#as Will mourns the loss of who he thought hannibal was

[hannibalspubes]

Honestly the first scene In Hannibal that I was left thinking “are they actually about to kiss??” Was in season 2, episode 7 when Will holds Hannibal at gun point. I could not stop imagining will dropping the gun, slamming Hannibal into the wall like he was gonna kill him but just smashing their faces together instead. Raw, angry, messy. Then I think he would just push away and walk out. the rest of the show would carry on like normal and will would ignore it.

Until the cliff scene when they kiss again

The sexual tension between me and the man holding a gun to my head

[stranded-labyrinth]

I just thought of a time travel au/kidfic (this evolved a lot as I was typing it out)! Hannibal works out time travel and goes back to save Mischa but his method is unstable. He first turns up in Mississippi and meets a young Will (quite young but older than Mischa was maybe 7 or 8?). When Hannibal finally jumps back far enough to find Mischa, Will comes with him (by accident or not 👀). Will helps Hannibal rescue Mischa in a way that keeps the timeline intact. They return to Hannibal's present day... Hannibal then also meets a Will who is an adult but adult Will won't tell Hannibal anything about his past (so child and adult Will are in the same timeline and meet even). Anyway..... Thoughts?

FINALLY an opportunity to ramble about an idea i've had

so this, except Hannibal screws it up so bad that both he and Will get launched into the past. something something Hannibal's goal being based on helping someone he truly loved, which thrusts him into Will's path, but also thrusts Will into his.

Hannibal sees a little boy in the road crying so hard it looks like he might throw up, curled up beside some roadkill and in agony because the poor creature didn't deserve to get killed and it didn't understand and it wasn't its fault and and and and- suddenly there's a man there, someone for the boy to sob to about the animal, and someone who is listening intently, trying to reassure him without treating his pain as trivial.

and then there's Will.

Will is near a very old fashioned building, in a wide yard that stretches out a long way and even has a river running through it. there are kids everywhere, varying in ages and in health. he's looking around, and he sees so, so much pain. so much loss. it's overwhelming, taking in all the different emotions of people too young to conceal them, and then-

a small tug on his jacket and he turns around, startled, and is met by a 13-year-old blond boy with eyes that are piercing through his very soul, as if seeing what had been going through his head. the boy is dead silent, staring at Will like he's just seen the face of God, and hands him a flower he'd picked before approaching.

a comment gets passed from one of the other kids. Will is still reeling from everything and can't even process what's going on, much less what was said because it was a version of French that he's never heard spoken.

the boy that so kindly handed him a flower snaps.

so now, while Hannibal is off in the past consoling a young Will who's mourning a raccoon that didn't know any better, Will is flung into the past and having to try to stop a young Hannibal from beating and drowning some teenager for saying something nasty about Will.

[mlmvoidboy]

"The word 'aesthetic,' which comes from the Greek meaning 'to perceive.'" "The art is more important than the artist, aestheticism tells us" "Elegance is more important than suffering." "Aestheticism, as a movement, is about seeing more of the beauty in the world than most people notice, since, for example, most people don’t really notice a good-looking font, or a talented colorist for a comic book, or a nice use of enjambment." "Walter Pater, who said that all art aspires to the condition of music—to a state of abstraction free of content." "Being true to ourselves, Pater suggests, keeps us from new impressions and new opinions." "“The Art of Killing” Andrea Zanzin overviews the way in which Harris’s crime novels were always about art." "If art is the end, then people can be a means to an end, and using people as a means to an end is the definition of immorality." "Hannibal’s murder scenes are too beautiful, audacious, and unrealistic to be sad or funny. On Fuller’s Hannibal, the viewer must accept the show’s apparent unconscious premise, which is that all the killers attended the same highbrow MFA sculpture program, a program that values aesthetic, and emotional, distance. Paglia says that Wilde’s Dorian Gray “is the fullest study of the Decadent erotic principle: the transformation of person into object d’art,” 73" "loss of identity is total and communicated with the most abstract imagery (3.6). They are no longer human; they are pure symmetrical design, mirror images blending into each other, part of what rock critic Perry Meisel calls Pater’s “psychedelic sublime”:" "That cave where people sit in the dark, facing the same direction, watching illusions on the wall projected from a man-made light source is not a place of ignorance and fear, as Plato thought. It is a movie theater.49 It is not a prison. It is the temple of the aesthete. The phrase “Art-for-Art’s Sake” lives in Latin above the roaring lion at the start of every MGM movie" "Dante placed homosexuals and misers on the same level of hell because he saw the sins as fundamentally similar: unproductive love. In the Christian tradition the purpose of love and sex is procreation" "The show makes this stark distinction over and over: you live on after your death through your art or through your children, but not both." "“Each man kills the thing he loves” writes Wilde." "Wilde (via his character Gilbert) on music: 'After playing Chopin, I feel as if I had been weeping over sins that I had never committed, and mourning over tragedies that were not my own.'" “Art is our spirited protest, our gallant attempt to teach Nature her proper place.” "Oscar Wilde, in “The Critic as Artist,” wrote that the highest form of art criticism “treats the work of art simply as a starting point for a new creation.” Harold Bloom will expand this into saying that the only proper response to a poem is another poem, and he considers his critical work about poetry to be a 'severe poem.'" “Moral grounds are always the last refuge of people with no sense of beauty.” "If we really want to experience all that experience has to offer—which might include religiously or morally forbidden foods, challenging art, drugs, homosexuality, or murder—we must lose ourselves."

"“The Quinto Quarto evolved from necessity to become high tradition” (3.3), and Hannibal serves it in the fashion of a triple Michelin star restaurant. This is what Fuller is doing with Harris’s novels and the movies: translating them into a higher sphere, from fantastic pulp to high art." "Mads Mikkelsen says Hannibal is “doing what the rest of us should have done our whole life, except for the killing thing, I guess. Embracing life. Every second is an opportunity for beauty.” “He’s a happy man,” Mikkelsen says, “I have rarely given life to a character that is as happy as him.” 197 Elsewhere he says “There is no reason to listen to boring music, you may as well listen to fantastic music, or drink a fantastic glass of wine. And for that reason [for Hannibal] banality is sin.”"" "His mental space is not a place where he returns to his murders, but where he calls up excellent singers he has heard. He tells Will (quoting Harris): Hannibal: If I’m ever apprehended, my memory palace will serve as more than a mnemonic system. I will live there. Will: Could you be happy there? Hannibal: All the paths, chambers, are not lovely, light, and bright. In the walls of our hearts and brains, danger waits. There are holes in the floor of the mind. (2.13; H48)" "Zachary Quinto yells at Bedelia that “This is culty and weird” (3.10) and he is referring to therapy, but that goes double for the show he is in. The Red Dragon himself calls Hannibal’s press notices “unfair reviews” (3.10), and Reba laments that “people don’t pay attention” (3.9), which feel like digs on the mainstream viewing audience. Fuller would surely endorse Oscar Wilde, who said, “Art should never try to be popular. The public should try to make itself artistic.”" "Tobias tries to kill Hannibal with a cello string, and Hannibal stabs him with a pen before crushing his skull with a sculpture of a stag—their whole fight uses art and the tools of art rather than any conventional weapons. That connection of art and violence is of course central to Dorian Gray, where striking the painting kills the subject of the portrait.” "This is the under girding of the poetic language in Hannibal. It is a universe where every word matters. It is an indictment of the sloppy language used by other shows and other people as insufficient tools to figure out the answers to the questions Hannibal is asking, and insufficient to build the kind of world Hannibal is building, one more perfect and more beautiful than our own."

"In the middle of season 3, Will sits in Hannibal’s kitchen, where Hannibal killed Abigail in front of him, and where Jack and Alana were brutalized. Alana enters in a wheelchair, still reeling from being attacked, and Will explains his friendship with Hannibal. Their conversation could be any defeated Aesthete talking to any Social Justice Activist, as given below: Bloom: Friendship with Hannibal is blackmail elevated to the level of love. Will: A mutually unspoken pact to ignore the worst in each other in order to continue to enjoy the best. Bloom: After everything he's done, can you still ignore the worst in him? Will: I came here to be alone, Alana. (3.4)"

Aestheticism, Evil, Homosexuality, and Hannibal: If Oscar Wilde ate people by Geoff Klock

[bloodaria]

Will’s Coffin Birth, a meta with a lot of pictures

In SuZakana, Peter Bernadorne places a woman, Sarah Craber, inside a dead horse, and with a live bird in her chest, so she can be reborn. It is supposed to be a metaphor for Will Graham’s own death and rebirth.

Compare the events of the season side by side to the SuZakana dialogue, as Will describes Peter’s thought process as he puts Sarah Craber inside the dead horse.

“I took your life and then tried to give it back to you”

Hannibal says they “buried” Will, to Alana, in Futamono. Hannibal metaphorically buried Will by making everyone believe he’s a killer, sending him to a prison where he would have received the death sentence, and having all his friends mourn his loss.

Sarah Craber was also buried, which is why she had soil down her throat.

In Yakimono, when Will returns, Hannibal asks how he will take his life back. Will’s answers that he’d like to resume his therapy.

And what does Hannibal’s therapy entail? He wants Will to realize his true self and accept that he’s a killer.

So Hannibal hopes to give Will his life back by turning him into a killer.

In Ko No Mono, we see the Stagman looking on at the Ravenstag who gives birth to a screaming, bloody Will with antlers. Notably, this is the episode after Will “kills” Freddie.

“I find its womb, place you inside”

The implication is that the Stagman placed Will inside the Ravenstag’s womb/impregnated the Ravenstag, like Peter did with Sarah Craber, which we see in Will’s reconstruction of Sarah Craber’s crime scene.

“I hope that the forces of death and biology will bring you rebirth”

The Stagman places Will inside the Ravenstag so that Will can have a rebirth.

The Stagman represents Hannibal.

The Ravenstag represents Will and Hannibal’s connection.

So, Hannibal is using his connection with Will (as a therapist) so Will is reborn into a killer.

But as Jimmy Price says, the uterus isn’t a safe environment. Hannibal’s therapy for Will involves Will undergoing severe trauma and going through threatening life and death situations. Price goes on to say that shark fetuses cannibalize each other in utero. Will kills and cannibalizes Randall Tier, the other person who went through Hannibal’s therapy, so he can have his Becoming (Another thing in support of this is that Fuller calls Randall Tier another version of Will in the episode commentary, and Price as says most of us have absorbed a twin. Randall Tier is the twin in the womb which Will absorbs).

In Ko No Mono, Hannibal and Will eat ortolans, which takes place after the scene where an antlered Will tears himself free of the Ravenstag.

Sarah Craber had a live bird, a robin, shoved down her throat. The bird broke free when the science team opened up her chest and flew away.

Hannibal says that the bird is the victim’s “new beating heart. Her soul given wings.”

In a parallel to this, Hannibal feeds Will the ortolan, which are songbirds drowned alive in Armagnac and then roasted, but which are also chewed and swallowed whole.

When Hannibal feeds the ortolan to Will, he says that it’s a stimulating reminder of our power over life and death. If the robin is Sarah’s new beating heart and soul, the ortolan is a reminder to Will that as a newly reborn person he has power over life and death.

It could also be that Will is the ortolan, like the robin is Sarah.

Will: “Ortolans are endangered.”

Hannibal: “Who amongst us is not?”

Will: “I haven’t been gorged, drowned, plucked and roasted. Not yet.”

“Birds eat thousands of snails every day. Some of those snails survive digestion and emerge to find they’ve traveled the world.” Chiyoh tells Will in Contorno. Will replies, “In the belly of the beast.” So that’s another reference to Will getting swallowed whole.

Not yet. Will says. Because that’s in store for the future. Will didn’t get gorged, drowned, plucked and roasted, but he gets gutted, thrown off a train, got shot, had his head sawn into, hung upside down a train for 24 hours, and had to listen to Mason’s cannibal jokes. So, pretty close.

At the ortolan dinner, Hannibal also says that Will must understand that blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel his radiance (translation: the lives of other beings/their deaths are only fuel for Will to utilize in his transformation into a killer).

“It’s a coffin birth”

Will is reborn. We see the Ravenstag die before it gives birth to Will, just like the horse was dead before it expelled Sarah Craber, and as Will says it was more of a prolapse than a birth.

Will is born a half transformed creature, with only antlers on his head. Will’s birth is incomplete because his transformation was to lure Hannibal, because it was on Hannibal’s terms (Hannibal sending Will to prison, Hannibal sending Randall to attack Will, Hannibal feeding him ortolans). Everything was Hannibal’s design, not Will’s. And Will couldn’t be Hannibal’s “imago”, Hannibal’s ideal vision of him, because he didn’t actually kill Freddie.

The Ravenstag doesn’t survive the birthing because Will’s rebirth is incomplete, which deals a disastrous blow to Will and Hannibal’s relationship. It might also be compared to a premature birth.

The newly reborn Will “dies” again in Mizumono, and comes back from that stitched together a new man, akin to Frankenstein’s monster. He only gets reborn in the waters of the Atlantic in late s3, because this time Will is in full control of his transformation. EDIT: Anyone reading this should totally read shinelikethunder’s addition too :)) VERY LATE EDIT: I have changed my mind to say that Will's rebirth happened when he made the firefly man, symbolising him emerging from his cocoon, and the dive into the Atlantic further follows the theme of death = rebirth as well. He metaphorically dies and gets reborn three times in the series.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 14

Hannibal reads too much into Max's attempt to reconcile and cult girl revisits her past.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: discussions of death, abandonment, military casualties, emotional abuse

You soon returned to the opera knowing you had nothing to hide. Hannibal selected for you an off-white maternity gown so form-fitting it was practically painted on. He wanted everyone to see that you, his queen, empress and goddess, were carrying his child.

It only took that evening for the whole dynamic to change. Suddenly, you were an expectant new mother. Imogen had been a massive hit, you were planning to go again.

You were affixing your heavy cubic zirconia earrings when you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, but hurried down the stairs when you saw who it was.

"Max?" You said, upon opening the door. He stood there awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hi?"

"Hey, [F/N]." Max greeted, eyes darting nervously around the porch. "I just came around to apologize in person. I'm sorry I was such a chauvinist prick."

You leaned against the door. "Oh?"

"You were right." He continued. "I don't know what it's like to carry a baby, and, unless something goes very wrong, I never will."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." You smiled.

"Anyway, these are for you." He said, handing the bouquet over. "They're chrysanthemums."

"Thank you, Max." You said, accepting the flowers.

"Archie and I-" He scratched the back of his head. "We thought that, maybe, if you'd still have us, that we'd name the baby Chrysanthemum. With your permission, of course."

"Like the picture book?" Your face lit up. "With the little mouse girl?"

Max nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly."

You hugged the bouquet into your chest and considered it again. You looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't looked up from his expectant fathers' website for a second all day. He surrounded himself with books about child psychology, attachment theory, developmental behavior patterns and somehow found himself on a tangent about institutionalized misogyny in medicine.

"I'm sorry, Max." You said, sincerely. "I really do appreciate you coming down here and apologizing, but-"

Max put his hands up and gave you a disarming smile. "I understand. Plans change."

"I just really want to stress that it's not you." You assured him. "I've kind of... really grown to like the idea of being a parent. And I think that was Hannibal's plan all along, too."

"I believe a congratulations is in order, then." His voice turned up in delight. "I'm very happy for you. Both of you."

You clutched the bouquet to your chest. "Thank you."

"Well, I'd better get going." He stepped backwards down the stairs. "I've got three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the backseat and Archie'll have my head if I come home and they've melted."

"Max, wait." You stopped him before he could get down the driveway.

"Hm?"

You leaned against the threshold and smiled warmly. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

Max returned the smile. "Of course not."

You waved goodbye and shut the door. You hurried to the kitchen to put the flowers in water before you had to go.

"Who was that, love?" Hannibal asked, half-heartedly. He was still very fixated on his research.

"Max Thomas-Park." You answered, unwrapping the flowers from the decorative plastic.

Hannibal looked up from his computer, but left the room silent for you to fill.

"He wanted to make amends." You explained. You walked across the room to the china cabinet and selected a vase big enough to hold the ornate bouquet. "Brought flowers and everything."

"Chrysanthemums?" He asked, sniffing the air.

"I see your sense of smell is coming back." You commented.

"Interesting selection." He narrowed his eyes on the bouquet.

"Well, he said that was what he wanted to name the kid." You offered. "It was a cute pitch, not gonna lie."

Hannibal shut his laptop and examined the bouquet up close. "If he wanted to express regret, he would have done better to bring you blue or purple hyacinths."

"Well, like I said." You made a point to project a little more. "He said he wanted to name his daughter chrysanthemum."

"Mums are given to show sympathy for those in mourning." Hannibal continued, clearly having his own conversation.

"Hannibal-"

"I think your cousin got her hooks in him and he's planning to--" He cut himself off, lest he speak the unthinkable into reality. "That's why he brought mourning flowers."

"Max Thomas-Park is conspiring with Anna to kill our unborn baby?" You said, flatly, to emphasize how insane he sounded.

Hannibal held a bloom between his fingers and looked closely at it. "It's the kind of hint I would leave. For courtesy's sake."

"I think looking at parenting blogs all day has made you a little paranoid." You observed, knowing full well that an overprotective husband and soon-to-be father of your child was not a bad problem to have. Nevertheless, you shut the laptop and touched his cheek. "Come on. We're going to be late for the opera."

You heaved yourself into the passenger's seat of the car, feeling the seat give beneath your heavy frame. Every time you got into the car, you remembered that you needed to shop for a car seat. The thought just as soon left your mind every time. 

“We need to look for a car seat.” You said as Hannibal shut the door, hoping that he’d remember. 

“I mean,” Hannibal blurted out, still lost in his own conversation. “Max is a cultured and well-educated man. He has to know the implications of his flowers.” 

You huffed, dreading to think that paranoid delusion was symptomatic of his parenting style. “Right. The twenty-seven year old data analyst who graduated with a finance MBA from UChicago is also proficient in the outdated and frivolous language of flowers.” 

“In Italy, mums are only given as comfort for loss.” Hannibal said with undeserved conviction. “Exclusively, [F/N].” 

You rolled your eyes and typed something up on your phone. You raised your eyebrows, feeling a bit proud of yourself for what you found. 

“In Korea, y’know, the country that Max’s family is from,” You corrected. “The chrysanthemum is a symbol of friendship.” 

Hannibal tensed up for a moment, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he were trying to break himself out of a trance. “...I’m sorry, darling.” 

“I know you’re scared.” You stared at his profile, trying to make out an expression. “I’m also... pretty scared. But you can’t take it out on a guy who has nothing to do with it.” 

“I am scared.” He affirmed, but the way in which he did was a telltale sign that he wasn’t giving you the full story. 

“Of?” You raised your eyebrow. “Finish the sentence, Hannibal.” 

"I need to keep our baby safe." He answered. "And I cannot in good conscience let her come into the world knowing that someone wants to hurt her. To hurt you."

You sighed. "Hannibal, are you seriously still worried about Anna?"

"Don't underestimate the role privilege and entitlement plays in the decision to commit acts of violence." He enunciated carefully. "You of all people should know that."

"Anna has cultivated such a perfect victim image to project outwardly that even a hint of proactive violence would shatter it." You explained. "She's the poor girl who has things done to her. Her evil cousin ruined her marriage. Her evil cousin destroyed her career. And she's the innocent victim in all of it."

"Logically, I know that you can speak on her behavior with more authority than I." Hannibal admitted.

"No shit." You scoffed. "I had to live with her."

"Can we at least entertain the idea that she has something planned?" He pleaded.

"I'm surprised at you." You said. "You never really struck me as the overly-cautious type."

Hannibal shook his head. "With my own life, I'm willing to gamble. But not when it's you. And not when it's Imogen."

You tensed up. His admitted willingness to put himself in danger unlocked a core memory you had buried deep down. The only thing you knew about your own father was that he was willing to put himself in danger. To go overseas and die for fuck-all instead of live for the child he selfishly created then abandoned. He chose to give his life for oil. You didn't choose to grow up without a father and your mother didn't choose to raise a child without a partner. He made that choice for you.

"Now what are you not telling me?" Hannibal broke you out of your trance. "I know that look, [F/N]."

"Nothing." You shook your head. "You should really not plan on dying anytime soon."

"I promise you, I am not going anywhere." His voice softened. "Least of all, to Iraq."

"Okay, you're a pretty good therapist but you never told me you could read minds." You threw your hands up in defeat. "Are you a psychiatrist or are you Loki?"

"As fun as being the god of mischief would be," Hannibal smiled to himself. "I just happen to have a steel-trap memory and an admittedly quite obsessive fixation on the mental health of the mother of my child."

"I swear to god I never told you about him." You denied. "Not even in passing."

"You didn't have to." He assured you. "Beatrice did."

You were surprised for a fraction of a second until the information sat in your head long enough to realize it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Beatrice took every opportunity she got to brag about her son's sacrifices. She never once mentioned the sacrifices he forced upon you. Only that her son was a hero.

"Did you get the 'don't believe anything [F/N] has to say about my son' speech?" Your voice flattened in complete non-surprise.

"It was a prepared speech?" Hannibal chuckled. "Pity. I thought I was special."

"She gave it to my first boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "We were, like, fifteen."

"The root of your psychological issues becomes clearer every time we talk about Beatrice." He commented under his breath.

"I know." You conceded.

He pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and placed his hand over yours.

"Your father was a coward." He said, bluntly. It was nice to hear what had been echoing in the back of your head out loud for once. "I know no country to serve. No god to glorify. I promise, you have the whole of me. My mind, body and soul belongs to you and our child."

You squeezed his hand. "I couldn't ask for anything else."

[darling-i-read-it]

Kaiseki

2x01

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, angst

Author’s Note: Season! Two! This may be a little harder cause Will is in jail and it’s to big a plot point to change. But i love will graham so much dudes. I hope you guys enjoy!

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

Official Episode Summary : The psychological thriller based on the Hannibal Lecter legend returns. FBI profiler Will Graham has been framed for Lecter's crimes and wants revenge. 

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

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll​

(not my gif)

“Kaiseki. A Japanese art form that honors the taste and aesthetic of what we eat,” Hannibal said to Jack Crawford as he sat at his table. The lighting of the room was pleasing but also semi threatening. Not that Jack noticed. He wasn’t very good at noticing things. Hannibal himself had noticed that. 

“I feel guilty eating it,” Jack said, looking down at the dish. It was amazingly well put together. It was no surprise that Hannibal had done it.

“I never feel guilty eating anything,” Hannibal said with a small mischievous smile. Jack took a bite and chewed a bit. 

“Can’t quite place the fish.”

“He was a flounder. I last prepared this meal for my Aunt Murasaki under similarly unfortunate circumstances,” Hannibal said. Jack waited for him to go on and when he didn’t he nodded.

“What circumstances were those?” Hannibal shrugged.

“A loss. This is a loss. Will is a loss. We’re mourning a death,” Hannibal said gently. 

“Will’s ‘death’ is on me,” Jack said. Hannibal took a bite of his food and chewed for a moment, considering this.

“It’s on both of us.” 

“I doubt that Y/N would consider you had anything to do with it,” Jack suggested. Hannibal smiled a tad at the mention of your name and the fact that you likely wouldn’t suggest Hannibal was much to blame.

“I tended to be kinder to her and more compassionate to Will,” he said. 

“Abigail thought that you liked them both a bit more,” Jack said chuckling. Hannibal shrugged. 

“We’re all friends.”

“Do you have friends Hannibal?” Hannibal shrugged.

“I had Will. And of course Y/N.” Jack pointed his fork at Hannibal.

“I don’t understand how you managed to stay in her good graces.” 

“I suppose she had about as many friends as I did.” 

“I still can’t comprehend it. Will’s gonna be convicted of five murders. I’ll be convicted of one,” Jack muttered.

“You’re not on trial.”

“I will be. In the halls of the FBI. So will you. According to Will Graham, this was all you. Another place where I’m not sure why Y/N continues to see you.”

“Will was your bloodhound. You can’t ignore where he points.” Hannibal smiled at his plate. “And I do believe you’ll be on a trail in her mind as well.” Jack sighed.

“What’s one more person to convict me,” Jack said.

-

Alana stood beside you. You had a few papers in your hand. The only reason you were still Hannibal’s secretary at all was so that you could have the hours off to come and advocate for Will. Alana handed you another piece of paper and you looked over it. 

“You’re a goddess Alana,” you muttered. In your hands you held all the complaints and disagreements Alana had ever had with Jack about Will. Behind the scenes she had been formally sending in a few letters when she believed, like you, that Will should not have been put into the field.

“You can give Jack all the hell you want but until the FBI looks into it, nothing will happen. And Will’s entire life has changed due to Jack’s actions. It deserves to be documented.” You nodded, a smile gracing your face. She put her hand on your cheek and made you look at her which you did. “You don’t look so good.” 

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “This has put a rare smile on my face,” you promised. She pursed her lips. She looked into your eyes and moved her hand away but she still looked concerned.

“I’m doing everything in my power to make sure that Will Graham has a fair trial and that he isn’t convicted.”

“Because you think he did it but he wasn’t in the right mind,” you muttered.

“You do too right?”

“I don’t think he did it period.” She shook her head.

“Then who did? And don't’ say Hannibal otherwise I’m going to have to throw you in the hospital.” You shook your head. You felt tired. You hadn’t been getting much sleep. It was probably an attachment issue when it came down to it.  Not being able to sleep beside Will was harder than you thought it would be. The bed always felt cold. Other than that, you had been worried about Will here. Your mind wandered when you tried to sleep about everything that was going through his head. You had the dogs. He had Frederick Chilton. 

“I don’t know who did it Alana. I would like to converse with my boyfriend about that but Chilton has limited visiting hours the bastard.” 

“I’ll try and talk with him. We’re sort of friendly. I think I yelled at him about something a while back but he doesn’t seem to remember it.” You nodded and handed her back the papers on Jack.

“Make him pay.” She nodded.

“I will.”

-

The phone rang as you sat on the porch with the dogs. Winston sat in front of you while the others played and whined at the door. He had been doing that on and off since Will was arrested. You picked up the phone and pet Winston, trying your best to calm him down. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Bev said. You tried to make some emotion come out when you spoke next but nothing emerged.

“Hey.” Bev cleared her throat. You didn’t want to fight her. You truly had no interest in it. In fact, Bev had always been in your corner so the worry that she might not be today would have made your heart hurt if it wasn’t already pretty numb with bitterness.

“I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” she said. 

“As well as you may expect. But I appreciate you calling.” She hummed.

“I’m sorry this happened. I know you didn’t ever agree with Jack.” You scoffed.

“You could say that again.” She laughed lightly.

“I’m going to see Will soon. For help on this case. Jack doesn’t know. But I kinda wanted to tell you first so that he didn’t tell you and then you were by default pissed at me.” You weren’t very pleased to hear that but there wasn’t much else you could do.

“I would go in saying you support him or something. He might help you more.” 

“Thank you.” 

-

Hannibal noticed you at the desk. He wasn’t having many patients and didn’t expect to see you. You still had on your coat and looked like you weren’t staying. But still, you looked over the computer and let out a sigh.

“Do you need something?” he asked. You looked up, surprised to see him. He also didn’t look like he was staying. “I thought I gave you a few days off.” He knew he did. He did it explicitly.

“I just thought I left the necklace Will gave me here. I guess not. It’s probably in his car but I have no idea where he put the keys,” you said and laughed dryly in remembrance of sweeter times. “Where are you off to?” 

“I have to go and see a crime scene,” he said. Your eyes went wide and another dry laugh left your lips.

“Nice to see you ‘the new Will Graham’,” you muttered.

“I don’t think Jack intended it to be like that.” You shook your head.

“No because you can’t be nearly as good at it as Will was.” Hannibal was the only person to notice the shift in your emotions correctly. Not from happy to sad. It was from normal to bitter. He would likely see the same shift in Will Graham if he decided to go see him.

“Would you like to come?”

“Is that the best idea? Doing my boyfriends old job with Jack Crawford watching me like I was going to slip up at any given second?” Hannibal shrugged.

“Perhaps it would be good for you. Step where Will once did.” You shook your head.

“Thanks Hannibal but I can’t today. Maybe another murder.” 

“Off to see Will?” 

“Off to attempt to see Will. Perhaps have a fist fight with Frederick Chilton. I’ll decide in the car.” Hannibal laughed lowly and walked over to you. He put a hand on your arm and you leaned into his touch, happy someone was touching you. 

“If you ever need a dinner,” he started and you nodded.

“I’ll call.”

“You’re not worried about what Will says about me are you?” he asked. You shrugged.

“I don't know yet. I just have to talk to him.” Hannibal nodded and you looked up at him. “I care about you Hannibal.” He was silent for a moment and then hugged you, placing his hand on the back of your head. 

“I care about you as well.” And for once, Hannibal was not lying. 

-

Chilton shook his head.

“You will only hinder his therapy,” he said simply. You shook your head and walked up to his desk. 

“Do you think for one second I would do anything that could cause Will to be this bad ever again? I can’t simply not see him.” 

“What if he doesn’t want to see you?” Chilton asked. You were stumped at that. Your face fell.

“Did he say that?”

“Not in so many words. Just maybe that it would be better for you to live a life on your own.” You shook your head and a small smile went over your lips.

“You’re lying.” 

“How would you know?”

“Because I know Will Graham better than anyone in this whole world and he is just conceited and rude enough to tell you to go to hell before saying that about me.” Chilton looked up at you from his spot behind his desk. You stared hard into his eyes.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Once a week. Thirty minutes.” You nodded, happy your point had been made. “Come back tomorrow.” You nodded and turned around, taking your small victory with you out the door.

-

“How was Dr. Bloom’s visit?” Hannibal asked. He sat across from Chilton at dinner in his home. 

“He asked her to hypnotize him to recover memories. This is delicious,” he muttered, pointing at the food. 

“Was he successful?”

“Only in playing Dr. Bloom. It’s sad to see a brilliant psychiatrist fall for such hoary old chestnuts,” Chilton said simply.

“She wants to believe him. I do, too.” Chilton looked disappointed at that and looked down at his plate, then back at Hannibal.

“Will’s girlfriend paid me a visit earlier. She seems like a piece of work. I understand why they go so well together.” Hannibal shrugged. Chilton could tell he was acting as though he were indifferent despite clearly having a side. He just wasn't sure which side that was.

“She’s stubborn but rightly so,” Hannibal said.

“What, you think I should let her see him? I agreed to once a week but I’m still on the fence.” Chilton chewed on a bite.

“I don’t see how it could hurt. In fact, if you plan to utilize the cameras and audio you might get something out of it,” Hannibal suggested. He was very aware that Chilton wanted nothing to do with something he couldn’t get a thing out of. 

Chilton thought this over.

“Perhaps I could give her a few extra minutes. If you think that would be wise.” Hannibal shrugged.

“Maybe I could think about it.”

-

Hannibal sat in the car with you outside of the hospital.

“Will has made accusations against me. Very serious ones,” Hannibal said. 

“Again, I’ll make up my mind about those when I talk with him.” You weren’t sure why you were so nervous. It was just Will. You weren’t scared of Will or anything. Perhaps it was the anticipation.

“But bear in mind who you know me to be,” he said. You nodded and thought really hard about what you knew Hannibal to be. 

“You hid the fact that Abigail killed someone,” you muttered. “Who says you weren’t the murderer after all?” 

“You and Will also hid that. Perhaps you’re the murderer.” 

“If I was the murderer Jack Crawford would be sprawled very neatly across a particular place,” you muttered bitterly. 

“I don’t doubt that,” Hannibal said chuckling. You turned to him and he held your hand, squeezing it once. “Best of luck.” 

You got out of the car.

-

The walk to the cell was a long one. It was odd, the anticipation of knowing Will was so close. When he came into view his eyes were closed. At the sound of your footsteps they opened.

He turned to you slowly and you smiled subtly.

“Where were you?” 

“Fishing,” he whispered. 

“Sorry I interrupted.” He shook his head. 

“I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.” You walked up to the bars and put your hands on them. He did the same, your hands touching. He was warm but not boiling as he had been when he had that nasty fever.

“I only have like, 30 minutes.” He nodded. 

“Step back to the white line ma’am!” the guard at the end of the hall called. You turned around but didn’t move an inch. 

“No!” you called back. Will laughed dryly. 

“You’re supposed to be scared of me,” he whispered. You shook your head.

“Ma’am!” The guards walked over to you and you shook your head angrily, stepping back to the line, so far away from Will. But you didn’t want to be kicked out. 

“I’m not scared of him,” you said to the guard. 

“Doesn’t matter. The white line,” he said to you. You nodded stiffly and he walked away. The distance felt greater than it really was. When the guard closed the door at the end of the hall you stepped back to the bars. 

“You’ve never followed any rules have you?” he asked, laughing. 

“Not once. Now go on.” 

“I resurfaced a memory.” You nodded, gesturing for him to go on. “Chilton can hear us.” 

“That was the memory?”

“No,” he said and laughed a bit. “Just telling you we need to be quiet.” You nodded. “Hannibal shoved that ear down my throat.”

“Abigails?”

“No the other one.” You nodded, accepting your ignorance. 

“And you think he did all this?” 

“I know that they already looked at him and Beverly looked over everything but I know he did this. When i remember what happened to me I can tell you more.” You looked at the ground.

“Did he do stuff to you while I was in the other room?” Will shook his head.

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“I do. I blame myself for letting this happen and if Hannibal, no matter how much I like him, did this to you than how can I ever-”

“Just don’t trust him.” 

“He’s all I have out there. Him and Alana. And the dogs.”

“How are the dogs?” he asked. 

“Winston misses you. Sometimes he thinks he misses you more than I do,” you whispered. 

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.”

“Neither do you. But I like not cutting the hair,” you muttered and messed with his curls. He gripped your hand tighter around the bar. “I wish you could come home.”

“Me too. Honestly.”

“Soon,” you promised. “Alana has some things she wants to look into.”

“And I keep firing lawyers.”

“FBI lawyers,” you corrected. “I would too.” You looked at your watch and he glanced over to it as well.

“20 more minutes,” he whispered. His eyes caught yours and he gestured for you to sit down. You both did. “Tell me about your day.”

2x02

[brywrites]

Flight Risk IX

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IX: In which a profiler and a pilot try their best not to care, featuring an incredibly tacky hotel.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous |  Next )

----

The case closes. When it’s time to go home, Reid sees her leaning against the wall of the hangar with a book. Their eyes meet. He stops walking, frozen to the ground. And in response, she walks away and disappears into the jet. Neither of them knows what to say. She gives herself over to the sky, he loses himself in paperwork. The jet has never felt so big. Like there are miles between them instead of just mere feet.

Y/N thinks of Peter Pan. “The moment you doubt whether you can fly you cease for ever to be able to do it.” She doesn’t know what they are to each other anymore. Are they still friends? Were they ever at all? Was Arthur right all along? Maybe she simply is made for staying, not with her airplane heart. Hopelessly circling, never quite finding a place to land.

Reid has never had to do this before, to hurt someone in this way. He’s not sure how to reach out to her after putting this distance in place. And so he doesn’t. It doesn’t ease the loneliness. Only Garcia notices the change, when he stops talking about her.

“She told you how she felt, didn’t she?” Penelope asks, her cheerful smile deflating. Reid averts his gaze. The pained look on Garcia’s face mirrors the ache in his chest. “Oh, Reid,” she says. “Do you really still believe that you’re not allowed to be happy?”

“But you looked so happy together,” Yeeqin laments when Y/N tells her what happened. “I just don’t get it.” She and her girlfriend Saoirse offer to key his car, an offer Y/N promptly refuses. They’re both hurting enough as is. And besides, knowing Yeeqin she’d vandalize the wrong car and need someone to bail her out. After the “graffiti incident of 2014,” Y/N has no interest in doing so again.

And so they stay away. Things return to the way they always were – pilots and profilers. Two separate worlds on the same G550 jet. The only exchanges are simply pleasantries or requests from the team to the pilots, but they never come from Reid. Or announcements about takeoff and landing that almost always come from Captain Dobson. On the rare occasions when Y/N’s voice floods into the cabin, he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine that she’s speaking only to him. Sometimes when the agents disembark from the plane, she watches him go from the cockpit window and tries to remember what it was like when they sat so close.

He stops arriving early. She stops reading in the hangar if she’s not on the jet. They both pretend it’s normal. They both pretend it’s possible for them not to care. That it’s easy, that it doesn’t bother them one bit to be apart like this. That it wasn’t better before.

Y/N goes to dinner at Arthur and Malik’s house. Martin and Theresa are there and she runs around the yard with their older children, Carolyn and Benedict, and coos over baby Douglas. They share cocktails and swap stories and it feels so good to be surrounded by her own team, this makeshift family of aviators. She has movie nights in with Yeeqin and goes out with her and Saoirse anytime they invite her along and it’s so nice to be among friends. But then Martin looks at Theresa with all the love in the world and Saoirse falls asleep on Yeeqin’s shoulder in the cab on the way home and it’s acutely apparent to her that something is missing in her life.

Reid distracts himself with work and with books and tells himself that he’s always been just fine this way, with words and obligations instead of laughter over takeout or meetings at coffee shops. But then he discovers Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in his bottom desk drawer at work, the copy she’d loaned to him and he’d sworn he would remember to give back to her and suddenly he’s trying not to cry in the bullpen and he doesn’t quite know why.

She learns from Arthur, who knew him, that Spencer’s mentor has been killed. And she can see on their next case that he’s hurting. The sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion evident in his slumped posture makes her want to run to him and wrap him in a hug, hold him close like he held her that night on the couch. But she’s not supposed to care about him anymore.

He sees the way she looks back at him as she boards the jet that day, her eyes lingering on him for just a fraction too long, and he thinks that just maybe she’s going to say something to him. But she doesn’t and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. Either way, Gideon’s death seems only to prove his theory – the people he loves get hurt.

When they come home from the bombing case in Indianapolis, he’s drained from a week of mourning and a grueling chess match with Rossi. As Reid stands in the hangar searching for his keys in his bag, he hears, “Doctor Reid,” and turns to see Captain Dobson standing a few feet away.

“Yes?” he asks.

The captain opens his mouth, falters, and then says, “I’m sorry for your loss.” The sentiment is confusing, as he already told Reid this as he boarded the plane three days earlier. But perhaps Dobson has forgotten the conversation. So he thanks the captain and continues on his way.

Y/N and Reid seek solace in their friends, in their books, in the places that make them feel safe. And they try so hard to convince their hearts that they don’t feel anything that they wonder if it was ever even real to begin with. And for a little while, they almost believe it.

But then comes Nashville.

---

“Did you see the picture Martin sent of baby Douglas in his pilot’s cap?” Y/N asks.

“I did,” Arthur says. “It was cute.”

“The cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” she insists. “I wish he could bring the kids by for a visit sometime, I’m sure they’d love to check out the jet. Do you remember being a kid and how they’d let you go visit the flight deck and see how a plane worked? And they’d give you those little plastic pilots wings?”

“Relics of a bygone era,” Arthur sighs. “I’m sure I still have a pair of PanAm Junior Pilot wings stashed in a box somewhere.” The millennium ushered in a new vision of aviation security and sharp pins and strangers in the cockpit simply aren’t considered protocol anymore. “How are we looking?”

Y/N glances at the altimeter and airspeed indicators. “Flying at 46,000 feet. Currently at Mach point nine. Should be about one hour and ten minutes to destination.”

“Let the cabin now we’ve reached out cruising altitude, will you?” Arthur asks. Typically it’s her job to shift the jet into cruise while Arthur makes the announcement, but she nods and takes the speaker.

“Good afternoon passengers, this is your co-pilot speaking. We’ve reached our cruising altitude of 46,000 feet. At this time please feel free to resume using electronic devices and move about the cabin. We expect to be landing in Nashville in about an hour. Skies are clear, should be smooth sailing ahead. In-flight refreshments will not be served, but you’re welcome to help yourselves to anything stocked in the galley.”

A part of her wonders if he thinks of her when he hears her voice. Not that it should matter anymore. Before she can lose herself in her own thoughts, Arthur asks, “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?”

“Lincoln,” she decides after a moment to think. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

Arthur says, “The Terminator,” without missing a beat. The captain is well-versed in cinema, which makes Double Feature one of his favorite in-flight games. The first movie must always be a question, and whoever can come up with the best films in response is declared the winner. Arthur almost always wins, and it’s a challenge to think up films they haven’t already used.

“What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?”

“Hannibal.”

“That’s terrible,” Arthur laughs.

“Dude, Where’s My Car?”

“Brokeback Mountain.”

“Oof, that’s gonna be a long and sad trek to retrieve it,” she sighs. “I’m not prepared for that kind of emotional devastation.” But the game does help to take her mind off of what she’s really feeling. She can lose herself in words and not in wishes. They land GEFF gently on the tarmac in Nashville and when they pull around to the hangar, she doesn’t look out the side window. Y/N stares straight ahead at the horizon. The sky fades from deep royal blue to soft pale periwinkle where the distant skyline rises up to meet it and she loves every single shade in between.

Once the team has departed, she and Arthur walk through the cabin tidying up and making note of anything that needs to be cleaned or restocked prior to takeoff. Arthur won Double Feature (“O Brother Where Art Thou?” “Soylent Green.” “Oh, that is incredibly twisted!”) so it’s her turn to clean the bathroom. Fortunately a short flight like this means it’s fairly clean to begin with. She wipes sanitizes the sink and toilet, empties the paper towel bag, makes sure there’s enough soap and toilet paper. Garbage is deposited in the trash can at the back of the hangar and they return to Geff to grab their own go-bags.

“Listen, Y/L/N,” Arthur says as they lock the cockpit door. “About the IRT job.”

“Arthur,” she cuts him off. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” When he looks as though he’s about to protest she adds, “Please. I just want to go to hotel and take a nap and watch whatever silly romcom is on pay per view.”

He nods and says nothing more. They catch a rideshare from the airport together and she stares out the window at the buildings and billboards that line the roads. She already knows what she’s going to do about the offer. She made her decision after her conversation with Spencer. The choice was clear. But she doesn’t want to discuss it yet. She’s not ready.

They step into the lobby of the Graduate Hotel and her mouth falls open. It’s hideous. There’s a fuzzy tapestry – a fuzzy tapestry of a woman with a hat against a pink background that appears to be made out of the same material as a shag rug. The lamps at the concierge desk have hot pink floral patterns on them. A neon installation that looks similar to a vintage gas station sign announces vacancies in bright green and red light. The armchairs are blue velvet and the hanging lights look like tulle skirts. There’s too much happening at once.

“This is the ugliest hotel I’ve ever seen,” she says.

“Well the more affordable ones were nearly full – evidently this is a big weekend for admitted students at Vanderbilt – they had to double up all of the rooms for the team. But the Bureau managed to get us a discount here,” Arthur replies as they stand at the desk waiting for someone to check them in.

“I suppose a bunch of special agents wouldn’t blend in well at a place like this,” she admits. Hopefully they solve the case quickly and she’s not stuck here too long. True to her word she spends the first night relaxing in her room. The bathroom is beautiful – black walls with gold accents and a glass shower. The room itself is another story. The carpet is a rainbow of jewel-toned diamonds in a quilt-like pattern. The walls are pink and white striped, a candelabra sits next to a pink television. White curtains with a vibrant floral pattern line the window and form a hanging behind the bed. The bed, mercifully, has the standard white blankets and white pillows, though there is hot pink chevron quilt draped over the end and an eerie portrait of Dolly Parton stares at her from above the headboard. Y/N shudders.

Penelope Garcia calls her that evening. She’s waiting to hear back from the team and could use some virtual company. “I don’t even know if you’d like this place,” Y/N tells her. “It’s so garishly tacky. Like a sorority girl and her antique-collecting grandmother chose items from their storage closet at random.”

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” Garcia says.

“Penelope, I am ever the optimist. I love quirky, whimsical adventures. But this is something else. The Dolly Parton painting keeps staring at me, I swear!”

“Let me look it up.” There is the sound of fingers frantically typing on a keyboard. “Oh come on now, the lobby is way cute! And the patio? I just – oh. Oh my. Oh those rooms. You’re right. That’s bad. That’s very bad.”

“I told you!”

“That went from cute to crikey very quickly,” she agrees. After takeout for dinner and watching Serendipity, Y/N falls asleep under the unnervingly watchful eye of Dolly. The next day is completely free, and she heads out to explore the city. Wherever she ends up, she tries to take advantage of the adventures available to her. Just blocks from the hotel she discovers Nashville’s Parthenon – a full-scale replica of the Greek temple which hides an art museum inside. She wanders the galleries and stands at the entrance staring up at the pillars holding the roof up. What would it be like to visit the real thing? She wonders how many times the IRT has gone to Greece before. Maybe they’ll end up in Athens sometime this year.

Café Coco is the cutest coffee shop she’s seen in any city, and she grabs tea and a scone before returning to Centennial Park. Beneath the barely blossoming trees she sits and reads Dandelion Wine. It’s beautifully written and full of longing. That longing seeps through the pages and she can feel it in her bones. Nostalgia for times past and places far behind and things that cannot be. Everything that Spencer said it would be. As she reads she tries to imagine which lines would have made him smile or elicited a wistful sigh. Are the parts she loves most the same as the parts he loves most?

Her phone buzzes with a text form Arthur to ask if she wants to get lunch together at the hotel bar, and she shoves the book and her longing back in her bag and walks over to meet him.They step from the tacky lobby into a bar that seems remarkably normal. String lights and chandeliers cast an inviting ambient glow over the wooden tables and chairs. Country music is playing over the speakers. But as they she and Arthur move closer towards an open table, she sees it. The stage.

“What is that?” she asks. There’s a bear, a pig, and a fox in a wig atop a stage that says Cross-Eyed Critters. Each holds an instrument. And it’s then that she realizes the music is coming from them. It’s an animatronic band. Their eyes and mouths move as they sing and their fabricated bodies turn and jerk with the beat. “What?” she asks again, completely dumbfounded. “What?”

Arthur too is speechless. Then he shakes his head and says, “It’s nothing a drink or two won’t make more palatable.” She snaps a photo on her phone and texts it to Garcia, who will surely get a kick out of it.

As they sit down, a voice announces a new song over the speakers. A slightly tipsy looking man in a pair of red cowboy boots comes to stand in front of the stage. He has a microphone. The animatronics begin to play the opening notes of a song, and then the man begins to sing. This is not just a bar with an animatronic band, it’s an animatronic karaoke bar. The man in the red boots belts out an uncomfortably off-key version of a Kenny Rogers song –“You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away and know when to run!”– with just a little too much bravado.

“I think I’ll need that drink sooner rather than later,” Arthur admits begrudgingly. She has to laugh. This hotel, it seems is full of surprises. But the captain is right. When she receives a spiked cream soda and Arthur has a glass of bourbon and there’s a plate of tacos between them, it’s easier to tune out the karaoke band. She can just enjoy her drink and the light and the stories of Arthur’s first flights with the BAU that have her nearly in tears from laughing so hard. For someone who maintains such a serious demeanor most of the time, he knows how to tell a joke incredibly well. She’s always appreciated that about him.

“Y/N, there is something I wanted to talk with you about,” Arthur says. His tone changes and she knows the time for joking is over. “We need to discuss the IRT offer.” Before he can continue, her phone rings. She glances at the screen. It’s Penelope. Y/N sends it to voicemail. There will be time to discuss the disconcerting robot band later when she’s back in her room. Right now, she needs to focus on Arthur. She knows where this is going and he’s right. She can’t keep putting this off forever. She has to talk about this, and everything that it means.

“I’ve already made my decision,” she begins to say. But her phone begins to ring again, and her heart drops into her stomach. This isn’t about the picture. This is urgent. Arthur must realize it too. His eyes trail down to her phone and she hesitantly picks it up.

“It’s Garcia,” she tells him, before answering. “Hello?”

“Y/N, oh thank goodness you picked up.” The analyst’s voice is a little higher than usual, a little more strained. “It’s Reid. He’s in the hospital.”

[typicalher]

An Analysis of Will's Moral Conflict

One of the key struggles for Will throughout the show concerns his reluctance to fully embrace his darkness. I completely acknowledge that this is a struggle that he deals with throughout, but the reasons for this struggle are more complicated than him simply having too strong of a good moral compass. When you actually look carefully at Will’s pattern of behavior, what you see is that Will’s moral struggle is really more about what he thinks he should feel or possibly even what he thinks he should want to feel. It is often argued that Will struggles with his internal conflict because he also wants justice or to stop Hannibal (and himself) from killing or hurting people. If Will is fighting his darker urges because he wants to protect people then that would be valid, but this is usually not the case when you actually look at his actions and the fallout. Will’s struggles don’t actually protect anyone (in fact his indecisiveness usually leads to tragic consequences) and when others do get hurt, he doesn’t actually react with genuine guilt or even make true changes to his behavior for the better.

In the beginning of the series, we do know that Will has a desire to be normal and because he isn’t he largely hides from social interaction. At first he is also not interested in socializing or even talking with Hannibal, but once Hannibal gets him to confess to enjoying killing Hobbs and then offers him acceptance at this confession, we see Will become much more comfortable having serious and personal conversations with him. Will enjoys the acceptance that Hannibal is offering him despite admitting to enjoying taking a life. Will is still very reluctant to admit this to anyone else; however, so he does recognize that it isn’t a normal feeling for him to have despite Hannibal’s lack of judgement (and even encouragement). He tells Abigail that killing her father was the “ugliest feeling in the world,” which we know is a lie and near the end of S1 he later confesses the truth about how he felt to her.

S2 is where we really get to see Will’s struggle begin though because it is during S2 that he is much more “awake” so to speak and he actually starts actively embracing more of his darker urges and recognizing them for what they are. He is angry at Hannibal because of Abigail’s death and the betrayal of lying about his illness and framing him, as well as the death of Beverly, which eventually leads to Will sending Matthew Brown to kill him. Will does not appear to feel any regret for this attempt at murder by proxy, or the fact that he was sending someone else off to potentially be sacrificed for this cause, and when Hannibal frees him from prison shortly afterwards, he also begins to understand some of Hannibal’s motivations for his S1 actions. However, he still starts off on a plan to get revenge and presumably attempt to bring Hannibal to justice. This brings us to the question of why is Will really doing all of this. Jack certainly seems to think it is for justice, but we eventually see that Will is lying throughout the “investigation.” Will was, for instance, supposed to manipulate Hannibal into trying to kill Mason but arrest him in the act. At least that is what Will tells Jack. However, Will also doesn’t tell Jack anything about his personal connection to the Mason Verger plot and what happened to Margot. He also manipulates Mason against Hannibal, but in the end he frees Hannibal allowing him to kill his way out of Muskrat Farm. He also just ends up watching Hannibal snap Mason’s neck and doesn’t tell Jack anything about what actually happened, which is why they have to resort to the planned entrapment dinner. Based on his actions and not just on what Jack believes are his intentions, there isn’t really any indication that Will’s motivations are anything but personal. He is upset by Hannibal’s actions in S1, but he is mostly still upset about what happened to Abigail. He brings her death up to Freddie twice and questions Hannibal directly about it. Even before the rest of the FBI closes in and Will is forced to make a choice, he burns Hannibal’s psychiatric notes about him. The file even contains the real clock that Will drew when he was ill. Will burns it willingly when he could have attempted to keep it. Hannibal doesn’t seem concerned at all that Will has it in his hands. Why does he destroy valuable evidence if he wants justice? In the end, Will disregards even Abigail’s death when he calls Hannibal to warn him. Even if Will wasn’t planning to run with Hannibal when he got to the house (though we know he at least wanted to based on his later confession to Jack) he wanted Hannibal to leave. He wanted him to go free. This wasn’t about justice. It was about what had personally happened between the two of them and he was apparently okay with Hannibal leaving and going to potentially kill other people somewhere else. Later when Will is in the hospital and Chilton tells him this is his best possible world, Will imagines if he had killed Jack with Hannibal that night, which shows us that Will’s regrets over Mizumono aren’t that he failed to stop Hannibal and bring him to justice but that he didn’t commit to Hannibal sooner and that they didn’t get to go through with killing Jack together.

When we get to S3, Will’s conflict eventually shifts away from being about what Hannibal has done to hurt him and more about Will’s so called morality. This is where Will starts to get a bit more difficult to follow in terms of motivation because Will is pretty hypocritical about all of it. At the beginning of the season, Will is mourning the loss of the family that he, Hannibal, and Abigail could have been together. He is worried that Hannibal may just be playing with him, but he also wants to go to Hannibal. This is explicitly stated more than once when he talks to “Abigail” who is really just a representation of his own thoughts. At the end of the episode, he forgives Hannibal, and I think this is where we start to get a bit of a shift in Will’s conflict. Will goes to Hannibal’s childhood home, which is where he encounters Chiyoh. Will now sees someone Hannibal has “tested” and seemingly has left behind. Will was already worried in Primavera that Hannibal was simply playing with him, but now he sees someone that Hannibal was able to walk away from and he likely becomes concerned that Hannibal sees him the same way. Afterall, Hannibal gutted him and walked away and Will only has the broken heart as a sign that Hannibal hasn’t just moved on. What if Hannibal was just mocking him? Will’s insecurities are somewhat understandable here. What is telling though is how Will treats what he should logically see as another of Hannibal’s “victims.” He treats Chiyoh in a very Hannibal-like manner. He tests her to see if she will kill and she does in self-defense. While he does take the prisoner away from the castle initially, when Chiyoh screams, we get a shot of Will off in the woods. His reaction is stone cold and there is no surprise at all on his face, so he must have expected the prisoner to come back after her. Chiyoh also makes sure to call him out on his real intentions. Later when they are riding the train together, he still shows no remorse for what he did to her, and instead rather coldly questions her about taking a life. He asks her if she sees herself killing the prisoner over and over and she replies no that she sees him and his response is just to grin at her as if he enjoys the thought of what he has made her do. Later in the same episode, she states that he feels like he needs to kill Hannibal or he will become him and Will says yes. It is here that the story somewhat shifts from Will possibly wanting to go be with Hannibal again to feeling like now he needs to kill Hannibal in order to “save himself” from Becoming like him. What changed? I think Chiyoh and thinking Hannibal just saw her as disposable is part of it, but I think the fact that he was able to really forgive Hannibal for what happened between them before and Abigail is also apart of it. If Will can forgive Hannibal for killing their daughter and gutting him and still wants to go to him, what does that say about Will himself and the type of person he is? This isn’t the way normal people love. I think this realization, combined with the fear that Hannibal doesn’t really care about him, causes Will to get a bit spooked and regress in his own self-acceptance a bit. Seeing Bedelia and realizing she took his place also helped solidify this belief on his part.

However, lets look a little more closely at Will’s apparent motivation and the belief he needs to kill Hannibal for this reason. Is it to bring him to justice? Is it to stop Hannibal from killing others? No, it is all about Will and his attempts to possibly control his own thoughts, feelings, and actions. Keep in mind that at this point, Hannibal has left Will alone for eight months. He did leave the broken heart, but Will had to travel across the ocean to see that. Will is going after Hannibal; Hannibal is not going to Will. The idea that Will must kill Hannibal to stop his own dark desires is pretty illogical on Will’s part, and Chiyoh tries to point out to him that there are flaws in his thinking because she follows up by telling him there are means of influence other than violence, but this is also where Will really starts twisting himself up in knots to lie to himself. (For the record, I do think there is more to Will’s motivations than just wanting to kill Hannibal just like there was much more to Hannibal’s attempt at the head sawing. For one, I think they are both afraid of being the vulnerable one in the relationship because at this point in their relationship, there is a lot of violence, physical and emotional, between them. I also doubt Will would have gone through with it. He pulled a tiny knife in the middle of a public street and Will has never before or after this, been able to actually go through with killing Hannibal or letting anyone else do it, but I digress.) It should also be noted that Will didn’t go to Italy in the first place to attempt to bring Hannibal to justice. He goes to Italy to deal with his feelings for Hannibal just like he “resumed therapy” to deal with his feelings for Hannibal. We can see proof of this in his interaction with Pazzi who wants his help as an officer of the law to find Hannibal, and Will not only isn’t interested in really helping him, he starts to deliberately act creepy around him including taunting him by asking him if he knows whose side he is really on. When Will meets up with Jack later, even though he goes with him to the apartment where they find Bedelia, Will also slips out by himself and doesn’t tell Jack he knows where to find Hannibal, so again he sees finding Hannibal as something personal and not a matter of law enforcement.

Then we arrive at the Digestivo break up. Will is clearly exhausted during this episode. He does bite Cordell’s cheek and look to Hannibal for approval and help talk Alana into freeing them, but you can tell he is tired. This is when he tells Hannibal to leave and he doesn’t want to know where he is. Let’s break this action down. There are two valid interpretations to this: Will deliberately manipulated Hannibal into surrendering (which he later claims) or Will thought Hannibal would really leave and was surprised that Hannibal turned himself in. If Will did deliberately manipulate Hannibal into turning himself in, we can say from his later actions that he was essentially keeping Hannibal on the hook until Will was ready to return to him. Will is giving himself a break from the drama that is their relationship and giving himself some space (even though Will was the one to seek out Hannibal again and not the other way around). If Will didn’t manipulate him on purpose then Will once again is apparently fine with Hannibal leaving and killing other people. The implication then is that it would apparently be okay as long as Hannibal wasn’t killing people he knew and Will wasn’t tempted to give in to his own dark urges by being around Hannibal. Hannibal killing only seems to be an issue for Will when he is personally connected to it, and even then only to a point. The only one of Hannibal’s victims he really seems to care about is Abigail (who he forgave Hannibal for) and Beverly for a short period of time before he seemingly forgot about her entirely (and this is arguably Will being angry at Hannibal taking something else away from him. Will tends to get upset when he believes this is what Hannibal is doing. We see it with Abigail, Margot’s baby, and later when he accuses Hannibal of this concerning Molly and Walter during his conversation with Bedelia.) We can also see the way Will treats one of Hannibal’s surviving victims, Alana. Alana is manipulated by Hannibal, and unlike Will himself, is considered disposable. Alana actually does try to stop Hannibal by pulling the trigger and attempting to shoot him, but she fails. She is a victim of Hannibal’s manipulations and suffers a serious injury and almost dies because of Hannibal. And how does Will treat her? He doesn’t even want her around him. He would rather pine for Hannibal and Abigail in Hannibal’s kitchen than even talk to her. They could have come together to bond over their trauma, but instead he rejects her entirely and tells her to leave him alone. He doesn’t even have a logical reason to be so put off by her in their scene in the kitchen.

We then arrive at the Red Dragon arc where Will’s “moral conflict” reaches its most hypocritical levels. First, we have how he treats Bedelia. Will is blatantly jealous, but even setting aside his hatred of her as a potential rival, his attitude towards her is outrageously hypocritical. He was upset no one would believe him about Hannibal in the first half of S2, but he never even gives her story the benefit of the doubt for a second (even openly mocking her with his “I don’t believe you.”) He also tells her she would deserve to be eaten by Hannibal and later threatens her again in TWOTL. This is the man who tried to shoot someone in cold blood, mutilated a corpse, set someone up to kill and mutilated another corpse, and tried to help Hannibal escape at least once. Will has done more criminal acts and gotten away with them than Bedelia is even capable of doing in the first place. Remember when Will was going to be arrested for killing and mutilating Randall Tier? Apparently Will just got away with that completely once the FBI was distracted by Hannibal being the real Ripper. Bedelia has nothing on Will.

We also have Will’s family, which is often used as an example of Will trying to be a good man and resist his darkness, but let’s look at how this is presented. Parallels are actually drawn between Will choosing his family and how Dolarhyde chooses his victims. Hannibal points out that Dolarhyde is like Will and “needs a family to escape what is inside of him.” When Hannibal tells him he picked a readymade family “to serve his needs” because he knows better than to breed, Will is called out for basically having a beard family (in more than one way). It is worth noting that Will does not even try to argue with Hannibal about this, which is basically accepting the truth of the statement. Will doesn’t have a problem with calling Hannibal out when he feels he deserves it. What we are shown of Will’s relationship with Molly is also quite shallow. We have no reason to believe he has been honest about himself with her. She believes he is motivated by wanting to save lives, but as we have seen he is fine putting people in danger and doesn’t seem to care about Hannibal killing people he doesn’t care about. She also jokes about his criminal mind and he shuts the conversation down. There has been discussion about whether or not Will was purposely putting Molly and Walter in danger. I don’t think he did this consciously, but I do believe he was very selfish to use them for a “normal” life while he is essentially keeping Hannibal waiting in prison. It is also very odd that Will is supposed to be so good at reading killers, but he “doesn’t” pick up on the obvious hints Hannibal gives him about Dolarhyde coming after Molly and Walter next. By involving them, and not being honest with them, he at least was pulling them into a world they weren’t prepared for. We also never see them again after they are attacked. Will mainly seems upset that Hannibal tried to take something away from him again since that has been an issue for Will throughout their relationship and even in the scene where he confronts Hannibal about it he doesn’t even stay angry for the entire scene. (Also, the accusation that Hannibal gave Will three years to build a family just so he could take them away is pretty bizarre logic as well. Hannibal didn’t know what Will was going to do while he was in prison.) If Will actually wanted to be with them though, it is odd that this was enough to destroy the relationship. As if he wanted to live in an illusion and once the illusion is shattered he has no need for it. Some argue that Will’s motivations are to protect Molly and Walter in the finale, but if that is the case why do we never see them again? Molly is only brought up in the finale as a way for Will to try and hurt Hannibal. If Will truly cared beyond the destruction of his attempt at a normal life, then why do we not get more of a real moment between Will and Molly after the hospital scene? Instead, Will is back to focusing on the personal conflict of he and Hannibal’s relationship and the new confirmation that Hannibal is in love with him and what he feels in return and what he is going to do about it. In fact, Will was the one who decided to involve Hannibal in the case before it was even necessary. If Will believes Hannibal is so dangerous for himself and the world at large, why doesn’t he leave Hannibal to rot alone in his cell until it is absolutely necessary to interact with him? Bedelia calls him out for just missing Hannibal and wanting to see him, but you also have to wonder if Will wants to give Hannibal the chance to act in some way and get involved. Hannibal didn’t even need to know Will had a family at all for the purposes of this case, so Will agreeing with Bedelia that Hannibal was going to let Will have something knowing he could take it away is odd. The whole situation is another example of Will coming to Hannibal instead of Hannibal coming to Will. Will had to want Hannibal involved.

We then come to Chilton and Will’s role in what happens to him. Will does appear upset at seeing what happened to Chilton in the FBI office, but when we cut to him with Bedelia, the one he can be more honest with, we see a very different side of him, and when she asks if he wants to talk about it he responds with “the divine punishment of a sinner mirrors the sin being punished” and “Damned if I’ll feel.”  When she asks if he has to wonder if he put Chilton at risk he says no and with a cocky eyebrow raise, he responds to her asking if she expected this to happen to Chilton by saying “I can’t say I’m surprised.” We aren’t seeing any real remorse here and after imagining himself lighting the match that burned Chilton, he easily lies to Jack in the next scene and blames it all on Hannibal, which is a deliberate attempt on his part to deflect the blame he was just taking responsibility for with Bedelia.

Will’s actions in The Wrath of the Lamb are ambiguous to a point, and there are multiple interpretations of what his intentions were. What we can say for certain is that Will lies to Jack and acts like he didn’t know Dolarhyde was alive until after the rest of them learn that news as well. He never reveals that he has already put a plot into motion involving Dolarhyde. So what is Will’s motivation? There are different options. None of them actually make Will look good or heroic at all. One interpretation is that Will has decided that too many lines have been crossed by himself and he needs to put an end to it, so he is going to have Dolarhyde kill Hannibal. If this is Will’s motivation, then it means that Will is essentially blaming giving in to his own darkness on Hannibal simply existing. Hannibal is in a cell and while he did find a way to be something of a danger thanks to Dolarhyde, that avenue is now cut off to him. It doesn’t make logical sense for Will to decide to use another serial killer to kill Hannibal because Will has given into his darkness enough to now be willing to do things like set up Chilton and not feel bad about it. If this is Will’s genuine plan, it also means he is willing to lie to Jack and the others and put many people in danger for his own personal issues. The officers escorting them are killed, and it can be easily assumed that Will helped Dolarhyde know where they would be (how else did he find out?) so that it would just be Will and Hannibal against Dolarhyde alone, which was not Jack’s plan at all. Even if Will didn’t intend for the police officers to die, he was deliberately endangering others with his plan and they die because of his manipulations. Will also shows no remorse over this (he even steals a gun off of a corpse) even though it is a much worse act than killing a family annihilator with Hannibal. If Will’s moral conflict doesn’t include caring about the lives of innocent officers, what exactly is he trying to stop himself from Becoming and how will Hannibal being dead help? The most “heroic” take on Will’s plan is that he wanted to put an end to Dolarhyde and Hannibal (and possibly himself) to end all the evil and maybe stop himself from becoming a killer. However, Will’s plan involves lying to Jack, manipulating people, and getting innocent bystanders killed. This isn’t logical and if this was Will’s conscious plan he is a hypocrite who is more concerned with saving a perception of himself that he believes should exist than actually being a hero. If Will really wanted to put an end to things, he could also have helped Jack find Dolarhyde and then turn himself in for his own crimes or had himself committed to protect others from himself. Will instead picks the most reckless and dangerous plan he could. Even his attempt at ending both he and Hannibal isn’t a full commitment to the act. There was still a gun available. He could have put a bullet in Hannibal’s brain when he was vulnerable and then ended himself. Instead, Will pushes them off a cliff that Hannibal already told him had an eroding bluff. He is leaving it up to chance, likely because he doesn’t really want to die, but he believes dying is what he should want to do. Keep in mind, this last push isn’t motivated by the fact that his plotting led to the death of several innocent people. He is motivated to do this because of how Good and Right it feels killing with Hannibal.

For the record, I believe that Will really wanted to free Hannibal and kill with him. I do think it is very possible that Will told himself his motivations were what I outlined above, but because those motivations are so illogical, I believe this was just his excuse to create a situation where he and Hannibal had to fight and kill Dolarhyde alone together because what he really wanted was that experience (after all, he tells Bedelia his plan and threatens her with Hannibal coming after her, which doesn’t make sense if he really plans for them to all be dead). However, if the above were his motivations, and Will truly wanted to let Dolarhyde kill Hannibal for him right up until the moment he couldn’t actually let it happen, then Will is someone who is willing to blame someone else for his own actions, unnecessarily endanger bystanders to “save” himself, and then attempt to use someone else for murder by proxy (again). None of that is heroic and none of that demonstrates that Will is driven by a genuine attempt to be moral. It is a surface level morality that doesn’t add up to much at all.

Even the narrative tends to tell Will that his fight to preserve his “morality” is dangerous to others. The more Will fights, the more indecisiveness he shows, the more he gets other people hurt. His insistence that he just kept lying to Hannibal (as he tells himself in Primavera) helped lead to the tragedy of Mizumono. While Hannibal is responsible for his own actions, Will is also responsible for the part he plays and his inability to pick a side until it was too late (and even then in a way ambiguous enough that Hannibal did not seem to get the message.) When Will is unsure of himself and gives into his impulses without being sure of what he wants, we end up with situations like Chilton and the unnecessary deaths in TWOTL. Will’s moral conflict never actually leads to anything good in the show, and a lot of the negative consequences are caused by Will’s inability to seemingly be honest even with himself. Will’s moral conflict is something he does struggle with, but ultimately it does not lead to him actually changing for the better or showing genuine remorse for his actions. His conflict only leads to him being more reckless and endangering even more people. It is a false conflict that is based on Will believing he should be a certain way because of society’s expectations (and it is in this that the closeted subtext makes the most sense) rather than real guilt or a desire to be good for its own sake. I do hope and believe that surviving the Fall was what Will needed to finally let go of these issues so that he can finally be happy with himself and Hannibal.

[margotverger]

There’s something so so so powerful about Will’s “I am who I’ve always been” and Hannibal’s “nothing happened to me; I happened.” Will’s comes as a statement after being gaslit and manipulated and used, his identity frayed and split open, to the point he was constantly compared to waterーelusive, tumultuous, always evading solidity. He, for a moment, believed himself lost; lost in the heads of killers. It’s only once he realises the truth (a truth he did not want to acknowledge) that he reclaims himself, and becomes sharp, and self-aware. He knows who he is. He knows he did not get lost. Or too close. He doesn’t remember the dark spaces of his memory loss, but now he can assure himself that he knows what he didn’t do, and a negative is better than a positive in this case. But it also suggests to me a stability; while Will is the most fluid of characters at face value, at the beginning of the narrative he is wholly himself. He has been the way he has always been since youth: it has been his environments that are unstable, not him. He moved place to place as a child, but in every place he was the same person, and felt the same rejection. This pattern continues into work. Into the present. He has, as far as we know, never changed; it’s as if he was born into this world knowing exactly what he was, and how he fit into the world, and that role was to be ugly (in the sense that others are, on some level, repelled by him, even though he is in many ways an ideal partner or friend), and yet useful. A chair of antlers.

Hannibal parallels him. He, too, asserts that nothing has happened to him. Nothing has made him what he is. He has, instead, claimed the narrative that he makes what is around him; he is the action, the driving force, the initiator. He lures people to change their lives, while never changing his. Eating his sister was not a tragedy that befell him but an opportunity. Everything was always an opportunity to revel in his own truth. Until Will Graham, Hannibal was right in this assertion: he never changed, because he was born as he was, and remained that way. Much like Will. They are equally separate from humanity because humanity demands adaption, it demands a change, a transformationーthey were not so much as birthed as they were willed into existence by themselves. 

And then they meet each otherーand suddenly, suddenly, humanness finds them, and in that humanness lies the Divine, which Hannibal has sought (to mock and destroy and eat and reclaim) and which Will has thought himself to be exempt from (because he is broken and wrong but useful, subhuman but helpful). Because the Divine isn’t about being static. It is about being incomprehensible. Only after Hannibal brings light to that darkness in Will in the form of murderous ecstasy (and ecstasy perhaps Will has suspected but never truly known), and Will, in turn, darkens Hannibal’s brutal joy in suffering and violence, by introducing him to emotions more human than he’s ever felt. More than Mischa, whom he might have mourned genuinely, because he did love her, and was scared of that love for her (because it was, at once, the only thing that made his self even somewhat questionable), he destroyed all that uncertainty with the finality of cannibalism, and reclaimed that power that pushed him forward. Now he’s met someone that he can’t eat, though he might pretend to want, because for once, he is no longer sure he wants power over Willーhe wants to share it. And Will, contrary to everything he’s believed of himself, wants to share it in return. 

Of course they’re going to go back to each other. Of course they’ll find each other. Of course they'll pick each other, every time, no matter how much the opposite might benefit their lives on the surface level. Imagine, if your life was a stasis, from the moment you were conceived; a self-awareness so piercing that it invades every aspect of your life. Nothing changes but the people around you, but even then, that doesn’t really change, not in the way they speak to you or see you or adore you or fear you. Then, out of nowhere, you are suddenly, totally, yet not destroyingly, different... and the world is made different by it, too. Better still, you are not even alone in this total change. This is why becoming is so important to Hannibal/Will, and the structure of Hannibal as a show, because two people who thought they were fixed, immovable, unchangeable, have suddenly realised that they aren’t even close to the final image of who they are. How could you ever abandon that? How could you ever live without it? 

[ssaseaprince]

Hannigram with Will saying prompt 15👀

Tysm for the request ! Sorry it took so long to get out, this fic kinda got away from me. I’m not very good at dialogue, but I tried. I hope you like it <3

Will got lost some times. You could see the exact moment it happened, his body would freeze, tendons and bones and joints all locked up, eyes unfocused. Sometimes it was just seconds, usually it was a few minutes, but the worst time had been a couple hours. Hannibal was used to it now, being so attuned to Will. He learned to wait a minute or two, see if Will would come back on his own, and if he didn’t Hannibal would sit them both down and lay Will’s head on his lap. Stroking his curls he’d recite poetry, Lithuanian stories from his childhood, mantras of stability. When Will did come back, it was either slowly or all at once. It was either a sudden jerk of awareness or a slowly, drowsy awakening, like he’d just woken from a dream. He never talked about where he went in these times. 

It could’ve been from the fall. Will had hit his head, ending up with quite a severe concussion that they hadn’t realized he had until far later than they should’ve. They’d been occupied with their more visible injuries, gunshots, stab wounds, and broken bones threatened them with blood loss and sepsis. His dizziness and slurred words were written off as a result of his more obvious wounds and his concussion was left unnoticed until the blurred vision and balance problems couldn’t be written off as blood loss anymore. Hannibal doesn’t feel guilty for much, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for missing it. It had doubled Will’s recovery time and still left him with some more permanent effects. Forgetting what he was saying and having his words drop off in the middle of sentences, struggling to memorize new things, forgetting where they were and the date, and slurring his words at random became common occurrences. Will would always be the smartest person Hannibal had ever known, there was never a doubt about it, but it was heartbreaking to watch Will’s frustration, his self doubt. They did what they could to help minimize the effects, and Hannibal learned how to reassure Will in a way that didn’t make him uncomfortable. But reassurance could only go so far, and Will still had bad days. 

It could be a result of the trauma he’s endured, because no matter how otherworldly Will seems, he’s still human. Having been a psychiatrist had its benefits when Will’s PTSD presented and Hannibal needed to know how to react. Hannibal had mastered the art of moving around without making near any noise, but now the house was filled with his loud footsteps. Will still flinched at times, but Hannibal making his arrival known when he approached him prevented spiraling flashbacks for the most part. For a long time just the sight of Hannibal holding a needle was enough to pull Will into his memories of the past, he’d passed out from hyperventilating the first time Hannibal had tried to give him some painkillers through one after the fall. Their fourth week on the run, Hannibal had learned to avoid flashing light after a lighting storm had sent Will reeling, huddled against the wall and yelling at Hannibal to get the fuck away from him. He memorized Will’s triggers and together they learned how to best avoid them. Of course there are times where the nightmares and flashbacks still come, but they work through them together. They’d gotten a dog, and during times when Hannibal can’t be the one to comfort him, Will can cuddle her into his arms and press his face into her fur to ground himself. 

And maybe it’s neither of those things, maybe it’s just Will. One of the things Hannibal loves most about Will is his unpredictability, and that nobody can ever fully understand his mind. It’s such a beautifully intricate, complex thing that Hannibal could gorge himself on it’s knowledge and thoughts and never get tired. 

But Hannibal doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know where Will goes when he gets lost. For the most part, their relationship has grown into one devoid of secrets, but whenever Hannibal asks Will where he goes when he leaves at those times, Will won’t answer. He tells Hannibal about all of the flashbacks and nightmares, sometimes even without prompting, but he won’t tell him this. 

It’s immensely frustrating. Hannibal has always wanted to know everything about Will that he could, and with them as conjoined as they are now, the fact that Will won’t explain it to him is extremely upsetting. He understands why Will could have hesitations fully trusting him, but the ocean had washed away their walls and exposed them completely to each other. 

Hannibal is an extremely jealous person, and he has no problem admitting that. With Will refusing to talk to him about it, he’s left to assume that he goes to someone else when he leaves. After the fall he had promised Will he would not go after Molly and Walter, and he would keep his promise, but the idea that they could be taking up any space in Will’s mind is maddening. Will had taken off his wedding ring a week after the fall, thrown it into the ocean and said goodbye. He’d been transparent with Hannibal, explaining that he did love Molly when he was with her, and he would always hold fondness in his heart for her, but that he couldn’t love anybody but Hannibal now. He’d explained it by comparing him to Oxygen, he takes up all the space in the air and in his lungs that there isn’t room for anything else. They made love for the first time after that, the memory perfectly filed away in Hannibal’s memory palace. But Will’s gaze still lingered when they passed happy families in restaurants or in the store, his eyes full of bittersweet longing. Hannibal knew he thought of Molly and Walter, and Abigail too. Will was insistent that they didn’t need to add anyone to their family, he didn’t want to or feel the need to be a father and their lifestyle wouldn’t be sustainable with a family. And Hannibal agreed, so he left it as it was. He knew Will missed Abigail too, they both did and they both had cared for her, her death had been one of the harder things to reconcile over. Will had admitted to hallucinating her after her death, when he went to Italy, and as much as Hannibal had cared for her and as much as he still mourned her death, he couldn’t help the deep rooted jealousy he felt over the fact that she had occupied a part of Will’s thoughts for so long. He wondered if Will saw Abigail when he went wherever he did in his mind. 

And so his resentment grew, as did his jealousy. But Abigail was dead and Molly and Walter were across the world and promised safety, and he couldn’t be mad at Will. So the feelings built with nowhere to go.

He and Will hunted together, just not often as they didn’t want to draw suspicion. So he tried to use their hunting as an outlet, but it never seemed like enough. 

Life went on, and their domesticity continued. Every time Will would freeze and his eyes would glaze over and you just knew his mind had called him, Hannibal continued the ritual of laying Will’s head on his lap and softly speaking calming words to him, but each time added to his anger, and his jealousy flared. Will’s mind was going somewhere he wasn’t permitted to follow and it ate at him. He knew Will saw his frustration, but he had a lot of practice at hiding his emotions behind walls and he used it. Eventually though, it all spilled over. 

Before they had even fully recovered from their fall in the ocean they had come to a compromise. If Will was to stay with him and kill with him, they would only hunt together, and the sins they killed people for would be far more grievous then just rudeness. Because of their criminal status, they wouldn’t be able to display their victims as they’d like to unless they were prepared to move right after. Hannibal had quickly agreed to it, and the decision had been worth it. They got their domesticity, and when they hunted, he got to watch Will stalk and then help him slaughter their prey. Beautiful avenging angel. Of course, when they encountered individuals whose rudeness was staggering he took great pleasure in imagining stringing up their corpses, making beautifully refined dishes out of them. But they both liked where they had finally settled down, and he knew Will didn’t want to move again, so he never gave any thought to going against their agreement. 

Until now. The day had started innocently enough, in fact it was a pretty good day. Will had gotten lost for a few minutes in the morning, but he came back fairly easily and quickly and there weren’t any other issues the rest of the day. It was evening, and Hannibal was off to the market to get some last minute ingredients he would need for meals tomorrow, when a woman looking at her phone and ignoring her surroundings pushed into him, spilling her coffee all over his shirt. They both stopped walking, and flustered, she looked up at him. It hit him like a train. 

When Will and Molly had gotten married, their wedding announcement had been alongside a collection of others in the local newspaper. Will hadn’t wanted it, but Molly liked the tradition and had a lot of friends and acquaintances, so they had gone with it. Chilton had gotten a hold of a copy, and had used it to taunt Hannibal during his incarceration. Next to the small printed words announcing their marriage, was a picture, black and white and grainy but obvious as to who it was. Will was wearing a tuxedo, not the best quality or the most tailored, but it was decent enough and looked well on him. He was flashing a shy smile to the camera, and while he looked a little uncomfortable, he seemed happy, except that the camera quality was just barely good enough to catch the glimpse of longing in his eyes. Molly, next to him, was radiant. She wore a beautiful white wedding dress and had a beaming smile that lit up her whole face, she was clutching Will’s arm and her happiness was palpable. They made a very visually pleasing couple, Hannibal had mused. Chilton had given him the clipping, and he had folded it in half so Molly wasn’t visible, then spent hours drawing Will with the picture as a reference.

It was one of the few times he had seen Molly, the only other time had been after the fall, when they were reading interviews done to make sure everybody believed them to be dead. Freddie Lounds had gotten an interview with her, and next to the column had been a picture of Molly, stiffly sitting and blankly looking at the camera. Will had to take a break after reading it, sitting on the deck of their boat and watching the sea. That had been the day he threw away the wedding ring. 

Hannibal was acquainted enough with Molly’s appearance to remember it, and the woman who had just run into him was quite the spitting image of her. It wasn’t actually her of course, there were enough differences to tell, but they looked a lot alike. And something in Hannibal snapped, a quite impulsive plan blooming in his mind. 

The flustered young women profusely apologized, offering to pay for the shirt. Hannibal smiled, assuring her it was no problem, charming her and asking if she would like to go get another coffee with him at his home. Of course she agreed, how could she not when this handsome, charming and kind man had offered? Naïve thing, Hannibal thought. And with that, he lured her away.

It was extremely easy to kill her, quite a shame she didn’t put up much of a fight. Quick suffocation, the killing wasn’t the important part of his vision. The important part was the presentation. 

He transformed her into Semele, the beautiful princess of Thebes that Zeus fell in love with. Hera found out about the affair and disguised herself to befriend Semele and made her doubt Zeus’ affection. So, Semele decided to ask Zeus to grant her a wish, and he took an oath on the river Styx that he would give her anything. Semele wished to see Zeus in all of his glory, and Zeus was forced to comply, even though Mortals could not survive looking upon him without bursting into flames. Semele died that way, witnessing Zeus’ true form. 

It was fitting. Molly had never seen Will in all of his glory, Hannibal is the only one who could ever truly know Will because he was his. They are each other’s, and no one else had the privilege of witnessing Will’s becoming, nobody else could fully understand and appreciate the beauty of it. 

He risked leaving the body to buy charcoal and a few white dress shirts. He kept his surgical instruments in the car for when they hunt, keeping them under the guise of a medical kit, so there would be no issue removing her organs. He cut up the white shirt in even, clean pieces and draped them over her like robes. She was laid in the charcoal, ruining the white of the shirts, one arm draped across her eyes and the other arm reaching out. Hannibal only took her heart, and while it was a shame to take nothing else, it was important for the symbolism.

It was beautiful, and would hopefully serve as a reminder to Will that he is his, nobody else could ever fully appreciate him as Hannibal can. Wherever Will goes when he gets lost, it will not be to others.

He ended up calling and leaving an untraceable anonymous tip to the police, telling them where to look for the body. It was risky, but his jealousy was making him rash and he wanted Will to hear about it by tomorrow.

Will was asleep by the time he got home, and he packaged away the heart before he changed and showered quietly and quickly, slipping on some pajamas after and getting into bed. Will didn’t wake, just sighed softly in his sleep as Hannibal wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his curls. 

The next morning Hannibal had woken to an empty and cold bed. Will only got up before Hannibal is he was having a bad night with nightmares, so there was always some concern for him when he wasn’t there when Hannibal woke. 

He could hear small bits of noise coming from the living room, so after stretching and getting up, he went to go find the source of the noise. 

Will was sitting in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by suitcases, their little puppy Penelope sitting next to him as he pulled her favourite toys and belongings into a bag. Hannibal stopped in at the doorway, and having heard his steps, Will looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot and hair in a disarray, deep bags underneath his eyes. Will glared at him for a moment before going back to his task, his hands shaking as he picked up things to stuff into the bags and suitcases. 

“Will,” Hannibal ventured softly, “What are you doing.”

Will flinched at the sound of his voice, and looked back up, squinting his eyes. His voice was rough and raspy, and he sounded like he’d been crying. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing.”

“Why are you packing? There’s no need for us to leave as of now.” 

Will let out a hollow laugh, humourless. “Well, Dr. Lecter,” the title came out scathing, “Since you decided to put murder before my trust, all in the name of jealousy, officials are already poking around.” 

Hannibal froze. The news must’ve broken a lot sooner than he had intended, he had planned to have some time to prepare Will for it but it seems that wouldn’t be the case now. He had faith in his ability to talk his way out of things, but Will had always been entirely unpredictable. Now, in the light of a new day, his impulse killing the night before began to seem like a mistake. A grievous mistake at that, he hadn’t considered all of the outcomes, something he usually did well. 

He took a step forward, slowly, like one would approach a wild animal. Will wasn’t acting physically defensive, didn’t seem like he’d be on the attack, but he could never be too careful. The tremors in Will’s hands gradually became more violent and his breathing became more laboured with each step Hannibal took closer. 

Will hadn’t had a seizure in awhile, they happened more in the beginning of his recovery and were most likely due to his head injury. Extreme bouts of stress and anxiety still caused them sometimes, but they were rare. 

Hannibal saw the exact moment his eyes glazed over, and he lunged, catching Will’s head before he hit the floor. Cradling Will’s head, Hannibal looked at his watch, counting the seconds. It lasted about a minute and a half before Will’s body relaxed, his breathing coming out in harsh, raspy puffs. They sat for quite a few minutes before Will felt well enough to sit. He pushed Hannibal away and rubbed a hand over his face, refusing eye contact. 

“Why’d you do it? I know how jealous you get, Hell, I get I feel that way too. But you swore before we moved here that we’d only hunt together, and that we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves.” He let out a ragged sigh before looking up, bloodshot blue eyes connecting with Hannibal’s. “And Semele? Really Hannibal?” His voice wavered slightly as he continued. “We’re conjoined, I know you’re the only one who could ever see me fully, because I’m the only one who could ever truly see you. This is a reiteration of what we’ve both known for a while.” 

There was a beat of silence. Hannibal opened his mouth to respond but Will cut him off. Continuing, “And using someone who looks just like Molly? I know how possessive and jealous you are Hannibal, but I thought we were past this kind of pettiness. I left Molly behind, left everyone behind, when I fell into the ocean with you.”

Of course, Hannibal knew everything Will was saying was true, but he was rendered speechless for a moment. He swallowed, taking a second to catch his voice before responding. “Will, it wasn’t meant to hurt you.” 

That dry, hollow laugh made another appearance between Will’s lips. “It wasn’t meant to hurt me? What the Hell, Hannibal. How could you think this wouldn’t hurt me?”

A brief flash of anger, burning hot, rushed through Hannibal as he remembered his reasoning. “You leave, Will, and refuse to let me follow. The moments of absence where you fall into your mind and won’t let me know where you go. I am only left to assume that you find others there, I thought we were beyond secrets.”

Will scoffed, “That’s what this is about? The only person permanently residing in my mind is you! You want to know where I go? I’m thrown back into past realizations and thoughts. I am stuck with the realization that this is real and that you, us, is real. I’m brought back to memories of when I used to yearn for this. Because I’ve been so fucking happy here, Hannibal, with you. That when it hits me full force I sometimes just don’t know how to cope with it, and I get stuck in the memories of when I was alone, and I thought I’d be alone forever. And it takes my brain awhile to realize that I’m not dreaming. I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t want it to make anything feel less real.”

Hannibal was quiet after Will’s tirade, processing everything that he said. Will didn’t leave because he wanted to be somewhere else or with someone else, he just was overwhelmed with how much he wanted to be here. Reaching out, he clasped Will’s hands between his own and brought them to his lips, painting them with tears in apology. 

“My beautiful, beautiful Will. I could never entirely predict you, you never fail to surprise me. How much I love you. You prove your loyalty and love everyday, I have no right to doubt it, and I am sorry. I acted impulsively and rashly without fully considering the effects, it was a mistake, and I hope you’ll extend me your forgiveness again.”

Will sighed, leaning in to lay his forehead against Hannibal’s. “We’ve been doing so well at communicating better, we need to keep doing that, and I’m sorry for not telling you when you’ve asked. We need to not put walls back up, all it does is cause unnecessary pain.”

Hannibal nodded, softly pressing his lips against Will’s. 

“We still have to leave,” Will said when they pulled apart. “This is already bringing too much attention and it hasn’t even been a day. When we leave, you have to keep to the things we agreed to, we both know how fragile trust can be and I need to be able to trust that you’ll keep to what we compromise on.”

“It is regretful, and I apologize for forcing us to leave, I know you love it here.” Hannibal replied mournfully. “This won’t be a repeat occurrence Will, I promise you, I value your trust greatly and understand the importance of the rules we have both set.”

That brought a brief, small smile from Will. “Alright. And I get to choose where we move next.”

“Of course, Will. Anything you want. I love you.”

“I love you too, Hannibal. And I forgive you, but don’t do it again.” And with that, Will leaned into kissing Hannibal again. Hannibal felt a sharp sting on his bottom lip, and when Will pulled away his mouth was stained red with blood. Beautiful, dangerous thing, Hannibal thought as he licked his lips. 

[kiss-my-freckle]

"The last time the window closed, I lost the Ripper and I lost Miriam Lass. I don't intend to do that again." Will dreams of shooting the stag, then coming face-to-face with the wendigo. I believe his madness pulled him into the woods by his house because that's what he does... he walks across the flat fields. The fishing lures were planted prior to the open of the episode. I believe it's possible this was the purpose of Will being out in the woods. It reminds me of his scene with Alana. "So you invited me over to help you collect animal parts?" She and Jack show how easy they find it to blame everyone else. Alana is to blame because that was her role. Jack told her, "Should he get too close, I need you to make sure he's not out there alone." Being under Hannibal's care shouldn't have stopped her from checking in. She should've been the one having dinner conversations with Hannibal about Will's sessions instead of Jack. She's to blame because she knew he was breaking, which she fully admits to."Of course, I could see it. I told you not to put him out there!" She told Jack not to put him out there at the start, but she didn't follow through. As he was getting worse, she didn't demand he be taken out of the field. She just sat back and watched it continue. She pushes blame to Jack. "You said you would cover him. You could see he was breaking." Then she pushes blame to Hannibal. "Hannibal had to know. He had to see something was wrong." Jack is to blame for still putting him out there despite knowing he was breaking, which he fully admits to. "Yes, I could. And I kept pushing him because he was saving lives, Alana." He pushes blame to Hannibal and places it on Alana in the same statement. "Every decision I made concerning Will's mental health, I made under advisement of a respected psychiatrist, who you recommended." When Alana circles it back to Hannibal, Jack defends him. "Not until it was too late. Just like everybody else." Everyone knew. That includes Beverly, Brian, and Jimmy... all witnessing his actions at Georgia's crime scene. Beverly more than the others because he admitted to questioning his reality when he called her back. Will himself is to blame because, despite his fears, chose to hide it from his peers. Like blame, belief is my second issue with this episode. I can't believe these are trained agents and psychiatrists, supposed friends of Will Graham. I would've never believed he was the killer. Too easy for an intelligent psychopath. Hannibal's frame painted him as more of a sociopath, but still too obvious. 

"I guess you dodged a bullet with me." This line is a nice playback. To Chilton in Rôti. "You did dodge a bullet." Then forward to Chilton in season two when he takes a bullet to the face. "I don't feel like I dodged a bullet. I feel wounded." It then pushes through to the finale with Alana as she runs out of bullets and gets pushed out the window. Hannibal is quick to hand over a clock drawing that appears normal. Following several trains of thought at once is a nice gift. It helps someone like him to cover every base. Will was already taking on the role of Abigail's father in his imagination. Outside of, admitted she's important to him. Not forgetting that, as they choose to believe he killed Abigail, Hobbs couldn't stand the thought of losing her. If Will were assuming his identity, wouldn't be able to stand the thought of losing her either. Though not assuming in current moment, he's actually mourning her death and disgusted with himself because he believes he could've done it. What Alana referred to as a success for Will became one of his biggest losses. Hannibal has the worst written team of agents I've ever seen on tv. They're dumb as hell. In his session with Bedelia, Hannibal mourns what could've been. What he and Will could've been. What he and Abigail could've been. The two of them, now his prisoners. "You were having influence on her?" Unfortunately, he was. Just as abusive. Will's storyline with Hannibal basically runs in complete opposite of Gideon's, so on the opposite side of Gideon killing his wife, Will imagines killing Molly over and over because of The Dragon. I love the soundtrack as Hannibal walks in to see Will. Vide cor Meum (Look Into My Heart). It's based on Dante's first sonnet. That's why he recites it in season three, then hands Will his broken heart. He broke his heart just as Hannibal broke his. That’s how Will changed him. While he’s mourning in his sessions with Bedelia in this episode, he won’t truly feel it until season three - after he really kills Abigail and Will is back to working on boat motors. What could’ve been. Antony Dimmond reminds him. 

My favorite crime scene replay in season one is Gideon’s. My favorite season one episode for Will is Buffet froid. My favorite season one episode for Hannibal is Fromage. My favorite Hannigram episode in season one is Aperitif. My favorite overall episode in season one is Rôti. What I like about the end of season one, is Will's knowing. He lost Abigail, he lost his freedom, but he knows Hannibal's truth and he knows he's not insane. While I still consider the battle uneven because he's depending on everyone else (more on himself), it’s a comfort for his character, to be able to fight back and defend what he knows. I'll probably make comparisons in my season two posts, between Will's hospital stay and Hannibal's. I love the series going forward, but more once Will is released.

[slashyrogue]

Dear Future Husband 2/?

There was a set of clothes waiting on the bed for Will when he came out of the shower, a perfect size and cut that made him think they might have been sitting somewhere where waiting for his return. He put them on despite the weirdness of wearing a dead man’s clothes and they felt like they were made for him. 

Which they probably were. 

Hannibal had left food outside his bedroom, chicken soup that tasted so familiar and made him burst into tears while he ate. His heart was broken but he couldn’t help but want to be near the source despite them being strangers. 

He found Hannibal in the library sitting in an armchair sketching into a book that he was sure was full of his face. 

“Thanks,” he whispered. 

Hannibal looked at him with longing and Will had trouble not running forward into his arms. “You’re welcome. This is unsettling for us both and I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” 

Will scoffed as he walked across the room and sat down in the chair across from Hannibal. “It’s gonna be uncomfortable either way.” 

“Yes.” 

They were silent for what felt like eons until he could take no more. 

“So you never....I mean....” 

“No,” Hannibal said softly, looking up from his sketch, “We shared one kiss that was the first and last.” 

He sighed. “I’m sorry for your loss too,” Will said, squeezing his hands. 

Hannibal frowned. “I shouldn’t even ask this but---” 

“I’m staying,” Will finished, his words coming in a rush, “I don’t even know how to get home and there’s nothing for me there if....” 

He watched Hannibal lift up his sketch and the angry glare he’d given him hours ago stared back at him. “I missed the fierceness in your face when you’re angry,” he admitted, “Though I missed all of your expressions and your....presence.” 

Will leaned forward. “You haven’t been galivanting around Cuba murdering innocents and pleasuring anyone who winks at you?” 

“I saw no need in carnal relations,” Hannibal admitted, setting the book down beside him, “And murder...I do for release, not pleasure.” 

He licked his lips. “It sounds like a sad life.” 

“Sad? No. Unfulfilled? Maybe so.” 

Will stood and walked over to his chair, picking up the sketchbook. He looked inside and his heart ached at the sight of his own face. 

Every picture inside his eyes were closed except the one Hannibal had just finished. 

“Would it bother you if I wanted to find some pleasure in that release?” 

Hannibal didn’t touch him when he took the book back but didn’t look away either. 

“No,” he whispered, “I think perhaps I know just the right person for your anger. Unless you wish to find them on your own once you’re more settled.”

“I need to tear something to shreds,” Will whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “Punish someone for this pain.” 

He shivered when Hannibal touched his hand. 

“Then tonight you will punish and I will see you work for the very first time.” 

Will pulled his hand back, frustrated at how easy it was for him to be swayed by someone he didn’t know but had Hanniba’s face. He missed him terribly and the pain in his chest grew the longer they shared space. “Thank you.” 

He left the library and wandered the house where thoughts of how he may have spent time with his love filled his head. His Hannibal would’ve loved to cook a meal in this kitchen, decorated this dining room table, and they would’ve danced on the patio for hours. His face was streaked with tears again by dusk enough that he knew he had to fix himself. The master bedroom door was slightly open when he passed this time, a peek of what he shouldn’t want to see, and he couldn’t help but open it all the way 

The room was decorated just like he expected, all blues and golds, and when he touched the bed the plush press made him close his eyes. 

“No one has ever slept here beside me.” 

Will didn’t turn. 

“I got that from the ‘no need for carnal relations’ thing.” 

“If you feel the need for comfort of any kind, I...” 

He turned around so fast that Hannibal stepped back. Will stared at the differences between the man he’d loved so deeply for so long and the one now in front of him. This Hannibal showed his age: the silver gray of his hair, the small wrinkles by his eyes, and the beard were hard to ignore. Gone was the laid back perfection of his Hannibal. He hadn’t had years to soften and dwelled alone for so long but still Will wondered what the rough bristles of his beard would feel like against his cheek. 

“No,” Will said, swallowing back any need he had, “I’m fine.” 

The cowardice of running made him feel like a scared skittish little lamb but he had to get out of there. 

This wasn’t home. 

Hannibal wasn’t his. 

It didn’t matter what it felt like. 

The years Hannibal had mourned him were long enough to move on but for Will his loss was so fresh he could almost smell the blood. 

He had to be stronger than his emotions. 

Murder was the only thing he needed right now. 

[leias-rebelion]

I am obsessed with Hannibal, and the idea of a murder baby between Hannibal and Bedelia, it wouldn’t stop bugging my mind so I came up with a small fic. It respects cannon, mostly.

my English is a bit rusty, be warned. 

“The last dinner”

The sound of Mozart was the first thing that came to her.

The faces of Will Graham and her father were the second.

“I am sorry for startling you so, little lamb” Hannibal’s words reached her ears and she felt the tears coming up, Will had the decency to look guilty.

“I thought you were dead” Her voice was little more than a whisper “Jumped off the cliff of our summer home, the violent ending to a violent delight” the tone changed to an accusation.

“She is starting to sound like Bedelia” Will Graham whispered, the comparison sounded dangerous coming out of his mouth.

“She was her mother, after all” Hannibal merely shrugged and smiled at Will, besotted.

She was her mother.

She was.

Was.

Regina’s eyes scanned the table, the plates were brimming with meat. Raw and cooked, swimming in sauces.

Except hers.

Ratatouille.

Her eyes watered again, for the confirmation of what her heart was telling her ever since Bedelia went missing a week ago, even if her father was presumed dead.

“Are you here to give me my first spring of lamb?” She was trying so hard not to break down crying right there.

“Don’t be ridiculous” Her father’s eyes showed concern, and she wondered if it was true or just a ruse to trick her.

Maybe she was going to meet her mother sooner than she thought.

“We came here to say goodbye” Will Graham finished the sentence. “And we also got you a present” He pointed out the wrapped box between him and her father.

“How considerate of you” She let out a bitter smile.

“We haven’t done this in a while” Hannibal changed the subject of the conversation, Regina decided if that was going to be the last time she saw her father, Will Graham wasn’t going to spoil it.

“Not since I was sixteen, on my birthday” She added. It was before Graham showed up in their lives, twitchy and sweaty; before he made her father throw away his person suit.

Now she wouldn’t have to mourn his life, but she would mourn the loss of that suit forever.

“Do you remember what I told you?”

“How could I forget, papa”

“This is what you deserve; your name means queen” They recited together “Don’t let anyone treat you like a mere peasant”

“Good girl” Hannibal smiled.

The meal itself went on silent, Regina had her eyes glued to her plate, refraining herself to look at the men in front of her eating, to think about who they were eating. Her cup was never lacking wine either, that helped to soften up the blow for her.

“You know I can’t have wine” She reminded her dad when he filled the cup for the first time”

“In every other part of the world you would be able to” He simply replied “Allow me to have the memory of you trying it for the first time”

“Will you hang the painting in your memory palace?”

“Of course, your room always needs to grow to hang more paintings” His hand caressed her cheek, even after hiding for a week his smell was the same.

“This will be a pretty last one, then”

Will looked downright ashamed, and Regina felt a bit of satisfaction.

The candles on the table were beginning to die down, Will Graham and Hannibal shared a look.

“We should leave” Graham whispered on her father’s ears.

Regina wondered how much of whispering had they done this week.

“Little Lamb” Her father stood up and so did she, somehow she fell on his embrace “This is isn’t the end, you know” His voice was soft on her ear, his hands cradled her scalp “I love you little lamb, as much as I can” More whispers: words of love, protection and security. The promise to see each other again and the tears were threatening to roll down. But she refused to do so in front of Will Graham.

He offered his hand to say goodbye.

“I must say, now that this ending” She was feeling bold now “Congratulations, Mr. Graham” A bitter smile came to her face, the man tensed “In the span of two years, you managed to make an orphan out me, and take away my home” The air was tense. She wondered if her words were going to trigger her ending “I hope you enjoy the harvest of your seeds, not just today, but for the next twenty years”

In that moment, Will Graham felt cursed.

The wrapping paper laid discarded on the floor, the box resting next to her on the couch.

Dulce de Leche, made in Argentina.

[wyrm-wolf]

Of Flowers & Death Drabble II

I am a big nerd for this au and so is @le-wendigogo so here have some more *throws fluff at you*

~~

Such beauty, and such grace. Among those walking apes, he is but a burst of blooming flowers in the desert. A wild thing among domestication, dancing and flaunting along with the people of the town. They do not realize what lovely creature is dancing with them; hips swaying, arms flowing along with the movement of the crowd. Neon lights flashing a multitude of colors, music thrumming and buzzing in the air, people dancing and laughing. The smell of smoke and alcohol fills the air, keeping it stale and soggy, while the people standing around them sweat of lust and greed.

And yet, the only thing Hannibal can do is watch his flower dance.

Watching as his beau swirls around the crowd, head lost in the music, eyes closed as he just moves with the rhythm. Hannibal sits, drinking his beer as his flower danced among the heathens. He smiled as Adam eyes locked onto his own, blue like the clear lakes that once were alive in those ancient times, grinning as he twirled away from the group he was dancing with. Moving, sauntering, stalking over to where Hannibal was seated, avoiding any hands seeking to touch, to caress the embodiment of beauty.

Adam stands before him, cheeks flushed rosy red, swaying on his feet, back and forth, to and fro, smiling widely as he takes his lover’s hand. Holding his hand, Hannibal delicately brings Adam’s hand up to his lips, placing a smooth kiss onto his hand. Lips parting open, as Adam breathes through his mouth, eyes closing, head tilting at the feeling of soft lips on his skin. Caressing and igniting those wildfires that burn inside of him, making him take the great leap, just a few steps closer to death.

A few steps closer to love

And in a flash, Adam found himself enveloped in those strong arms, arms that have carried the dead, and fought men and monsters for centuries. A nose pressed against his curls, soft whisper of breath before Hannibal pulled back to smile at him.

“You’re drunk.” he stated, getting a small huff from Adam, and a roll of the eyes.

“So, this is a club after all.” Adam pokes back, twirling around in Hannibal’s arms, continuing to sway and move with the beat. Dancing in his own little circle, in own little space if peace and clarity.

Hannibal does nothing to stop the beau from dance, swaying hips and mischievous eyes, almost sinful as it is majestic. He takes the beau’s hand, slowly leading them to the back door, keeping an eye on Adam as his head swirls with the music, twirling under the street lamp’s dim light while they walk to Hannibal’s bike. Strapping Adam’s helmet on he watches as Adam’s fingers come up to caress the floral design on the side of the helmet, it was a gift from Hannibal, something to ‘keep his pretty head safe, in case of an accident’. Adam loves it, he loved him, and just smiled as he sat down in front of the motorcycle.

Stranding off to the side, Hannibal took a smoke out, lighting one up before their ride home, to their seclusive little home. A place where Adam wasn’t bound to wearing stiffly clothing-no matter how much he loved his soft flowery sweater, they were nothing compared to being free of clothing-he would walk around their little kingdom, checking on the garden he started, smiling as he sung to the flowers. Hannibal had never understood what he meant by singing to them, but if it made his beau happy, he was content to watch and listen as Adam sung in the ancient tongue of their people.

“The stars are pretty tonight.” Adam hummed, his head tilted back to watch at those twinkling lights.

Hannibal hummed, tossing the cigarette to the ground, stepping on the little thing before moving over to his bike. A hand caressing down Adam’s long pale neck, before his lips came down, flooding down his neck with kiss. Listening to that feather soft gasp, as Adam’s hands jump up to cup Hannibal’s cheeks. Making a small noise, before pulling him up for a kiss, both of them sighing in content. Soft lips over rough ones, sliding together into one wet kiss before they have to pull away for a breath. Hannibal moves behind Adam, sitting down on the seat as he starts up the bike, and like that their rolling down the street. Wind in their hair, and love in their hearts.

When they get home, the first thing Adam does is flop down on the bed, toeing his shoes off as he turns his head to nuzzle against the soft fabrics. While Hannibal takes the time to remove his boots, and jacket, before stepping into the room. Breath catching at the sight of his lovely little nymph, nothing can compare to his beau, his sweater hitching up to reveal the pale blushing skin of his chest. Cheeks flushed from the alcohol, as he hums a few notes to himself.

“As always, you are a sight to behold.” He comments, hanging up his jacket, as Adam rolls over to his side.

Adam scoffs, grinning to himself as Hannibal removes his shirt. “Flattery doesn’t get you anywhere in these ages, Hannibal.”

“Oh? I must say, it can get me very far.” he grins, sharp teeth like a shark, as he crawls onto the bed, leaning over Adam who only looks innocently up at him. Leaning down to pepper kisses over Adam’s cheek, before whispering, “It got me you, didn’t it?”

Adam giggles, playfully he tries to push Hannibal away, only for the man to grin, and lay down beside him. Leaning forward to brush their noses together, causing Adam to duck his head a giggle some more. That laugh, oh how it hits the heart, like the soft sound of wind chimes dancing along in the wind. Hannibal reaches up to run his fingers through those lovely curls, reminiscing those time where Adam’s curls were filled with blossoms. Only to be pulled from his thoughts by nimble fingers tracing over his cheekbones, pulling him in close for another kiss.

“I suppose so.” Adam grins cheekily, laugh at the little frown Hannibal gives him, before pecking his lips with another kiss.

Hannibal smiles, hands dipping down to run up under Adam’s sweater, smoothing back down his sides with a little pressure ao he can get a few chuckles from Adam. Living together for years has made him know every inch of Adam’s body rather well. Adam nuzzles up under Hannibal’s chin, soft warm breath ghosting over cold skin, as he closes his eyes, already starting to get lazy from the alcohol.

“I think it’s time for you to take a name, flower.” Hannibal mumbles, lips brushing over Adam’s forehead, as he breathes in that lovely earthy scent if his. “I’ll water the flowers for you.”

Adam nods his head, “Will you song to them for me?”

He freezes, halfway off and on the bed, as he was going to go water the plants. Head turning back to look down at his lovely beau, his sleepy little nymph, cheeks flushed and eyes closed. Head laying on his outstretched arm, as he starts to slip into a slumber from the alcohol he drank. Hannibal reaches down to push a few strands of hair behind his ear, placing a kiss over his forehead as he whispers to him.

“Anything for you, my flower.”

And with that, he lets the nymph lay quietly, moving over to the window that has the flowers. He doesn’t sing at first, studying each growing seed before finally he starts a low note. He sings a song of old tongue and dead words, a song that hasn’t been sung for ages and eons. One he knows by heart, as it is his own song. Of mourning and loss, funerals and grief, the song of Death itself is not the mournful note people have come to hear it as. But a cheerful whisper in the winds, that follows in those dark winter nights.

[lapeaudelamemoire]

Raphael you know, just how to take me in the swimming pool / like a child being baptised... / Beneath the starry sky we lie / drowning in your watery thighs... luscious eyes... I want the clothes off your back. The skin, too. Under my nails... Yesterday I realised: I can talk about it and it's happened, in the past tense. Today I said the name and it was just a name, nothing more. Yesterday I listened to someone tell me about the love of her life and I didn't think of T. Haven't thought about him since I stopped talking to him a couple months ago. Yesterday I watched her kiss her lover and I didn't feel like I needed anyone or that I wished someone was with me with whom I could do the same with. It was better when we were just friends. I'm thinking about Hannibal saying "I let you see me... but you didn't want it." The teacup breaking. Gutting the lover. Leaving him on the floor, walking out into the rain, soaking through blood-drenched clothes. Maybe I am a monster like that too. Maybe all I am is a thread of dead things: Surrounded by dead things. Bouquets of dead roses, wolves' teeth adorning my ears, a pendant, crow's jaws hanging from my lobes. Dried flowers like herbs. Maybe I am a cemetery girl. Maybe I'm made up of smashed teacups, shattering on the floor, spilling a cupful of blood. I met a friend of a friend a while ago and he said about us: She's twisted in one way, me in another. I like my dark. Talking about trepanning and watching a woman dig a hole in her forehead. I saw that when I was 7, it stayed with me, and at first I was afraid. Then I wasn't any more. I like my freak folk, toy telephone sounds, blood polished nails. Maybe what's different about me is that accumulation of things; a macabre collection; cabinet curiosity charm. Odes to a nightingale, who sang her heart pierced on a thorn, and bled into a rose, and fell over dead. Death sings me lullabies, sweetly. His hands are softer than any lover's, and the tattered shroud is soft against my cheek. The taste of ink, or iron. White-bone crescent moon like a scythe. Today I realised that maybe I was rushing through the motions hoping for a less metal-tinged tomorrow. Needles in my skin, poking through my flesh, but I didn't feel a release. Death comes in steps, slow, walking, never runs. He reaches you when he needs to. I like dead people's things, things given away, things used, things lived in another time, place, room, house. The dead woman's dress. Someone's mother's ring. Somebody else's mourning necklace. Dead men's thoughts. There's a time for light and a time for dark. I like to know I can die. I like to see what's left over after the hurt. What you've done. What you live with. That's where it is. Things die; it's what you survive that makes you. What you've had to watch, what you've had to leave behind. What you have to carry with you. Is this a survivor's thing? To be drawn to knowing hardness? To know what you can come back from... To want to know you've suffered. To know gold through the fire test. Is that what the attraction to memento mori is? To know what is really precious, what you can lose? To honour and respect that? Loss and struggle and pain? To know that laughing is easy and hard all at once. To know things need to be earned, and giving is a gift. Dark teaches you many things. Light is what you win after swimming through that. I'll earn it again, just as I've done before. It'll be harder-won and all the more valuable for it, the second time over. To know a teacup is a breakable thing. That fine china is fragile. That birds sing to death sometimes, for beauty.

[margotverger]

guillotine’s glint

A series of small glimpses into the immediate aftermath of Margot and Alana's escape, all the while, paranoia borne of Hannibal's threat looms above them. Read on Ao3!

The day's finally here: the prophesized escape of Hannibal Lecter. Nothing more than a ruse, but it isn't Jack Crawford's, hers, or even Will's. It is Hannibal's. After all, one can't escape when they were hardly caged in the first place, can they?

*

She gathers up her life, which consists of a few suitcases, her wife and her son. She doesn't know where she's going until she's already in the air, picking from a selection of pre-prepared locations that only she and Margot were privy to. They don't go anywhere elaborate, because that's more Hannibal's taste, and God forbid they run into him; they go to Canada, the furthest reaches manageable, where a small cabin is waiting for them, stocked like an apocalypse bunker.

*

Morgan adapts well to their downsized home. She's so proud of him. Not a snooty, spoiled boy at all; he mourns the loss of his luxuries, but he delights in the new surroundings, all full of that innocent joy only children have. She finds herself smiling despite herself as she and Margot drag their suitcases into their interior. They will have to do most things themselves, but that's hardly a sacrifice. There is safety in their small numbers. She catches Margot's eye and offers a smile, which Margot returns as best as she can, but it is weak; she looks closer to the woman she first met than the woman she married, and it pains her so sharply that words would never be able to capture it.

There is one bedroom with one bed. They sleep with Morgan between them, cocooned by their heartbeat. Alana sleeps for half the night, and then Margot, then they are awake at dawn. In her time as a watcher, Alana listens to her family's breathing and thinks of it as a hymn, as a prayer, and hopes that the heavens are listening.

*

It is a week later that it becomes real. They are watching the news in their small living room, on a tiny rounded cube television. Morgan is playing on the carpet with some of the toys he brought. Margot is in the kitchen, which is the same room as the living room, making mugs of hot cocoa to ward off the chill. The clinking of her spoon ceases when the reporter comes onto the screen, an Asian woman with dark brown skin, smooth hair and wide, frightened eyes:

Hours after Hannibal the Cannibal's escape, it appears he has already claimed two victims.

Alana's heart lodges into her throat, thick and heavy; there weren't supposed to be two. Oh, Will, what has he done to you? What have you done to each other?

Francis Dolarhyde, also renowned as the Tooth Fairy, was found dead just outside the sea-side hideaway home, which remains underneath Lecter's name to this day, after what appears to be a savage slaughtering. While it is hard to shed tears for his death, what is truly frightening is that Will Graham, FBI consultant and favourite chew-toy of Lecter, has disappeared. Sources have said that all that remains of him, so far, is the blood staining Lecter's living room floor.

Blood is rushing in her ears. She hears herself, underneath the reporter's voice, three years younger: please, tell me you'll save him.

The same can be said for Lecter; other than his blood, there is no sign of him. Sources say that his, and Graham's, blood can be found on the cliff edge. Theories dictate that after forcing Graham to bear witness to his grotesque mutilations of Dolarhyde, he shoved Graham into the sea, hoping for the fall to kill him; his disappearance, however, suggests that Graham may not have been the only one to fall.

She shuts off the television, because if there is no body, there is no point.

*

That night, when Morgan is sleeping sound between them, she and Margot lie awake. “No proof of life,” Margot says, her voice soft as Morgan's breathing.

“No proof of death, either.” Her voice is flat, dry as her eyes; she can't remember when she last blinked.

“If he survived, Will might've...” she trails off, searching for words. “He won't let him,” she says, though Alana is not deaf to the thread of uncertainty there. She wonders if it is doubt of Will's character, or Will's survival. She doesn't know which is worse.

“You should sleep,” Alana murmurs, runs her fingers through Margot's hair, “you'll need to be up in a few hours.”

They look at each other for one long moment, but there is no more room in their life for arguments. Margot nods, and curls herself in closer, cradling Morgan close to her chest.

*

Weeks pass, and the news offers nothing. Alana doesn't even know why she bothers, anymore. Sometimes she wishes she could just shut it off, for good, and allow her family whatever peace is left for them. But she can't. Ignorance is a bliss she cannot afford to feel.

*

Spring is coming, and with each day the sky gets a little bluer, the air a little warmer. Morgan plays in the garden now, never a few more meters away from their home. The border of trees is further still, and foreboding as it usually is, the spring's light transforms it into a protective wall of emerald. Morgan makes daisy chains.

Margot leans her head on Alana's shoulder. They fit together perfectly, like they were destined to slot together. Alana exhales a half-sigh, but it is not one of exhaustion or some other negative parasitic emotion; it is one of completion. These small affections are all they can allow themselves. “I love you, you know that,” Margot murmurs, turning so that the words breathe against her neck. Her eyelids flutter shut at the caress of breath for only a moment, and then she is rapt again. Watchful. “You're my world.”

Her arm tightens around Margot's waist. Morgan plays closer still, as if his body knows how dangerous it is, the open space. She allows herself a moment of vulnerability to turn, to meet her wife's eyes, and says into her crown, “and you're mine.” She punctuates it with an ellipsis of kisses, all along her hairline. The sound of sheer serenity that breezes its way out of Margot's lips is something Alana wants to immortalize, so that she may never forget it. She tilts her chin up so that she might drink in the sound, lips plush against her; it is chaste, but wet, as intimate as they can allow themselves. The familiarity of Margot's inner workings—the movements of her tongue, each curve of her tooth and each little playful nip—is a comfort to her, one so profound it nearly banishes every trace of terror from her. When they part, they watch Morgan, who has finally finished his daisy chain.

“Look!” he holds it up, mouth wide; he's missing a tooth, one that came loose all by itself, and the tableau is so deeply alien to their situation that she wants to sob.

Instead, she grins, “that's amazing, baby. I'm so proud of you.”

“You're a gift,” Margot sings his praises. When he is satisfied with their responses, he is rosy-cheeked and his smile seems to be affixed, bright as the sun, to his face.

“I'm going to make two more,” he announces, more to himself than them, puffed with pride and purpose, “so we all have one.”

“Alright!” Margot's voice quietens then, into something far heavier. “I never thought this was possible. I never thought that,” her voice trembles, then, “I never thought that I would get to have this. I was never… I wasn't allowed this for so long, Alana. I can't… I can't lose it. I can't lose you.”

Terror claims her heart, heavy as a claw, piercing into the vulnerable muscle of it, but it is not her terror; it is Margot's. It is desperate and ravaging, needing to be comforted. To it, the Alana that met her, all burning with righteous fury, an icon of Testament vengeance, is momentarily revived; fear morphs into fury, into purpose, as she watches her son with wet eyes. Here, there is nothing real but them and the threat that looms above them, bright as a guillotine, and if there is nothing real, there is nothing bar what is before her that can protect them. Will Graham is an intangibility. Jack Crawford is a fairytale. The FBI's power is nothing more than smoke and mirrors, when it comes to Hannibal Lecter. The only certainty is herself.

“You're not going to.” Her voice is iron, steel; her grip is soft. “I won't let him.”