#personsuited

[17redeye]

Do you think Hannibal was in love with Alana and Bedelia? The same way he was in love with Will? Or how do you see Hannibal's relationship with Alana and Bedelia compared to his intense love for Will?

At the beginning, I think you could say that Hannibal held interest and fondness for them the same way he found Will to be interesting, but obviously his feelings for Will developed to be much deeper throughout the series.

A fun way of analyzing their relationships with Hannibal comes down to who sees Hannibal for what he is and who accepts Hannibal for who he is.

In season 1, Bedelia believes that she sees Hannibal and that even knowing that he has psychopathic tendencies, still likes him. By season 2, she begins to see just how dangerous he is and very cleverly removes herself while she still can. Throughout season 3, Bedelia sees him without his 'personsuit' and as clearly as ever, which in turn terrifies her. She is fundamentally unable to 'accept' Hannibal, even if she is still fascinated by him.

Alana, on the other hand, is blinded by Hannibal throughout their relationship, beginning as early as when he mentored her. He did this so well and thoroughly that it wasn't until the end of season 2 that Alana was even able to begin to question her view of him. I do think that Hannibal was very fond of Alana and reluctant to kill her, but once she saw Hannibal as he truly is, he knew he would have to because there was never a chance that she would accept him.

Will's journey to seeing and subsequently accepting Hannibal is really the whole show so I don't think I need to get into that.

TLDR: They're cool 'n' all, but he would still eat if rude.

also thanks for the ask! I've never gotten one about the show before! 🥰

[sonnevater]

poros and atlas having this battle about who gets the Personsuit and yeah eventually poros will understand that atlas is worthy of just having the Power without being Eaten but it's truly a case of

imagine being the avatar of a god and the god doesn't think you're good enough and you have to prove yourself

[welcomeoblivicn]

“Mm. Maybe I should have you over here more often,” Will purrs from his spot perched on Hannibal’s lap, their mouths so close their lips brush when they speak. 

They’re both stripped down to nothing but their underwear, necking in Will’s bed in his upstairs bedroom. He has to admit the change of scenery is welcome. Hannibal’s home, and of course his office, are gorgeous but also-- well. Hannibal’s whole aesthetic is creepy. Perfect for waxing poetic and Machiavellian scheming, but not particularly mood-setting.

He presses several open-mouthed kisses to Hannibal’s lips, easily falling into a rhythm with him, fingers carding through his hair. When he breaks away it’s to lean over to pull open the bedside’s table drawer. 

“But now that you say that,” settling into Hannibal’s lap again, he displays the object he’d retrieved. A strap-on without the strap, the bulb on one end designed to be slipped inside the wearer. It isn’t massive; not as large as Hannibal himself, but noticeably girthier than the cock Will’s fucked him with once before, “Thought, uh. Thought we could break this in.”

@personsuited​

[hauntuned-a]

📚, if you're still doing this!

Send 📚 and be recommended a book (or a few) that Shiloh thinks your muse will enjoy!

"I'd like to preface this by saying this is not a happy novel. It's a good one though, and even sort of -- cathartic? Not as bleak as The Road, for example, but still rather bleak. Anyway, I think you'd really enjoy The Unquiet, by Mikaela Everett. It sort of mirrors the cold war, and has a very... soviet era, red panic feel to it, despite essentially being science fiction. There are two earths, you see. And one of them is slowly starting to vanish. So a program is started, and the second earth trains children to replace their primary earth selves so they can take the planet for themselves before they're all destroyed. It follows one of these doppelgangers as she struggles with murdering an entire planet, and with keeping her secret."

[paraseek-archived]

continued from here with @personsuited​ !

          It’s the first time he’s ever asked someone about Hell and has gotten a response other than comparing it to a pit of fire and ramification. It’s kind of nice, to hear a different answer.     ❛❛  I suppose it would be complete loneliness for me. A vast expanse of solitary darkness.  ❜❜    Ash muses, fingers twiddling with a stray string from his sleeve,    &   it takes him a moment to look up and offer a tired smile. 

          ❛❛  I don’t mean to be so dreary, I’m sure you were asking for a broader statement rather than something so particular, I apologize.  ❜❜    Here he is, apologizing to his own therapist. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of the whole therapy thing, but he’s trying his best to adapt. Hannibal Lector makes it easier for him, sometimes it feels like he’s chatting with a longtime friend. However, he respects their boundaries as doctor and patient to the best of his ability. 

[accursedesign]

𝐃𝐑. 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑.

     ‘Therapy doesn’t work on me,’ he had insisted.      ‘Therapy doesn’t work on you because you won’t let it.’      ‘And because I know all the tricks.’      And yet . . . there he sat, in the psychiatrist’s waiting room. Like a ticking time bomb, Will counted the seconds until Hannibal would inevitably welcome him into the session. Hues the color of the murky waters which he frequented stared at his watch --- for a moment, he was sent back to the previous night where he spent a great deal of effort ridding the possession of crimson, ( of Louise Hobbs, Garret Jacob Hobbs, and Abigail . . . DNA all gathered and staining his hands no matter how many showers he took ).      He recalled each and every word Jack and Alana spoke to him, their looks of concern burning into his stomach and mind. ‘Wait, so a psych eval isn’t a formality?’ How naive he had been. Of course they were anxious. Even under normal circumstances all those whom he worked with were forever probing around him. Constantly poking and prodding, waiting for him to snap into the monster they all knew he could become . . . after all, why else could he empathize so easily with serial killers?      ‘I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. The finest china, used only for special guests.’      ‘How do you see me?’      ‘The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.’      He still didn’t understand what the other had meant by those words. They haunted him, in a way. Another thorn he found himself caught against when trying to find sleep ( always discovering nightmares instead ). And as his mind wandered back to the figure, as if on cue, the very man opened the door and greeted him. As he stood, an exhale escape him, one shakier than he would have liked it to be. 

[dirtylimerick]

darkly dreaming dexter starters || x || accepting

“ we’ve both spent our lives playing a part. moving through this world reciting lines and pretending we belong in a world made for human beings, and never really human ourselves. ” - @personsuited​

          “Poetic.” Sean smiled against the rim of his glass, sipping if only to give himself a moment to think. “But I don’t know if I agree with it, doctor.”

          “It’s normal for us artist types to feel like an Other, I think. We tend t’ see the world through a different lens,” he explains. “Whether that’s something more beautiful or more depressing, or somewhere in b’tween, sometimes it feels like our brains are wired differently. Most of us find it easier to speak through painting, or photography, sculpture... cuisine, even, than with words. That can be a lonely, alienating thing sometimes. But I don’t think it makes us any less human. In fact, I think it makes us the opposite.”

[fawndied-a]

I love that I have a verse that’s essentially just

Jack:  So what exactly is the history between you two?

Will:  [points to Abigail]

[blessedxsilence]

🍓

Ella, it feels like we've been mutuals for forever (first over on my other blog and then here) and there's a lot of good reasons for that. I always get excited when I see you on my dashboard and literally my only complaint is that we don't thread together enough. You're an awesome person and an amazing hannibal, and I could probably write paragraph upon paragraph about how awesome you are if I didn't have a fever rn.

[tethered-heartstrings]

the way hannibal deliberately smells the towel he uses after his shower post-mizumono slaughter is like he is trying to see if any remnants of will remain. to see if any of him couldn't be washed away, how much was left behind. to see how much of an imprint will had, the influence will claimed to possess while bleeding out on his kitchen floor. a power to not only get inside but to truly change hannibal. like a bittersweet "is he truly still here with me or did I manage scrub it all away" because as hurt as he was he wouldn't, couldn't, be without him. he gutted him in a way to spare his life so maybe part of him hoped part of will was still left behind, holding him, burying within his skin to never leave him ever again, stitched into the last, most vulnerable layer, the hidden self beneath his perfectly curated personsuit. a small prayer than when will reached back, he intended to stay

[astwisted]

@personsuited​ //

"why don’t you come along with me this time?” it slips off the tongue as an offering, but there’s a part of her that appears willing to find persistence if it’s turned down. eye contact is withheld at first, her arms slipping into the sleeves of the suede trench coat that had been hanging on the coat rack by the front door. it’s that time of the month for her to make a grocery run; perhaps go off sightseeing a bit if she feels the desire to. one can only remain in one place for so long before going mad. fingers worked meticulously to button herself up and only then did gray-blue orbs fall onto her faux husband, speaking once more, “it might do you well to get some fresh air from a place other than the balcony.”

[replicantdeviancy]

                  Sitting silently in the waiting area awash of greys & small niceties which brought out a pensive state of contemplation, Connor was left to his own thoughts. He imagined that was very much the intention of the design, as the multiple chairs lined against the wall gave off a sense of anticipation, expectancy for company that likely was not to come. It was funny how the curious mind picked up on little details as the body idled, eyes wandering over surfaces & items already viewed many times since his entrance into the space. Connor was an inquisitive thing by nature, always seeking answers to questions only partially formed, letting the narrative unfold before him as the complete picture became known to him. He chose not to make any preconceived notions in his head of the man he was to see today, a psychiatrist whom had been working in congruence with Jack Crawford’s associates for some time. He wanted to build a profile of him in his mind all his own, but one could not help as conjecture became speculation.

                  Keen hearing picked up the faint sound of voices beyond the door; two male, one higher & enthused in a somewhat manic kind of way, eager & timid all at once. Too bold. The other was deeper, mildly monotone & held the hints of an accent Connor could not place without hearing it properly. He hummed in thought & glimpsed at his smartwatch. Ten til six - his appointment would begin shortly. As usual he was early, as he had been raised to be prompt & held an appreciation for punctuality. It wouldn’t do to be unprepared & rush things. He considered himself & his own preparedness as he sat, his eyes leaving the door in favor of a painting across the way from his chosen middle seat. No one else would be joining him.

                  It had been some years since he had met with a psychiatrist on his own, the last being an evaluation for the Detroit Police. His second failure - it was almost laughable now, thinking about that time. How frazzled the psychiatrist - what had her name been, again? - had become when Director Stern had overridden her recommendations to the department. Crazy, but not so much so that he could not be put to some use. Baffling. Any rational society would have put himself & his brothers into care & monitored them close, but Amanda understood him. She understood his particular brand of crazy was useful.

                  A breathy little sound escaped his throat, exhaled through his nose as he smiled. Nearly laughter, not so bold. Where had that come from? Connor hadn’t thought about this kind of thing in some time, rarely interested in self care or self analysis over that of the monsters he hunted. He supposed being in a place like this brought that out in people; self assessment, the individual judging their own minds before the professional could have a look. Connor did wonder what this one might discover, if his assessments would mirror those of the people back at home.

                  Voices faded & footsteps wandered - two pairs, one heavier, one light - traveling in the opposite direction of the door at his right. The last session had ended. He checked his watch again. 6 o’clock; right on time. The detective released a shallow breath as a sigh & double checked to be sure his phone in his pocket had been silenced. Steps neared the door, a single set now. Quieter, fleet of foot. The door opened & a tall man greeted him. Middle aged, neatly manicured & well dressed, hair short & ash blonde. The detective stood & turned to face him, offering a passive yet sunny smile. This man’s demeanor was charming & welcoming, but his eyes---   ❝ Good evening. You must be Dr. Hannibal Lecter. ❞   ---there was no light inside of them.   ❝ Connor Arkeit. I’ve been working with Jack Crawford’s team. ❞   Connor moved forward to enter the room, to extend his own greeting. The warmth which rolled off of himself in waves was practiced, but genuine enough. Real enough to fool people into believing his sincerity was a constant.   ❝ It’s very nice to meet you. ❞   That darkly curious part of Connor mused upon whether or not the doctor could see him for what he was.

@personsuited​

[shadowsxetxlies]

--let it be a fairytale then.

[ @personsuited​ ]

If she had been told a month ago that she would be running around Europe with Hannibal Lecter, Bedelia Du Maurier might have laughed in their face. On top of this surprising turn of events, Bedelia had never expected herself to be standing in a hotel room and looking out at the Eiffel tower again. I will never return to France again. She had insisted over and over again, going as far to perfecting an American accent and holding on tight to it. The only reason she stood here now was because she knew they would be moving on to Florence soon enough. 

There was a sound behind her that pulled her from her thoughts. She exhaled slightly, stretching her arms across the railing. She took another moment to admire the view before turning around and stepping back through the glass sliding door. She had insisted that she couldn’t be around him anymore because he was dangerous. She put up a brilliant front to make everyone believe that she had feared him. That wasn’t entirely true. In many ways, she admired him. She was no innocent herself. She could begin to count on her fingers the people who’s deaths she had contributed to in some way. Beginning with her older brother, moving on toward those patients that had forced her into retirement. They weren’t so different despite her protests of morality. 

“Merci...” She whispered to the boy who placed the room service tray onto the table. He smiled toward her, bowed his head and turned to flee like a rat fleeing the Titanic. She wondered how often he got such niceties such as please and thank you. People could be so cruel. She reached for the cup of coffee in the center of the tray and slowly lowered herself into a chair. Her right leg came up over her left. She was quiet for a moment simply watching him as he worked with his breakfast, his coffee, the newspaper. She wondered what was turning through his head. Hannibal always had plans so what were his plans now. 

Finally the silence had stretched long enough. Her ears were beginning to ring with that eerie silence. “How do you feel?” 

[welcomeoblivicn]

last time, on hannibal continued from ( x )

He watches the ocean, quiet and thoughtful as Hannibal speaks. Will’s enjoyed their time in Cuba, but he’s felt somewhat restless lately. He isn’t certain he’ll ever feel comfortable staying in one place for too long. It feels like a good way to get caught.

Will shifts on the towel they’re reclined on until he’s flat on his back, the back of his head pillowed by Hannibal’s thigh. His hand finds one of Hannibal’s, their fingers twining together with practiced ease. Will pushes his sunglasses up past his forehead, focusing his eyes on the blur that is Hannibal’s face.

 “How do you feel about Buenos Aires?” It’s his first time bringing up the possibility of moving, but it’s been on his mind for a number of months. “We could get married there, you know.” A bribe to sweeten the pot, sure, but also a genuine desire. It’s probably about time Hannibal made an honest man out of him. “For real.”

@personsuited​

[hauntuned-a]

❝ the spilling of blood. a terrible crime. ❞

"Is it?" She'd knelt next to the stain, head canted to the side like a bird. Listening. There are whispers here, but not the whispers of the one who left the blood. Something like joy was lilting the voices of the dead who did linger. "Maybe it's callous, but sometimes you put something down. To let it roam free is to invite its teeth to bite you, should it find your doors unlocked."

[paraseek-archived]

‘ what did you dream of? ’

                                                           softness prompts  :   accepting !

          The investigator sighs as he sinks into his seat, eyes downcast as he rubs a hand over his face. It’s clear from the bags under his eyes  ——  the purple marring his pale skin  ——  that he hasn’t been sleeping.

          ❛❛  It was... More of a nightmare.  ❜❜     He admits in a soft voice, his brows knit as he stares at the floor. He hates talking about negative aspects of his life, but it’s kind of pointless to keep it to himself in the presence of his therapist. 

          ❛❛  I was back at university, surrounded by other students.  ❜❜    He begins, chewing on his lower lip as he ponders the events of the dream.     ❛❛  I was walking down the street when I heard my father’s voice. When I turned to face him, I realized all the students had dissappeared... I was completely alone.  ❜❜

          Blue eyes flicker upwards tentatively.      ❛❛  I’m sure it was a reflection of something, most likely my fear of being alone, right?  ❜❜