am not entirely sure I am comforted by that.”

You nodded in agreement. “He is a very cunning man. I used to think I was good at reading his moods,” your gaze drifted towards the wall and beyond, into the middle distance. “The more I think about it now, the less I’m sure I wasn’t deluding myself into seeing what I wanted to see.”

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, seeing the torment written across your face. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to try and remedy it, but he was not quite sure how. After all, the weight of your future rested in his hands just as much as Will’s.

But he found that he was willing to break his own heart, and yours, if only it meant ensuring your safety. He swallowed hard, keeping himself together.

“You could get a head start, leave as soon as tomorrow night,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “I would meet you after, as soon as I’m able to…”

Your eyes widened and for a moment you were speechless with appalment. The shock was so great it made you only vaguely realize that Abigail wasn’t included in this offer.

But then you set your shoulders, straightening your back, and determination seemed to replace your anguish.

“Absolutely not!” You said, your tone leaving no room for argument. “My place is here, and I will be staying right here. I will see it through to the end, Hannibal.”

The set of his jaw told you he wanted to argue further about why it would be the best choice, but you could tell he was also relieved. He looked down at your hands, fingers still tightly woven together.

“I could not forgive myself, if I lost you,” he said softly.

You reached up to cup one side of his face, and he leaned into your touch. He kissed the palm of your hand and the inside of your wrist. You realized he was reassuring himself just as much as you, grounding himself with your presence.

“You won’t,” you said, without a hint of doubt. “So, then, what’s next?”

“I have invited Jack over for dinner,” he said steadily, though his words were heavy with implication. “Talk to him, see what he knows.”

Your face remained blank, but you knew Jack Crawford wouldn’t come by for just a chat. Hannibal knew that too, but perhaps not speaking about it would stall it for just a bit longer. At least, you both tried to convince yourselves that would be the case.

“When?” You asked.

“Friday.”

That was only two days away. The back of your throat was bitter with unshed tears, but the longer you kept eye contact with him, the more you could steel your nerves.

“What are you thinking of making?” 

“Lamb,” He said.

The two of you shared a smile, still able to find some humor. But the next question was harder for you to ask, and you cleared your throat.

“Do you think Will is going to join?”

This was a blow he could not soften. “I hardly believe he’ll want to miss out.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well…” you said, looking up at the ceiling, in the direction of Abigail’s room. “At least we’ll all get to say goodbye.”

But your naïve heart still floundered, holding onto hope. But perhaps we won’t even have to say goodbye. One way or another, maybe we will all still be together in the end.

[gigireece16]

happy national dog day to this freak. god bless him

[klazje]

the powers of tumblr

[iconsumethesoulsofthedamned]

So yeah I’m reading that fic you @sonofcelluloid recommended and I’m going batshit it’s so good so some sketches! The fic is: here

[captaincanklezzz]

uh oh, it’s a depressed and slightly psychotic lesbian! Abigail Hobbs put me through the mental ringer, let me just say.

[dyke-will-graham]

Okay but guys imagine 1950s murder thriller Hannigram like they live in one of those eerily perfect suburbs as cover and then murder and bake people into their famous hosted dinners like unhinged 1950s Hannigram

- Housewife Hannibal

-Undercover FBI Agent Will (The Noir of it all omg)

- 1950s Popular Girl Abigail who murders with her dads on the weekends

- Hannibal’s Famous Dinner Parties

Guys I need this as a Fic FUCK I’m gonna have to make this a Fic

[tina-mairin-goldstein]

Welcome to the Murder Husband and Murder Family language of flowers fanfic collection, Words Are Not The Only Way, REBOOT.

This collection will be posted on AO3 and feature stories with the theme of the language flowers.

Rules and list of flowers below cut!

Click the LINK to enjoy the works of the participants!

The rules are simple: Claim a flower from the list posted below, and write a story featuring the flower and its meaning. It can be a Will/Hannibal, Will & Hannibal, Will & Abigail, Hannibal & Abigail, or Will & Hannibal & Abigail.

What is NOT allowed is Abigail paired with Will or Hannibal, or smut. Sexual content is allowed, so long as it is non-graphic, cut to black, or implied. No Explicit fics are allowed, unless it's for canon-typical violence.

AUs are allowed, including omega verse and mpreg.

Original child characters may be mentioned, so long as they are not the main focus of the story.

Past pairings are allowed. Will/Molly and Will/Margot and Hannibal/Bedelia and Hannibal/Alana are allowed as well in various capacities, but otherwise, Murder Husbands. No thruples or anything, please. No crossovers or anything within the HEU. Keep it Hannibal.

Stories may be any length you wish.

Post at any time. The collection will remain open for you.

Flowers are claimed on a first come, first served basis. Please put your claim in the notes below. I will make a list of who has claimed which and attach it. If more people would like to participate, I will add more flowers. Many flowers have many different meanings, so you may pick one meaning among the others, or choose to incorporate them all. That is up to you.

FLOWERS

Rosemary- Remembrance- Claimed by @tina-mairin-goldstein

Zinnia- I mourn your absence, friendship, endurance, daily remembrance, goodness, lasting affection

Snowdrop- Hope

Lilac- First emotions of love, happiness, tranquility

Hyacinth- Forgiveness and sorrow (purple), desire (general)

Eglantine Rose- Pleasure and pain

Butterfly Weed- Let me go

Cyclamen- Resignation, diffidence, goodbye

Lavender- Distrust, serenity

Marigold- Grief, jealousy- Claimed by @bliss-is-in-blood

Peony- Bashfulness, happy life, shame

Salvia- I think of you (blue), forever mine (red)

Bittersweet- Truth

Hellebore- Anxiety

White Rosebud- Girlhood

Petunia- Anger, resentment, your presence soothes me

Amaryllis- Pride

Forsythia- Anticipation- Claimed by @k1ngl30n

Lady's Mantle- Comfort, I am here for you

Willow- Sorrow

Honeysuckle- True happiness, good fortune, sweetness toward one another

The flowers themselves can appear in many different forms, too! In the garden, bouquets, out in the wild, spotted at the florist, made into a tea, in a drawing, as a scent; anything you like! If it's in tea or food, make sure it isn't poisonous, unless your goal is death or sickness. Have fun!

[bloodycraquelures]

It's the "I miss them" hour. It's been almost ten years...

Whoever wrote "National Anthem" The aristocrats AU in the Hannibal fandom back in 2014.

I still check your account to see if you'd republish your works. We never know. I still have hope.

Well, if you see this post, know that I'm still here in 2024 and appreciate your works and that there's not a day where I don't think about Hannibal Lecter being POTUS.

I miss your President's Assistant: Will Graham, your Uncle Abel, and most of all the First Lady , your Abigail Hobbs...your works meant the world to me. I still cherish them. I still read them. I'm sad but at the same time feel lucky to have been there when it was published. And I'm sure I'm not the only one missing you.

I don't know what happened to you for deciding to delete them, I'm sure you had good reasons. Which is why I don't plan to share them even if I'm asked.

They were masterpieces and I haven't read anything coming close to them during all these years.

I love you you beautiful stranger! You have a part of my heart forever.

[cyjanometan]

and through blood we shall be cleansed: waiting upon eternal judgement

After witnessing the attempted killing of Abigail Hobbs, a young priest seeks out the help of a renowned psychiatrist to whom he was referred: Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

The young priest sat restlessly in the waiting room, petrified and somewhat considering running away before the door to the psychiatrist's office could open. One might consider it irrational behaviour - objectively the worst was already behind him, considering what he has experienced.

The story of a priest who not only witnessed an attempted killing, but also has taken a life on the crime scene, quickly gained traction with the media. And thus, William Graham was summoned before the archbishop, and then later sent to the Vatican. The pope has released an official statement regarding the event, as has the police, and Will, after many hours spent being interrogated, was finally left to his own devices. Mostly - he could return to his duties as a priest, but he was obliged to seek out psychiatric help from doctor Lecter.

And thus, despite having already survived more awful things than a therapy session, there he sat, terrified, waiting seemingly for eternity, about to face his own personal form of the final judgement.

He was never one of the people who could easily open up. It proved even more difficult for him when faced with the possibility of getting a diagnosis based on the information he could reveal to the doctor. At least, that's how William explained the paralysing fear to himself. He would not dare ruminate on the actual reason: the feelings that have been slowly growing within him for the past few weeks. He begged for forgiveness, spoke of his overwhelming guilt regarding the killing, and yet... He would prefer not to think of the eerie feeling that accompanied him in those moments. But unfortunately for him, analysing feelings was what therapy was all about. He thought once more about leaving, about how he could blame it on the flu or some other thing, but before his plan could spring into action, the "click" of the lock could be heard and the door was opened.

Graham stood up, unconsciously straightening the collar on his neck, and looked at the man before him. The doctor had an obviously fine-made and expensive suit on. His figure was lean, his face and hair were well-groomed, and he wore a pleasant expression on his handsome face.

After a polite greeting, Will was invited into the office. It was quite a big room, tidy and elegantly decorated. Sweaty, dishevelled Will felt he must have looked awfully miserable in comparison.

"My name is Hannibal Lecter" the doctor introduced himself. "Please, take a seat."

As he sat in the chair the doctor presented him, Will threw a gaze on the man's face. He averted his gaze quickly though, blinking, trying to shake off the association between the psychiatrist and the final judge that sprung out in his head involuntarily upon seeing his piercing eyes.

"Before we begin, how shall I address you? Father Graham?"

The use of his title made Will shudder. Despite having been ordained almost a year ago, he still couldn't get used to being called "father". It possessed authority he felt couldn't be found in him.

"Just mister Graham is fine" he responded plainly. "Thank you, doctor."

The psychiatrist simply nodded.

Will tried to focus on whatever had been coming out of doctor Lecter's mouth, tried to stop himself from squirming under the analytic gaze of the opposing man. He felt as though he was back again in the confessional. Will preferred to be the one wearing the stole - giving absolution was always easier than receiving it. It came with less dubiety regarding the sinner's ability to obtain it.

Will answered the psychiatrist's questions somewhat avoidantly, looking at the clock every seven minutes, praying to all that is holy for the time to pass quicker.

During the next session, the process began again. Will sat in the slightly-too-soft chair, self-consciously thinking about the pristine office and how much dirt he must be bringing in. He felt the the opposing man's piercing gaze. All his instincts were screaming at him to sink into the floor, and yet, to his surprise, he couldn't stop himself from looking back at Hannibal. He saw a slight twinkling in the older man's eyes for a moment, and then the questions begun again.

Will questioned whether every patient of mister Lecter felt as tought the doctor was trying to penetrate through the layers of their skin. Doctor Lecter sat most elegantly, calmly speaking, as charming and peaceful as a man can get. Despite that, Will looked at him and saw him wanting to open his cranium up and pull his brain out. Would it be truly that interesting to examine? He never spared another moment to the thoughts which Hannibal was desperate to get him to confess. They were sinful, unbecoming of a priest. He devoted his life to God. He was a man of God and it was his duty to uphold the Christian values, the ones of which he spoke during his communions.

Purity, serenity, patience. Bearing the duty of leadership, he stood before the congregation trying to embody the principles he proposed.

He felt like a fraud. The mask of a pious priest he so precisely crafted for himself was what kept him afloat. For a brief moment, he feared that the feeling of Hannibal peeking into his mind was rooted in reality - that the doctor looked at him and truly saw who he was. He would be terrified.

[cuntysalmonshirt]

Short Murder Family Easter Snippet:

Hannibal opened the door of their home, to have his heart nearly stopped in his chest when he saw the state of the kitchen. An open jar of mayonnaise was sitting on the counter with a measuring cup still stuck inside, next to it a bottle of mustard that had been squeezed until it caved inwards. The whole kitchen reeked of vinegar, and it wasn't only noticable to Hannibal's sensitive nose.

From the downstairs bathroom Will called out to Abigail, "Shit is Hannibal home?" Hannibal turned his head in the direction of the noise, trying to compose himself. Abigail poked her head into the kitchen, her eyes instantly locking with Hannibal's as a guilty expression filled her face.

"Yeah," she called back lightly, but her voice conveyed urgency. Will stumbled in behind her rubbing his glasses he had apparently been washing off, on his shirt.

"Surprise?" Will said as he put on his glasses and grinned sheepishly, "We made deviled eggs for Easter. We dyed them beforehand but there really isn't much to do with hardboiled eggs other than eat them."

"I can tell," was Hannibal's dry response. Will grabbed his hand and pulled him into the dining room where a tray of poorly proportioned deviled eggs were sloppily placed.

"Try some?" Will asked holding out an egg for Hannibal, who scrunched his nose and drew away.

"There's no paprika," Hannibal pointed out, eyeing the egg in Will's hands like it was one of his particularly annoying patients.

"Oh c'mon, paprika doesn't even taste like anything!" Will folded his free arm in front of his chest and pouted.

Hannibal did his best to swallow down the urge to turn Will into Easter ham. To his utter horror, Abigail plucked an egg from the tray and popped it into her mouth. "Mmm these are pretty good," She prompted, as if trying to encourage Hannibal like he were a toddler.

Will pushed the egg more harshly towards Hannibal until he was forced to take it to avoid the foul thing getting smashed against his face. He gave Will a pointed look, before sighing and bracing himself as he bit into the deviled egg.

It wasn't well mixed and lacked the necessary spices to be very flavorful, but the excited look on Will and Abigail's faces were enough for Hannibal to begrudgingly swallow down the pathetic waste of a hard boiled egg. "Are you finished torturing me so?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain a frown as Will and Abigail smiled stupidly at him.

"Well we've still got to find the Easter eggs we've hidden," Abigail bit her lip as the small smile creeping onto Hannibal's face disappeared into a dark look of frustration.

[mandoriana]

[luvbef]

🌊| friday, i'm in love | 3k words

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ link to fic !! | 1/7 chapters

please be mindful of chapter notes !

part of the @folieadeuxserver "whump wars" challenge! ♡

[gigireece16]

i wish i had enough followers to say “lesbian will graham” and 100 people reblog with “real”

[lesbiansaltdispenser]

thinking about how hannibal wouldn't survive ten minutes in primark (based on my own experience)

[iconsumethesoulsofthedamned]

So I read some more. @somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds

@sonofcelluloid

[captaincanklezzz]

I think Mads Mikkelsen sold his soul to the LGBTQ community so that he could be considered the perfect Scandinavian man. Here is Hannibal!