#imagine hannibal in a truck

[vectorworm]

now thats the kind of horny movie im talkign about!

just watched The Hitcher (1986)

[t3acupz]

Going off of the tags about "what if guinea pigs instead of dogs"

Can you imagine hannibal going into will's house to snoop and instead of dogs who want sausage it's like 30 guinea pigs SCREAMING for snacks.

you’ve had guinea pigs before haven’t you 😂 because yesss they make better guard dogs than actual dogs! hannibal can’t just bribe them with some sausage links, he would have to bring a truck load of vegetables that they’d devour in minutes and then chase him around the house nipping his ankles until he gave them more

[greatwesternway]

Traintober Day 3: Twins - 9901 and 9902

An excerpt from the upcoming installment of The Future is Still Silver and Black:

I hesitate to guess at what 9901 would say to being told he was special for not having a name though. I suspect his manners would have failed him.

He and 9902 were a little unlucky to be built when they were. They weren’t first so they didn’t get the benefit of it that I did and they came too early to be themed the way The Mark Twain Zephyr was. Then they got bumped from their route by Pegasus and Zephyrus’ larger, themed trains. Those two became the New Twin Cities Zephyrs and the original twins were given their own separate routes. 9901 wasn’t very happy about it because while he was getting his own route, this was also just after my train had been given our new name. I think most engines would be satisfied to have a named route at all, but with us Zephyrs and how many names we’ve all been given between us, it becomes a sticky subject if you’ve come out short. 9902 was just happy to be able to accommodate his demand again. He was always the more sensible of the two of them.

They were twins, but I do not think this is similar to having a B-unit. 9901 and 9902 only ever operated together on exhibition runs before they entered revenue service. The day before their christening, they did one with forty-four sets of twins riding their trains to Chicago, one half of each pair on each train. Once they were in service though, I don’t imagine they saw much of each other. They’d run the route from opposite ends twice a day, so they’d only have had brief passings.

After Pegasus and Zephyrus took over The Twin Cities Zephyr route, 9901 was sent to Texas to work on the Burlington-Rock Island to pull their Sam Houston Zephyr. From what I heard, he became much less crabby about names when he was actually working a route of his own. You’d hope it’d be the pride of having a named route all to himself that turned him around, but I wonder if it wasn’t actually because he got that special nose herald that said “Sam Houston Zephyr” instead of “Burlington Route”. You know how important identity is for us Zephyrs, after all. 

9902 got an “Alton-Burlington” nose herald for his Ozark State Zephyr in Missouri until they sent him down to the B-RI too. He and 9901 had to share routes again, but they had two between them so it wasn’t such a debacle as it had been when they were both The Twin Cities Zephyr. One of them would be the Sam Houston Zephyr and the other would be the Texas Rocket, with nose heralds to show which.

Unfortunately, the B-RI wasn’t taking as good care of them as Burlington itself would have. From what I gathered over time (because you know how cagey our people can be when things go wrong), 9901 had a lot of oil build-up under his trucks and something set it on fire. They couldn’t get the blaze under control and 9901 was burnt inside and out, completely irreparable. I mentioned before that this was right after that FT smashed into my observation car 570. Because 9901 had to be stricken from the roster but his cars were only a little burnt, they thought to replace my observation car with his. They decided not to do that in the end and instead his cars were kept in storage in case I, 9902, or Injun Joe might need them on our trains.

After all that, B-RI ended up giving 9902 back to Burlington to replace 9901. And ironically, he ended up with a route named just for him! No one ever mentions it really, but he was given a route between Chicago and Ottumwa, Iowa and they called it the Zephyr 9902. When they moved him to the Chicago-Hannibal route, they renamed it Zephyr 9902 too so it was almost like it was his train that had the name. I think if 9901 had still been around for that, he’d have been so jealous he’d have gone up in flames again. But they also sometimes nicknamed 9902 the “Baby Zephyr” because of how big the Denver and California Zephyr trains were by then so maybe not!

I am being told that I have gone on very long about 9901 and 9902, but I almost feel obliged. They get overlooked, but how would we have known we needed a train as grand as yours for that route without their shorter trains on it first? They had the same problem I always did, that our train became too popular to fit everyone who wanted to ride.

[the-vex-archives]

The Walking Dead Masterlist (2024)

General

Oneshots

"See? Harmless,"

@fanficimagery

Imagine the world being overrun by the walking dead. Surviving in this new world is literal Hell on Earth, so imagine your surprise when you find a little girl all alone and doing her best to stay alive.

"What's so funny, bitch?"

@fanficimagery

Imagine being a mutual friend of Negan and Rick. After one of their pissing contests when Negan can't find you, he asks Rick if you're with them. You're not.. and it makes the both of them nervous. And angry at what your disappearance could possibly mean.

Daryl Dixon

Fics

"Spitting Image" Part 2

@deansapplepie

Years passed since last time you saw your ex-boyfriend and father of your son. Fate decided the perfect moment for you to reconnect was after the end of the world.

"Broken Trust" Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Final Part

@sourwolf-sterek32

Y/N Walsh meets Daryl Dixon while working as an undercover Police Officer. But, when Daryl finds out the truth about you, you’re forced to move back to King County.

"Suicide Mission" Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Final Part

@sourwolf-sterek32

Before the whole world turned to shit, you lived next door to the Dixon’s. You grew close to the Dixon brothers over the years. You and Daryl quickly becoming best friend, despite your massive crush on him, (which at the time, you didn’t know he returned).

You weren’t with him when the outbreak started, but against all odds you managed to find him while helping a random group of strangers on the road. It seemed like fate always found a way, even during the apocalypse.

"You're Not Alone Pt. 1" Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Final Part

@sourwolf-sterek32

You’ve been on your own for 8 months now after your brother died. Scavenging and hunting, using the skills your father taught you to stay alive. Until you came across a little girl lost in the woods. You were determined to get her back to her mother, but once you found her group everything changed and you found yourself falling for the blue eyed archer without realizing it

"You're Not Alone Pt. 2" Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Final Part

@sourwolf-sterek32

The reader and Daryl have started to settle into life at Alexandria, but once the group runs into the Saviours and more specifically Negan, your way of life as you know it will change forever. While the universe seems to be set on pulling you and Daryl apart, how far are you willing to go to get back to each other and make things right?

"Hurt" Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Final Part

@sourwolf-sterek32

You learnt very early that it wasn’t the dead you should fear, it was the living, especially the Saviours. It’s been six months since you managed to escape the Sanctuary with a little girl called Clementine. The two of you finding your old family farm, away from humanity. That was until you found a man named Daryl Dixon trying to hotwire one of your trucks.

Oneshots

"Unexpected" (werewolf! Daryl Dixon)

@lazyneonrabbitt

No summary provided

"The Step-Mother" ( x Sister! Reader ) ( x Rick Grimes )

@hannibals-favourite-meal

The Dixons were an odd bunch, an asshole older brother, the quiet and noble middle child, and the youngest, a beautiful young woman with the heart of a lion. Rick can’t help but fall for her even in the middle of an apocalypse.

"Her Poor Cat" ( x Plus Size! Reader ) ( x Rick Grimes )

@hannibals-favourite-meal

Rick/reader/Daryl are a throuple and the Alexandria residents don’t know how to react.

"Motherly Instinct"

@cultofdixon

No summary provided

Incorrect Quotes

"Happy New Years"

@cultofdixon

Rick Grimes

Fics

"Take on The World" Part 2

@fanficimagery

No summary provided

Oneshots

"We Meet Again"

@mylittlefandomfanfictions

You had been in Alexandria for almost a year now and after being outside the walls since the beginning this was the safest place you had been. There was only one thing that could make it even better, your son Carl. He had been staying with his step-mother Lori and visiting his father in the hospital when the world ended and you prayed that they had survived.

"The Step-Mother" ( x Dixon! Reader )

@hannibals-favourite-meal

The Dixons were an odd bunch, an asshole older brother, the quiet and noble middle child, and the youngest, a beautiful young woman with the heart of a lion. Rick can’t help but fall for her even in the middle of an apocalypse.

"Her Poor Cat" ( x Plus Size! Reader ) ( x Daryl Dixon )

@hannibals-favourite-meal

Rick/reader/Daryl are a throuple and the Alexandria residents don’t know how to react.

"I thought you were dead." ( x Negan's Sister! Reader )

@fanficimagery

Imagine finding romance after the world has ended. You and Rick saved one another in such tough times, and finding out your brother is still alive throws a wrench into the new life you’ve made for yourself.

Carl Grimes

Oneshots

"The Step-Mother" ( x Platonic! Stepmom! Dixon! Reader )

@hannibals-favourite-meal

The Dixons were an odd bunch, an asshole older brother, the quiet and noble middle child, and the youngest, a beautiful young woman with the heart of a lion. Rick can’t help but fall for her even in the middle of an apocalypse.

Negan Smith

Fics

"I'm just feeling a bit cooped up," Part 2

@fanficimagery

Imagine being a Savior. The world has gone to shit and while you understand the good kind of people are suspicious of other individuals- especially the individuals who've grown rather adept at surviving on their own- you're more than a little hurt that several communities have turned you away. So when Negan takes you in, your loyalty lies with those he calls his own.

Oneshots

"I thought you were dead." ( x Sister! Reader )

@fanficimagery

Imagine finding romance after the world has ended. You and Rick saved one another in such tough times, and finding out your brother is still alive throws a wrench into the new life you’ve made for yourself.

[kittkatt678]

Today I had an epiphany: Hannibal must mince drivers with road rage.

Like imagine this man cruising on the highway, jamming out to Bach’s Goldberg Variations, having a grand old time as Hannibal is bound to do and then some truck decides to drive up his ass.

Rude doesn’t even begin to describe it when the trucker flips Hannibal the bird. You can bet that license plate is already committed to memory. Soon thereafter, the truck driver’s name will be catalogued within Hannibal’s rolodex, alongside the business cards of pigs to be served…

The driver would make a splendid sorbet.

Not to mention, the dog in the truck driver’s passenger seat, would make an excellent contribution to Will’s pack of furry friends.

[sheultrabeef]

I’m on season 2 of Hannibal and let me TELL YOU THIS SHOW IS FUCKING GREAT.

And the thing I really love about it, besides the incredible, amazing drama that it imbues in every single second, sometimes for no reason at all, is that the fandom headcanons are HILARIOUS.

Like, I’ve been long used to Supernatural headcanons and those are almost always very, very depressing.  And Avengers and The Umbrella Academy and The Boys are no different. In fact I can’t think of a single show I’ve watched in years that had headcanons from fans that weren’t sort of depressing.

But Hannibal??  Fucking Hannibal???  

Will Graham is a sweaty, dog smelling man who eats dog food out of the can over the sink and you CANNOT convince me otherwise.  He’s a walking disaster.  He smells like dogs and river water and has never cooked a meal in his entire life.  I’m 100% sure he buys his clothes out of catalogues. He’s not coping with anything in any shape or way even before the show starts. 

The fact that Hannibal is deeply in love with him is so fucking funny I can’t stop thinking about it and laughing about it and coming up with worse and worse things that Will does or ways he lives.  

Will Graham is a walking disaster and it is insanely hilarious that Hannibal is in love with him.  It’s just the best of the best of the funniest headcanons I’ve ever seen from other fans.  All this murder and blood and horrible deaths and fans are like, “Will blasts Tim McGraw when he’s mad at Hannibal” and I fucking CAN’T HANDLE IT, IT’S SO FUNNY YOU GUYS

CAN YOU IMAGINE HANNIBAL RIDING IN A FUCKING TRUCK?  OR EATING DORITOS?  I AM LIVING FOR THIS FANDOM

[horrorlesbians]

im sure they weren’t unconscious the entire ride, can you imagine being stuck with hannibal in a truck while upside down for however long this ride was bc...they were taken from florence or whereever back to the states id kill him myself the first second i could bc i bet you that man didnt shut up

[slashyrogue]

Hannigram AU: Trash 

The first time Hannibal saw his new garbage man it was from behind.

He thought the man had a very nice backside, and obvious muscles as he emptied the can into the back of the truck. Another man leaned his head out, his face familiar, and pointed toward something.

The new man turned to look and Hannibal froze.

Exquisite.

The garbage man’s face reminded Hannibal that of a Botticelli angel, youthful and delicate while also being exceptionally striking to say the least. He had a close cut beard that only made his handsomeness even more so, and when he scowled at the thing he saw in the distance Hannibal imagined for a moment what he’d look like tearing the flesh from someone’s bones.

He instead picked up several plastic cups from what seemed fast food restaurants and tossed them into the trash compactor.

Hannibal had once killed someone he saw tossing such cups in his yard as they drove by. His heart skipped a beat. His new trash collector was not only handsomely beautiful, but he was polite as well.

He resisted the urge to rush over with more garbage, instead watching him go. There was always next week.

Though over the next seven days Hannibal did a few things. He bought four new garage cans, filled every single one with whatever he could stand to lose, and baked a variety of things that he tested to give the new civil servant in his life. Eventually he settled on the blueberry muffins, knowing their popularity, and made sure to stick several onto a plate the morning the truck would arrive.

He’d put out the new cans the night before, and as the truck pulled up he readied himself before stepping outside. The same beautiful man was this time it seemed alone as he began tossing the trash in, and Hannibal stood back just watching for a moment until he was noticed.

It took three of three five cans but the surprise in his trash angel’s face was worth it.

“Oh,” he said, hands on can four, “is there something...”

Hannibal held out his plate. “I did not recognize you last week and wanted to offer something in appreciation for your service.”

The man blinked. “You...made me muffins?”

He felt his cheeks redden a bit. “Oh, no, I was making them for myself and wanted to share.”

“You just said...”

“If you don’t want one that’s perfectly...”

He took off his gloves and reached for a muffin biting down immediately. His moan went right to Hannibal’s cock, and Hannibal watched in amazement as all of the muffin was eaten in what seemed seconds.

“Fuck, that was great. You made that?”

“Y...yes, I’m glad you enjoyed it Mister...”

He smiled at him. “Will. Are you a chef at some fancy restaurant or something?”

“My name is Hannibal, and no I’m a doctor. I specialize in...”

A noise like yelling from a radio Will’s attention from the garbage truck. “Shit I’m off schedule I gotta...”

He tossed Hannibal’s next two cans in quickly and waved back as he ran to the truck. “Thanks, Doc!”

Hannibal smiled and waved as he watched Will go, his heart beating so fast he was certain it would fly out of him at any second. “You’re welcome, Will!”

The truck pulled away from the curb, and he grabbed two cans still watching as Will left him once again.

He wished they’d had more time to speak.

Perhaps he needed to buy more cans.

[ethenalar]

Character Venn Diagrams

I’ve realised that instead of the Spock Kirk and Bones, mind, heart and soul Hannibal seems to be the embodiment of all his boys. he has the eloquence and knack for espionage from face, the knack for quick thinking and imagination from Murdock and the need for force and moral compass from BA. In a way that is why he is the perfect leader, he knows his teams strengths and weaknesses because they are his own. he knows to listen to Murdock when he’s going off on a tangent because it could have a brilliant idea hidden within it. he accepts the need for patience and a delicate hand when dealing with certain people or positions whilst understanding the need to be bad cop and know when to substitute diplomacy with a right hook....or a truck through a wall

[yakumtsaki]

Alright then, for anyone keeping count 1) currently fired: Ivan and Lorenzo 2) currently demoted: Valeria 3) currently missing: Hannibal, Mauregatus, Nefertiti, my will to live 4) current budget: almost 8k-

-never mind. It’s around this point that I abandon the forlorn hope of completing this challenge via the career route aka getting all 10 of the pets on the top of their field and I switch gears to the mansion route, aka earning and spending 50k on upgrading the house. Thanks to Malcolm, the pets are running away too frequently to be reliably promoted, so we’re gonna have to work with what we got here..

..and what we got here is the three stooges. Sisi..

..Ivan..

..AND MARVIN. God help us.

I feel compelled to once again point out that Malcolm doesn’t have a fortune secondary, but the most frightening thing here is the age panel. The fear of the pets and/or Malcolm dying of old age before I finish is starting to set in..

..and not even these quintuple promotions are enough to calm me down. The pets are seriously getting OLD, they’re all near elderhood. 

At least Malcolm is happy for once, and like a true narcissistic parent rewards his pet children with some long-withheld love now that they have pleased him. You are a piece of work, Malcolm. 

-Thank you! ;)

His current favorite is shockingly SISI, I really did not see this coming but they’re actually close to becoming friends?? 

-Who wouldn’t love Sisi, we wear the exact same colors and she’s so small and non-threatening!

Isn’t she a Joker-type terrorist???

-She was off her meds ok?? And De Niro had it coming, watch the damn movie. 

The more Valeria gets promoted, the more fights she picks, she is seriously on the warpath. First she beats up Marvin..

..then she beats up Lorenzo..

..then she beats up Nefertiti who dared to briefly return home..

..only to immediately run away again. FFS

The other fight cloud was Lorenzo/Marvin, who are actually friends! What happened boys?

-Marvin attacked me for ‘taking his spot wavewatching!’ 

-YOU DID YOU DID!

-DID NOT DID NOT!

-DID SO DID SO!

Ok this is gonna take all night, moving on.

Mauregatus is returned to us by Brandi LeTourneau, talk about a match made in ‘heaven’-

-and Hannibal is returned by the delivery guy, whose produce is safe to assume he ate while in his truck. 

-Sure did! :) But now I’m back and everything’s gonna be normal again!

Yea no offense but I would actually prefer it if things weren’t ‘normal’.

-Ah yes, NORMALCY!! FUCK YOU LORENZO 

-What did I do??

-YOU PISSED ON MY CORNER OF THE GRASS

-THAT’S YOUR PISS !

-OH. Well whatever, consider this a warning then!!!

ARE WE EVER GONNA UPGRADE THIS FUCKING HOUSE

Francis, ABOUT TIME YOU GOT PROMOTED. Imagine if you weren’t a ‘genius’, ugh. 

I cannot even express to you guys how hard I wanted to hit ignore here but I stayed true to the rules-

-AND THANK GOD I DID, I LOVE YOU VALERIA. WE FINALLY HAVE 15K!!! It’s time for our first upgrade!

BYE BYE

HELLO! Man, I don’t think I appreciated how useful minimalism is in masking brokeness until this challenge. Feeling better, Malc?

why. are. you. like. this.

[iberico-long-pork]

Hannibal role reversal au + serial killer Will au picks

Sleeping in the knife drawer - emungere Rating: T, Wordcount: 2.9K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial killer Will Plot: Hannibal is sent by Jack to recruit Will as an advisor. It takes persuading. Sample:

“You don’t use the space,” he said.

“I don’t use most of the house. How much space does one person really need?”

“Usually one’s life expands to fill the space that contains it. Unto overflowing, in some cases.”

Will walked to the window and cleared away a mass of cobwebs with his hand. 

“I’ve expanded as much as I’m likely to,” he said.

“You’ve contracted. Away from your practice in the city. Alone out here. Alana said she was the only person whom you see regularly.”

“Most people don’t like me.” Will grinned, sharp-edged and bright as a knife blade. “No idea why.”

“Do you offer to show all of them your attic?”

“No. Maybe you’re just special.”

// Spectacular dialogue, light read

Watch Your Back (There’s a New Killer in Town) - OneWhoSitsWithTurtles Rating: E, Wordcount: 73.8K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial killer Will, sub Hannibal, Dom Will Warnings: Exhibitionism, Knife play Sex: Versatile, mostly dom Will sub Hannibal Plot: Hannibal is sent for a psyche eval to Doctor Graham. Will decides to court him. And teach him that killing is okay. Sample: "Hannibal," Will spoke softly, drawing Hannibal's gaze back to him. Hannibal watched him as Will took a carving knife and cut a small slice of the roast off the end. Will speared the seasoned meat onto a fork and presented it to Hannibal, who balked.

"What do you fear?"

Hannibal swallowed, eyes flickering between Will's face and the meat.

"That I'll like it."

Will held the fork aside and cupped the back of Hannibal's neck with his other hand, bringing him in for a kiss. Hannibal kissed him back but his uncertainty soured the brush of their lips and Will asked, "What else?"

Hannibal looked away but Will turned his face forward again with a hinting touch to his jaw. Hannibal swallowed.

"That if I don't, you won't want me anymore."

// Amazing dom/sub relationship, good writing, good pace

Coping Mechanism - Cinnamaldeide Rating: T Wordcout: 1K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter (past as doctor), Doctor Graham (past as officer), Serial Killer Will Plot: Before their scheduled appointment, Special Agent Lecter and Doctor Graham share a cigarette and some friendly considerations. Sample:

He admitted his own addiction when he noticed he had a favourite brand. An indulgence Hannibal found soothing after having pursued dangerous murderers and sensitive psychopaths. Certainly not as satisfying after an amorous encounter, as was often believed. He had taken to smoke before his appointments with his psychiatrists instead, which shouldn’t have been such an easy association.

“I thought doctors were supposed to know better,” a voice distracted Hannibal from his long inhales, fume rising above his head in a slow, languorous ascent. “Don’t you know how it tarnishes your lungs?” his therapist needled, arms crossed on his chest and shoulder loosely resting on the wall. Their appointment was scheduled in a few minutes, but Mr. Graham was an observant man, knew where to find him. Knew aiming at Hannibal’s pride often proved effective.

“You know doctors are notorious for not following their own advices,” Hannibal answered, puffing a fine line of grey, volatile smoke away from him. “It prepares me for our encounters,” he offered, curious to see how Dr. Graham would process that information.

// Pleasantly slow and casually sensual. Like a breather scene in a movie.

Identically Different AU - Pragnificent Rating: E Wordcout: 243K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial Killer Will Warnings: Past child sexual abuse, Trauma Sex: Versatile Plot: Doctor Graham plans to influence his new fascinating not-really-patient, Agent Lecter. When Will befriends the prickly agent and invites him to dinner, he doesn’t expect him to recognise the taste of the meat he served. And that’s only the beginning. Sample:

“I’ve seen setups like this before,” Hannibal says, his mouth feeling as though it has been stuffed with cotton, “though this is the first one with feather pillows.”

“Your comfort is important to me, Hannibal.”

Hannibal doesn’t justify that with a response.

He looks around the basement. A half-empty bottle of bourbon and two snifter glasses sit on the small table next to Will. On the other end of the basement, metal tools hang from a pegboard on the wall, gleaming dangerously, and in the corner there is a large stainless steel work table with two meat hooks hanging near it.

Hannibal works on accepting what all of this means without letting it frighten him. He tries to draw on the colder version of himself, the one that kept his feelings on lockdown and didn’t worry about Will or Will’s approval.

“I meant to take things much more slowly,” Will says, and it’s hard to know if he should credit the note of apology in his voice. “But I wasn’t expecting dinner to be the thing to give me away. Hannibal, there’s something important that you haven’t been sharing in your sessions, isn’t there?”

// HEED WARNINGS (It’s not properly listed in the fic tags). Fascinating but dangerous series. Long fic.

sweet awakening - Romennium Rating: T Wordcout: 612 Tags: Role Reversal AU, Doctor Lecter, Serial Killer Will Plot: Hannibal has been getting too close to catching the prolific serial killer. Will decides to visit him in the middle of the night. Sample:

Hannibal woke up abruptly, heart in his throat. His poor organ doubled his pace in the moment his not-yet awake brain realized that his body couldn’t move. Someone was sitting astride him, completely blocking his chest and his arms.

Hannibal moved, trying to dislodge the body above him, but his attempt didn’t do anything but make the weight of the intruder press into him even more and the hand shutting his mouth moved to partially close his nose as well.

In a millisecond the air to his lungs diminished drastically and panic grew, making him believe he was suffocating. A rational part of him, but completely overwhelmed by fear, told him he wasn’t suffocating, but his lungs seemed to burn and the air, there was no air and his sight-

“Sh, sh, Doctor Lecter,” a calm and reassuring voice whispered into his ear, “calm down, Doctor.”

The hand moved away from his nose and Hannibal tried to take a deep breath.

“Yes, Doctor, that’s good, breathe, everything is okay,”

// Very short and spicy. Snack fic.

Raw Material - RubyBakeneko Rating: E, Wordcount: 3K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Doctor Lecter, Agent Graham, Serial killer Will Sex: Top Will, Bottom Antony Dimmond Plot: Betrayed by his psychiatrist, serial killer Will Graham escapes to Italy. There, he reflects on the nature of his relationship with Hannibal, and he meets someone who provides him with an opportunity to work through some of his issues. Sample:

Will misses him terribly and without respite, the weight of his heartache a miserable fury that makes him feel ill. He imagines they are together in bed, that he is pressed up against the heat of Hannibal’s back with a possessive arm draped around his shoulder. He dominates Will’s dreams, which are by turn so luridly explicit that he comes in his sleep and so painfully romantic that he wakes in tears.

Hannibal has survived Will, the way few have done before him. He might arrive in Italy any day now, to kill Will or to kiss him. His heart races at the thought of either.

He silently dares Hannibal to find him. I’m here. Come and get me. // Poor Antony, I hoestly really love that character. Light read

+++ ( ‘Hannibal is Hannibal’ fics)

Wolfman - Cadaverish Rating: E, Wordcount: 38K Tags: Canon Divergence, Serial killer Will, Serial killer Hannibal Sex: versatile Plot: The Biloxi Wolfman has a crush on The Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal doesn’t know that. But he does have an interest in Will Graham. (In which Hannibal wastes time trying to bring Will to the dark side when Will already has lower moral standards than Hannibal) Sample:

Gideon has paused obligingly to peer out the window set into the front door, likely checking for police sirens or curious neighbors, but all it really accomplishes is giving Will the chance to take several long strides, closing the distance between himself and Gideon. He allows his last step to connect loudly with the hardwood floor and Gideon starts, turning around to look at him. 

“Special Agent Graham,” he drawls and Will gives him a grin that has nothing human behind it.

// Tfw Hannibal actually has higher moral standards than Will OvO

Astronomical odds - xzombiexkittenx Rating: M, Wordcount: 2.5K Tags: Pre-Season AU, Serial killer Will, Serial killer Hannibal Sex: Mutual handjob Plot: Based on the joke: ‘ Picked up a hitchhiker last night. He said, “Thanks! how do you know I’m not a serial killer though?” I replied, “The chances of two serial killers being in the same car are astronomical.” ‘ Sample:

There’s a knife strapped to his ankle, a loaded gun in his bag, and he’s not above using his teeth if he has to. He also has mace. He met a nice butch lesbian truck driver who picked him up off Interstate 20, drove him as far as Abilene, bought him dinner, and insisted on giving him her mace. She’d been so worried about him and his ‘pretty face.’”

“Honey,” she’d said, over burgers and shitty diner coffee, “girls like you find trouble without even looking. Take it for my peace of mind.”

He’d realized she thought he was a sex worker. Will hadn’t tried to change her opinion of him. No one was looking for a serial truck stop male prostitute. He’d run that angle for a while, down in Louisiana, but it was too much trouble. The clothing was hard to hunt in, and he didn’t like men pawing at him while he got them to the secondary location.

He wonders if Hannibal thinks he’s a sex worker. Hannibal has nicely manicured nails, strong-looking hands, and fantastic arms. Will’s not sure he’d complain if Hannibal made a move on him. He hasn’t decided if he wants to kill Hannibal or not but on balance he also hasn’t decided if he wants to try for a roadside quickie or not.

// Honestly hilarious. They make inside jokes thinking the other’s not getting it, and run into each other at a body dumping site. Light fun read.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

1 Quid Pro Quo

Fox Mulder x Reader

Words: 1543

Part 1 of 3

Summary: When a serial killer that Mulder helped put away escapes the institution, he decides to pay a visit to his favorite FBI behavioral analyst. You educate yourself on all the disturbing facts of the case. When the killer begins to take an interest in Mulder’s pretty little partner, you become more entangled than you could have imagined. 

Notes: This is for @bensolocanbesaved and I’m taking a ton of inspiration from The Silence of the Lambs. Let me know what you guys think and if you’re excited for part two!  This is going to be the first in my Halloween imagines and I’m so excited for what’s in store for this season. I don’t know if I’ll have all three parts by Halloween, but keep an eye out!

Warnings: Ridiculous amounts of gore over the course of the series and overall creepy themes.

-

The other inmates in the van avoided all eye contact. Even the most vicious killers feared the very sight of him. And while they could not bear to look at him, his glare itself seemed to have lethal qualities. The way his dark eyes almost looked red when they hit the light would make anyone recoil from his gaze. 

The truck jerked as it stopped suddenly and Lee Sange looked up at his surrounding victims. 

“Why the long faces, gentlemen?” He wondered the innocent tone of his voice betrayed by the villainous look in those black eyes. Still, none of the other prisoners dared to look at him. He listened to the men transporting them open their doors and walk around to the back of the van. “They’ve brought us breakfast.” 

-

Sleeping on the couch made it nearly impossible to move, but you’d gotten used to it. Your back was pressed against his chest and his arms were wrapped around you, making that stupid leather sofa the safest place in the world to you. So when the shrill ringing phone interrupted that peace, you groaned and slid off the couch, crawling to the phone as Fox started to wake up as well. 

“Hello?” You greeted sleepily. 

“Y/L/N, it’s me.” Scully’s voice responded. “Is Mulder with you?” You looked over at Fox as he started to get up, only to flop back onto the couch, hiding his face in a pillow. 

“Physically, yes,” You snickered, “Mentally… well, he hasn’t had any caffeine yet.” 

“Tell him he needs to get over here.” The urgency in her words broke through the grogginess. 

“What’s wrong?” 

She took a deep breath. “Lee Sange escaped.” 

“Who’s Lee Sange?” The name sounded familiar, but you couldn’t decide where. Mulder’s demeanor changed and he held out his hand for the phone. Confused, you gave it to him and anxiously waited as he talked to Scully. 

“You’re sure?” His voice was grim. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, we’ll be right there. Thanks, Scully.” He hung up and turned to you with a blank expression. “We have to go.” 

“Who’s Lee Sange?” You asked again, changing into your work clothes, Mulder doing the same. 

“He was a serial killer I helped catch back in 1990,” he began, “he, uh… he killed almost twenty people.” He lifted his eyes to yours and you noticed a look of disgust. “And ate fifteen.” You vaguely remembered him telling you about a case about a serial cannibal that he’d helped catch, but you’d always assumed that Lee was dead. 

“And this guy escaped?” You gasped, a cold shiver running down your spine. “He’s back out there?” 

“Not for long,” Mulder promised and the two of you headed out to catch the killer.

-

The transport van was stopped in the middle of the road. Chains littered the ground next to the body of one of the guards- his keys used to free the prisoners after they’d beaten him to death. The other guard, however, made this one look fortunate. His body was stuffed under the vehicle with seven of his ten fingers bitten off and his eyes apparently gnawed out of his skull. Even Scully looked queasy.  

“I want every man you have after this guy,” Mulder ordered. “We leave no stone unturned until he’s either brought in or dead.” A panic drove his determination, knowing that he would likely be Sange’s first target. He turned to you, your face pale with a look of disgust. "You don't have to be here, you know." He muttered. "Scully and I can handle it. I'd prefer that you go back to the office." 

You looked at him with your usual fire and determination.

"Not a chance." 

Once the bodies were wrapped up, the two of you followed Scully back to the bureau's morgue where she would perform the autopsies. You didn’t usually stick around for this part. Your specialty was the mind, not the body. 

“I’m going to go back to the office and see what I can dig up on this guy.” You told Mulder. 

“What for?” 

You smirked. “You’re not the only behavioral analyst in the room, Mulder.” He took your hand. 

“You don’t want to get in this guy’s head, Y/N.” He warned. You rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb, reassuring him with your smile.

"I'm just going to see if I can find patterns to figure out his next victim,” You weren’t going to let this psycho get to Mulder more than he already had, “because he will go after someone else." Mulder gave you a reluctant look but nodded and you walked to your shared office. 

After some searching around in violent crime case files, you finally found Sange’s case. He was suspected to have involvement in the disappearance of a high school boy named James McCathy. The boy had been missing for nearly three months and the local authorities were giving up hope. Without enough evidence, they had to let Sange go. That is until McCathy’s body was found a few weeks later, most of his organs and flesh carved away. It was later discovered that Sange had eaten them. 

When he was arrested, they began to find more bodies. It took a little more digging to find the coroner’s report. You took a deep breath and looked over the photos. Each body was already decomposing, but you could still see the tears in the flesh from where their organs were removed, later to be consumed by Sange. It took all your years of training not to shutter. 

Meanwhile, Mulder was voicing his concerns about you getting involved to Scully as she dissected the body of one of the guards. 

“She doesn’t understand how dangerous he is.” He sighed. 

“She’s a grown woman and an excellent agent, Mulder.” Scully reasoned, slicing down the center of the dead man’s chest. 

“You don’t understand, Scully,” Mulder ran a hand through his hair. “This guy… wants me. He said that after his trial. He said that ‘our story wasn’t finished.’ I’ve been threatened by almost every psychopath I’ve helped put away, but I was never afraid any of them would actually do it until him. What if he takes that out on her?” 

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep an eye on her.” Scully offered. Dana knew you almost better than Fox did. She knew that if you got too involved, you would get yourself into trouble. Mulder put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Thank you.” Mulder was never this worried. He was really afraid of this guy. Scully gave him a supportive smile and kicked him out of the lab. 

Mulder met you back in the office amongst piles of old case files each filled with photos more gruesome than the next. 

“This guy is like Hannibal on steroids!” You called out from behind a stack. Mulder maneuvered around the office to find you. “But I think I might know where he might be going.” 

“He’s coming after me,” Mulder replied, finally finding you in your desk surrounded by the files. You shook your head. 

“I don’t think he is. Not yet.” You disagreed. “From what you’ve told me, he definitely has you as a target. But he doesn’t go for the main prize right away. He builds up to it. Each of his victims had reported strange things happening around their apartment. Some of them found little recipes on the kitchen counters others found dead rats in their showers. He’s going to play with you before he attacks.” 

“Can’t wait.” Mulder scoffed, leaning against the desk. 

“We’re not going to let him get that far.” You promised. “We’re going to catch him.” He grabbed the file in your hand and set it on top of the pile. 

“It’s been a long day, maybe you should head home.” The more involved that you got the easier it would be for Sange to find you. You stood up and grabbed the lapel of his suit. 

“I am going to be fine.” You assured him, pulling him in for a kiss. “But I do need a shower.” You smirked and grabbed your keys and your bag. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” He nodded, reluctant to watch you go off by yourself. He should have told you to stay the night with him. Maybe you would have been safe. 

-

Your apartment building was quieter than usual. Usually, there were some drunk college kids or an arguing couple in the stairwell, but tonight it was just quiet. Maybe you were just being paranoid. The trek up to the third floor felt longer. As you reached your floor you noticed a strange smell. From the end of the hall, you could see something hanging on your door. 

Slowly and cautiously, you walked towards your apartment, the rancid smell getting stronger as you got closer. You stopped as soon as you could see the full shape and tried not to scream. A line of blood ran down the front of the white door, mixed with matted orange and white fur. The body had been spread out across the door using hooks and string. There was no mistaking the message. It was a fox. 

[theparanormalperiodical]

A Brief History Of Transphobia In Horror Movies Feat. A Small Window Into The Reality Of Being Trans Cause Let’s Face It It’s Way Scarier Than Any Horror Film

It combined the eerie atmosphere of supernatural horror with the twists and turns of a psychological thriller - by all means An Incident In Ghostland (2018) was a great film.

It drove an innovative plot around tight bends of classic horror tropes and brought us skidding back to the ultimate psychological horror ending: we never really know what’s real and what’s not.

But this film should’ve crashed within the first 15 minutes.

And all that should be left in the wreck is a lipstick in the shade ‘Harlot Red’.

We already know that the struggle for trans rights - let alone with trans representation in the media - is a worthy fight. It has not been helped by the horror genre.

It’s time to change that.

It began with Buffalo Bill.

“Would you f—k me? I’d f—k me.”

It’s one of the most iconic horror films that have been put on the silver screen. But the thing is, when people were walking out of the first screenings of The Silence of the Lambs in 1991, they were traumatised by the disgusting acts Hannibal Lecter would commit on-screen.

They were not protesting Lecter’s former patient as they swiped on makeup, tucked their genitals between their legs, and paraded their desired body in the mirror. This quick pre-murder ritual is the most prominent portrayal of transgender identities, even if - as Lecter says - they are not trans.

From the scenes in the film to the pages of the novel it’s based on, we see Buffalo Bill’s gender dysphoria, but Lecter instead suggests their apparent trans-ness is rooted in something else - something far more sinister, something that never actually gets explained.

All we know is they want to create a ‘woman suit’ by murdering women and skinning their bodies.

Buffalo Bill thus brought to light a portrayal of gender dysphoria that claimed those that were questioning their gender identity were obsessed by gender.

So obsessed, in fact, they would go to extreme lengths to fulfill their desires by killing women and taking their ‘parts’ for themself.

This is also explored in another horror classic: Psycho (1960).

This film defined the horror genre, and put the slasher on the map. And if slasher films weren’t guilty enough for their portrayal of women, they further followed the J.K. Rowling school of thought and gave trans women a new separate character-arc.

Norman Bates is yet another horror icon known for dressing as a different gender, and then killing women. Whether they’re doing so to protect their identity or to keep the memory of their mother alive, we see another man don a wig, pull on a dress, and whip out a weapon of their choice.

The only difference is that Norman does become his mother (and thus a woman) on a permanent basis - only when he is officially declared insane and institutionalised.

The more deranged they become, the more crimes they commit, the more of a woman they become. By officially crossing the gender lines, they officially become monsters.

“But weren’t Norman Bates and Buffalo Bill based on a true story?”

Ed Gein was a serial killer who murdered countless women, mutilated their bodies, and used their body parts to create various household furniture and items of clothing. But it was Gein’s creation of a ‘woman suit’ that would allow them to crawl into their beloved mother’s skin which confirmed that they were the original inspiration behind these movie villains.

Despite debate on whether Gein was in fact transgender, a majority believe via police evidence and interviews that they would identify as trans by modern standards.

This brings us to an important point:

To an extent, these films portray trans peoples accurately. Funnily enough, trans people are actually people (shock horror). This means that they can in fact be murderers.

But what these films don’t get right is that they all portray trans people as exactly the same. Like, exactly the same. As in they could at least have tried to be a bit more imaginative.

So, when I was watching An Incident In Ghostland one Sunday evening, I was reminded of the same trope yet again. Well, not reminded, per se. ‘Smacked in the face’ is probably a better phrase to use.

But thankfully, Ghostland did throw in something different.

They chuck in a character that belongs in some found-footage haunted asylum movie!

*Slams laptop shut*

In Ghostland we see two sisters get stalked, held captive, and sexually assaulted and raped by a mentally impaired man and a trans woman. But despite the dominance of the scenes involving the torture, assault, and rape of the women, I want to focus here on the decor of the house they were held captive in.

The house was full of hundreds of vintage dolls.

From the striking image used on the movie poster to the garish aesthetic one can only imagine was inspired by Annabelle, dolls that are painted, dressed, and positioned for use by the woman and the man is central to the plot.

Its the dressing of the sisters in traditional feminine outfits and the application of doll-like makeup to join the other dolls in the house which fits the trope we just can’t escape from.

(No matter how fast we run.)

The Candy Truck Woman, as she is also known, dedicates herself to the process of holding their victims captive and making these women into traditionally feminine objects. It’s the process of creating extreme femininity that defines her role.

Well, that and the portrayal of her trans identity which only goes as emphasising her masculine features. This is embodied by the death of the villain:

Her wig gently slips off her head just before her corpse slumps to the floor.

This suggests that her trans identity is intrinsically linked to her crimes. When she dies, the girls are finally free from her control, and the doll facade ends. She too is apart of the facade. She is reduced to being a bloke in a wig.

The only redeeming feature of this movie?

She is correctly gendered by the credits as the Candy Truck Woman.

*flips through notes*

Yep, that is literally it.

So, why are trans people - specifically trans women - given such roles in the horror genre?

It’s been 60 years.

It’s been 60 years since Psycho earnt its status as the ultimate horror film. But still, to this day, we are presented with horrific portrayals of trans women. It isn’t their acts that define them, however.

If Buffalo Bill was murdering women and comfortable with their gender identity, it would just be another tragic tale of a brutal act. Buffalo Bill is horrifying because they dress like a woman and then commit the acts.

Unfortunately, this link ultimately suggests that those that identify as trans either are or can become mentally unhinged. From there it’s a short trip to becoming obsessed with gender and whoops they’re cold-blooded killers!

And for the uninformed, this almost appears to follow basic logic.

Take me as an example - I’m a cisgender woman. 

Because I am not trans, I do not know what it is like to feel like I was born in the wrong body. It’s hard to understand how it is to be trans when one is not. However, just because I don’t fully understand it because I have not experienced it does not mean trans feelings, experiences, and rights do not matter.

To many, this lack of understanding - especially in past eras when being trans was labelled with far more outdated terms and concepts like ‘transvestites’ - can feel uncomfortable. This is what horror preys on.

You don’t always need a jumpscare to be afraid.

You don’t actually require a demonic nun to keep you from turning the lights out.

By simply being presented with something we don’t quite get, by just seeing something that doesn’t quite click in our brains, we are immediately made uncomfortable.

And that can make us afraid instinctively.

The only way to overcome this fear is, well, to face it! Ultimately, this can be reduced back to the lack of representation and awareness of trans issues and trans rights.

It’s time to talk about Insidious (2010).

Outdated tropes are just that - they are outdated.

They belong back in decades gone by. They no longer make sense in our society.

But the problem with the demonisation of trans women is that it is still shipped out via the big screen. And Ghostland is not the only offender.

Insidious will always be one of my favourite horror universes. And yet it was the first to show me how the horror genre is still propagating the same image of trans women.

One of the most iconic monsters in the franchise is that of Parker Crane, the spirit of a serial killer who was forced to adopt a female identity by his mother as a child. Her abusive actions result in him murdering innocent women while dressed as a woman.

Sure, Insidious pins his murderous actions less on their gender identity and more on the abusive actions of his mother, but the fact is it’s the same story of a man dressing up as a woman and killing women.

And even the finer details of The Bride in Black’s story are replicated in other movies tapping into the same trope.

Sleepaway Camp (1983) features a similar character to Parker Crane. At the twist ending, we realise that the serial killer is Angela, a supposedly innocent girl at the camp. How do we know this?

Because Angela is revealed to have a penis. And, of course, that means she has to be batshit crazy and a killer.

*eye roll*

Angela was assigned male at birth, and their abusive parents forced them to dress like a girl, just like Parker. But yet again we stumble into another damaging forced narrative that demonises trans women:

As they had a troubled childhood, they were trans. And as they were trans, they were thus a dangerous person.

The filmmakers drive this home further by the final image closing the film: all we see is their female face embodying clear mental instability and their male body. It is meant to be disturbing, it is meant to be shocking. Pull out the pencil, connect the dots, and here we are.

What we see is upsetting, and that means trans people must be, too.

She is yet another ‘bloke in a wig’.

And if that wasn’t enough, Angela also provides us with the final segue into an LGBT-wide problem with the entire film industry.

(Mmhmm, it gets worse.)

Movie plot twists have always been praised, pulled apart, and memified via #edgy humour - they are the lifeblood of the film industry. And pumping through its veins is an eternal struggle to properly represent the LGBT community.

One of the ways that this occurs is that LGBT characters often feature as plot twists. They are there to shock us, to surprise us, to be the punchlines of the jokes.

Gay people are the shock twist when they turn down another character’s advances citing “they just don’t swing that way”. And trans people are the shock twist when they are revealed to be murders.

It’s a simple formula which ignores the fundamental complexity of humanity - and it’s this search for simplicity which stops the fight for equality in its tracks every time. We have to accept that people have experiences beyond our own, and these experiences are complicated and new and confusing and uncomfortable.

But they are real.

And they matter.

Only by addressing this complexity and listening to these real stories can we realise that it’s okay to be wrong and it’s okay to better ourselves via learning.

Okay, fine - so everything’s terrible.

Yes. And it gets worse.

Trans women in horror always follow the aesthetic presented by the concept of the monstrous-feminine, a concept erected by Barbara Creed:

Female monsters are abject beings that are a compilation of all the disgusting parts of being a woman.

You know, like periods and leg hair.

The films called out in this article follow this closely, but present this via extreme contrast between the male and female body. By confirming that they are abject and out-of-place beings, the trans women thus become the ready-made female horror monster - the alternative to the Final Girl.

They’re the Blair Witch, they’re the alien from Alien; but in some bittersweet way, they’re finally seen as the women they are.

However.

This portrayal isn’t exclusive to the horror genre. It’s not even restricted to the big screen.

Horror might have it wrong, but we can do our part to do things right. We need to learn, listen, and discuss how it really is to be trans.

Here are just 6 facts to start the conversation:

Trans women are not destined to be murderers. In fact, there is a day dedicated to those killed by transphobia - the Transgender Day of Remembrance (20th November).

A project dedicated to monitoring the murders of transgender people began in April 2009 due to the significance of transphobic-motivated violence (The Trans Murder Monitoring Project).

Last year was the second deadliest year for trans people on record (The Trans Murder Monitoring Project).

At least 48% of trans people fear using public toilets due to fear of discrimination and harassment (Huffington Post).

At least a third of trans students in higher education have received negative comments or experienced negative behaviour from staff in 2018 (Stonewall).

45% of trans people between the ages of 11 and 19 attempted to commit suicide in 2018 (Stonewall.)

In 2019, at least 26 transgender people were murder with some of the cases clearly inspired by anti-trans bias. Most of the victims were transgender women of colour. (This fact came from @macaronimarine​)

If you’ve got a fact or you’ve got an experience to share, I’d love it if you could add it. And if you haven’t completely given up on the horror genre, why not follow this blog and join me for a weekly article on horror films and the paranormal?

I also post a new real ghost story everyday!

Got a ghost story to share? DM me to feature on my archive of real ghost stories.

[mtvswatches]

Wynonna Earp 3x02 When you Call My Name

Click here for previous recaps!

Stray thoughts

1) Who is the fucker dragging Waverly away?! And the first thing that Wynonna says, even before she fully regains consciousness, is “Waverly.” I love these two sisters, I love that their relationship is the backbone of this show. Also, WTF.

How the fuck did she get there?

2) And I fucking love Wynonna Earp…

3) Is she… hallucinating her mother? I was wondering why, out of everyone else in her life, she would be fantasizing about her mother, but I didn’t have to wait long to find out. First of all, her ghost-mom reminds her of the survival rules she’d taught her when she was little. But most importantly, she reminds her that no matter how much pain she’s in right now, the pain of losing Waverly will be much worse. And that’s exactly what Wynonna needs to find in her the strength to survive.

4) Is the dude who kidnapped Waverly some time of supernatural weirdo or is he just your run-of-the-mill weird loner guy who lives in the woods and slowly goes batshit crazy? I’m still not sure…

5) Wynonna can’t leave Peacemaker there, can’t she? Why isn’t it like Thor’s hammer? Can’t she just like magically pull it back to her? Anyway, this badass motherfucker is going to climb the fucking rocks wearing a dress and heels. How is not the entire world in love with Wynonna Earp?

6) Oh, he’s not just a weirdo, he’s also a supernatural impersonator. He fucking stole Waverly’s voice and answered the phone pretending to be her. And now Waverly can’t scream for help, that’s just dandy.

7) “You ever seen me move when I’m pissed? I’m a frigging snow cheetah!” How is everything that comes out of her mouth so iconic?

8) So far, Ghost Mom seems to be doing a good job of helping Wynonna keep her head on your shoulders and not act impulsively, which could end up with both her and Waverly dead. She’s following her mom’s survival rules, and it seems to be working, and there’s this little moment when both of them push their hair behind their ears in perfect synchrony…

And I don’t know what I’m to make out of this? Does this mean that Ghost Mom is only a reflection of Wynonna herself? I mean, obviously, she is, it’s a figment of Wynonna’s imagination and it’s what Wynonna believes her mom would do and say in such a situation. But… are we meant to infer that there’s a stronger connection between the two of them than we were led to believe during the course of two seasons? Ghost Mom also called her a “Gibson girl” – her mom’s last name – and also mentioned how Wynonna got her snark from her. Wynonna even jokes that she got the crazy from her. It feels the writers are setting up this relationship as one of the arcs of this season. I guess it makes sense, after Wynonna became a mother herself. But I still don’t know what to make of Ghost Mom or Real Mom, for that matter.

9) Jeremy, Nicole, and Dolls have no idea what’s going on with Wynonna and Waverly, of course, and they’ve figured out that the demon responsible for the massacres is like a Flash demon that got to all their victims within seconds of one another. Also, the massacres may continue. Cool. Cool cool cool.

10) Jeremy is the biggest sweetheart in this show and he’s the biggest fan of literally everyone. I felt so bad for him when Dolls told him to get a life or something and stop bothering him, and did Jeremy get butthurt? No, he told Dolls he’s fighting for him, and my heart swelled a little. He’s the best. He was such a great addition to the gang. At least Dolls had the decency to indulge Jeremy with his pop culture references before leaving, and it was a nice way to say he was sorry and that he appreciates everything that Jeremy does.

11) OMFG, Wynonna was a Hanson fan, just like I was!

12) Not liking Ghost Mom right now…

WYNONNA: Why me, though? You never brought Willa or Waverly, it was always just you and me... GHOST MOM: Willa was Ward's right from the get-go, and Waverly... She was everyone else's, but you... Ooh, you... You came into this world wailing and kicking just like I was so I wanted to make sure you could survive by yourself. But you know what? Being an heir, it has made you soft. WYNONNA: What's that supposed to mean? GHOST MOM: It means... You're leaning on your team of outlaws and misfits. WYNONNA: They're my people and I trust them. GHOST MOM: Yeah, well where the hell are they? It's been hours. WYNONNA: I don't know. GHOST MOM: Yeah. The moment that you rely on someone... to protect you, be there for you... you're dead.

Is this Wynonna’s own fear, that her relying so much on her friends is making her soft and weak and vulnerable? Because I feel that her relationships with everyone else have made her stronger. I hate the idea that a hero can’t be vulnerable, you know? It’s like what Buffy says, “my emotions give me power.” If you don’t have bonds and love in your life, is there really a reason to fight at all?

13) “We are the same, Wynonna, and that is what scares you, how similar we are.” Alright, yeah, definitely Wynonna’s own fears manifesting themselves via Ghost Mom. I mean, obviously, she’d conjure up her mom at this moment! Waverly is in danger, and she fears she’s going to fail her just like their mom did…

14) Wow, Doc is having an existential crisis after being shot by Dolls and going to hell in the alternate reality. He’s afraid that being good and doing the right thing is pointless if he’ll end up in hell with all the other demons anyway. But… I mean, he went to hell in that other reality where he had embraced his dark side, you know? How does he know that he’s destined for the same here and now? I wouldn’t think so. And damn, Dolls has some truth bomb…

DOC: We are murderers, you and I. Destined for the dark. DOLLS: We're not the same. Because I don't need a threat of damnation to fight for the right side.

 (EDIT: how did I not realize this was foreshadowing Dolls’s death?! And these words will probably haunt Doc... this was basically their last conversation...)

15) Nicole found the truck!

16) Hannibal the Impersonator is using Waverly’s voice to lure other people into the cabin…

Is he a revenant, though? He seems to be, but what about his weird stealing-voices power? Do revenants get special powers? I mean, Bobo did, but I thought he was an exception…

17) Jeremy is also so emotionally healthy? Like, he immediately called Doc out on assuming the worst of people and basically told him to get over obsessing over losing his immortality. But… why didn’t he call Dolls like Doc told him to? Is he also assuming the worst…? Does he not trust Dolls?

18) Oh, my god, Waverly and Wynonna’s entire “charades” conversation was fucking priceless!

19) I laughed and I also awww-ed.

DOC: You trust Wynonna's instincts? NICOLE: I helped her kill the revenant she had sex with! DOC: Let me rephrase. Do you trust her instincts about Waverly?

20) Are Waverly and Wynonna really having the you-didn’t-tell-me-about-mom talk right now, in this life or death situation? Of course they are.

21) I DIED!

Wynonna doesn’t have Peacemaker, so how is she going to fight the revenant? It should be interesting to see her fight without her special power…

22) So Jeremy also assumed the worst about Dolls. Interesting.

23) Like Buffy said, when scary things are scared, that’s bad news. The revenant almost shit his pants when Waverly mentioned Bulshar. Wynonna used her wits and booby-trapped him, so good on her. But look who’s stalking…

Does he have nazis with him or something?

24) So… Waverly didn’t take it too well. And I get it, it feels like she’s been made a fool by everyone she's ever trusted. She doesn’t even know who her real parents are…

25) Nicole is going to climb down the rocks and get Peacemaker back like a boss.

26) Uh-oh… I guess Jeremy was right…

Why is he saying that Wynonna is going to need Waverly more than ever?

27) WTF!!!

Fucking ghost terminator nazis!

28) Nicole is literally hanging from a wire and trying to get Peacemaker back! And I think Dolls is going to wolf out and get rid of the fucking nazi but will probably lose his soul in the process? I didn’t think the chilliest part of the episode would be a fucking voice-stealing cannibal revenant…

29) Nicole is asking Wynonna to let go of the wire…  what the fuck is this episode doing to me?

30) Why did he smile before doing this…?

Was he saying goodbye? Was that why he said that Wynonna was going to need Waverly more than ever?

31) He’s dead, and Nicole is trying to resuscitate him, and Wynonna and Doc are losing their shit… I wasn’t expecting this in episode two…

She doesn’t want to leave his side. Damn.

32) Wow. This is heavier stuff than I’d expected at the beginning of the season, especially after the heartbreak of giving birth to Alice only to lose her in the season finale. I feel like this episode is a game-changer, obviously because of Dolls’ death, who is going to take up his role? I mean, Nicole had become sort of his disciple, but no one can really fill his shoes, can they? There’s also the heavy emphasis on Wynonna’s relationship with her mother, which I think will definitely be one of this season’s arcs. And there’s the dooming presence of Bulshar, who still needs to introduce himself in a more memorable way.

I don’t know what to make of Dolls’ death, though. Personally, I wasn’t so attached to his character as to feel devastated, though I was truly shocked and if Wynonna cries, then I cry. There’s also this nagging feeling that no one can be really dead in supernatural shows unless TPBT wish it so, you know? There’s always a small chance he might return, in different forms – either through flashbacks or because he might actually be brought back from the dead.

Anyway, I’m super excited to see where this season takes us!

33) Hope you enjoyed my recap, and, as usual, if you’ve got this far, thank you for reading! If you enjoy my recaps and my blog, please consider supporting it on ko-fi. Thanks!

[vergoftowels]

Epicure - Hannigram Fic

I wrote a fic.  Also posted to AO3.  Set post-S3.

According to the philosophy of Epicurus, fear of death is at the root of human neuroses and one should strive for a life that is peaceful because of the freedom from fear.

Hannibal is struggling to keep his thoughts together after the fall, taking care of his incapacitated lover while slowly succumbing to the ravages of his own wounds. The surrounding silence of winter is full of imaginings he would rather put to rest.

------------------------------

Silverware polish spots the tabletop, soaking into the wood in places where the dark varnish is peeling.  Hannibal draws a fingernail along the wood grain and it comes up tacky.  He rubs the residue away between his fingertips, face impassive but inwardly frowning.  Seventeen spoons, lined up like fallen soldiers along the edge of the table, reflect back his profile in the dim light.  The polish hasn’t quite managed to take off all the patina, and each pitted and discolored silver round seems to say, “beggars can’t be choosers.”  Hannibal scrubs the last spoon with an oil-dirtied handkerchief.

It is close to 4 PM.  The windows in the cramped kitchen are smudged with age and rimed with frost.  The falling snow outside dims the setting winter sun into a pale silver coin, giving the old house a ghostly submarine glow.  In the downstairs hallway, the grandfather clock tick-tocks slightly out of time, sounding strangely muffled.  Hannibal pushes his thumb into the curve of the spoon.  His hands smell like polish now; the whole kitchen does.  The rest of him smells like sweat and blood and antiseptic, masking the unpleasantly sweet stink of infection.  He closes his eyes.  The spoons are part of one reality.  When he opens his eyes, he is part of another.

Florence.  Standing on the Ponte Vecchio, listening to the vendors hawk their art and jewelry, imagining the smell of the butcher shops that originally lined the bridge, stewing in the perfume and body odor of the tourists.  Closed in on either side by the storefronts, cold in a winter breeze, face lit warmly by reflected firelight from wrought-iron lanterns.  Looking out over the water at the graceful arches of the Ponte Santa Trinita.  Remembering a rough little dog waiting for handouts at his feet.  Remembering a craving for Chianina beef and human liver and fresh olive oil.  Imagining the feeling of slim and strong hands on his waist.  Imagining the taste in his throat of aftershave with a ship on the bottle.

Will cries out from the bedroom.  Hannibal rises from the table, folding the handkerchief.  Eighteen spoons on the table’s edge like uniformed corpses.  He hears Taps ringing in some other life as he walks away from them.

(cont.)

“Tutto bene,” Hannibal says in the bedroom, smoothing his hand along Will’s fevered brow, pushing his wet bangs away from his pale and beautiful face.  Saintlike in the firelight, Will rests with his head back, throat bared, eyelids flickering with nightmares.  So exquisite.  St. Francis of Assisi in ecstasy, or St. Sebastian.  He bears the wounds on his body grandly; they are red in the yellow light.  The hollows of his bones and his ruined cheek are heavily shadowed, Carravaggian, painted delicately with a thick brush.  Hannibal runs a hand over Will’s cheek, his jaw, that throat.  He closes his fingers around the pulse point and leans in close.  When he can’t find his English, he murmurs in Italian. Precious.  Mine.  Sometimes, you brought this on yourself.  But Hannibal can’t summon any anger.  He bathes his Will with cold water and meditates on the nature of love and how it’s taken almost everything from him.

Some days are better than others.

There’s no television in this house, but Hannibal has a radio.  He carries it around with him when he’s working.  He listens to NPR and staticky strains of opera as he changes the oil in the truck.  It has been many years since the last time he had to do this, but he hasn’t forgotten how.  He forgets very little, even the things that are better forgotten.  He sings along to E lucevan le stelle under his breath, perfectly pitched but voice cracking with disuse.  He was never a singer.  That doesn’t matter to his audience of air and snow.  He taps his fingers along the truck’s hood, pressing phantom harpsichord keys, until it’s too cold to stay outside.

Hannibal chops firewood with an axe half-dulled by weather, but the blows are rhythmic and soothing.  Not so long ago, he used an axe to fell a glorious red dragon.  What he’s doing now bears little resemblance to how he imagined the life of a knight triumphant, but he minds the spoons: beggars simply cannot be choosers.  He’s been through worse; he lived for three years in his mind, waiting for his foolish heart.  He bends to pick up the split logs and falls to a knee.  The pain is startling still, sometimes, and the twist of the gunshot wound in his stomach knocks the breath out of him.  He doesn’t make a sound.  He has been through much worse.

Mischa watches him from behind the wood pile with her big, dark eyes.  Her little hands rest like snowflakes wherever they fall.  The wide, open fields around Hannibal seem to close in on all sides, dizzyingly, like the rooms in Mischa’s dollhouse.  She smiles at him.  After a long moment, soaked with snow, he struggles to his feet and goes inside.  She isn’t real.

Will talks in his sleep frequently, making querulous pleas for succor or calling names that don’t mean anything to Hannibal.  He doesn’t share the bed anymore.  It’s hardly wide enough for one of them to begin with, and Hannibal doesn’t need another elbow to the stomach.  He almost killed Will for that – knife to that beautiful throat, shaking and sweating in a haze of pain and sleep.  What a waste that would have been.  He still feels sick remembering it now.

He stays in the chair at Will’s bedside and dozes.  He delegates himself to watching over.  Will requires a lot of attention.  They’re running out of medicine.  Hannibal starts breaking the painkillers in half, then he stops taking them himself altogether.  It’s better when Will sleeps through the night.

Hannibal doesn’t sleep much.  He walks the streets of Florence, visiting the Duomo in his mind, visiting the Pazzi family chapel, researching Dante and Sforza and Graham.  Other memories intrude.  He lets the fever find him in his weaker moments when his hands tremble from wiping pus away from his sutures.  A curious physical reaction for a surgeon; so his brain narrates to him as he looks through his cowardly fingers at the angry red lines.  They flicker in his vision like the dying fire in the grate.  He doesn’t ever look too long or he sees faces inside the flames, some he recognizes.

It starts to snow and it doesn’t stop for days.  The wet flakes gather quickly in drifts and make the world silent.  Hannibal keeps the doorways clear with a yellow plastic shovel as best he can, but if he stops and sleeps for an hour, then the snow starts to get too heavy to lift without seeing stars.  He washes Will’s body and feeds him broken pills and drinks a truly terrible bottle of wine that was left by the previous occupants of the house.  He swirls the liquid around and takes in the bouquet out of habit, but it doesn’t help.  Notes of vinegar, and they aren’t subtle.

A black dog comes on the third day of snow.  Hannibal sees it out of the corner of his eye from the attic window.  The shadowed lupine shape stands out against the fields like an inkblot devouring paper, an absence of light.  Blankets smelling of mothballs slip from Hannibal’s (coward) hands when he sees it.  Ice crowds his gullet.  “Perkūnas.”  It’s the name of an old, old god he remembers from childhood stories.  It’s the name of a black dog.  He goes downstairs to make sure that Will is still breathing.  He can’t tell if the howling he hears is coming from the dog, the wind, or himself.

Will stirs in his nightmares and gasps Hannibal’s name.  Hannibal kisses his forehead and holds his hand through the long night, fingers intertwined.

Oh, what would he say if his ever-rational father could see him now?

It doesn’t really matter now.  His father’s brains were eaten by wolves.  He dreams about them steaming in the snow on a night like tonight, jellylike and pink with blood, and the smell of burning metal and rubber, and the smell of gunpowder and death.  He is grateful, when he wakes, that the acrid taste of vomit banishes the imagined texture of grey matter on his tongue.  

Hannibal knows he’s seeing things.  He sees the wolves in the trees at twilight, disappearing between the pines, disguised by the heavy branches mounded with snow.  Ghosts in the long night.  He sees tracks at the doors, circling the house.  Each toeprint tipped by a claw mark.  And then there are the boot prints, too.  It varies from hour to hour whether he thinks they belong to the FBI or to the Hilfswillige.  The thought that either one has found them fills him with a desperate sense of purpose; he stands in front of Will’s bed with a knife in hand, watching the doorway for hours.  He knows no one is coming in.  Physician, heal thyself.  The shadows still feel like monsters even when he knows they cannot be.

He sees the black dog again.  Outside, it walks with Mischa, stalking her steps.  She moves with childish grace, plays like violins between the drifts.  The strings are dogged by French horns.  Petya i volk.  Notes spill from his mind into the waking world.  Hannibal wants to go to her, to lift her from the snow, to feel her tiny, star-shaped hands on his face.  Her hair is long and curling in her face.  Her smile is like the sun.  He reminds himself often that the pain in his arm is from his fall into the sea, not from reaching after her and having the barn door slammed closed on him.

She disappears when he rushes outside to her, stumbling without shoes.  Down to his knees again in the snow.  She isn’t real.  The sun is fading from the world.  Look inside the belly of the wolf and find it swallowed alive.

In the evening (some evening, what day is it) Hannibal runs hot water over his wound, looking into the ugly, puckering skin, shivering and sopping up the pus.  It’s very cold.  Has he brought in enough firewood?  Breathing is a labor and his mouth is dry, like he’s sucking on wool.  He reminds himself that he’s been through worse and lies back down on the floor.  (This is getting to be pretty bad.)

Maybe the dog is here for him?  

He never thinks about what comes after.  He thinks about his earliest memory and projects forward to what he imagines will be the moment of his death.  He didn’t imagine he would be dying of a septic gunshot wound, laid out on greying tile in a borrowed bathroom.  Something more glamorous would have suited him better.  An aneurysm at the height of a crescendo.  Being crushed to death under a crystal chandelier.  Or, indeed, falling from a cliff with his darkened and debauched lover in an unwitting murder-suicide.

But they lived.  They lived to decline.  Hannibal feels tears wetting his face.  He doesn’t want to go yet.  He finally has what he wants.  He closes his eyes.  Some time passes in darkness and the sound of surf, no, the sound of the river Arno washing against the Ponte Vecchio.  Prokofiev playing.  Salt smell of prosciutto, olive oil.  Someone is touching his cheek.

“Mischa?”

“Shh,” says Will.  “I’m here.”

---

Will is half-silhouetted against the bedroom window, hair long and falling into his face.  He’s very thin, swimming in a sweater pulled from one of the room’s dressers, but his eyes are clear.  His cheek isn’t healing very nicely, but at least it’s healing.  Hannibal tries to reach for Will, but his arm won’t move.  Broken by the barn door?  He’s struck by the thought that this is a dream, that all of this has been a dream he created in the white, geometric interior of his cell at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane - maybe he’s finally, actually gone insane?  Then Will is there, gently freeing his hand from the heavy bedclothes and taking it between his palms.

“Hey,” Will says, attempting a smile.  The scar pulls at his lips.  The warmth in his gaze is genuine.  “You’re back.”

“Dove sono andato?” Hannibal asks, or thinks he asks.  Where did I go?  Will tilts his head, and after a moment Hannibal realizes he didn’t understand.  His mind roves over letters and words, picking them up and putting them down like seashells collected from a stormy shore.  By the time he finds the right ones, he’s forgotten what he wanted to say.  It doesn’t matter; Will has leaned down to kiss him softly.  Their mouths meet for the first time, and a feeling rises in Hannibal’s chest, a warmth, a pressure that settles in his throat.  He takes Will’s wrist in a tight grip.  “Non lasciarmi,” he says, curses his fumbling tongue, but the meaning this time seems clear.  Will rests their foreheads together.

"I’m staying, Hannibal.”  Will squeezes his hand.  “This time we’ll be together.”

Some days are better than others.

Hannibal doesn’t enjoy taking over the role of “the bedridden.” He doesn’t enjoy the weakness in his limbs or the ache of his unused muscles.  He sleeps, struggles, sleeps again.  He sicks up ill-gotten antibiotics and oversalted chicken broth patronizingly spoon-fed to him by a frustratingly patient Will.  There are long afternoons when he can do nothing but listen to the fire or the radio, alone.  He chafes in the emptiness, resents his dependence.  The Florence in his mind is full of unintended associations now, and he hides from them elsewhere, poring over medical texts in the Eisenhower Library at Johns Hopkins or listening to the Goldberg Variations playing endlessly on loop at the Bach House in Eisenach.  He dreams of Mischa often, but he doesn’t see her anymore, and this is a kindness.

He sees the black dog again.  After days of recumbency, missing Will, he’s pulls himself up, finally, from the confines of the bedroom and is determined to sit in the kitchen.  At least it will be a change of scenery.  He can take in the silver sunlight and polish the spoons.  He can advise Will on how to make a proper bowl of soup, with silkie, red dates, and goji berries; it will fall on deaf ears, he’s sure, and anyway, all the food they have is in cans.  Still, he can’t abide the idea of eating like this forever.  Will will have to learn to cook.  Hannibal crosses the den, one hand on the wall for support, tracing the faded flower pattern of the dated wallpaper.  And there’s the dog, sitting in the kitchen doorway, forelimbs stretched out before it like Tutankhamun’s Anubis Shrine.

Hannibal must make some sound (of fear, potentially, though he prefers to think dismay) because Will comes down the stairs at speed, somewhat dusty and trailing an extension cord.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, “It’s okay.”  He touches Hannibal’s shoulder, then goes to the dog, half-crouching, to take it by the scruff.  “I found her outside.  Good girl.  This is Hannibal.  See?  She’s really friendly!”  He half-smiles up at Hannibal with a note of pleading in his voice.  “I thought we could keep her.”  His eyes look very blue today in the silver winter light.

Hannibal swears under his breath in Russian like the stable hands used to.  They have no room for a dog in this house.  There might be space enough, but the corners are crowded with fears and doubt, the threat of capture lurks under the windows, the future flees through every crack.  They can barely feed themselves from what they have.  And every time Hannibal looks at the dog, he sees death waiting for them.  He doesn’t say that part out loud – cannot.  It’s the spiraling clamor of his dying mind; it’s a thought that should be discarded.  He looks at the dog and he looks away.

Will makes a show of listening very seriously to his concerns – the ones that make sense, the ones Hannibal can give voice to – his blue eyes wide and attentive.  He doesn’t say anything.  As Hannibal starts to wind down, tone going ever so slightly bitter, Will rests his chin on the dog’s head.  All innocence, all charm.  He will never belong fully to Hannibal.

“Her name is Sadie.”

Will, Hannibal, and the dog stay in the house until Hannibal can stay up for the whole day, carry a backpack, bear the close touch of a jacket over his stomach. Until there are no more instances of lost words or confusing nights when Hannibal forgets where he is and tells Will to bar the door against looters and worse.  They don’t talk about that.  Instead, they talk about leaving.  It turns out that Will has found an old computer in the attic, stashed away under a worn pile of clothes, and he’s been fixing it up in the between hours.  With a little bit of elbow grease and the unintended generosity of unknown neighbors with an unsecured wireless signal, they have internet access.

It feels strange to broach the outside world again.  The submarine atmosphere of the old house pops like a bubble full of smoke and spills them into the resumption of time.

News sites are still talking about them, some more vociferously than others.  They were tracked to the cliffside by dogs and crime scene analysis, but vanished altogether thereafter.  Freddie Lounds has pitched a daring helicopter escape to Cuba.  They’ll be going north, then.  Jack appears suddenly on CNN in a three-minute feature segment and scares them both, like a specter bursting suddenly from a darkened closet.  Jack doesn’t think they’re dead, and they’re not, and they shouldn’t linger.

“Time to go,” Will says, after they’ve packed up the truck.  The back seat is full of all their scavenged wealth: the blankets and clothes and cans and the last of the medicines, all they can fit and find use for.  Sadie sits in the footwell, resting her chin on the center console and slowly wagging her tail.  Will gets into the driver’s seat.  “Where to?”

The sun is setting and the trees are casting wide nets of shadow over the fields in front of them.  The interior of the cabin smells like cracked leather, old smoke, and the ghost of a pine-shaped air freshener.  Will smells like soap and healthy sweat and mothballs.  Hannibal kisses his jaw.  All they have is now.  All they have is each other, a truck, and an ominous black dog.  

“Wherever you want to go, beloved.”

[marigoldvance]

(I'LL BE THERE Alternate Ending)

-

Fíli found himself with Kíli’s arms around his neck and Kíli’s body flush against his, Kíli’s breath tickling his bearded chin, and no idea how he got there.

If he squinted, Fíli could imagine Kíli was older; the kid had stubble and a sharp jaw and somewhat looked older than he was and, yes, Fíli would keep telling himself that because it was comforting, and he wasn’t a pedophile.

Kíli led them in an impromptu slow dance, Fíli following like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Until he remembered there was somewhere else he was obligated to be on threat of death. Regretfully, he forced Kíli still.

           “Hey! Hey - Guys! Can you … Can you just kiss? Please?” A loud, hoarse voice burst the tension, calling from somewhere by the treeline.

Kili squinted, peering over to see someone who resembled their friend but with frizzier, more unkempt hair and drooping posture.

           “Mare?” Kili yelled back before asking Fili, “What on earth is she doing here?”  

           “Yeah! Hey! So, if you two could just smash face and wrap this up? I’d be grateful!”

Fili knitted his brow, eyes shifting between Kili and Marigold. “You remember he’s fifteen in this, right?”

           “I really don’t care; I just need get this done. Got a … got a big day of cowering tomorrow.”

Fili and Kili thought for a second, realization hitting them simultaneously. “Mm, no one’s gonna be happy about that one.” Fili murmured, shaking his head.

           “She knows there’s a whole ending that needs writing, right?” Kili blinked, jerking his thumb to his right where lay the spill of blank pages that needed filling. “We’re not supposed to kiss in this one!”

           “Fuck it!” Marigold called back, “I don’t care anymore. Let’s go!”

          “You realize this exchange is taking more time than the ending you planned?!”

           “Mare,” Fili interjected, “It’s kind of wrong, I could be arrested!”

Marigold narrowed her eyes and folded her arms, “Fili, you can kiss the kid or Hannibal Lecter him, I have enough energy to do either so figure your shit out because I 👏 WANT 👏 TO 👏 GO 👏 TO 👏 BED 👏!!”

           “Ah. She’s tired. Okay!” Kili held up a hand in surrender, turning to face Fili for the final sentence.

Fili leaned down and planted a hesitant peck on Kili’s lips. When they looked up, Marigold was hunched forward, still standing but very much asleep, her snores drifting through the air.

           “Should we - ?”

           “Leave her. She’ll murder us in the next one if we wake her.”

Kili nodded and together they returned to Fili’s truck, letting their friend sleep off her exhaustion.