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v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e · 2 years

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I always had a hard time understanding why Jack shows any measure of trust in Will after him tells to his face that he wishes he had ran away with Hannibal (twice), but I think that at, long last, during this rewatch it dawned on me the reason why.

Because you see, Jack understands the appeal of this relationship for Hannibal. I think he's very insightful when he talks with Pazzi about it, about how Will is able to understand and accept Hannibal.

But I don't think that Jack believes that Will's desire to be with Hannibal is genuine. I think he believes that this is a byproduct of Will's empathy being off the charts, and that he is confusing Hannibal's desires with his own.

He tells him as much, during Tome-Wan:

And when he's talking with Pazzi, he also tells him that he "broke" Will's imagination.

And in Dolce, when Will tells him part of him will always wants to be with Hannibal, he just tells him to cut it out.

I think this is why during the Red Dragon arc Jack still looks for Will's help. While I think by that time neither one of them is interested in their friendship anymore and their relationship is purely professional (even a hostile professional relationship at times), I think Jack still believes he can trust Will and use Will's imagination with moderation, since Hannibal is behind bars now, and because Will has a family now - therefore a more stable, grounded life.

Maybe he thinks Will finally shook off Hannibal's influence enough to move on with his life, and when Hannibal tries to have Will's family killed I think he believes he can trust that Will will finally be willing to permanently remove Hannibal from his life by killing him.

It is, of course, a very risky gamble. A gamble he loses, and one he pays for, dearly.

As a member of the audience, it may look for us like Jack is being too trusting and too naive, but I think it's fair to remember that Will has kept a LOT from him. There's so much Jack doesn't know about his relationship with Hannibal.

Jack likely doesn't know that Will willingly (even gleefully) partook in cannibalism with Randall Tier's organs in order to fool Hannibal that he had killed Freddie Lounds. He never heard Will telling Hannibal how much he enjoyed killing Hobbs and Tier, never saw their conversations by the fire. He never saw the way Will speaks with Chiyoh and what he does to her and the prisioner, and he never saw the way he threatens Bedelia.

He never saw the look on Will's face when Hannibal snapped Mason Verger's neck.

He doesn't know that Will was worried if Hannibal could ever be happy while in prison. He didn't see the torn expression in his face when Hannibal didn't give him a fully positive answer.

Most of all, he doesn't know that, after the events of Mizumono, when Will fantasizes about a better world, he thinks about a world where he had chosen Hannibal sooner and had chose to go along and murder Jack with him.

Jack's perception of Will and Hannibal's relationship is distorted by how little he knows about how things really are beetween these two.

And I think Jack doesn't want to believe in Will has such a darker side on his own, because Jack is not the kind of guy who likes to be this wrong. During Will's trial, he struggles with the idea of having been that wrong about him, that his instincts where so wrong. And since the first season Jack has a habit of choosing to believe in the version of events that will better suit him, not matter how likely or unlikely they are.

The idea that after how much he stood by him, that how much he bled and suffered by plotting with Will at the end of season two, that Will has the capacity for so much violence and darkness is something he doesn't want to accept. Easier to see Will as someone who was broken and damaged, maybe beyond repair during the epic struggles Jack has with Hannibal in the course of the seasons than to believe this.

Alana tried to warn him as early as the end of season two that he didn't know any of those men, and if he forced the issue, he was bound to lose.

I think that, during a potential season four, Jack would only realize the colossal weight of his mistake in trusting Will to handle the plan with Hannibal's "fake" escape only when they had proof that Hannibal was still alive and Will had joined then, or when Bedelia showed up sans one leg.

But still, even with the ending that we got in the third season, Jack's decision to close his eyes to Will's darkness and genuine feelings for Hannibal ends up making Jack lose very, very badly.

#Hannibal #hannibal meta #Jack Crawford #jack crawford meta #Will Graham #Hannibal Lecter #Hannigram #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #long post #my meta #hannibal: mine

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ravencromwell · 19 days

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For the character ask game, Athos Dane: 7, 10, and 20.

7. A quote of them you remember: "No one suffers as beautifully as you." And before everyone starts laughing at my terrible cliche—it is terribly cliched, I would pair it with "My plaything is dead". The no one suffers as beautifully as you comes just after Athos's interlude with Beloc where Beloc tried, and did real damn good for a teenager, to be defiant, but eventually answered Athos's questions about his name etc. without yet having the Soul Seal on. Contrast this to Athos's "Sing for me, Holland" in ACOL, which Holland refuses to do.

Yes, Beloc is undoubtedly fun, but fundamentally, he knows how this game is going to go. The fact that Holland still has defiance, after seven years, seems to just fucking enthrall Athos. He makes Holland fill the blood goblets partially just to fuck with Kell, but also for that flicker of rage and humiliation Kell notices as being so out of character. Fundamentally, he doesn't know when Holland will give him the last scrap of power, and that's what keeps him coming back.

But any love or fascination or what have you is utterly gone once Holland is no longer a spectacle: my plaything, he says, in his own pov while talking to his sister. He feels "annoyance at his servant's incompetence" The one time he mentions Holland by name, it's to tell Kell how he and Holland are fundamentally flawed when compared to Athos.

Everything this man did for seven fucking years around Holland was either about furthering his goals or getting some kind of reaction, be it in his choice of conversation topics or experiment subjects.

Holland has a line that is so fucking sad to me in that context in ACOL where he says he never screamed if he could help it, out of the quixotic hope if Athos didn't get a reaction, he'd just kill him already. There's something so fucking tragic I don't have words for the fact that Holland's refusal to stop being a person, at least in small ways, and even the ways he tried to provoke Athos, were so much of what made him interesting enough to never let fade into the background as a particularly useful pair of hands. Because as we see with essentially sending Beloc out as canon fodder, and again with the dismissive "my plaything" comment after Holland's dead, once there's no longer potential for interesting power dynamics, he's bored moving on.

10. Describe the character in one sentence.: "Intelligence has never tempered my desire. It merely ensures I take what I wish without consequence."—Athos Dane, to his hypothetical biographer, poor bastard.

20. A weird headcanon:

He may have learned to read on the coast primarily to sniff out magic, but when he arrives at the castle, he finds he quite enjoys books outside of magic. Vortalis was a military histories fan, which Athos "journey of the battle" absolutely fucking devours for the play by play.

Astrid likes the White London version of Caesar: careful, methodical, only moving when the field was to his advantage.

Athos, though, it's the underdogs. The White London Hannibal bringing his elephants in what everyone called folly; the Lord Caradoc/Caratacus resisting a much larger force. Just _immensely his jam.

And once he got started, he wanted more of anything Holland thought might rouse his interest. I don't think the Danes had any _reason to go to Grey London, but I suspect that by God, if the Mareshes Antari could go, they sent Holland there on the semiregular (I will play with the toys, too!) One of the things Grey had neither Red nor White did was a thriving fiction culture. And if you're one Holland Vosijk, who wants to be able to bring back some escapism for yourself, you'd better be prepared to bring back gifts.

Which leads me to: Athos Dane, sometime Shakespeare fan and more often critic.

1. Huge, huge fucking fan of Iago. Iago knows how to properly manipulate some people. (Except of course, as is the problem with so many people, he got squeamish in the end. If he had killed the messengers from Venice when they found him in the alley, he would never have needed to kill his wife and certainly never have been tortured and executed. But Iago pre–Othello Act Five: _spectacular.

2. Huge Richard III fan—likes all the histories, honestly. But that "winter of our discontent" monologue: gets him _every time. Richard, now there's a man who knows how to embrace being hated. (Though that he cares at all about fool's opinion of him just demonstrates he lacked an Astrid. Without that one person for unconditional affection and non-judgment, he could only embrace it so far.

3. Hamlet completely cracks him up in an awful way. Or rather, the ways in which Holland and Hamlet's desire for revenge mirror one another. "You thought you were Hamlet, coming down that hall and did not understand we were not his foolish uncle!"

4. The rest of it: Romeo and Juliet, the comedies, most of the other tragedies, just _trash. Characters too weak to dominate the way they should or unrealistic ("blood never denies blood what they want" he says of the Capulets etc. smiling beatifically at Astrid.

5. Astrid has the copy of Titus Andronicus. Major Queen Tamora fangirl "We shall serve the Arnesians their royals in pie," Athos says, when Astrid sighs over missing their opportunity with Holland.

Athos is very theatrical, has a multitude of ideas for how to stage the Shakespeare sets with magic when they take Arnes, and is very keen to read other plays.

#am slowly using these as treats for myself as my semester barrels towards finals #my mantra all day yesterday was: “You get to talk Athos's fucked-up Shakespeare thoughts” if you just finish the final history paper #Florence Parpart. Jean Bartik. and Grace Hopper. for anyone interested. talking about how women have been crucial to the luxuries of our #century. all of which is to say: yes am absolutely still doing these and hope you enjoy this even half as much as I did writing it #Athos Dane #Shades of Magic

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m34gs · 2 months

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Your horror movie post inspired me. Please tell me your Top 5 Recommended "Please watch" horror movies.

Hi friend! Thank you so much for this ask, I love talking about horror movies!!

I want to preface this by saying just because I like or recommend a horror film doesn't mean everyone else will like it! Horror is highly subjective, so there may be films on my list that don't appeal to everyone and that's ok :)

Answer is under the cut. I listed them in no particular order, just how they came to my brain as I was answering :)

Warning for murder, cannibalism, general horror things, and possibly also spoilers...(I tried not to give away too many things but I really got excited to talk about the movies so I may have rambled a lot for some of them)

The Silence of the Lambs (1991) - I find this movie fun and interesting on so many levels. There's the character of Hannibal Lecter himself; a psychologist with a refined air to him which is pretty much the exact opposite of what people tend to expect of cannibals in horror films. It's the lovely contrast between his charisma and charm and the horrific act of eating another human. I love that, although Hannibal is a major part of the story, he is not the sole focus. There is another antagonist, Buffalo Bill, and I just find it fascinating that the protagonist of the story is using Hannibal to capture the serial killer. I love the female lead, Clarice Starling, I think she has so much depth and is just so interesting. I absolutely love Anthony Hopkins' performance as Hannibal; he did such a fantastic job and is such an icon. I love so many of his movies. I think he brings a unique charm to Hannibal that makes him seem intriguing and even desirable in the movie. I didn't find this movie so much scary, and I think of it more as a crime/murder mystery than just strictly horror, but it is categorized as horror and it definitely has its moments. 10/10, absolutely recommend people watch it if they enjoy horror and mystery. Also, the ending line of "I'm going to have an old friend for dinner" while mysteriously smiling at a person he hates who is unaware he is watching them? Top Tier Hannibal moment. I know you don't like puns, friend, but I just gotta throw in my appreciation for the cannibal puns and jokes. It's just so funny to me and I love it.

Saw (2004) - I mean, is anyone surprised this is on the list? I love the Saw movies. I rewatch them frequently with one of my best friends and I love reblogging things about them. However, I'd have to say I really really love the first one and if someone was going to ask me just to recommend one, I would recommend that one. Because 1. Saw actually has a plot that connects all the movies so if you don't watch the first one you won't get a lot in the other ones, 2. Saw (2004) is, in my mind, unique even among Saw movies. The majority of the film takes place in one room, the trap itself is pretty simplistic in design, the plot twist doesn't feel overly complicated, and 3. I think everyone needs to see Adam and Lawrence fall in love over the course of a few hours in the dirty murder bathroom. :D But if you want a more "deep" interpretation; I recommend Saw as a series because of the exploration of how far people are willing to go to save their own life even if they'd seemingly given up hope, as well as discussing the way in which John "Jigsaw" Kramer is hiding from himself by claiming he is "helping" people be "reborn", when in reality he is setting them up in traps to die and wants them to suffer and fail. (if anyone is wondering where I get that idea that he wants them to fail, see Saw X, where he imagines the Eye Trap and in his imagination it fails. This is an indication that he doesn't think so much about how he wants people to escape and succeed, but how he wants to see them suffer for causing suffering. He's less about redemption and more about an "eye for an eye". Executioner in denial).

The ABC's of Death 2 (2014) - so the reason I say the second one and not the first is because I haven't watched the first one yet. I just had more access to the sequel. Not that it matters: the whole thing about this movie is that 26 different directors across the world were each given one letter and were to make a horror film in which people die in a way related to a word that starts with their respective letter. There are several reasons I recommend this anthology of 26 short horror films. First, each short is very unique. I watched the entire thing, and there weren't repeating ideas or shorts where I went "this is exactly like the other one"; they were all very different from each other. You get a nice little variety, like a fruit platter but for horror. Second, I think it's incredibly difficult to achieve such unique scares in such short films. The stories are all amazing pieces of art. Third, building off the first point, since there's a variety, even if you don't like one story, they are all only a couple minutes long and with 26 unique stories there will likely be one that you enjoy. I think that can be helpful for people to figure out what they will enjoy or what areas of the genre they might want to explore more. And lastly, my favourite thing about this film is that the directors and film crews and actors are all across the world. You get to see horror through the lenses of different countries and cultures. What one culture finds scary is not always the same as what a different culture finds scary. I find it so fascinating to watch foreign films and see how they introduce terror to the screen and what sort of cultural aspects (local legends, myths, religions, parables, and even just the experiences of living in different landscapes) can influence what different people find terrifying. It can really shine a light in how different and unique people are. If you can see what scares someone, you can ask "why would that be what they're afraid of" and you may develop a better understanding of people and what they've lived through. (also I liked trying to guess the word each film was centred around because it was always revealed after each short)

Ring (1998) - I am going to come right out and say it (not that I haven't said it before, because I'm sure I have) but the original Japanese film is a hundred times better than the American remake(s). If a person is thinking of watching one of them but isn't sure which one, please watch the original. It's just so much better. The scares are subtle and more eerie, and it feels like the tension builds more naturally. That's my opinion, but I was asked for my recommendations so I'm sticking to it :) As for the general story, I really liked that again we have a female lead who is smart and resourceful. I love the dynamics between her and her ex-husband, who helps her with figuring out the mystery surrounding Sadako. I love how determined she is to solve it and save herself, her ex, and her son. I love how far she is willing to go to save her son. I always love exploring how much a mother is willing to do to save her child, and I find an interesting comparison between her relationship with her son and Sadako's relationship with her mother.

Scream (1996) - Gotta have a good ol' slasher on the list. Honestly, I really enjoyed this movie when I first watched it. I liked the mystery of who was behind the killings as well as the plot twist when the murderer was revealed. I remember having a lot of fun watching it with my best friend in high school. It wasn't the kind of scary that made me terrified to go to sleep at night, but it definitely had some good scares in it. I also love horror movies where characters do things like listing the "rules" of horror movies without realizing they're actually in one. Horror buffs within horror movies make my brain do the happy dance. Don't know why. It's just fun. Plus, we love to see a Final Girl kick ass. :D

So, there you have it, my top 5 recs for horror movies. While this may be subject to change as I watch more movies, I think these are all pretty good movies and I like to talk about them and recommend them to people. Hope you enjoyed!

#personal #horror movie recommendations #my opinion #personal list #asks #friends

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crossdressingdeath · 3 years

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Rewatching Hannibal is just *feels increasingly sorry for Will Graham*.

#hannibal #HE'S A GOOD BOY HE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS #what 'this' am i talking about? oh ALL of it #four episodes in and he's already visibly Not Great #and so far it seems like only beverly has noticed #and she doesn't really have the power to do anything about it #hannibal of course knows but also wants him to suffer so he's no help

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 17

Hannibal teaches y/n a useful skill.

@dovahdokren @lov3vivian @deadman-inc-bikeshop

Trigger warnings: use of firearms, discussion of firearms, violence

“So where are we off to next?” You asked, following Will around the office. “Are we questioning this Rachel woman, or are we going straight to the church?”

Will sighed. “Jack and I are going to the church. I’m calling Hannibal to come pick you up.”

“What?” You spat in utter disbelief. “What the hell happened to taking him down together?”

“You’ve already been more help than we could ask for.” Will explained. “This is the end of the line for you. We--”

He cleared his throat and looked down. “I can’t bear to see you get hurt.”

“That’s sweet and everything, but,” You folded your arms. “You really think someone is going to hurt me in broad daylight in a megachurch?”

“Well, somebody stabbed you in broad daylight in a restaurant, and that person just happened to come from this megachurch.” Will rationalized. “So, yes. I wouldn’t say it’s out of the question.”

“So that’s it, you’re just going to pass me off to Hannibal?” You threw up your arms. “Look, I had enough of this growing up with divorced parents.”

“Angel,” Will soothed, running a gentle hand down your arm. “Please. I’m begging you, think on this for just a minute and try to see why I don’t want you on this particular excursion?”

You thought on it for a minute. “Churches do kind of trigger me.”

“I saw how tense you got when that woman said she’d kicked her daughter out of the house for dating a girl. I understand, dealing with people who remind you of Chase is going to trigger you.” Will whispered. “Have you even taken any time to work on healing?”

“I could say the same to you.” You disputed. “You killed a woman and then came face-to-face with her mother. Why aren’t you trying to work through that?”

“That’s different.” He blurted out. “That’s my job.”

“Sure.” You snipped. “I have to take time to work through my PTSD, but you don’t. Got it.”

“If you go home with Hannibal now, I promise I will...” He hesitated to finish the sentence. “I’ll work on my issues too. Cross my heart.”

“Oh, I will absolutely hold you to that.” You pointed at him. “And I’m telling Hannibal you said that.”

Will immediately regretted making that promise and it was obvious from his expression. “Please don’t.”

“I am absolutely going to do that.” You said, in a way in which he couldn’t tell if you were kidding or not.

Hannibal opened the passenger’s door for you and greeted you with a kiss. He could tell you were feeling off after only a few seconds.

“Why so sad, my indulgence?” He asked, pulling out of the parking lot. “Don’t tell me you enjoy Will’s company more than mine?”

“What? No.” You shook your head. “No way.”

“You can tell me what’s on your mind, love.” He assured you.

You sighed and rested your head on the window. “Will doesn’t want me to help on the investigation anymore.”

“I don’t see why he should.” Hannibal agreed. “You’re tracking down the man who tried to kill you, and he’s tracking down the man who tried to kill his lover. Both of you are far too close to the situation and your mental health will suffer for it. But, in the end, it’s Will’s job.”

“I know.” You conceded.

“That, and,” Hannibal continued. “Will is a trained professional under the supervision of other trained professionals. He’s far less likely to get hurt.”

“I get it.” You groaned and rolled your eyes. “At the end of the day, he’s the action hero and I’m the damsel in distress.”

“Darling,” Hannibal scolded. “You know our situation isn’t so black-and-white. You know the investigation couldn’t have worked without you.”

“I know.” You pouted. “I just wanted the final blow, y’know? I think I deserve to finish the job.”

Hannibal went quiet for a moment. When you came to a stoplight, he turned his gaze to you. “You want to be more proactive in your safety.”

“Would be nice.” You shrugged.

“I wasn’t asking.” Hannibal corrected. “You do want to be more proactive. It’s why you have a firearms license in your wallet and a handgun in your car. It’s also why you were looking up hunting equipment last night while you were on the phone with Freddie Lounds.”

You swallowed. Every word in the English language escaped you. He was right. You never saw the appeal of guns until you lived alone. Even though a "gun owner" was technically what you were, you didn't want to associate yourself with the jingoistic, hyper-masculine culture affixed to the term. You were just a woman who kept a gun in her car and had all the proper licensing and registration for it. Nothing wrong with that. So why did it have you feeling so defensive?

You lowered your head. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Lying about Freddie Lounds.” You finished. “I don’t know why I felt the need to lie about that, in hindsight-”

“I understand.” Hannibal cut you off. “You were just doing what you felt needed to be done. Will would have done the same.”

He was right again.

“Ambitious of you to select a shotgun as your weapon of choice.” Hannibal observed. “At the risk of sounding like a chauvinist, I have to ask. Do you know how to use one?”

“No.” You admitted. “It was just a power fantasy, I guess. All I know is that you can blast a guy’s head off with one.”

Without a word, Hannibal took an abrupt turn.

“Isn’t your place that way?” You asked, pointing in the opposite direction.

“Do you have your license on you now?” He asked.

“Of course I do, why?”

“Because we’re going to make your power fantasy a reality.” He answered.

Soon enough, you pulled up to a large hunting store with a shooting range attached.

“Go in and pick out something you like.” Hannibal instructed, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll be waiting for you at the range and I can teach you how to use it.”

He offered you one of his shiny metal credit cards. When you didn’t immediately take it, he pushed it closer to you.

“I just got a thousand dollars from Freddie Lounds.” You pushed his hand away. “I can pay for it.”

“You deserve something much nicer than only a thousand dollars can buy you.” Hannibal’s voice hardened.

“So then I’ll buy something more than a thousand dollars and use your credit card to make up the difference.” You offered.

“No.” Hannibal said, sternly. “I will buy you a nice gun and plenty of ammo, and you will save your thousand dollars for when you open your own restaurant.”

“How did you-” You objected.

He cut you off. “Will isn’t very good at keeping secrets, dear. Take it.”

You laughed uncomfortably. “Hannibal, if you don’t put that credit card away I will bite your finger off.”

His thin lips curled into a cunning smile. He offered you his other hand. “Bite away, darling.”

You wordlessly snatched the card from his hand.

“Oh, pity.” Hannibal feigned disappointment. “Did I call your bluff?”

You tucked the card away in your pocket. You leaned in as if you were going to give him a kiss on the cheek, but playfully nipped at his earlobe.

"Remind me to give you a little special attention when the lesson is up." He whispered, his hand clutching your arm.

You made sure to walk away slowly, rolling your hips with every step.

You entered the store, feeling overwhelmed and significantly less confident than you did while shopping for guns online.

An employee approached you. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever sexist comment he was about to hurl at you. But somebody must have taught this particular associate that being a misogynist prick doesn't sell guns.

"Anything I can help you find, ma'am?"

Your mouth ran before your brain. "I'd like to buy a gun, please."

"Well, you've come to the right place." The employee smiled. "What kind of gun are you looking for?"

"A shotgun." You corrected.

"Well, we have plenty of makes and models to choose from." He clapped his hands together and led you to a wall lined with shotguns. "Any specifics in mind?"

"I guess I just want something simple enough to use." You scratched the back of your head. "My boyfriend is taking me skeet shooting this weekend so I don't have time to learn all the complicated mechanics."

"So skeet?" The man put his hands down on the counter and looked deep in thought. He turned around and pulled one off the shelf. "I'd recommend this CZ over-under. It's a good place to start."

He offered it to you. Your eyes widened and your first instinct was to refuse.

He looked at you with confusion. "How are you gonna shoot anything if you don't hold it?"

You shook off your nerves and took the gun in your hands. It was a little heavy, and tilted near the stock. You looked at it as if it were a beautiful but deadly venomous tropical snake.

"Over-under's are the working man's shotgun." The employee said. "Or, woman, as it were."

You held it up to your shoulder like you saw in movies and felt a strange rush of exhilaration pulsing through your body.

"It's nice, right?" He asked. "And you can get to the trigger okay?"

"I'll take it." You said. "And some bullets, please."

"Now we're cooking with gas." He answered, a big smile on his face. "Let's get you rung up."

The fact that he didn't even stop to notice that the name on your license didn't match the name on the credit card only emphasized your country's need for stricter gun control laws. Even if the lack of such laws benefitted you in that moment, the ease of the process killed you a little.

The total came up to just under a thousand dollars. You couldn't bring yourself to spend more than you planned to, even if it was Hannibal's treat. You already felt weird about using Hannibal's money, let alone so much of it.

The employee saw you out with a friendly "happy skeeting" and you set off to meet Hannibal at the range.

"There you are, love." He greeted you. He had removed his suit coat and tie, and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

For a split second, you completely forgot about the gun and were overtaken by the need to fuck him. You quickly regained control of yourself. "Yeah. I found something."

"I should hope so." He said, beckoning to you from the stall. "Come now. Let me show you what to do."

You stood in front of the booth, ears and eyes protected. At the end of the long booth was a paper target. Hannibal positioned himself behind you. He took your hand in his and guided it to the stock wrist.

"Wrap your fingers around here, like this." He instructed, his dark, accented voice shaking you to your core. "Now extend your finger to reach the trigger. Yes, that's it."

"Now place your other hand on the fore-end and hold the end of the stock against your shoulder."

The way he shaped your body, positioned your limbs felt almost alarmingly natural. He wasn't just indulging your power fantasy, he was directing it.

"Cheek against the stock, love." He instructed. "The gun is an extention of you. You must hold it firmly and give it support. You move with it, it moves with you."

He rummaged through the shopping bag and pulled out a package of shells. "Are you ready to shoot it, darling?"

"I think I should probably load it first." You said, nervously.

"Well that should take us no time at all." Hannibal approached with two 12 gauge shotshells. "Go ahead and engage the break lever right at the edge of the barrel."

When the gun suddenly bent in half, your first thought was that you'd broken it. Hannibal handed you the two shells and watched you timidly slide one into each barrel.

You felt yourself shaking and your palms were damp with sweat. You swallowed. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Were you afraid the first time you drove a car?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

"Cripplingly." You nodded. "I was so scared I didn't take my foot off the brake the whole time."

"But now driving comes just as naturally to you as walking." Hannibal smiled comfortingly. He placed his hands over yours and returned you to the shooting position. On one side, the cold stock rested against your cheekbone. On the other, Hannibal's hot breath grazed against your skin. "It just takes some getting used to."

Your finger squeezed the trigger and the massive projectile exploded from the gun. The stock pushed back into your shoulder, making you stumble backwards into Hannibal.

"Holy shit!" You exclaimed. "That's got some serious recoil. Is it supposed to do that?"

Hannibal chuckled and took a step back, giving you a little space. "Yes, darling. Now go ahead and fire off the next shot."

Your eyes widened. "Okay."

"Remember, you move with the gun, you don't fight the gun." He instructed. "It's more afraid of you than you are of it."

You squeezed the trigger again, this time fully expecting the recoil. The shot fired, and this time it hit the target.

You hopped in delight. "Holy shit I actually got one!"

"All it takes is a little getting used to." Hannibal stroked your hair. "Now unload the shotgun shells and let's go again."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #the sommelier #hannibal x you x will #hannigram x reader #will graham #hannigram x you #will graham x you #will graham x reader #tw guns #tw violence

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traitorousheroes · 3 years

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and she greeted the End as an old friend

(Hannibal/The Magnus Archives Crossover. I've had this sitting in my drafts for over a year, and its technically finished, although originally it was going to be part of a series.)

Case #0170723

Statement of Abigail Hobbs, regarding her fathers and her subsequent deaths at their hands. Statement given directly by subject on July 23rd, 2017 to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins...

The London streets were cold in the early morning, very different from the warmth of Italy. In a way they reminded her of Lithuania, of the dungeons beneath the old Lecter estate. The moth that Will had left was still beautiful, even as the skin sloughed off and spiders spun their webs in the empty eye sockets. There had been echoes of death that clung to the very stones of that place, but nothing that was unique, except for the fact of who it had affected. Those that it was continuing to affect.

Abigail pulled at the braid that covered her missing ear as she walked up to the Magnus Institute. Pressing her hand against the door, the feeling of being Known overcame her. The Eye focused on her as she stepped through and into the foyer, and she could feel that it wanted what she had come here to give. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Unlike her own patron, the Eye was unused to waiting.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the main desk.

The woman who sat behind it looked up at her in surprise. Her name tag read Rosie, which seemed to fit the woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was hoping to make an appointment to speak with Elias Bouchard?”

“I’m not sure that Mr. Bouchard has any openings in his schedule for the next week,” Rosie said, flipping through a planner. “If you’d like, there looks to be an appointment open in a fortnight-”

The phone on her desk rang. Rosie gave her a small smile and held up a finger as she picked up the receiver. Abigail could hear the sound of a male voice on the other end, though what he was saying was indistinct. Rosie looked back up at her, confusion on her face as she listened to whatever the man on the line was saying.

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard,” she said. “I’ll let her know.” Rosie put the phone receiver to her shoulder and turned her smile back to Abigail. “Mr. Bouchard says that he has an appointment open at around noon. In return, he asks if you would be willing to give a statement to the Archives.”

“Of course.”

Rosie relayed her acceptance to him, giving a perfunctory goodbye and hanging up the phone. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you down to the Archives.”

Abigail nodded. Rosie turned and walked further into the building, her heels clicking against the stone floor; Abigail’s own shoes, a pair of comfortable flats, made no sound in comparison. They walked past a set of large wooden doors, above which sat a plaque that read Artifact Storage, before coming to a set of stairs that led down. At the basement landing there was only one door, which sat innocuously against the left hand wall. The plaque above it was similar to the one upstairs, but read Archives instead. It also appeared to be damaged with what appeared to be some sort of fire suppressant caked on the upper right hand corner.

Rosie opened the door, revealing a surprisingly large room with two chairs on the wall next to the door. Four desks sat in the middle of the room, each one stacked with paper and knick knacks. On the far left hand side of the room there were offices, one of which had a plaque next to it stating Archivist. A piece of paper was taped over the name holder below it, with the name Jonathon Sims printed on it. There were another two offices beside it, though neither of them had any designations. The door to the furthest one was cracked open slightly, letting her see what appeared to be a cot wedged against the wall. A small kitchenette sat against the back wall, the sink filled with what looked like used mugs.

“You can wait here if you’d like,” Rosie said, gesturing to a chair. “Would you like a coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” Abigail replied, taking the seat. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you need anything before they arrive, I’ll be at the front desk.”

Abigail nodded, letting her smile drop as the woman left. She let out a deep breath, all the air leaving her body in a deathly rattle. The air in the room was silent as the grave, not even the spider spinning its web in the corner making a sound to disturb it. She could feel the cold as it overtook her limbs like an old friend embracing her, her sight disappearing behind clouds of milky white. The echoes of death that lingered in the Archives were tantalizing in their amount. There was the faint tang of Corruption to them, a hive mind bound to flesh screaming out in unison as their lives were snuffed out.

“I think she’s dead.”

“Christ, not again.”

Abigail drew herself back from the deaths of the Flesh Hive, a curl of satisfaction settling itself in her chest. A faint whirring caught her ear as she acclimated back to her body, the sound like the VCR from her childhood. She blinked, clearing away the clouds that had settled over her corneas. One of the men who had been talking yelped, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the floor as he stumbled away. Abigail rolled her neck and stretched her fingers, chasing the torpor away.

As she focused on the two men in front of her she smiled. The one who yelped was braced against a desk, his eyes locked on her. The other had drawn a knife, the edge pointed at her chest. It was obvious that he had never used one before, not only for the slight tremor that transferred from his hand to the blade. Abigail took a deep breath, feeling her lungs reinflate with a wheeze.

“If you wanted to kill someone, you need to point the blade a bit lower,” she told the one with the knife. She raised her hand slowly and wrapped it around his own. He flinched at her touch, but didn’t resist as she pulled him closer and set the knife right below her sternum. “Press in and pull down to disembowel them. If you want them to suffer,” she said, dragging his knife down lower to her abdomen, “you can cut across and perforate their intestines and let them bleed out.”

“Let go,” he said, trying in vain to pull his hand from her grip.

Abigail didn’t, pulling it up so that the edge of the knife rested against the scarf that wrapped around her neck. “Of course, you can also cut the throat. It’s a bit harder than they make it look in the movies, but your victim is aware the entire time they choke on their own blood. Though the blood loss makes the pain feel almost non-existent. It’s almost peaceful.”

“Please,” the larger, terrified man said, “let him go.”

“Of course,” Abigail agreed, releasing the hand that held the knife. The man stepped away, the knife clattering to the floor between them. He rubbed at the skin she had touched, as if doing so would erase the feeling of it.

“Are you okay Tim?”

“Fine,” Tim spat. “Just dandy in fact. There’s only something else that wants to kill us here, Martin. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Abigail said.

They both looked at her sceptically. She sighed, bending over and picking up the knife from the floor. Both men flinched as she did so, but neither made any movement to get closer to her. It was a passable knife, though the edge was a bit dull when she tested it against the tip of her finger. Folding it back, she stood and held it out to Tim, whose gaze had turned wary. She waved it, and he reached out and took it like a snake striking at prey.

“What are you doing here then?” Martin asked. “How’d you even get in here?”

“Rosie let me in. I’m here to make a statement for the Archivist.”

“You’re here to make a statement,” Tim said, his tone disbelieving.

“I need to give it to the Archivist,” Abigail said. “It’s very important that I do it now.”

“Well, Jon isn’t here right now,” Martin told her. “We could set you up with some pen and paper if you’d like-”

Whatever he was offering was cut off as a man stormed into the Archives, almost running into Tim. He looked between the three of them, his eyes cataloging the two men before looking at her. Abigail felt a tingle of power spread over her skin as the Archivist focused on her with the full weight of the Eye.

“What are you?” the Archivist asked, a thread of power snapping out at her.

“Someone who came to give a statement,” she said, neatly sidestepping what he intended her to answer with another truth.

The Archivist grimaced, accepting what she said while still knowing that what she said wasn’t what he wanted. His shoulders slumped as he let go of what little power he had mustered against her. He rubbed at his eyes with a scarred hand before letting out an annoyed breath. He stalked over to the office marked as his, leaving the door open behind him. Abigail looked at the other two, who seemed unsure of what they should do. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her remaining ear, she went to the Archivist’s door.

“May I come in?”

“If you want to give a statement, yes,” he said shortly. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sure you can find the way out.”

“I’m sure,” Abigail said, passing through the threshold and shutting the door behind her. There was a click-whirr as the tape recorder on the Archivist’s desk turned on. She raised an eyebrow which he returned drolly. “I hope you don’t mind me ambushing you here, Archivist.”

“As long as you aren’t here to kill me, I’m sure we will get along fine. And it’s Jon, please. And you are?”

“Abigail Hobbs. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.”

“At least one of us is happy about this. You said you’re here to give a statement?”

“Yes.”

“What about?” Jon asked. For all that his tone implied disinterest, there was a hunger behind his eyes.

“My deaths,” she said simply. “Should I just start, or...”

Jon nodded, his posture straightening as he looked her directly in the eyes. Abigail met them directly, letting the Eye in. She took a deep breath, letting the memories flow out.

“I knew from a young age that my dad was different. He wasn’t too different, not in any way that would make anyone suspicious. He worked a blue collar job, but a lot of people in my town did. It paid well enough, and we were happy. Or, at least, I was.

“My dad never really let me out of his sight. I just thought he was overprotective, especially when I hit my teenage years. It wasn’t until I caught him sitting outside my junior prom that I thought it was weird. He played it off, saying that he was worried about someone spiking the punch. Which, I mean, someone did, but that’s part of the high school experience. But it was soon after that when he got super weird.

“I wasn’t a fan of hunting, but my dad was really into it. He always bagged his allotment during deer season, which meant that we had enough venison for the winter. I think throughout my childhood I ate more deer meat than hamburgers. But that year he took me with him during deer season. He said it was important that I learned how to hunt. He had this weird look in his eye when he said it. Like he was sizing me up like one of his bucks. So I went with him and bagged one. I didn't like it, and I don’t think he liked the idea that I didn’t like it. I thought it was just the fact that he wanted to share it with me.

“After that, he never took me back to his hunting cabin. I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it, because it honestly creeped me out. Mom had put her foot down on the amount of antlers and hunting trophies in the house, but the cabin was absolutely stuffed with them. The upstairs was full of antlers and hooves. I thought he would have sold some of them to collectors or hobbyists, but I don’t think he ever did. I don’t think he thought that would be honoring them.

“That was a big thing with him. He used every part of a deer. You would think there would be some kind of waste, but he was very careful to limit that. It's probably what stopped him from being caught for as long as it did.

“I guess you don’t really pay attention to a lot of American news over here. Which is fair, since I never really paid attention to what happened over here. Plus, there are a lot of serial killers in the States. And I’ve met more than most people. Including my father.

“Like I said, my father was really overprotective. The therapists I talked to, afterwards, said that it wasn’t my fault what happened. That he was just sick in the head and that it manifested in him hunting girls who looked like me and eating them. And they were mostly right. Only they didn’t know that he used me to pick them out. He was a good hunter, you see. And a good hunter knows how to stalk his prey, how to use bait to get them where he wants them. I was his bait. And I knew it.

“I wasn’t scared of him. I don’t think any of the therapists understood that. Even after everything, I never was afraid of him. It wasn’t even fear of what he did when he was hunting. Because the only thing I wanted to do was survive. I wanted to live past whatever happened. If that meant helping him choose his prey, I would do it. In his own way, I think he thought I was close to him, close to the Hunt that drove him. He didn't realize that I was already marked for something else.

“From what I’ve learned about the Hunt, my father wasn’t fully under its influence. Certainly not enough to become something... more. I think that’s why one of the Web’s agents decided to press. I think he was curious to see what happened. He called our house, and when I picked up the phone he asked to speak to my dad.

“He told me afterwards what he said to my dad. That the F.B.I. was onto him, that they were coming for him. But my dad just hung up the phone and continued cooking breakfast. My mom didn’t notice anything different, which I guess is a small kindness. When we heard the car pull up outside he grabbed her and put the knife to her neck. He walked her to the front door, slit her throat, and tossed her onto the front porch. She bled out not knowing why it was happening.

“I should have run the moment I saw him grab my mom. But I couldn’t. I was so afraid, but it wasn’t because of him. Even when he came back, the knife in his hand wet with my mother’s blood, I wasn’t afraid of him. He whispered how sorry he was in my ear, that he loved me, and I still wasn’t afraid of him. It wasn’t until the man from the F.B.I. rushed into the kitchen and my dad slit my throat that I realized what I was afraid of.

“It was the same reason why I had picked out the girls for him to kill. I didn’t want to die. The man from the F.B.I. killed my dad, and still the only thing I could think of as I choked on my own blood was that I didn't want to die like this.

“I did though. For less than a minute on the operating table, my heart stopped. It was enough for the thing that had marked me to deepen it's hold, but not enough for it to claim me completely. That came later. Instead I was dragged into the Web’s games.

“His name was Hannibal Lecter, and he became my father. If it’s a manipulation of the Web for me to think so, I don’t really care. He did do that, of course. It’s in the nature of those who weave. But he cared for me, cocooned me in safety, for a given value of the word. Of course, I was simply a pawn in a game to get him what he really wanted.

“The F.B.I. agent who killed my dad was like me, marked. But the one who held claim on him had more of an influence. I think he would have happily gone through the rest of his life being a conduit and repository of fear if Hannibal hadn’t caught him in his machinations. The Web is always interested in what the Eye does, after all.

“Will didn’t know what Hannibal was. Anything of what he was, really. Remember how I said I’d met more serial killers than most? Hannibal was one as well, and fairly prolific. The Web’s influence helped, letting him make horrific displays that fed it and let him express himself. That same influence let him blind Will to the fact. Not that he needed to do much, other than let Will’s brain cook itself. I’m not sure when he decided to let him live, but I played a part in what came next.

“Hannibal took my ear with my permission. Or, at least, as much permission as the Web needs. We faked my death and framed Will for it. Then he left me to my own devices in a house by the sea. He told me that when the time was right, I would come back and meet him and Will. That we would leave and go somewhere far away to be a family.

“It was a lie, of course. A pretty lie, but a lie nonetheless. Or maybe it wasn’t. I’ll have to ask Hannibal when I see him again.

“It always comes down to choices. And Will chose to stand against Hannibal. He saw the manipulations, the cocoon that Hannibal had put him in, and chose not to become what he wanted. It made him angry. You probably think that monsters can’t get angry, but they were human once. And under everything, they still are. It just depends on how much they want to acknowledge it.

“I asked Hannibal how he would kill me once. He said he would slit my throat like my father had. And he did. He severed me from his web; the same hands that had saved my life, ending it. And I felt the same fear. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live.

“Will tried to save me, but Hannibal had gutted him. The last thing I saw was myself reflected in his eyes. And my life Ended.

“I don’t remember making my choice. Of giving myself over to the power that had claimed me. I know that I made the choice. And so I woke up in a body bag, my own blood caked across my face and clothes, breath rattling in lungs that did not need it.

“I’m still not sure how I got out of the morgue without someone screaming about a dead girl returning to life. There wasn’t ever any news coverage about someone stealing my body from the morgue. I do know that the grave that bears my name is empty; they held a closed casket funeral to hide the fact that they don’t know what happened to my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if they think Hannibal took it. I hope no one ever asks him about it. I want to surprise him.

“That’s part of the reason I came here. He’s up to his games again, from what I’ve seen, and he’s dragged Will back into it as well. So I wanted to leave them a message. I’ll be on the Silver Coast, waiting for them. For as long as it may be until we see each other again.”

Jon blinked, his eyes losing the manic need that had filled them during her statement. Abigail watched as he seemed to sink into himself, a pall of weariness weighing down his limbs. Despite it there was a brightness to his complexion, as if he had just spent the day lazing in the sun.

“Statement ends,” he said. The tape recorder clicked off, leaving their breathing as the only sound in the room.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re of the End, then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not what I would have expected,” Jon said.

Abigail shrugged. “We can’t all be grim reapers and shambling corpses. Do you need anything else for the statement?”

“No, I think you’ve given us enough details. Not that it would be easy to follow up on, considering.”

“Kind of hard to explain talking to a dead girl?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve talked with the dead. You seem more at peace than some of the others.”

“I’ve had time to get used to it.”

“Yes, I imagine so. Do you need help finding your way out?”

“I actually need to go speak with Mr. Bouchard. Could you direct me to his office?”

“Um, yes,” Jon said. He looked perturbed at her question, but she imagined he wanted her out of his domain as soon as possible. “Up the stairs, past Artifact Storage, then take the stairs to your left and it will be on the second landing. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ll leave you be, then.”

Abigail stood up from her chair and opened the door. Four sets of eyes looked up as she left the office, with Martin getting up from his desk as she walked past. She heard him say something to Jon as she exited the Archives. Unlike when she had entered, the doors to Artifact Storage were open, with what looked like a few people examining pieces on long tables. Following the instructions Jon had given her, she went up two flights of stairs. As she began to walk across to the door marked Head of the Magnus Institute, it opened.

“Ms. Hobbs,” Mr. Bouchard said. “Please, come in. I do believe we have matters to discuss.”

#hannibal #the magnus archives #abigail hobbs #jonathan sims #tma au #martin blackwood #tim stoker #mid-season 3 of tma #technically season 3 of hannibal #elias bouchard #thwrites #end!abigail hobbs #web!hannibal lecter #eye!will graham

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corpsentry · 3 years

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WHEN THE WAR IS OVER AND I AM LYING AMONGST ANGELS, WAITING FOR YOU TO FIND ME: a spoiler-filled addendum

because i buttfucked the timeline harder than nintendo and That’s Mildly Concerning ao3 link

q: what the fuck is this a: this fic is the answer to the question, ‘how can i reconcile the events of breath of the wild and age of calamity into a coherent narrative?’.

q: what the fuck happened a: age of calamity was a dream zelda had while partying in ganon’s apartment for a hundred years.

q: [you point a nerf gun at my head and smash my knees in with a hammer concurrently] what the Fuck happened a: link has a line near the end of chapter one which goes something like ‘my mother used to say dreams are the memories of people from another world’. this is the core concept of the story. while age of calamity is a dream to botw zelda, who saw it unfold over the course of a hundred year nap, it’s also real. in my incredibly fucked up version of things, it happened- just not in the same universe as botw. when botw zelda settled in to drink cheap beer with ganon for a hundred years, her consciousness drifted across time and space to the age of calamity timeline, where she proceeded to live out someone else’s life for a few months. are the other characters in aoc aware of this? link is. at the end of chapter two, when he pleads with zelda to ‘rebuild the old world with [him]’, he falls out of character. he betrays the real purpose of this timeline and his place in it, which is to salvage what botw could not.

q: what the fuck is up with the space-time continuum thing a: inspired by the multiverse theory (note that i know nothing about multiverse theory apart from the fact that there are multiple verses), i decided it would be fun if i added a third dimension to the botw/aoc pair. the inhabitants of this third universe are aware of the existence of multiple worlds. they are also aware of the prophecy of calamity ganon’s return, but for the purpose of this essay it does not matter if calamity ganon will rise in their world. the primary concern of zelda in this third dimension is whether she can engineer a universe where link does not die. as she says in chapter two, there are a thousand possible outcomes, but only two fulfill her requirement: the outcomes that constitute botw and aoc. we can assume she went to enormous lengths to uncover these universes, as described by impa, who says with some disbelief ‘you destroyed the space-time continuum for a boy?’. zelda destroys the space-time continuum. she moves through timeline after timeline, tweaking dialogue and moving the hour-hand ever backwards, and at the end of it all, for all her suffering, what does she actually achieve?

q: okay so what the fuck is up with the scene where link kisses zelda and is like i had a dream where i died and then nothing happens a: first of all, you’ll find this scene near the end of chapter two if you’d like to take a second look at it. as for who exactly this zelda and this link are, it’s unclear. maybe after botw zelda woke up, the original aoc zelda and aoc link lived happily after the war. maybe the zelda in the third dimension missed a positive outcome in her thousand-bullet-pointed list. maybe this, too, is a dream someone had, while lying in a field of flowers somewhere. your call.

q: rabbit???????? a: the story about the rabbit is a framing device. first introduced at the end of chapter one when link tells zelda a story on the bridge at night, it eventually comes to parallel botw zelda’s experiences, but in reverse. the rabbit is happy in her reality. she has a dream where everyone she loves is gone, becomes immersed in it, and is eventually saved by the voice of some-god-or-another. zelda is not particularly happy in her reality (botw). she has a dream where everyone she loves survives, becomes immersed in it, and is pulled out of the dream by some-god-or-another. the important thing to note here is the second rule the rabbit lays out in the story, which is that you, as the dreamer, can’t tell anyone that you’re dreaming. self-awareness is a sin in these lands, but the greater and far worse sin is to attempt to share that self-awareness with someone else. this is why link is so adamant that zelda not finish speaking at the end of chapter two, when ganon is defeated and they are standing on the balcony. he wants her to stay. he’s in love with her. he doesn’t want her dream to end because in a way her dream is his dream too; they want the same things (peace, living champions and family, each other). unfortunately for him, zelda has to leave the aoc world behind, because even a hundred year nap has to end, and so she says what she has to say, she says it feels like she’s dreaming, and she wakes up.

q: please explain, in plain english, whatever the hell goes down in chapter 2. a: chapter one is a relatively straightforward retelling of the first four story chapters in hwaoc. chapter three returns the reader directly to the botw timeline, where link shoots a glowing arrow at ganon’s ass, killing him instantly. chapter two is the glorious fuck that lies in between. in short, it splices the events of aoc and botw together with overlays and meta commentary from the third universe mentioned above, where zelda is trying to engineer a happy ending, and the ambiguous fourth one where link is the one who sees the dream. i made use of several batshit devices here, but the most prominent one is, i hope, the encore. the [ENCORE] is initially used to signal that a scene will be set in the botw timeline. it makes its first appearance before botw zelda and botw link’s journey down from mount lanayru, which, as we know, does not take place in aoc. this is played straight up until the halfway mark or so, at which point i swap out ENCORE for encore and finally ****** (still says encore though). this distinction is lost altogether once impa begins dragging link’s body up to the great plateau. up until now, ENCORE and [these brackets] have been used to distinguish the botw timeline from the aoc one, which is not an encore and is not in [these brackets]. the next segment, concerning the battle on the great plateau, flips them. now impa and co’s funeral procession is ‘real’ and the charge zelda leads to the temple of time is ‘fake’. i wonder why.

q: ‘the lights are BLUE or YELLOW or PINK’. explain. a: what’s a play? a pretense. what does it take to pretend? actors. what is zelda doing? dreaming.

q: fourth wall breaks. explain. a: the interview segments are an homage to the seven thousand articles about age of calamity i read before playing age of calamity because this game was effectively my reason to live for the months of october and november. sooga talks about google maps because he’s dead (possibly dlc?) and dead people have the right to say fuck-all. every device in this story was implemented for a vaguely coherent reason. and then i fucked it up for fun.

q: what is the state of zelda and link’s relationship? a: in the botw timeline i imagine they’re involved with each other even before calamity strikes. in the aoc timeline i imagine they’re working their way towards something, but several important trigger events in botw don’t take place in the aoc timeline and the stakes overall feel significantly lower, so i’d hesitate to say their relationship develops to the same degree it does in the botw timeline. this is all personal conjecture, so you’re free to disagree.

q: why does the last line sound like a hannibal lecter line? a: [dab] god’s plan

q: why does zelda say there are a thousand possible outcomes, and only one where link lived in chapter 3? a: the first rule of time travel: don’t.

this is everything i can think of off the top of my head that might have confused people, but i did unfortunately write this thing so if there’s something else that made you go ‘the fuck?’ please don’t hesitate to drop me an ask or a line in the replies, i’d be happy to help. also, if it isn’t clear as day, i have a lot of fucking feelings about both of these games, so if you want to talk lore, theories, or just miscellaneous zelink fuckery, hit me up. i’ll go sleep now. take care everyone.

#fic blogging #my stuff

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chuuulip · 4 years

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Aria - The Opening

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female Reader

Warning: Some fluff, an ity bity bit of angs (if you squint), implied smutt?

Words: 1797

Prompt: Imagine where Hannibal is dating reader and she wants to learn his native language although she is sort of aware if not suspecting that he dint really had a good childhood due to loosing his family in a traumatic event.

Summary: "This skin to skin language may be the language I wouldn't mind teaching you right now, my dear. Are you interested?"

A.N: This is for @venusdemonroe a think a first fanfic request I received 😉 Also this like the first time I wrote Hannibal Lecter and I honestly feel intimidated haha. I would like to specifically thank you @detectivehannibal for feeding me Hannibal content fanfic and inspired me to wrote one ❤️ I honestly thinking to write a smut version of this prompt, but maybe another time? This piece isn’t beta and if there’s a grammar mistake, that will be on me 😉 but thanks to @jewels2876 for the input.

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It's not the first time Hannibal welcomed you to his humble abode. But tonight, it might have turned out into something more. But maybe you knew better not to put your hope up too high.

You accidentally meet Hannibal after the mushroom tragedy. You covered part of the investigation in a local newspaper. Less bitty as such of the Tattler.com. The second time you met the handsome psychiatrist after the opera performance marked the first time he asked you to attend a dinner party at his house. Thanks to your unwell sister that gave you the spare ticket.

"Didn't think I would meet you here, Miss?" Hannibal approached you. He kissed the back of your hands while you tried to calm down your nerves. Not only because Hannibal greeted you so effortlessly, but it's also because you fell in love with the performance that night, you felt like you were still in a dream.

Being the opera's younger attendee, Hannibal was kind enough to lend you his time answering your question that night.

"I'm a bit embarrassed that I haven't done my research before arriving here tonight." You played with the clutched at your hands. Luckily enough, you had an appropriate dress in hand to attend the performance.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about. Not knowing a new environment is expected." His deep melodic voice soothed your nervousness.

"The most important thing would be learning to adapt, and by that, I wouldn't mind helping you with such transition."

Oddly enough, both of you hit it off pretty quickly. Pretty much have the same hobby, enjoying quite similar food and the same thing when it's related to entertainment. Even though Hannibal was significantly older than you, there's no difficulty when it comes to conversation, and you are glad about that.

"Come on in." You were pulled back to the present when Hannibal put the right of his hands at your back. Guide you into the foyer of his house. It's been quite some time since the last dinner you have with Hannibal. Your work kind of required you to travel a lot and sometimes you missed his dinner party. Not to mention how busy he is with his job as a psychiatrist and helping the FBI with eccentric cases.

Hannibal helped you with your coat as he led you near the stairs.

"Would you mind waiting for me upstairs? I will bring some wine for us to enjoy."

You nodded at him and climbed the stairs. You aren't sure where to go, so you just wait in the corridor. Hannibal loves to decorate his walls with painting, and you can spend so much time looking at it one by one. A little bit different from Hannibal, you, on the other hand, were specifically into surrealism, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy other styles. One time you gushed about it so much Hannibal can't help to invite you to a specific exhibition that might be to your liking for your second date.

Darted your interest from the painting of Suzumi no Hotaru to something new by the end of the corridor, you approached it. There was an elegant chess set sitting by the windowsill, and the closer you got to it, the more you thought it might have been made of bone.

The light steps can be heard climbing up the stairs, but you don't mind it since you knew who that belonged to.

"Do you like my Bundesform set?" Hannibal stopped at your back. He kissed the top of your head and waited for your commentaries.

"It's beautiful. This one's new, I believe? Made of bone?" carefully, you pick up one of the kings and inspect it's details.

"Elk."

"You hunt?" There was a surprise in your voice although you have a vision Hannibal did that kind of activity.

"Occasionally."

A small giggled escape your red lips, but you let it die down quickly. Cleared your throat in an attempt to hide your amusement.

"You don't think I'm capable of such a thing?" There's humor in his voice.

You put the piece back and turned your body to face Hannibal. Placing your hand at the bottle of wine he has with him, you pried it out and secured it on yours.

"It's just that the image of you hunting in a full three-piece of suit popped up in my mind. That wouldn't do, right?"

Hannibal smiled at you. His lips curved up playfully. "That wouldn't do, sweetheart. You need to dress appropriately for a hunt, my dear. Shall we? Unless you wanted to stay and enjoy the bone crafted chess longer?"

You shook your head and let Hannibal lead you inside his bedroom.

—

Hannibal sent you an amusement look when you tried to drag both his turquoise armless chairs, facing the fireplace.

You took off your high heels and sat comfortably on the right side while waiting for Hannibal to take off his suit. Shortly after, he joined you in front of the fireplace. White shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. He carefully poured some wine in for both glasses on the table and swirled it. Let the wine warm up before it can be enjoyed.

When you have your glass of wine in hand, you snuggle to Hannibal. You rest your head back at the crook of his neck. Hannibal reached around and put his right hand behind your back in an attempt to pull you a little bit closer.

Both of you sipped the wine carefully. Savored the taste of its delicate dark berry fruits and enjoyed the warmth from the fire. Dance in the fireplace.

"It's been a month since I last saw you. Anything new?" His accented, calm voice murmured at the top of your hair.

"I missed you." You blurted, out of a sudden. Suddenly you are more interested in the rim of your wine glass than the man who snuggled with you in his bedroom.

Hannibal places his wine glass back on the table. He tilted your chin up softly to meet his beguiling hazel eyes. "You notice the absence of my presence, and for that, I'm grateful."

"Did you miss me?" One can’t help but demand an answer when the confession was made.

"I enjoy your company, and with the amount of time we spent together, I admit I wish I could see you more often.”

You gave him a wide grin so contagious that Hannibal can't help but mimic yours. He pressed his forehead to yours while he closed his eyes. Feeling content with the moment, he rarely experienced. You let your right hands travel up from his chest to his right shoulder, trying to absorb the pleasant warmth that’s Hannibal Lecter.

"I'm thinking of a transfer." You confessed.

"Didn't find a crime to be entertaining anymore?"

You shook your head. "I never found it entertaining in the first place, and I'm not Freddy Lounds, so..."

Hannibal positioned you to sit on his lap. Which was a score for you. He carefully stretched your legs on the chair while you circled your hands on his neck.

"So, are you going to elaborate more on your transfer?"

"I'm planning to focus more on opera and classical music." You received a gentle hum from Hannibal. His right hand traveled up to your spine. The backless of your red velvet dress made the skin to skin contact convenient.

"That is quite a jump."

You nodded at him. "By that, right now, I'm thinking about studying linguistics first."

Hannibal looked at you. He positioned his right hand on the head chair, supporting his head. "Language is an expression of a human being. It aided communication and helped with emotional release. It's also an attribute of a specific culture, making them unique in their own way. By that, I fully support this new journey of yours." Hannibal articulately gave you his opinion.

"Thank you, Hannibal."

There's a nervousness in the way you answered him. You are a confident woman. He found it odd that you hesitate to tell him. Hannibal shook his head, "I'm afraid this is not the only thing that is bothering you?"

"I was thinking of studying Lithuanian language..." There was a long pause. You handle this situation like a high schooler in detention with his handsome but intimidating teacher.

"And?" Hannibal asked you patiently. He was under the impression that you weren't sure if bringing this up was a good idea. After all, when both of you spent time together, the discussion regarding childhood and past lovers were involved. Of course, Hannibal told a version of his story to some extent. He was determined to make this relationship work for both of you.

"I— I want you to teach me? I knew from our last conversation I concluded that your days back then weren't pleasant, but I feel like— if I learn it, I can feel a little bit close to you."

Speaking very gently, Hannibal told her, "People experience pain and suffering and overcome them. I would like to say that I overcame it a long time ago. Your intentions, on the other hand, are very optimistic. Although, I should remind you, my love, that it is quite an intimidating language to learn." He tried to make his emphatic statement a little bit funnier.

"As languages tend to simplify over time, I should warn you that this Language retains its ancestral tongue. Also, it has highly irregular cases. Are you ready for such a challenge?"

Your face was lit up; red lips seemed to be curled up in delight when you heard what Hannibal said. Without thinking, you moved your lips toward his. Your soft one meets with his pillowy lips. It was faint at first, just your lips and Hannibal's lips brushed together. But when his right hands traveled upon your spine and his left one secured your back to his, you straddled his lap. The soft kiss turned a bit desperate as your lips and Hannibal mashed each other. Gone was the carefulness he maintained. His tongue traced over your lips, demanding access. Your hand gripped the back of his white shirt as his tongue, and yours explored each other.

Hannibal suddenly pulled apart. The smeared of your red lipstick was stuck to his lips and some corner of his mouth. His sharp hazel eyes turned a bit darker as his left hands went down to palm the ample of your arse." This skin to skin language may be the Language I wouldn't mind teaching you right now, my dear. Are you interested?" Hannibal curled up the side of his lips, while eyes winked at you seductively. Obviously, you aim for an A in your first language class with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. There's no question needed.

---

As always, like, comment and reblog are really appreciated ❤️. Let me know what you think about this xo

#hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal imagine #hannibal fanfic #no organs was harmed in the making #sfw little one #implied smut #hannibal tv #mads mikkelsen characters

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margotverger · 4 years

Text

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

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

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

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

#personal #uhm this might not make sense but i am having thoughts. mid x-files #thinking about them...#hannigram

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bloodandpie · 4 years

Text

Supernatural fanworks masterlist

collaborative works by @monicawoe and @quickreaver

(updated 11/1/2020)

Hello lovelies, here’s our most up-to-date masterlist including our 2020 contribution to the @spneldritchbang:

Behold the Beast, Behold the Lamb - Season 4 AU. Sam tried to free Dean from Hell, but angels intervened and took Dean for their own purposes. Sam is determined to get Dean back and will do whatever it takes, embracing his abilities fully. The more demon blood Sam drinks, the more demons he kills, the more he changes inside and out until it’s impossible to hide his monstrous side. Ruby, Uriel and Castiel push Sam to fulfill his destiny and become his true self—the Beast of the Revelation. (gen, Sam/Ruby, 20k words)

Here is a list of all our other combined works thus far, in no particular order:

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

word-count: - written for the 2012 spn-genbang | sequel to The Devil’s in the Details When Sam opened Lucifer’s Cage, the only thing he found inside was Lucifer’s grace – his grace. With the return of his grace, Sam remembered his past – his war against the Host, his Fall, and his plans to bring about the End. The thing is…he doesn’t want the Apocalypse anymore. He likes things the way they are, and tries everything to keep his identity a secret- especially from Dean. Of course, the four Horsemen, Hell and Heaven have other ideas.(gen, 13k words)

Last Drop - Written for the Twisted Tropes event - Sam/Brady AU set while Sam’s at Stanford: Sam is slowly adjusting to his new life at Stanford University. He’s left his life of hunting behind, and traded it for endless studying and tests, but he’s plagued by dreams of Dean and Dad in danger, dreams of blood and violence. Then he meets Tyson Brady, who’s always there with a smile and a cup of coffee to get Sam through all-nighters. Sam’s dreams start to fade, but just as he’s getting used to a nice normal life, he starts to develop abilities—powers he can’t control. Brady thinks they’re great, but Sam knows power never comes without a cost. (Explicit Sam/Brady, 14k words)

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Best Self - written for @alyndra9 for the prompt: King of Hell Sam meets Kale!Sam and they have many differences of opinion to work out. (aka the only one who knows what Sam really wants is Sam.) words by monicawoe art by @quickreaver! (~4k words, Explicit Sam/Sam)

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All Our Wrath and Cutting Beauty

word-count: written for the 2011 spn-reversebang: Sam killed Alistair, but not before Alistair reminded Dean of who and what he'd become in Hell. Dean knows Sam can take down Lilith, and he'll make damn sure Sam gets strong enough to do just that. They'll stop the Apocalypse -- together, no matter how many bodies stack up, or how much blood is spilt. (gen, boyKingSam, demonDean,11k)

MANY more, beneath the cut:

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The Two Ravens

word-count: ~3,500 | written for the sammessiah antichrist-mas fest: Your brother he is, and heir to my throne. He’ll feed on the damned and he'll turn them to bone.

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The Last Days in the Land of Nod a comic adaptation of the fic by the same name

word-count: ~2,000 | The year is 2014. The Devil is wearing his finest, the Angel is human, and the Brother protects the survivors at Camp Chitaqua.

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We have also done collaborations with other talented writers and artists, including:

He Who Fights Monsters

word-count: ~52,000 | co-written with nwspaprtaxis for the 2014 GenTeensyBang: Demonic-MMA-fighting AU of the summer between Seasons 3 and 4. Dean's dead, dragged down kicking and screaming to Hell. Sam's not dealing well. And Ruby’s got her work cut out for her.

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Burdens, Doublefold

word-count: ~70,000 written for the 2012 spn-j2-bigbang, art by @ileliberteWhat if Dean left Sam at Stanford after the fire, hoping it would keep his little brother safe and make things better? Somehow, 'better' never seems to be in the Winchester Family cards. Sam gets tangled up with his ex-roommate Brady, tracking psychics, but dealing with demons is never honest business. Dean carries on until his father is put in grave danger. He is left on his own to deal, stumbling into Harvelle's Roadhouse for help, where Dean gets just a little more than he bargained for. Eventually, the brothers’ paths twist and turn their way back to each other, but the results could mean the End of Days.

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Impala’s Run

word-count: ~23,000|written for the SPN Gen Big Bang, art by adrenalineshots | Sam and Dean Singer (aka Winchester) aren’t your average young Kansas farmers. Their home is very, very far from Kansas, in fact. Many light-years worth of ‘far’. The boys may look human, but certain talents set them apart: Dean speaks the language of machines, and Sam can heal through manipulating energy. Hidden on Earth by their father, their agricultural lifestyle gets rocked when warring alien races discover where they’ve landed, and Sam and Dean are forced to make the run of their lives.

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and here some other illustrated, shorter fics of ours for your enjoyment:

Instinct (Prophet of the Lord remix)

word-count: ~3,000 | (Kevin's POV of the same prompt) After the trials, Sam doesn't get better. Kevin's theory is that it's cancer: the trials are supposed to purge him of all physical and spiritual impurities, so tuberculosis is out, and cancer is the only reason left for Sam to be coughing his lungs up when he's supposed to be the pinnacle of human perfection. Nope. Sam's falling apart because the demon blood is gone.

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Instinct

word-count: ~1,300 | After the trials, Sam doesn't get better. Kevin's theory is that it's cancer: the trials are supposed to purge him of all physical and spiritual impurities, so tuberculosis is out, and cancer is the only reason left for Sam to be coughing his lungs up when he's supposed to be the pinnacle of human perfection. Nope. Sam's falling apart because the demon blood is gone.

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Bliss in Emptiness

word-count: ~41,000 written for the 2013 spn-j2-bigbang |As a reward for her loyal service, Lucifer brings Ruby back from death. When Sam throws himself into the Cage, Ruby slows his fall — just enough to grab a hold of his body, but not his soul. Together, they hunt the ever-increasing monster population and uncover evidence that Crowley and Castiel might not be as antagonistic as they seem. As the situation unfolds, Eve's interest in Sam piques and she gives him a gift that changes the very essence of what he is.

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Pattern Recognition: A Hannibal/Supernatural fusion AU

word-count: ~33,000 | Sam and Dean split after River Pass, and their confrontation with the Horseman, War. Since Will’s escape from the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, he and Sam have been in hiding. They have a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, that keeps them off the radar; they find comfort in each other. But they can’t stay off the chessboard forever, especially not when Lucifer, wearing Hannibal Lecter as a vessel, is tearing the world apart around them.

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Bones

word-count: ~1,800 | The third trial sounded way too easy.

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In the Cards

word-count:~3,600| written for the 2012 spn-reversebang: Fate wasn’t hers to change. She was an oracle — there to tell them what the future held in store. Nothing more, nothing less. And people were so desperate to know, even though it changed nothing.

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Diary of a Madman

word-count: ~3,500 | Lydia's newest patient, Sam Winchester, suffered from hallucinations, delusions, and regular bouts of insomnia. He also thought he was Lucifer.

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Unless Its Roots Reach Down to Hell

word-count: ~2,000 | written for the evilsam-spn fright-fest 2014: Sam spent months piecing the spell together—he'd crafted it himself out of slivers of handwritten, ancient journals—the ones even the Men of Letters kept hidden away in a man-sized curse-box on lockdown in room 26.

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#sam winchester #boyking!sam #king of hell sam #spn fics #dean winchester #monicawoe's fics #quickreaverart

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monicawoe · 3 years

Text

Supernatural fic masterlist

(updated 12/20/2020)

I’ve written over 100 spn fics (ranging from ficlets to 70k big-bangs). Most of them are Sam-centric, largely featuring powers!Sam. The whole collection can be found here on AO3

newest fics:

Closer Than You Think - Five times Sam’s eyes were demonic, and one time they weren’t. (3k words, boyKingSam AUs of multiple eps)

Hellbound - Sam is in Hell, and then he isn't. He's standing on a sidewalk with a stranger looking back at him—a stranger that has his face. My 2020 spn-summergen fic! Featuring soulless!Sam, disembodied soul-Sam and amnesiac Dean. (gen, 8k)

Sin Eater - Sam has a different plan to cure demon Dean, but Dean doesn't want to be cured. (Sam drinking blood from demon!Dean, written for @quickreaver for her artwork Bitumen Kiss)

All You Have Is Your Fire - written for @quickreaver for the 2020 Supernatural Spring Fling Dean has known fire all his life. Sometimes it sounds like his brother. (~2k words; gen)

Tear You Apart - written for @wetsammywinchester who wanted Soulless!Sam/Brady & Soulless!Sam taking on the mantle of King of Hell: Sam doesn’t want his soul back. He resurrects Brady who helps him figure out a way to outsmart Death: by damaging his soul so it can’t be reintegrated. With Brady’s help, Sam reclaims his power, and takes his soul apart one piece at a time. (8k words; Soulless!Sam/Brady)

Prayers Answered - written for the boy king Sam discord server prompt: Sam has grown up in a very religious environment. He's devoted, he goes to church, he prays. He knows that God is with him, because he listens to his prayers. But as Sam grows older, he realizes it's not God that's been listening. And he realizes that he's not asking - he's been ordering, and his loyal servants would never deny their King. (2k words; gen)

On His Head a Crown - written for the 2019-2020 SWBB, art by @slytherkins Hunters drug Sam, force-feed him demon blood, and bring him to where they’ve captured Brady. Brady tells Sam he knows how to stop the Apocalypse, and Sam, despite his better judgment, hears him out: Sam himself is the horsemen Conquest—aka the Antichrist—and he alone can bring Lucifer’s apocalypse to a grinding halt. Sam resists, but when he discovers the good he can do with his new powers, he decides to use them to atone for all his past mistakes. (21k, Sam/Brady, gen, AU of 5x03-5x04)

Many more under the cut

Lakeside Fishing - written for @denugis - After defeating Famine, after days of suffering through demon blood withdrawal in the panic room, Sam needs time to clear his head. Early in the morning, he heads to a small lake seeking solitude, but instead finds an unexpected ally. (4k words; Sam/Patrick; set after My Bloody Valentine; witch!Sam)

His Soul to Keep - art by @sketchydean - written for the SPN Eldritch Bang horror event - Dean’s deal is coming due soon. When he finds out from Ruby that Hell will turn him into a demon, he refuses to accept it, even though he can already feel pieces of his soul starting to crumble away. Sam is his only anchor to the world, and Dean finds it harder and harder to leave his side. After Broward County, after watching Dean die a thousand deaths, Sam decides he’s not going to let Dean go to Hell. He’ll do whatever it takes, even if that means allying himself with Ruby and using the darkness inside of him. Sam casts a soul-binding spell on Dean; they might not be able to break the deal, but they can change who Dean’s soul belongs to. (13k, Sam/Dean, hard-gen, AU of season 3))

Last Drop - art by @quickreaver -written for the Twisted Tropes event - Sam/Brady AU set while Sam’s at Stanford: Sam is slowly adjusting to his new life at Stanford University. He’s left his life of hunting behind, and traded it for endless studying and tests, but he’s plagued by dreams of Dean and Dad in danger, dreams of blood and violence. Then he meets Tyson Brady, who’s always there with a smile and a cup of coffee to get Sam through all-nighters. Sam’s dreams start to fade, but just as he’s getting used to a nice normal life, he starts to develop abilities—powers he can’t control. Brady thinks they’re great, but Sam knows power never comes without a cost. (14k, Sam/Brady)

Make Angels of Us All - art by @amberdreams1960 - Sam has a guardian angel. It’s been with him his whole life, trying to keep him safe. The angel gives Sam power he can’t control: power to move things with his mind, power over fire, and wings that nobody else can see—bony and jagged with scaly feathers. Dean says monsters aren't real, but Dad thinks they are. Sam's power scares him, and he’s not always sure what's real, but what he does know is people keep trying to kill the three of them, and he won't let that happen. (~20K, gen)

Burdens, Doublefold - cowritten with @quickreaver, art by ileliberte What if Dean left Sam at Stanford after the fire, hoping it would keep his little brother safe and make things better? Somehow, 'better' never seems to be in the Winchester Family cards. Sam gets tangled up with his ex-roommate Brady, tracking psychics, but dealing with demons is never honest business. Dean carries on until his father is put in grave danger. He is left on his own to deal, stumbling into Harvelle's Roadhouse for help, where Dean gets just a little more than he bargained for. Eventually, the brothers’ paths twist and turn their way back to each other, but the results could mean the End of Days. (67k, gen, AU of seasons 1-2)

Before the One You Serve When Dean comes to get Sam at Stanford, he finds him living with Brady. And Dean doesn't trust Brady, even though he can't quite put his finger on why. Not at first. (5k, Sam/Brady)

He Who Fights Monsters - cowritten with nwspaprtaxis, art by @quickreaver AU of the summer between Seasons 3 and 4. Dean's dead, dragged down kicking and screaming to Hell. Sam's not dealing well. And Ruby’s got her work cut out for her. (52K, Sam/Ruby)

John Winchester is Dead They say those Winchester boys're crazy. Drive around in a big black beast and drink too much and laugh about mean things. They say their daddy's worse, but you never see him. He's just a voice on the other end of the phone or a darker shape in the back seat of their dark car. They say John Winchester died two years ago. (2k, gen, horror)

Breathing, Talking, Dead Man Walking - John Doe, male, approximately thirty-seven years old. Subject was found by EMTs in close proximity to the site of a sizable explosion in Lebanon, Kansas. (2k, gen, Sam & Dean)

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - featuring art by @quickreaver When Sam opened Lucifer’s Cage, the only thing he found inside was Lucifer’s grace – his grace. With the return of his grace, Sam remembered his past – his war against the Host, his Fall, and his plans to bring about the End. The thing is…he doesn’t want the Apocalypse anymore. He likes things the way they are, and tries everything to keep his identity a secret- especially from Dean. Of course, the four Horsemen, Hell and Heaven have other ideas. (13K, gen)

The Last Days in the Land of Nod - comic adaptation by @quickreaver The year is 2014. The Devil is wearing his finest, the Angel is human, and the Brother protects the survivors at Camp Chitaqua.

The Two Ravens - art by @quickreaver Your brother he is, and heir to my throne. He’ll feed on the damned and he'll turn them to bone. (4k; fairy-tale)

Counteroffer About two weeks after Sam gutted a hellhound, completing the first trial, he started acting weird. (5k, psychological horror, gore)

Pattern Recognition: A Hannibal/Supernatural fusion AU - Sam and Dean split after River Pass, and their confrontation with the Horseman, War. Since Will’s escape from the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, he and Sam have been in hiding. They have a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, that keeps them off the radar; they find comfort in each other. But they can’t stay off the chessboard forever, especially not when Lucifer, wearing Hannibal Lecter as a vessel, is tearing the world apart around them. (33k, Sam Winchester/Will Graham)

Impala's Run - cowritten with @quickreaver, art by adrenalineshots Sam and Dean Singer (aka Winchester) aren’t your average young Kansas farmers. Their home is very, very far from Kansas, in fact. Many light-years worth of ‘far’. The boys may look human, but certain talents set them apart: Dean speaks the language of machines, and Sam can heal through manipulating energy. Hidden on Earth by their father, their agricultural lifestyle gets rocked when warring alien races discover where they’ve landed, and Sam and Dean are forced to make the run of their lives. (23k, gen)

All Our Wrath and Cutting Beauty - art by @quickreaver - Sam killed Alistair, but not before Alistair reminded Dean of who and what he’d become in Hell. Dean knows Sam can take down Lilith, and he’ll make damn sure Sam gets strong enough to do just that. They’ll stop the Apocalypse – together, no matter how many bodies stack up, or how much blood is spilt.(11k, horror)

Diary of a Madman -Lydia’s newest patient, Sam Winchester, suffered from hallucinations, delusions, and regular bouts of insomnia. He also thought he was Lucifer. (4k, gen, horror)

Some other bundled links, for your convenience

Demon-blood Sam

King of Hell Sam

Powers!Sam

Horror

Crossovers & Fusion ‘verses

Hannibal|SPN

SPN/Preacher

SPN/Hannibal/MCU

#sam winchester #spn fics #king of hell sam #dean winchester #monicawoe's fics

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dogboy-willgraham · 3 years

Note

Prompt: A trembling hand letting go of something

(You have wonderful ideas so I must steal them on occasion. Also I need to write before I don't have motivation for more weeks.)

For as sharp as Will's forgiveness was, it was just as bluntly administered. It was fitting for Will, no penchant for grander revenge or violence like Hannibal, he was efficient, and yet deeply intimate.

Will watched closely as Hannibal's hands shook and fumbled around the handle of the knife, how the stark the contrast was of his crimson blood trailing down and very clean white shirt, Hannibal's pained and urgent, but not panicked, expression. He wasn't distant or quite enthusiastic of his hurt, but Will was not terribly concerned or displeased either.

Hannibal tried to steady himself, but ultimately ended up on the floor, not as gracefully as one would like, but he seeing as he was in a great deal of pain, it was better than it could've been.

He looked up at the object of his affections, watching curiously to see how he responded to the act. Ambivalent god watching his sinner suffer as apology, payment. (And, perhaps, the blood-wash needed for a clean slate.)

Oh how Hannibal worshiped him.

Hannibal refocused his attentions on the knife in his stomach, as hazy as he attentions were at the moment. He was reminded of the wound he had given Will, a straight pull across, not deep enough to hurt anything important but it bled and bled as he gave Will his own forgiveness, surgical.

Will was no surgeon though, and he had much more bite to his forgiveness. It was deep, and Will hadn't been concerned about avoiding anything, if he wasn't actively trying to make it worse. He'd die like this if Will didn't let him get medical attention.

Hannibal wasn't afraid of it though. If it was to be anyone who strung him over just the edge of death while deciding whether or not to let him fall, he was happy it was Will, of course it was going to be Will. It was always him.

He gripped the knife with weakened hands, fighting every instinct in him as he pulled it out slow, blood and viscera dripping off of it as he finally succeeded. He groaned, a fresh bout of pain and blood overtaking him for a moment. A step closer to the inevitable, and if Will decided, not timely, edge.

Will's expression hardly faltered, but he did look a bit surprised at what the doctor had done, even when heady on power he didn't realize just how far his influence extended over Hannibal.

Hannibal's hands trembled as he held the knife up, handle to Will. "Would you like your forgiveness back, darling?" His hands faltered and the wet knife slipped from his hands, caught but Will just in time.

Will thought for a moment, looking down at the knife and back at Hannibal. "No, you can keep it," He smiled gently, and shoved the knife back in Hannibal's open wound.

Hannibal cried out, hands scrambling at Will's shoulders, not pushing him away as much as he brought him closer. Tears pricked at his eyes and he nearly was swept into darkness by the pain. It hurt, so so much, and yet he couldn't help but feel some affection for it. It was a gift from Will, from god, after all, a rightful loving judgement.

"Is this your design, Will?" Hannibal stuttered out.

Will mused for a moment, holding Hannibal closer. "Would you fight my design, even if it entailed your death?"

"No, never," Hannibal sighed as Will held him gently, rocking ever so slightly. "Couldn't, don't want to, your word is god to me dear. You are god to me. I only wish to pick the right words, for the situation,"

Will sighed, in a loving way. "This isn't the end Hannibal, merely, the beginning of the rest. It takes two to forgive, and I intend for you to be well forgiven by the end,"

"Justice served,"

"A slate wiped clean,"

The blood on Will's hands wasn't dry yet, and still so warm and dark in the stark firelight that gave his face deep shadows. Of course it'd become unpleasant and coagulate before drying soon, but for now he'd enjoy being covered in Hannibal's life. He breathed in Hannibal, enjoying what he could while they had the time. He didn't feel too worried still, as he said, it wasn't the end for them. That wasn't part of his design.

"I have to leave you now, love," Will whispered, the situation so intimate for being, not in spite, so bloody and gently violent. "We'll have company soon, and I won't be gone forever, our parting will be rectified,"

Hannibal's head was swimming, barely conscious. But he nodded.

Will brushed back his damp hair and kissed his forehead. "I love you, you know that,"

Hannibal was being pulled downstream from Will quickly, but he heard, and of course he knew. Will would never do this if he didn't love him. He was quite unable to return the gesture, but he knew Will knew. As he said, he worshiped Will, which while being it's own kind of love, there was so much more beside it, and that perhaps proved that maybe his heart wasn't as dead as once thought.

A few thoughts stirred as Will left him, how Will could make his heart beat just to listen to it struggle or make Hannibal live, and how he could stop it instantly. None of them truly came to, as he gently slipped into the deep, giving himself up to Will even more.

He couldn't wait to see Will's choices for him.

#hannibal nbc #tw attempted murder #kinda #is it attempted murder if you didn't intend for them to die #tw blood #tw stabbing #tw knives #ask to tag #will graham #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #fic #prompt #i'm actually pretty proud of this #it might be three am brain talking but we'll see #hannibal's god complex for will #love is a dagger #idk man i'm fucking going to bed we'll see how shit this is in the morn #or maybe how good i deserve to be happy with this if it's good okay-

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twohornycannibals · 4 years

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13 for the prompt list?

#13: “You can’t just keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did!”

(I really liked this prompt for Hannigram! Thank you~)

It's not exactly as though Will wanted to talk about it. Of course, he couldn't deny the part of him wanted too. Denial was ugly, rotten; it crawled under his skin. He had stopped denying himself things, at least he thought he did. It wasn't denial if he wasn't sure he wanted too.

They didn't talk about it. But they thought about it whenever they're minds would wander away from the pain and suffocating chaos of this new life—Chiyoh’s boat, the ocean waves that make Will feel safe. As if, maybe, if he closed his eyes, he would be sailing to Europe, and he would find Hannibal as he had. Expect this time he would either run away or successfully die. He couldn't decide which, not when his mind was always snapped out of the daydream by Hannibal himself. The living, breathing, real Hannibal. However damaged and scruffy he looked compared to usual, he was there. Not in Europe, nor prison, but here on a boat off the coast of Cuba.

Today, however, Will had denied himself the daydream before it started. The unspoken truth of their situation was turning to slug under his skin, and he itched it to go away.

"Will?" He always spoke quietly, not wanting to bother Will. Hannibal knew he wasn't a bother, but he was hesitant. Knowing how much Will enjoyed the simplicity of the water.

"Yeah?" He turned to meet Hannibal's eyes, their gaze softened. How has he softened after all this? When all Will had done was grow tenser. "Everything okay?" His response was nodded, Will noticing the trembling in his legs as he stood on the deck. It wasn't sea legs, Hannibal would've adjusted easily if it weren't for the bullet wound and the blood loss. Will had peered at him contently when he had initially clutched the fresh wound; now, Will waited impatiently for him to heal. It made him feel uneasy to see Hannibal hurt. "Weakness doesn't look good on you, Dr. Lecter." He reached his arm out to steady Hannibal, nodding his head towards the cabin where the cot was. "Dr. Lecter" held a weight to it. Sometimes it felt joking and humorous; most of the time, it revealed Will's emotions far too quickly. Hannibal recognized when he was on-edge or closed off regardless, but it was a dead give away. "Fits you like an ill-fitting suit." Those shaking legs had tensed as he was led to the cot, placed gently down like a fragile family air-loom. Will looked him up and down as his body relaxed, still in obvious pain. His voice was humorous, salty, pained, caged-off. He didn't even bother to hide it. Deny himself.

"If I am the doctor, why are you the one taking care of me?" Hannibal's eyes were heavy, making sure not to leave Will's, never wanting to miss an emotion in the younger man's eyes. Will rolled his eyes; body seemingly relaxed regardless of the tenseness of his voice. Aside from the scar on his cheek and the wind-tasseled hair - that smelled like the ocean when they laid next to each other at night - Will looked the same. As if nothing had changed. "Regardless, I haven't worn a well-tailored suit in many years, now have I, Will?" He responded to the silence, noting how different he looked. How un-Hannibal he was. Will sighed into the air, moving away from Hannibal as his eyes darted outside. He hated how tense this was, how much they denied by the silence. "Everything okay?" He mimicked Will's tone, and that made him laugh. Barely, just the rise and fall of his chest, a brief smile on his lips. It made Hannibal smile too, before returning to the seriousness of his question. Will guessed he shouldn't pretend anything, Hannibal could tell. He could always tell, regardless of how injured he was.

"We never talk about it." Gaze still on the waves outside, feeling Hannibal's piercing eyes on his body. Admiring, worrying, whichever Will accepted happily.

"About what?" Hannibal sounded serious, but Will huffed and looked back at Hannibal. Annoyed.

"Stop it." This stupid little game of silence, how much Hannibal must be enjoying it. Will groaned to himself as he realized how much Hannibal enjoyed watching him suffer. But he also enjoyed watching Will delight in it, so he didn't know why he didn't initiate the conversation.

"If you want to talk about something, Will, please do. I am not going to stop you." It was honest, and Will couldn't help but cave a bit at his words. He was there, of course, he would wait for Will to broach the topic. But still, he wasn't a man to ignore things altogether.

"I guess I'm just surprised we haven't talked about what happened." He was hesitant, wanting Hannibal to say it first. Why? Maybe the confirm that it did happen. Not just a nightmare. Take the lead, he begged in his head.

"What happened?" Maroon tinted eyes peering at him, waiting for him to crack. Will leaned his head against the wall and squeezed his eyes closed, trying hard not to find the nearest knife and cut into this coy and annoying man. But they made it too-far for that.

"Hannibal," Using his first name now, voice hinting on danger. That just made Hannibal raise an eyebrow. "You can't just keep pretending it didn't happen, cause guess what? It did!" Hannibal's gaze didn't change as Will's voice raised slightly, fist clenching. ‘How would you kill me?’ ‘With my bare hands.’

"Tell me, with your own words. Explain to me what happened?" It almost felt like Hannibal was Dr. Lecter again, asking about his nightmares. But this had happened. This was real. Will's body tensed, his walls trying to close in, but he couldn't deny himself. Not now. Not after all this.

"We killed the dragon. You and me." There was something in Will's eyes as he said it. A memory, a craving, a yearning. His eyes begged for Hannibal to agree to acknowledge.

"That we did, Will." His eyes glittered back, watching Will with the most intense gaze.

"It felt good. Purely good." Because it had, it had filled Will's body with a feeling so unique. Nothing like the times before, but he hoped it was like all the times ahead. He wanted to feel that again.

"Will you ever regret your actions that night, Will?" Hannibal's eyes questioned, and Will laughed, stepping closer.

"Never."

#hannibal #hannigram #will graham #post-season 3 #tw: murder mention #fanfic #writing #prompt #askes #hannibal lecter

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misterspectacular · 4 years

Text

Hannibal didn’t send Will after Tobias to teach him a lesson. He wasn’t upset with Will. He saw an opportunity and he took it.

Hannibal’s goal, with Will, from the beginning, was to get Will to become him. He wanted Will to be a killer, like him, so that once Will finally figured it out, finally SAW Hannibal, he’d understand him, and be receptive. Hannibal was conditioning Will. He saw the potential for friendship, what with the way Will’s mind worked, and so he was trying to push Will in the right direction, to help create the perfect friend.

(I use the word friend but it’s also so much more than this.)

Hannibal sent Will after Tobias because of how much like him (Hannibal) Tobias was.

Think about Hobbs. Hannibal had set everything up so that Will would have to kill Hobbs. Hobbs was a cannibalistic serial killer. Just like Hannibal. And once having killed Hobbs, Will couldn’t get him out of his head. He’d become One with Hobbs. He’d become One with a cannibal.

Now think of Tobias. Tobias is a lot like Hannibal - much more like Hannibal than Hobbs. They have the same, as Hannibal referred to them, “hobbies”. They are graceful serial killers, with a distaste for the rude/inelegant. They appreciate the finer things in life and generally think similarly.

So Hobbs is the cannibalistic serial killer, but he’s not really elegant and not much like Hannibal in other aspects.

Tobias is the elegant serial killer with a distaste for the rude, but he’s not a cannibal.

Though if you combine the two, we’re getting closer to what makes Hannibal; an elegant cannibal with a distaste for the rude.

Back to Will. When Will came to Hannibal, Hannibal asked him if he was still hearing the killer’s serenade behind his eyes. Will responded, “it’s our song”. This is when Hannibal got the idea to send Will to Tobias.

It had nothing to do with jealousy - it had nothing to do with Will kissing Alana, and it wasn’t because he was jealous of Tobias and wanted to get Will killed.

Hannibal had the utmost faith that Will would kill Tobias… just as Will had killed Hobbs. (I know this because when Tobias comes to Hannibal’s office, and says he killed two policemen, Hannibal momentarily panics. He thought Tobias had killed Will. If Hannibal had sent Will to Tobias, thinking that he might die, he wouldn’t have reacted this way; he would have half-expected it. But his reaction tells us that Hannibal did not at all expect Will to die and was very upset. Hannibal’s version of very upset, of course, is not like ours - he suffers very quietly. A slight change in expression, a slight widening of the eyes, is what we can expect of Hannibal, ESPECIALLY when he’s not alone. And this is what we were given.)

So Hannibal sent Will to Tobias, to kill Tobias. Just like he’d arranged the whole thing with Hobbs, so Will would kill Hobbs. And what happened the last time Will killed someone? What happened when Will had killed Hobbs? He absorbed him, he couldn’t get him out of his head. He started seeing himself in Hobbs, thinking he was Hobbs. Dreaming he was Hobbs, etc.

He saw. He became. He understood.

If Will had killed Tobias, as Hannibal had planned, Tobias would be stuck in Will’s head along with Hobbs. He would have seen, become, and understood Tobias.

And, again, Hobbs and Tobias, together, almost amount to what Hannibal is - an elegant cannibal with a distaste for the rude.

Hannibal saw himself in Tobias, and so sent Will to Tobias, to kill him, and therefore absorb him.

Hannibal was trying to prepare Will for HIM. Not out of the kindness of his heart, but because Hannibal wanted Will to be his friend, his actual friend, and he knew if Will could become him, he would be less likely to reject him. If Will could SEE, if he could BECOME, if he could UNDERSTAND, then he’d accept. He would be a true friend.

Ultimately, Hannibal’s entire plan with Will was revolved around his own loneliness and a desire to be seen. Not only that, but he truly thinks that helping Will to become like him, is saving Will from a life of falsity and mediocrity. He considers what he’s doing for Will to be a service rather than a hindrance. He feels he’s helping Will to evolve.

I’ll stop here otherwise I’ll get off topic, but yeah, that’s why he sent Will after Tobias, if you ask me.To absorb Tobias, to become Tobias, so that he’d understand Hannibal, and then accept him once he finally figured it all out.

Hard not to accept that which you are.

Will: It’s our song.

Hannibal: You can’t get him out of your head? I want to be stuck in your head… Let’s see how you do with him in there for the long term.

It’s almost like preparing someone for penetration… Here’s a finger, here’s two fingers, how does that feel? Could you handle me yet?

#hannibal lecter #will graham #analysis #analyze #hannigram #tobias budge #garret jacob hobbs #its our song

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