#the corner one is him as hannibal but i got lazy

[lovrbooy]

a dennis reynolds spread in my sketchbook. he is jerma and he is patrick bateman

#mtn dew baja blast cans are absolutely gorgeous and i cannot stop staring at them when i drink it. give that graphic designer head #3...2...1... FREAK-a-boo! #the corner one is him as hannibal but i got lazy #iasip #dennis reynolds #lovrbooy

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hannibal X Reader: An ethical issue

Summary: you wanna fuck your therapist thats it thats the plot

Warnings: smut, sex, penetration (p in v), fingering, pet names, making out, light choking, light bitting, hickeys, patient x therapist, unprotected sex, pet name (dear), not proof read (got lazy)

Word count: 2,9K

“It's unethical, you know?”

You raise your head to look at Hannibal, eyes making contact with his. He can see the questions swimming inside your head. You’d been deep in thought when he’d spoken and he had managed to break your train of thought . You placed your cup on the table, wiping your hands on your legs before focusing on Hannibal once more.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“It's unethical.”

“What is?”

“Wanting to fuck your therapist.”

Your eyes widen at Hannibal's words. His eyes bore into you, observing the way your face flushed the more he maintained eye contact. You should probably refute him but it's no use. Dr Lecter has seen into the deepest parts of your mind. He knows who you are. And now he knows your secret. The truth is the sessions had really been helping. It wasn't until recently that you’d found an ulterior motive for coming to every session. 

You had a crush on your therapist. 

You focus your gaze on the wall in front of you, trying your hardest to avoid looking directly at him. Your mind races to try and find something to say but you come up empty. From the corner of your eye you see Hannibal stand. He stays standing for a moment, looking at your frame. You close your eyes as you hear his shoes begin to move against the floor. A nervous sigh leaves your mouth as you feel his body move closer to your position. He stops a couple steps before you, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Maybe you should just apologize to him. Tell him he was right and that you would figure out a way to get over him but that would be a lie. And if there was one thing you could never do to Hannibal was lie. He knew you too well. He'd be able to call you out immediately. 

Hannibal watched you squirm slightly, observing your nails scrap against your skin as you rubbed your arms nervously. You still hadn't looked at him. He had already begun to miss the eye contact. Hannibal called out your name.

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can, my dear. I want to see your eyes.”

His voice sent shivers down your arms. He was always soft spoken with you but the deepness of his voice as he spoke seemed to have shifted. Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. You have to raise your head a bit to see him properly due to the position you were in. Hannibal stared down at you tenderly. He looked at the doe eyed look that had made its way into your features. A smile spread across his face, a silent way of trying to calm you. Unfortunately it did quite the opposite. His smile seemed to stroke the fire that was already burning in between your legs. You shifted in your seat, trying to conceal your desire for him. Hannibal noticed the way you shift under his gaze. It made him feel powerful. He enjoyed it but he also couldn't help but reach out for you. 

“I can help you. If you ask me to.”

You watched Hannibal sink to his knees, allowing him to be face to face with you. You stare into his eyes, head tilting to the side as you do. He reached out for you, one hand moving to caress your thigh as the other made its way to your face. He’s trying his best to hold on, not wanting to go too fast and scare you off.

From the moment he’d first seen you you’d intrigued him. Despite everything you’d been through you were kind and trusting. Maybe even a little too trusting. It made Hannibal feel protective over you. He saw himself as your knight in shining armour and despite you not knowing it he would do anything you asked of him. 

“Hannibal…”

Your lips part as his name slips through them. It sounds almost like a moan which causes blood to go rushing down to Hannibal's groin.

“Yes dear?”

“I…I hum-”

“It’s okay. Tell me what you want.”

“You. I want you.”

A satisfied sound left Dr Lecter's lips at your confession. You shut your eyes expecting him to finally close the distance between you two but he doesn’t. Instead he rises from the floor and begins to walk away from you. You give him a puzzled look. Had he just been toying with you? Was this some sort of experiment? If it was you were sure you’d failed. But if that was the case why had he given you a hum of approval? 

“Come back to the real world dear. Don’t get stuck inside your own head.”

You forced your brain to focus on what was really happening instead of dwelling on negative thoughts. You’d been exercising your focus ever since your first session with Hannibal and you’d gotten pretty good with coming back to reality. Hannibal could tell by the way you looked at him that you'd managed to silence your mind. He gave you a proud smile.

“That's the fastest you’ve ever focused. Well done dear.”

“Thank you.”

“Come sit with me.” 

You rose from your chair, making your way to the blue loveseat Hannibal was sitting in.  You left a small amount of space between you too. The appropriate amount of space you thought there should be between a patient and their doctor. Hannibal couldn’t help but shake his head.

“Always so formal.”

“You’re one to talk. I don’t think I've ever seen you without a suit on.”

“Do you think about that a lot? Me without a suit I mean.”

“More often than I should if I'm being honest.”

It was strange. Despite everything that had happened moments ago this whole conversation still felt extremely professional. You felt like you were in one of your regular sessions. The only difference was the change of topics and the sitting layout. 

“You can come closer. I won't bite.”

Hannibal paused for a moment, turning his head so that he was looking directly in your eyes.

“Unless you want me to.”

He’d expected you to be shocked, perhaps even to get up from your spot due to his bluntness but to his surprise you didn’t. Actually you did quite the opposite. You began to laugh. He’d never heard the sound of your laugh before but he enjoyed it thoroughly. He’d have to make you laugh more often. 

Once your laughter died down you went back to looking at Hannibal. He watched your eyes shift over his face before you lifted your hand. Your fingers grazed against his cheek as you traced his skin. He never broke eye contact, eyes glued to yours even as you caressed his face. 

“I don’t think you have any idea how handsome you are.”

Your statement caught him off guard.  Your soft touches and loving gaze combined with your tender words had managed to make his head spin. For the first time in a while Hannibal felt his stomach bloom with what he could only describe as butterflies. He’d started off this conversation with the intention of touching on a sore subject, your infatuation with him, and had ended up discovering something about himself. It was unethical for you to want him but what was even worse is that he wanted you too. 

He’d moved so quickly that you hadn’t had time to react. Before you knew it Hannibal's lips were crashing into yours. Your body fell down onto the loveset at the force of Hanibal’s kiss, causing you to find yourself trapped beneath him. Your legs widened on instinct, allowing him to slot his large frame between them. Hannibal’s kiss was rough but caring. He nipped at your lower lip as his hands guided you to wrap your arms around his neck. You did as he asked, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. His mouth may have muffled your moans but it couldn't stop you from bucking up into him. You felt the outline of his dick against your thighs causing you to whine.

Hannibal loved the way you felt against him. He loved how your fingers clung to his hair as he kissed you. He loved the feel of your breasts pressed against his chest. But most of all he loved how desperate you were for him. You decided to wear a dress today. You didn’t  even really known why but you were glad you had. 

And so was Hannibal. 

One of his hands traveled down to your clothed cunt his fingers moving to the edge of your dress. He broke the kiss for a moment, leaning his head down so that he could see what he was doing. You watched him push your dress up allowing him to see your underwear. Hannibal’s head snapped up to look at your face. He gave you a small grin.

“Lovely color.”

“Shut u-hum!”

Hannibal’s fingers moved over your lips spreading them open before beginning to insert a digit inside. Your mouth fell open at the feeling, a broken moan slipping from your lips as it did. Hannibal watched your face fill with ecstasy as he continued to finger you. He’d orignally planned on bending you over his desk and fucking you from behind. But now that he’d seen the angelic look that came over your face as he pleasured you he knew he wanted to watch you cum on his dick. He’d fuck you on your back like a gentleman. 

Well, perhaps not like a gentleman. 

He’s barely done anything and you're already babbling nonsense beneath him. 

“Hannibal i-i fuck- there please there.”

“That feel good?”

“Yes please i wanna… i wanna-”

“Tell me what you want dear.”

“I wanna cum. Please make me cum.”

The way you beg for him makes him think the men you’d been with before hadn't really cared about your pleasure. The thought angers him but it also motivates him to show you how good you can feel. He enters a third digit and you can’t help but latch onto him as you cry out.  You pull his body closer to yours and he lets you. He feels your hardened nipples rub against his clothed chest making him want nothing more but to rip off his shirt. Later though, right now he needs to focus. His hand moves expertly against your pussy thumb moving to caress your clip as his fingers continue to penetrate you. You sigh out his name making him lift his head from where he was looking so that he could stare into your eyes. 

“Hanni… I'm gonna cum.”

“Go on then, cum for me.”

It was as if a verbal command was all that you needed to let loose. The second the words had left Hannibal's lips he felt your cum begin to coat his fingers. He watched your lips part, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you spasmed against him.

What a sight you were.

Hannibal removed his fingers from inside you placing a kiss to your temple before he rose to his feet. Your head lolled to the side, trying to follow him despite your blissed out state. Through blurry vision you saw Hannibal remove his suit jacket placing it carefully on his desk chair. He began unbuttoning his shirt slowly. As he did so he watched you come back to earth. Once you’d gained feeling in your body again you turned over, lifting yourself up so that you could watch Hannibal undress. He felt your eyes on him turning to face you. You gave him a smile which he returned.

“How are you feeling dear?”

“Wonderfull.”

“I’m glad. Tired?”

“Not really. Why?”

Hannibal tugged down his pants in one quick movement allowing his dick to spring free. You watched his member bob for a moment before turning your attention back to his face. 

“Because i’m going to fuck you. Take your dress off for me.”

You tugged at the edge of your dress pulling it off your body with ease. Once you’d gotten it off you threw it to the side before moving to unclasp your bra. Hannibal watched you throw your bra in the pile along with the rest of your clothes. 

“Stand for me dear.”

You did as he asked, hands moving to fidget with each other as he made his way back to you. Hannibal placed his hands on your cheek, cradling your face in them. His eyes trailed over your naked body before he gazed into your eyes once more.

“You are magnificent.”

Your lips latched onto Hannibals in desperation, legs moving backwards  towards the love seat. You crashed down onto a small couch once more tugging Hannibal down with you. You thought maybe he’d scold you for your desperation but by the look in his eyes and the feeling of his hard on against your thigh you could tell he needed this just as much as you did. You spit in your hand moving to stroke Hannibal's dick. He groaned against you, allowing you to caress him for a moment. He rested his face against your neck breathing in your scent as you stroked his member. His teeth grazed against your collarbone making you bite your lip. He sucked at your shoulder enjoying the small gasp that left your lips. Hannibal maneuvered his hand so that he could wrap it around your wrist stopping you from moving. 

“That's enough dear. I want to be inside now. Do you want me inside?”

“Yes Dr Lecter.”

Hannibal grined down at you as you gave him a cheeky smile. Without any warning he plunged into you making your body move backwards at the force. He fucked you with incredible speed, hips moving in a pace you didn’t think was possible. You dug your nails into his back as he continued to ram into you.  His hand moved to your throat, fingers wrapping around it with a gentle squeeze. Once he saw you didn’t flinch away from him he tightened his grip around you, not enough to stop your breathing but enough to give you a bit of a thrill. It was embarrassing how fast you reached your orgasm. Before you even realized you had begun spilling your juices around Hannibal's dick. You’d been so high on your own plesure you only noticed when Hannibal let ou a small “fuck” against your ear. Your body sagged into the loveseat as Hannibal continued to pistol into you. For someone whose job consisted of sitting for most of the time he had a lot of stamina. You drifted off into your head only realizing Hannibal had finished when you felt his body fall into yours. He wrapped his arms around you pulling you as close into his as fiscally possible. You moved to stroke his hair instinctively, the need to touch him consuming you.

“You did so well for me dear. Rest now.”

Hannibal placed a kiss on your chest. You felt him pull out of you making you feel empty. But you didn’t feel that way for long because before you knew it you had drifted off into sleep. 

You woke up on the loveset. Your lips part as you stretch, a yawn escaping your mouth. You could feel something soft surrounding you causing you to open your eyes. A blanket that hadn’t been there when you had fallen asleep was carefully wrapped around your naked frame. You pushed yourself onto your elbow, rubbing your eyes as you gazed around the room. 

“Sleep well?”

Your head snapped at the sound of his voice. Hannibal was standing on the other side of the room with his back turned to you. He was still completely naked. When you didn’t respond to his question Hannibal turned on his heels to face you. Instinctively your eyes trailed over his naked body, your mind going to last night's events. You moved to look at the clock on the wall. It read 9 o’clock.

“Don’t you have any appointments today?”

“I canceled.”

“Why would you do that?”

“So that we could have breakfast together.”

Hannibal moved away from the table he’d been working on giving you a clear view of the breakfast he’d laid out. You rose from the loveseat moving towards him. Hannibal watched you make your way to him, admiring the beauty of your body as you moved. He could see the hickeys he’d left on your neck last night. The sight pleased him greatly.

You looked over the contents of the table. Everything looked delicious. You shifted your gaze to Hannibal, a smile spreading over your face. You wrapped your arms around his waist giving him a hug. Hannibal's arms wound around your body, his hands moving to hold your head. 

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. Now sit. Your food is getting cold.”

The two of you sat down and began to eat. The room was quiet as you ate. It was a sort of quiet you’d become accustomed too. The quiet that came when your mind decided it needed to jump into action.

“What are you thinking over there?”

“What are we gonna do? About us, I mean. We clearly crossed a line yesterday.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No, of course not. Do you?”

“No. I do not.”

“Someone could find out. It could ruin your job.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t. It’ll be our little secret. Patient confidentiality and all that.”

“Our secret huh?”

“Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Wonderful. Now drink your coffee and finish your eggs.”

#smut #smut fanfiction #smut tag #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #dr lecter #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkleson #mads mikkelsen smut #hannibal fandom #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal x reader #hannibal tv show #hannibal x you #hannibal smut #dr lector smut #therapist reader #therapist x paciente reader

[blackhood5533]

The Vendor

Hannigram AU—Will ran away with Hannibal to Europe and they’re sitting in a cafe that Hannibal wanted to introduce Will to...

Warnings: Fluff, domestic bois/husbandos, just wholesome really

“Have you been here before?” Will asked Hannibal, holding onto the straw hat on his head as a warm breeze blew by and ruffled his curls.

“Yes.”

“Often?”

“Occasionally.”

The pair were situated on a balcony, their table hanging over the busy Italian street below. But the view... by God the view was incredible.

Buildings after buildings and eons of architecture and history within the bricks could be seen in a beautiful puzzle of wood, clay, and stone that fit perfectly in one’s eye.

Will stole a peek at Hannibal, who sat leaned back in his chair, hair slightly longer, brushing his forehead as another gentle breeze rolled by. He wore a loose dress shirt and pants, shiny watch on his wrist and a matching ring on his finger that Will also donned.

He looked ethereal and completely perfect, fitting in with the European landscape easily.

Hannibal flitted his eyes towards Will and met Will’s cerulean eyes with a small smile.

“Will?”

“This all feels like a dream,” Will looked away from Hannibal and towards the street below. Cars beeped in the background and the smells of freshly baked bread and coffee filtered through his nose, “I feel like Jack might jump out at any second and... Take me back.”

Hannibal watched Will quietly as he contemplated, he blinked slowly and leaned forward, touching a hand to Will’s. Will looked back over at Hannibal, doubt still evident in his eyes.

“You know I won’t let that happen right?”

Will chuckled, but didn’t answer.

“I fought too hard for you to be snatched away from me so easily,” Hannibal continued and Will met Hannibal’s eyes shyly.

“Tell me, did the mongoose ever escape the snakes?”

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled with humor as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded with amusement.

“You tell me,” Hannibal said, sly smile never leaving his face.

“Let me ask another question then. Are you the snake, or are you the one who lives in the house?”

Hannibal cocked his head to the side and wet his lips, “Well, it is my house that I want you under.”

Will propped his chin up against his hand and let out a small sigh, “Then I guess instead of escaping the snakes, I ended up living in the house-,” Will flitted his bright eyes towards Hannibal’s darker ones, “-with you.”

The smile on Hannibal’s face only grew, “And it’s not so bad is it?”

“No it’s not.”

The waiter came by shortly and took Hannibal’s and Will’s order.

The two enjoyed the breeze and the comfortable silence that ensued. Hannibal’s hand covered Will’s and their rings glinted in the lazy afternoon sun.

After an unusually long time, Will looked over towards the counter of the cafe with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. He stood up but Hannibal held onto Will’s hand.

“What’s wrong Will?”

“Nothing, I’m just going to go ask something at the counter.”

“I can do it for you-“

“Hannibal,” Will smiled at his spouse, “I’ll be fine.”

Will walked up to the counter towards the cashier and for some reason, the cashier looked exasperated at Will.

Somewhere in the back of Will’s mind, he wondered if their order was delayed because they weren’t the typical heterosexual couple...

“Mamma Mia what took you so long??” The cashier said to Will in a whisper-shout. Will looked at the man with a confused look.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you come up here earlier? We’re you just going to wait until nightfall or something?” The cashier slapped a hand to his head and sighed heavily.

Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Hannibal turn his attention to the counter with furrowed brows and Will turned to give him a wave, saying ‘everything’s ok.’

Hannibal pursed his lips but stayed put.

“Hey so, what’s the problem?” Will turned back to the cashier.

“I have a question for you,” The cashier said, leaning on the register like he was about to deal some drugs.

“Yes, we’re married.”

“Married?!” The cashier asked incredulously, “Since when? I’ve never seen you in my life.”

“Since a few months ago, is there a problem you’d like to tell me?” Will asked, confusion evident. This man’s reactions were more and more questionable as time went on.

“More like a secret,” The cashier said, “You see, your husband over there has been coming to this cafe every day since the start of last year, but ordering nothing but a cup of coffee, looking like a lost puppy.”

Will’s confused state became even more confused, “Last year? Everyday? He said he came here occasionally—Sir are you sure you’ve got the right man?”

“The right man?” The cashier said and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as if to calm himself down, “It’s ok Vincenzo, this Americano isn’t doubting you, he’s just dumb-,”

Will looked at the man with a ‘seriously’ expression.

“-HOOOO, okay listen here, that man is the same man that’s been coming here everyday and then he suddenly stopped a few months ago, and now he’s back! With you,” The cashier pointed a finger in Will’s face.

“... Okay?”

“I asked him once. Once! What was bothering him, and from that day on, my ears were flooded about this man’s love life. Mio Dio I thought my ears were going to fall off.”

Will glanced back at Hannibal who looked out towards the street, unaware of the rollercoaster of a conversation Will was going through right now.

“He... Did?” Will asked, an uncontrollably sweet smile creeping onto his face.

“What are you doing? No-NO, don’t you dare smile at my suffering,” Vincenzo scolded, “Always talking about curly-haired Jesus or something, good god.”

“Well, thanks for telling me this,” Will said with a smile and Vincenzo rolled his eyes as he brought Will & Hannibal’s order up to the counter.

“I should be thanking you for taking away my suffering,” Vincenzo said inhaling deeply, “One more day and I would’ve ended it all,” He muttered.

Will chuckled to himself and brought their order to their table. Hannibal looked up as soon as Will placed the tray down.

“Is everything okay?” Hannibal asked, “Everyone was polite?” He asked with a glint in his eye.

“Yeah,” Will leaned over the table and placed a kiss on Hannibal’s cheek, “Everything’s perfect.”

#nbc hannibal #hannigram #murder husbands #willgraham #hannibal lecter

[afreakingdork]

Review: Hannibal

This show has been a rollercoaster and not in a good way. I’ll come right out and say it: I hate this show. I came into it totally fresh; I had heard people liked it and knew absolutely zero about it. I haven’t even seen Silence of the Lambs. I’m fresh off Death Stranding so I was getting really curious about Mads Mikkelsen and I can totally see the influence. Some of the scenes where Mads is slicked up with inky black liquid look straight out of the game. The story however is a total mess. Now, whether this is because Bryan Fuller’s intentions were dashed (the whole 5 seasons thing) or if there was something else at play. I can’t be sure, but what I do know is that even if you can’t fulfil your vision, that doesn’t mean you just do whatever and throw caution to the wind. You’re still telling a narrative and if you go rogue then everyone will know it. 

So let’s start back with season 1. Probably the most classic of the show. I started by, of course, watching the pilot. Instead of reshooting the first episode, Hannibal decides to go straight from it’s pilot to the show. Which in and of itself isn’t a problem, except there are quite a few inconsistencies that just aren’t addressed. Will’s classroom and the design of Hannbal’s office are notable examples. Also, they flat out say Will has Asperger's which the show ultimately sweeps under the rug for whatever reason. The story plays out pretty cleanly in season 1. Now, I wanted to quit watching after the first few episodes because it was too high art.  The imagery didn’t make much sense and this wasn’t really my type of show. Seeing Will fall for Hannibal’s tricks and getting placed in jail in season 2 really started to peak my interest and I proclaimed that it finally had my attention. Unfortunately, half way through season 2, Will is released from jail and the show completely spins wildly out of control from that point on. After Will works with another serial killer to get Hannibal killed while in jail, he is suddenly befriending Hannibal once he gets out. We learn that he has a big plan to try to ensnare Hannibal, but it all feels empty and even as a viewer, I simply know that it is just a shit plan. All reason goes out the window as the show tries to tell me that careful Hannibal who tortured Will and put him in jail through season 1 and most of 2 is now just spilling his guts to his protégé. Also, the show wants me to believe that Will is considering running away with big H because he is just as enamored, as if I didn’t see this man struggle with every fiber of his tortured soul to not become Garrett Jacob Hobbs. 

All of this leads up to the blood match of the century at Hannibal’s house where the plan, duh, goes awry. This is where the worst season of all, season 3, certified fresh 98% on Rotten Tomatoes comes in like a flaming pile of garbage on a train. We whisk away to Europe and don’t give a fuck about following up on all our bloodied main characters we’ve grown to care about in two seasons. Suddenly the few ‘smart’ characters who speak in riddles multiplies to the point where not a single character isn’t speaking in code when talking to one another. Alana even gets this fucking insane line where she says bone marrow got in her blood stream so now she thinks differently. It’s insane. The only saving grace is Jack and that’s only because he’s the only consistent character throughout the show. He has a clean narrative and understandable motives. He’s the only character the script didn’t treat like an amorphous blob that changes on it’s whim as if it were Zeus having a bad hair day. After Hannibal is captured, the show dips down to a slow descent to it’s ending. It once again tries to make me question Will’s loyalty while simultaneously giving me no plot to support any major changes and just telling me that he’s changed right before he does. It’s totally asinine. I had pretty much shut completely down by the last 3 episodes. I think it’s borderline hilarious that the show honestly wants me to think that baiting the Dragon with Hannibal is the ONLY viable option to catch him. They don’t even consider any other possibilities. It’s just lazy. Let the whole show go over the cliff for all I care.

And all of this isn’t even getting in to how atrociously this show treats women. Alana Bloom starts as being the only person in Will’s corner who they force to be his love interest in one of the most un-sexually charged scenarios I’ve ever seen. They then, completely against character, make her Hannibal’s love interest for what I thought was an alibi, but I guess was genuine and again, not set up in the slightest. As previously mentioned, she does a 180 due to some bone marrow and is then a lesbian for another grotesque sex sequence that they just seem to love making her star in for pseudo prime time pornography. I mean, I guess I’m happy she ends up married with a kid? Beverly Katz is separated and pinned up like a museum display because she just happened to be smart. Every character hates Freddie Lounds and the show obviously wants you to hate her too, but when you think about it, why? What has she done other than be a strong independent woman who is chasing a career in the gruesome and trying to tell what she believes is the truth when other’s sweep the severity under the rug. The show hates her so much that if you start to break it down and remove her character from the show, the plot literally doesn’t change. She exists to be a punching bag. The only saving grace about Bella is the fact that her passing doesn’t push Jack’s story along at all, but her choice of passing was not only taken away by a man, it was then decided on a date not of her choosing by another. She has not a single bit of autonomy, even while being presented as a strong woman. Abigail Hobbs seems interesting enough, but in reality she’s nothing more than a way for Will and Hannibal to process their emotions and surrogate dad feelings onto. She is then “killed” off and, surprise, brought back only to be killed off again, only to BE BROUGHT BACK to find out she was a dead figment of Will’s fucked up imagination. Margot Verger is one of the most appalling examples of how this show treats women in the fact that she is not only sexually and physically abused, but she is also sterilized. Then, in season 2, when you think she finally can exact her revenge on her brother since he is rendered invalid, you find in season 3 that she did none of that, continued to let him torture her until someone else come’s down like a savior angel, Hannibal, and gives her the way she absolutely could have done herself to give her an out. The show literally wants me to believe that both Margot and Alana could not have considered the path to freedom without Hannibal’s help. They want you to believe these are not capable women because the show doesn’t believe women are. Unless it’s plot necessary, but only for that long. Du Maurier was smart enough to leave before Hannibal went to kill her in season 2, but for some reason in season 3 she comes back willingly to let him take her and torture her. Then she, I GUESS, cooks her leg up for him to visit as one of the final scenes of the show!?!!? Chiyoh was locked up for 20 years, supposedly, because she couldn’t leave behind the man who killed Hannibal’s sister, and when she is finally free, her whole character revolves around her being a good shot and wanting to help Hannibal because ??????? It makes absolutely no sense. Then, season 3 went ahead and went we need a woman who is blind to the fact that her partner is a serial killer, might as well make her blind for real. It’s repulsive, disgusting, and I don’t know why anyone enjoys this drivel. 

Verdict: 

P.S. my favorite character is Chilton. He’s one of the two consistent characters (hey, Jack!) and the fact that he just keeps getting brutally mutilated,  but can’t stay away from serial killers is downright pathological. He also shined so brightly in the scene just before he gets shot through the mouth in the interrogation room. I never would have guessed I’d be rooting for him. I was actually worried when the Dragon caught him, but there’s no squashing that cockroach of a man! 

#hannibal #review #me #show review #shows

[lilianaswhatever]

Your love will kill me - Morning

Summary: To describe it with the words of Lana del Rey: “If he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst that could happen?”

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Reader

Part 2 of 5. This chapter contains mentions of smut ;) Chapters can be read as individual stories but they loosely connect to form a story I came up with in the middle of the night after watching a Hannibal cooking video on Youtube. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Enjoy!

You had woken up alone in bed. It wasn´t unusual, although you wished just once he would be there when you wake up. The soft sound of water running in the bathroom revealed his whereabouts. You stretched turning around to enjoy the soft linen sheets a bit more. Sunlight was dancing on your face as you blinked away the rest of your sleepiness. Your body was still sore from the night. The thought of it causing your fingers to come to your neck instinctively. The feeling of his hand creeping up your neck taking your breath away as he pounded into you was still present. His fingers had pushed your necklace into the soft skin as his other hand held your leg that was draped over his shoulder. On nights like this, he was merciless, but you took everything he had to offer. Those images vanished in the steam that enveloped Hannibal as he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. A wet strand of hair had fallen into his face and his body was still glistening with water drops. He was a sight for the gods. You propped your head on your elbow watching him as he got dressed. Light grey tweed trousers imported from Great Britain and a maroon cashmere jumper from your store in town. The red brought out the golden undertones in his eyes. As he finished he turned around stepping to your side of the bed. You smiled at him your hand reaching to the nightstand taking his watch. It was a platinum Chopard watch with a dark brown leather strap. It reminded you of your father's watch, but you were sure this one cost more than your apartment in the city. He sat down on the edge of the bed his left arm stretched out in front of you. You carefully pulled up his sleeve placing the watch around his wrist and closing it. Your fingers traced the cold metal as you admired your work. You always loved his hands. Hannibal leaned down to give you a kiss on your forehead before leaving you to prepare breakfast. You slid your legs off the bed and stood up, the covers slipping from your naked body. After a short hot shower your eyes fell on Hannibal´s white button-down shirt that was draped across a chair in the corner of his room. You smiled. The only reason for it being there was that he knew how much you loved wearing it on lazy mornings. Otherwise, it would have been placed neatly in his laundry basket by now. You reached for the shirt taking it into your hand as you brought it to your nose inhaling his scent.

You were sitting on a chair close to the kitchen counter as Hannibal prepared breakfast for you two. Your arm was lazily draped over the backrest your chin placed on top of it as you gazed at the man in front of you. You couldn´t believe how you got so lucky. Hannibal placed an egg on the spatula he was holding. You slightly raised your brows and lifted your head intrigued. To your surprise, he was throwing the egg into the air and as it fell down it landed on the edge of the spatula, slicing it just enough so that the liquid poured out into a bowl below it, while the shell remained on the spatula. You let out a gasp in awe, your mouth slightly open as you raised your eyes to meet his. You could swear you never saw something so hot in your life. He smiled subtly but bursting with confidence fully aware of the effect he had on you. You were an open book to him ever since the first day he laid eyes on you.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal imagine #cooking kink #fanfiction #dark fanfiction #fluff #smut

[sweetdeathwrites]

You Are The Right One

Pairing: Gokudera Hayato/Reader

Summary: Gokudera knows what you mean to him. But what does he mean to you? 

Warnings: fluff, romance, some sexual situations/suggestiveness (i.e. Gokudera is thirsty), angst

Word Count: 6,929

(Songfic to You Are The Right One by Sports)

(re/cross?posted from my AO3 and Luna! Original A/N below)

(Hi!! I know I've been gone a long time and I'm SORRY!! I've been going through a lot of stuff (I've been in 3 productions since the last time I've posted .. i think it's only 3.. but I've been a NAMED character in 2 out of 3!! the third one doesn't count bc it was a bunch of skits and so strict plot... so i guess that means... i was a named character in BOTH of my productions?~ I just performed in Grease 2 days ago on friday as Jan, my twinkie girl!! I got to eat twinkies on stage!! It was v exciting and I had a blast! some people I know from the hawaii theatre came down to see me and one of my dad's movie friends and they loved me! one of them told my mom i'm going to broadway! haha!!! ^v^ isn't that sweet? I don't think so but that's a lovely hope, isn't it? I'd like to dedicate this fic to someone who means the world to me, the lovely GuardianAngel07! I love you so much and I know that you're going through a lot right now and I just want you to know I'm always here for you, no matter what, and I know that you are busy and have a lot on your mind, and I just want you to know I'm never mad if we don't talk for a while! I think you get a little worried and feel guilty when we don't talk, but that's not it at all! I care for you so much and if your mental health needs you to take a break, then TAKE that break, honey!!!1! I'm always here to support you and I want what's best for you, mentally, physically, and emotionally!! I care for you a whole lot, okay? I'm always in your corner!!! I'm sorry that this fic isn't what I originally planned to gift to you (the original was much sweeter!! and less angsty!!) but this was the one that was most finished and I figured that anything with our lovely KHR boys would help to cheer you up! I hope you like it!!,, Uhm.... I've also got a lot planned! I released a LONG hannibal fic on AO3 and it's not the best bc I started it 2 years ago.yikes... but I'm finally gonna write for it again after a year but I'm going to revamp it (at least fix the grammar!) before I release it here! It's v violent and prolly gonna get really sexual too, so there's a warning, but i'll warn again when I actually post it. to be truthful, I had this almost fully done for months. I just hated it and hated it and hated it. I've been hating my writing a lot recently which isn't good bc I want to finish a book before I graduate and I'm taking an AP english exam on the 16th, so it's awful timing. I haven't been doing the best but I'm looking forward to summer........ only 18 more days left before I'm free.... then I have summer then I'm a senior and ..yikes....;;; but I've got some summer plans! I'm going to cut and dye my hair (I just realized nothing is stopping me from getting a Guzma cut and dye... then I can dye my hair pink!! and any other color after!!!) and I'll visit a friend in alaska, then I'll get a job somewhere.......... i got no college fund........... sorry for dragging on and on!! uhhhh just expect more from me (hopefully soon..... @GuardianAngel07 i hope ur ready for more awful songfics from me.... because i've written some reeeeaaaaallll angsty and sad ones, already with u in mind!! why do you always get the worst of the bunch.......,,,) love u all! and please leave a review if u enjoyed this! I seriously would've stopped posting all together if it wasn't for some incredibly kind people (looking at you, GA07!!) and a recent review for my hannibal fic on AO3 (or rather, reviews. yes, this person left MULTIPLE. very detailed and heartfelt, and I was giddy for days after!! So if you want more, PLEASE leave a review!! it's not fun to post and feel like you're just yelling into a void!! yell back at me!)

––––––––––––––––––

You were the right way I was just waiting for you to look at me Is there a wrong time? Baby, I’m guessing Just let me know He can never get a break, can he? Gokudera sighed, smoke curling past his lips into the chill autumn air. The leaves were just beginning to change color and he cursed how the light cast amber shadows over the smooth plane of your face, cursed how he couldn’t trace the honey light with his fingertips and kiss the darkness away. His tongue clicked against his teeth and he took another drag of his cigarette. Hayato tried to ignore you. He really did. But how can he, when you look as good as you do with a rose-pink blush that covers your cheeks and ears when someone cracks a joke that makes you laugh until you can barely catch your breath? How your jaw drops open in delight before you remember where you are and hide your smile with your hand– something he desperately hoped you would lose the habit of because, god, did you look pretty when you smiled– and blot away the joyful tears in your eyes? How could he not give you his complete, undivided attention when you were as sugar-sweet as you were? His jade eyes flickered back to you again, almost against his will. Your face was bright, eyes glinting in the soft light of the dying afternoon as you teased one of your friends, grinning widely as they swiped playfully at you in return. Gokudera groaned and his head slumped back against the pillar he was leaning against a little too quick, sending an unpleasant shock up his spine. “Shit,” he hissed, stomping out his cigarette on the concrete behind Namimori High and massaging the back of his skull gingerly. What a day. First, Tsuna and Yamamoto had nearly been killed on their way to school again; of course, Gokudera saved both of them, although Yamamoto he saved slightly more reluctantly. Gokudera was strong– of course he was, he wasn’t Tsuna’s right hand for nothing. He just wished he could prove to you that he was strong enough for you, too… Then, that bastard that patrolled the school like some kind of obsessive freak was on his back again. Something about being late for class. Reborn showed up and solved the matter rather quickly, but that didn’t keep Gokudera from steaming out the ears for another hour or so. But the worst part of the day? It was definitely you, without a doubt. You filled his head, turning his thoughts and coherency to cotton in his head and made his mouth as dry as summer. Summer… Gokudera remembered, during lunch period, that you had gone to the beach with him and his friends. You wore a red bathing suit. Red as the fireworks at the summer festival, where he almost told you his feelings but panicked at the last second– but that was a story for another time–and, at one point, clung to his arm to whine about how hot the sun was, and how you were definitely going to get a sunburn. When Gokudera grumbled something back to you about reapplying sunscreen you had winked at him, grinning wide and asking if he wanted to help you with that. By then, there was no doubt in his mind that his milky skin was as red as your bathing suit. From his blushing, dazed haze, you managed to squeeze a frozen lemonade and a plain vanilla ice cream out of him and his wallet. “Share?” you gently cocked your head to one side and held out the icy drink for Gokudera to taste. His mouth was incredibly dry, as it always seemed to be around you– damn you, and damn him for being so weak for you– and he hesitated. You sipped your lemonade languidly and blinked up at him, heavy eyelashes fluttering and all doe-eyed, and his chest clenched in such a way that it brought him agony and ecstasy in equal measure. “Hm?” you hummed, waiting for an answer. He opened his mouth to deny your offer when a heavy stream of melted ice cream rolled down the side of the cone and over your hand. A surprised yelp and a curse left your throat as you hurried to clean the treat off of the cone. When you switched the cone to your other hand to lick the drops of vanilla from your palm, Gokudera’s brain snapped back to being fully functional and he hurriedly agreed to sharing with you. As you complained once again about the heat and the lack of more interesting ice cream flavors at the snack bar, Gokudera thought of how silly he was being for thinking of sharing the ice cream as an indirect kiss– an indirect tongue kiss, more accurately. But more honestly, it was more like the two of you just swapped spit–but that’s not a very pleasant thing to think of, no matter how much he liked you. He wasn’t in middle school anymore; he shouldn’t be so swayed by this! He shouldn’t feel so hot and his heart shouldn’t be beating so fast. A cool ocean breeze swept your hair away from your face as you shook ice chunks in your frozen lemonade, loosening them enough to drink. Gokudera turned his gaze to the clear blue sea, his friends wading in it, and the lazy scrawl of puffy white clouds across the sky and he wondered if he could gather the courage to ask for a sip of the lemonade, too. If he was only going to get an indirect kiss, he wanted a proper one. Slowly coming out of his reverie, Gokudera realized he had been looking at you the whole time. The shade that Namimori cast over him wasn’t enough to cool his embarrassed blush and he hoped you hadn’t noticed. Gokudera nearly jumped out of his skin when something in his pocket buzzed. He fished out his phone– obviously, of course it was his phone. He must be more tired than he thought, to be startled by his own phone. [Baseball Freak] whatcha lookin at? Snapping his head up, Gokudera scanned his surroundings, looking for any sign of Yamamoto. God, how embarrassing to be caught staring at his crush by the person most likely to tease him about it… [Baseball Freak] up here Yamamoto was leaning out of one of the windows of a classroom far above Gokudera’s head, waving at him without a care in the world. It was then that Gokudera remembered why he was waiting outside at all, staring at you so wistfully– Tsuna and Takeshi had to attend an after school remedial session for their poor grades… No matter how many tutoring sessions they both received from Reborn and Hayato and a variety of other eccentric characters that always seemed to appear out of nowhere, they still couldn’t retain anything they learned… especially not math. Shaking his head angrily, the silver haired boy punched out a response to him but his phone buzzed again before he could send it. [Baseball Freak] see something over there u like? I think u do~~~ aren’t they just sooo cute?? >///7///<   Gokudera bit his tongue. How dare Yamamoto say that about you?! It was true, he had to admit, but his pride was hurt from being so easily caught, heart read with such dead-on accuracy that he responded the only way he knew how to. [Me] PISS OFF A rich laugh filled the air above him and only served to spur Gokudera on, cracking his knuckles, clenching his jaw, and wishing he could beat Takeshi into taking what he said back. [Baseball Freak] u know, if u don’t make a move, someone else will………….they’re so pretty and smart and nice!! who wouldn’t want to date them?~ Gokudera’s rage calmed, eerily still. He knew that someone would make a move on you if he didn’t soon. He didn’t miss the way that the boys in the class would offer to carry your bags and would do anything to get just a little closer to you to sling their arms around your shoulders, pretending to show you something in a book, and to breathe in your light perfume. Or the way that girls would bite their lips and giggle when you told a joke and how they would bat their eyelashes and tease you and play with your hair just a little too much for it to be considered strictly friendly. Hayato knew he wasn’t the only person looking to add you to his dating pool and he also knew he wasn’t the best candidate to win your heart. It was a subject that often haunted his brain late at night, a miasma of doubt and self-hatred that cut deep into his heart when no one was there to see him cry. He was too loud, too violent, and too crude for someone like you to fall for. Too dangerous. It didn’t help that Yamamoto was the polar opposite of him– warm, friendly, and kind enough to be anyone’s dream man. And it definitely didn’t help that Yamamoto often wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought you into his chest when there was nothing else for him to do with his hands. That happened often and made Gokudera more broken hearted than he would ever admit. [Baseball Freak] so? r u gonna say anything to them???? Gokudera had his heart set on you but his brain told him, quite logically, that you would never like someone like him back. Whoever said that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all was a damn fool. [Me] mind ur business. Up above, there was a sigh loud enough for Gokudera to hear and he knew instantly that he had made the wrong move. He looked up just in time to hear Yamamoto call your name in a sing-songy voice, to see him through weak, orange sun rays, waving cheerfully at you. Gokudera snapped his gaze to you to see your hair bounce with each cute head turn as you looked for the source of the voice. Yamamoto called your name again and Gokudera registered that not only had he used your first name but he added a “-chan” to the end of it– what a double-crossing bastard! You found him and Hayato’s lungs felt tight, but not as a result of his chain-smoking. Your face lit up–your pretty, beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous face– and you yelled back a greeting and swung your arms around wildly back at Takeshi, heels lifting off the ground in delight with your ministrations. Hayato’s gaze flickered back up to Takeshi just in time to see the brunet pointing down at him vigorously. Your sight followed Takeshi’s direction and you locked gazes with Hayato. His breath caught somewhere between his throat and chest and his heart pounded against his ribcage, furiously trying to escape this terribly humiliating situation. Just let me know As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened slightly and you gave him an embarrassed, genuine smile as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It was strange; he didn’t think that you had anything to be embarrassed about. You were deathly adorable when excited, even if it was because you were excited to see that baseball idiot. He hoped to whatever higher being that was out there– and he knew something was out there: aliens, at least– that he hadn’t imagined that sweet, pink blush that dusted your cheeks and ears and ran down your neck. He was smiling back at you, equally as shyly, before he knew it. Well, it’s been a long time Since you’ve been lonely So what will I do? You are the right one And I’m just a boy who Is looking at you “Hey, Hayato?” you called. His spine straightened, vertebra by vertebra, at the sound of your voice. You had used his first name– sure, you had been doing it for a while, but still every time you called him so endearingly, it sent hot, smoky electricity up his spine. The way the bed sheets creased under your small body and lazy afternoon sunlight dappled your visage had his head reeling. There you were, lounging and at peace with the world, in his apartment, in his bed. “What?” He didn’t mean to sound so brusque– but then again, he doesn’t mean many of the things he says with his angry disposition. Especially to you. “Why do you turn down everyone that confesses to you? Don’t you want to… well… I don’t know, fool around with someone? I mean, we’re in highschool, this is supposed to be the most reckless time of our lives, right? Why not live a little?” Your head tilted to the side, hair falling into your eyes. His fingers itched to brush it out of your face and your own fingers played with something on your phone. Probably texting, some faceless guy or girl, flirting, playing coy and– “Hayato?” He shivered, loving how his name sounded on your soft lips. “I don’t know, idiot. I’m mean, but not mean enough to do something like that to some kid stupid enough to think they like me.” He settles for brushing his own hair out of his face. You turn over on your stomach, “I guess…” Something about your tone when you say that makes Gokudera narrow his eyes in suspicion. Did something happen to you to make you upset? Why were you bringing up this topic now? Why were you bringing it up to him? “I just think it’s a waste, y’know?” you ran a hand through your hair and locked your phone, placing it to the side. Your eyes slid closed and Hayato realized how close your head was to his lap, how easily he could pet your hair and have you doze off in his embrace. You looked sleepy enough anyway– would a little nap hurt the both of you? “Hayato, don’t you know how handsome you are?” you mumbled dreamily. “You could get anyone you want, anyone, and you chose to sit here and do nothing. Why?” Hayato couldn’t think. His head was full of steel wool and his blood thrummed loudly through him. You called him handsome. You called him handsome. When his breath came back to him in a barely noticeable gasp, he couldn’t filter the words that tumbled out of his mouth. “I can’t.” “What?” your eyes slowly opened and you leaned up on an elbow, looking quizzically up at him. “I can’t get anyone I want.” “Why not?” His lungs filled shallowly and he turned his face away from you, focusing on the empty street below, through his room’s window. The sun cast golden light and deep, lavender shadows across the world and Hayato knew that if he looked at you right now, everything would go to shit. He’d see your face; all the perfections and beautiful flaws and you would see through him as if he were glass blown, see how desperate he was for you and how his insides were twisting and trembling in fear and reverence, in equal measure, of your power over him. You would recoil, disgust drawn over your lovely face in terribly sharp lines and you would see how his heart would break over and over again. “Sometimes you just can’t.” Your lips curled into a frown and his brows furrowed; he could tell that much by your silence. Unsatisfied with his answer, you huffed and threw yourself back down on the bed, the crown of your head knocking against his thigh. Your hair splayed out around your face, angelic, and Hayato was lucky that your eyes had once again shut to accept the call of the dream world, because if they hadn’t, you would’ve seen how absolutely helpless he looked, gazing at you. So what will I do? His tongue darted out to smooth over his dry lower lip and he felt the faint sting of the thin skin there– cracked. He tasted iron and swallowed thickly. Gokudera wished he was closer to you, so much closer to you than he was, but he was doubtful his heart would be able to handle that. Your breathing started to slow and Hayato found his hand smoothing over your soft hair and you jolted violently, startling the both of you. You stared up at him, eyes full of stars and planets far away, and he laughed airily. He shook his head, silently telling you, No, don’t wake up just yet, everything’s fine. You accepted this without question and closed your eyes again. This time, Hayato gently slid his hands under your head and guided you towards his lap. He arranged himself comfortably on an array of flattened pillows and stroked your hair as you lay, safe and happy in his lap. A single eye peeked at him– slyly, cat-like– before you hummed and shifted closer to him. A contented sigh slipped through Hayato’s lips and he himself started to feel drowsy. In his dreamy stupor, his hand trailed down your face, down your neck, and down, down your arm until he had your fingers gently entwined with his. Sure, it may have just been an unconscious reaction, but the way your hand squeezed his back made his dreams lovely and surreal and hallucinatory, in all the best ways. I tried the wrong way I was guessing Biding my time You are the only One I can picture By my side “Gokudera, what’s up?” Takeshi nodded at the silver-haired bomber as he approached, strangely insightful today with his clear, milk chocolate eyes. The boy in question merely grumbled vaguely, hands shoved deep in his pockets, as if he was fishing for the answer to Yamamoto’s question down there as well. “That bad, huh?” Gokudera rolled his eyes. It wasn’t rare for him and Yamamoto to arrive at Tsuna’s house before the young mafia boss could flee from it, already anxious and sweaty. Today was no different. “Hey, at least you tried, right?” Yamamoto offered a weak smile, knowing how much you meant to Gokudera. His shoulders were hiked up to his ears and Takeshi didn't miss how the hot, red ring on Gokudera’s cigarette quickly crawled down to the filter before he was tapping out another from his near-empty box and sucking on the new cigarette, lighting it with the dying butt of the used one. He tossed the old one down and ground it into the asphalt. Takeshi frowned. The baseball star shifted the bag on his shoulder uncomfortably, his bats for after school practice clinking metallically. “ … I didn't.” Gokudera kept his gaze locked on a lamp post down the block. Takeshi blinked, not expecting a response from Gokudera’s sunken frame. “What?” “I didn't try.” It took Takeshi a moment to understand what Gokudera meant before grimacing with a little more than a dash of friendly pity in his eyes. He shifted his weight from his hip, seeking to comfort Gokudera, but decided against it at the last moment. “Why?” his voice came out in a gentle rasp. Gokudera still refused to look at him, green eyes clouded and trained on a particularly colorful poster on that singular lamp post. Seconds ticked by before Hayato groaned and dragged a hand down his face, pinching his cigarette in frustration with his other hand. “I can’t! I just can’t. I know they don’t feel the same and I know I’ll break if they have to say it to my face. I can’t handle that. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to handle that. God, Yamamoto, I just can’t take that chance.” Being around them is– it’s just too much and too little for me to take– I’m going crazy here, driving myself in circles and spinning out, spinning my goddamn wheels because of them. It’s fuckin’ sickening but I don’t want a cure. I feel so helpless and I hate it, I never want to feel this way again. What the hell did I do to deserve this?” Gokudera’s eyes snapped shut, face contorted in agony. “I can’t tell them. I can’t. I want them to be happy. It’s better this way anyway. I’m not good enough.” Gokudera’s voice cracked on his last word before his declaration faded into the morning’s stillness. Yamamoto was insulted– his best friend talking about himself this way? Not in a million years, if he had any say in it– but Gokudera snapped at him before he could get a word in. “And don’t say shit about me being good enough, because we both know I’m not good enough for them. I’ll never be good enough, Yamamoto, that’s not me. I wouldn’t be able to hold them as much as I should, to kiss their gorgeous fucking face– I wouldn’t be able to be fucking honest, Takeshi. They deserve more than the bullshit excuses I’d spew to cover our fucking asses when we get the crap kicked out of us on a bi-weekly basis. They don’t deserve that.” Silence weighed like velvet over the two of them and the sun was now calling out songbirds, sleepy murmurs from the neighborhood beginning to wake from the heavy slumber of the night. Yamamoto didn’t know what to say anymore and Gokudera put the cigarette back where it belonged: between his lips, funneling poison straight to his lungs. “ … I don’t think it’s like that, Hayato. You’re being too harsh on yourself. I really don’t think they feel that way about you.” Hayato said nothing and kept his eyes glued to that single poster again. Yamamoto reached out and awkwardly patted his shoulder, mustering as much comfort as he could before he knew he would overstay his welcome. Hayato needed time to clear his head. “ … I’ll go inside to check up on Tsuna. Come inside soon, alright?” The response that didn’t meet him was enough to know Gokudera wouldn’t get better as quick as that. Takeshi sighed in sorrowful compassion before slowly making his way to Tsuna’s front door, carefully piecing together his cheerful mask yet again. The door shut quietly, and voices and vague, worrisome sounds came from within. Gokudera raised his hand to scrub furiously at his misty eyes, his bracelets clinking together and rings scraping his face and leaving thin, red lines around his eyes. He leaned back against the wall around his best friend’s house and his head banged against the concrete, painful and painfully familiar to something that had happened recently, involving you. “Fuck,” he hissed into the empty street. Class was boring, as it always was. There was nothing that could entertain him that was in Namimori’s curriculum. Tsuna managed to convince Gokudera to take college classes too, so that his development wouldn’t stall (and also because Gokudera being bored meant a bit more trouble for Tsuna, but he was genuinely concerned about Gokudera’s personal growth). But even those classes were much too easy for him. Something that wasn’t easy? Seeing you every damn day and not being able to do a thing about it. Getting closer, getting further, cutting you off completely– he couldn’t bring himself to do any of those. Gokudera tapped the eraser end of his pencil against his desk and sighed, staring out the classroom window into the clear blue sky. He couldn’t wait for summer again but, boy, did he like seeing you all bundled up in wool and cashmere and simply drowning in soft fabrics and cozy patterns. You were so cute with your nose red from the cold, lips burning pink from being bitten so much– he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, no, he would take this to his grave– but what he wouldn’t give to be the one to bite your lips instead, to hear you whimper and moan, just for him, and– A small collision with the side of his head brought him out of his daydreams. Curious and annoyed, Hayato brought a hand up to his hair and picked out a crumpled wad of paper. Who the hell had the balls to throw shit at him? He was still the scariest guy in Namimori (and no, Hibari doesn’t count, either). If anything, he should be terrorizing the rest of the class. Taking a less than subtle glance around the room, he caught your eyes staring at him eagerly. Taking a moment to compose himself, he averted his gaze to your note instead. Of course it was you that threw it at him. Who else? Wanna go to a bakery after school? Kyoko-chan was talking about it earlier and I can’t get it out of my head… I’ll pay if u want!! I want cake~~~ Hayato didn’t hold back the happy grin that spread over his face, sparing a glance at you, impatiently waiting for his reply, before scribbling something in his mostly neat penmanship under your barely legible chicken scratch. No need to pay. But yeah, that sounds p cool. Meet me right after school at the front gates? The teacher still had his back turned to the class, writing something that Gokudera already knew on the blackboard, droning on and on about logs and bases and inverses and irrational numbers or something equally useless. He knocked his hand back and threw from the shoulder, the small, now neatly folded note landing in the middle of your desk. You snatched it up quickly, hiding it just in time for the teacher to turn around and call on one of your classmates to answer a question. Gokudera couldn’t see you unfold the note but your arms were moving under the desk and you grabbed a pencil off the desk too. Gokudera remembered that pencil; it was thin, cute, and pink– with a brown bear on top. The bear held a red heart and its nose was in the same cute shape. There were patterns of hearts and stars in red and yellow and white, and Gokudera knew all of this because Kyoko had helped him pick it out to give it to you for your birthday. He thought giving you a gift with so many hearts was a bit forward– tactless, even– but Kyoko gave him a stern look and told him that nothing he could do would be forward enough when it came to you and, spluttering and flushed, he tried to deny his affections for you but only ended up confessing how he felt about you to Kyoko. Smiling gently like the angel she is, Kyoko let him talk her ear off about you for nearly an hour and a half. She earned a milkshake and a slice of strawberry cake for her bravery. You spun in your chair, clutching the edge of it in your small hand, and flicked the paper back to him. The message was a little more timid, he noticed. actually, can we meet on the roof after school?.. I have something I want to talk to u about, but it shouldn’t take long… We can go straight to the bakery if u don’t want to, tho!!!!! ^v^;; Gokudera recognized how you were trying to hide something from him with your overwhelming facade of consideration. Whenever you felt insecure about something, you always spent time making sure other people felt more comfortable and happy than you were, as if that would make you feel better yourself. A frown carried over his pale face and when he looked up, you were staring at him again. This time, you seemed to have carefully examined his face and your brows were furrowed. As soon as you met his eyes, you jumped, shaking your head and waving your hands to tell him, Don’t mind me, it’s nothing. Gokudera was just about to pen down a reply when the teacher turned around again and began talking to the class, not looking like he was going to turn his back on Gokudera any time soon. Hayato caught your eyes with his green ones and nodded quickly, mouthing ‘I’ll be there.’ Lunch was as it normally was. That is, filled with shouts and explosions and general chaos. However, this lunch period was noisier than it previously had been; a fact that only would have been noticed by the people present if they paid very careful attention to their volume. Gokudera noticed. Damn right, he noticed. Sure, you usually sat next to Takeshi. Sure, you had a habit of clinging to him as you laughed and whispering in his ear. And sure, sometimes you would call him Take-chan as you fed him bits of your own bentou– a fact that pissed Gokudera off endlessly. But what was different? Today you were nestled in Yamamoto’s side, tucked neatly away under his arm which alternated from wrapping around your shoulders to hold you to him and pulling you in by your waist to bring you nearly onto his lap. It stung Gokudera something awful. Watching the two of you laugh and whisper to each other felt like you had run Hayato’s heart over shrapnel and soothed his wounds with lemon and salt. He averted his jealous, but startlingly gentle gaze from you to the sky above you, willing tears not to come and cursing himself for feeling this way about you. “Hey, Take-chan!” You tugged on his shirt, the fabric over his chest, to bring his attention back to you. “Hmm?” You stole a glance at Gokudera and whispered giddily into Yamamoto’s ear. When you’re finished, Yamamoto made a sound that can only be described as pure elation, and he tugged you in even closer, tickling you in the process. You laughed and shrieked at him to stop and he only did so when you’re nearly in tears. Tsuna is having a muted conversation with Gokudera and he is trying to pay attention– honest– Gokudera is trying so goddamn hard, but it’s next to impossible when a grass-green snake hisses low in his belly over you writhing and laughing so happily in Takeshi’s lap. Yamamoto whispered hotly back into your ear and Gokudera sees something he wished he would never see from the two of you: you, with a hot blush crawling up your neck and Takeshi with his face practically in the crook of it, grinning all pearly white and eyes staring at you with such fucking dedicated tunnel vision. Gokudera wasn’t hungry anymore. Lunch ended and you gave Yamamoto one last quick hug before cleaning up your trash and putting everything away that you wanted to keep. Gokudera was slower than normal, taking all the time in the world and then some to get ready for class again. The door to the roof clanged shut and Gokudera let out a heavy sigh, eyes closed and trying to feel everything that he could– everything except his feelings, that is. He relished the cool breath of wind that blew against his face, tossing his hair around and whistling softly to him. He took account of the ground beneath him, hard and sturdy, and the sounds of teenagers filtering back into the school, complaining about their classes and each other. The one thing he didn’t hear–not until it was too late– was you. “Hayato?” you tugged on the back of his shirt, scaring him witless. He yelped like a kicked puppy and spun around to face you, composure long lost. He tried to say something but nothing left his lips; nothing coherent, at least. The hand that grasped his shirt didn’t cease touching him. It got even closer than before as you took a step, and then another, into his personal space. The height difference between you was just too much for him to handle and Gokudera felt himself simultaneously trying to pale and flush, unsure which won over in the end. Your hand slid along his waist, his side, and up his chest lightly. The smile that took root on your face was weak and bashful, even– and you bumped your forehead on his chest before you looked back up at him, an emotion he didn’t recognize dancing in your eyes. “Don’t forget, we’re meeting here after school, Hayato. You wouldn’t want to keep me waiting, would you?” Your finger tapped his chest teasingly, adding another beat to his pulse and he felt fire crawl up the base of spine at your nail scraping through his shirt. You blinked curiously up at him and his voice whispered to you, hoarse and against his will, “No, I wouldn’t.” Satisfied with that, you made sure that he had everything he had brought up to the roof with him, promptly forced him to offer his elbow to you, and curled yourself happily over his arm before leading the both of you down the stairs to finish the rest of the day’s lessons. The roof was empty except for Gokudera. As soon as school was over, he bid Tsuna and Yamamoto goodbye, telling them not to wait up for him. Yamamoto had a big, stupid grin on his face– But when does he not? Gokudera rationalized. There was something about that smile that showed that he knew more than he let on but Gokudera was much too preoccupied with thoughts of you to care. He leaned against the rails, not trusting it to hold him, careful not to put too much weight on it. He took a steadying breath. Breathe. It’s fine. Nothing’s wrong. But no matter what he told himself to stop the rapid, staccato drumming in his chest, his anxieties were not relieved in the slightest. He was afraid– god, how he was afraid. What did you want to talk to him about? Did you not want to be friends anymore? Did you grow tired of him? Did… Did you want to tell him you were dating Takeshi? “Hayato?” oh fuck Gokudera jumped. The amount of times you scared him witless was embarrassingly high. “Hey.” You smiled slightly. “Hey.” Something about you was different. Something was… off. The way your eyes drifted from him every other second before coming back to his concerned gaze was unusual, but even more unusual was the way your hands fidgeted behind your back. “So,” Hayato tried to get the words to come out. The light breeze that tossed your hair around your face in a halo didn’t help much, but he appreciated it anyway. “What’d you wanna talk about? I’m hungry as fuck.” It slipped out– Hayato’s cursing habit hijacked his mouth, nerves making him go on autopilot. At least you took it well; your eyes glinted in amusement and some of the tension between the two of you dissipated. A pink tongue darted out to soothe your dry lips and Hayato was a little too aware of it. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while, but I just didn’t know how to tell you– it’s a bit… embarrassing, so don’t make fun of me, okay?” Your mouth was set in a firm line, eyes pleading and vulnerable. “Sure.” That wasn’t the reply you wanted but it was what it was. By my side “I…” you began, then lost the words you had planned. “You?..” Gokudera offered. He wasn’t sure he was ready for what you wanted to tell him or what it entailed, but he was sure that if it meant your happiness, he would do anything at all to keep you smiling. “It’s just that… You know, I–” you fumble over your words, frustration visible on your face. Gokudera scolded himself for thinking of you in this way when you so clearly don’t want him but he can’t help it. He’s worried over your affect on him before, but he never considered how weak he is to you or how strong your natural beauty is under the glow of a late afternoon and the crinkle of your brow with your courageous efforts… courageous efforts that you try to spell out but they fail, perched above your tongue. Your soft hands come down in frustration upon the hem of your shirt and you try again, slip again, and Gokudera is privy to the realization that this isn’t something he should take lightly any longer, no matter how much it calms his nerves or keeps him from facing the possible reality of him losing you. He leans forward to grasp your hands from distressing your shirt, to keep you from distressing yourself, with full knowledge that this moment could be the end of you allowing him to be graced with your presence. Hayato decided that your momentary comfort before unleashing hell on him was worth more than a thousand lifetimes of you by his side in the masquerade mask of lukewarm passion if you backed down from rejecting him now. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” And he touched you and nearly recoiled when your face whipped up to meet his, nearly let go of you because your skin was hot as forged iron and nearly as red. He tried to let go but you wouldn’t stand for it, as you used his hands over your shoulders as leverage to place your palms, clammy and shaking, over his smooth cheekbones and bring his face down to yours. Hayato’s eyes were wide as he met your lips, glossed and smooth and clearly prepped for this specific moment, specific kiss, specifically with him and he could have withered away in embarrassment of his rough mouth and nicotine lungs if it weren’t for how warm you were against him and how securely you held him, despite how insecure you had been seconds prior. Gokudera barely has the brains left to close his eyes on the skyline of Namimori but when he does he sees stars and he kisses you back and there’s a scrape of his teeth against your bottom lip and you shiver and he groans into you and now he’s just as red, if not redder, than you are. A slick noise of separation, then the both of you don’t know how to deal with the awkward intimacy of it, or what to do with your hands, but Hayato managed to gather enough sense– or maybe he’s running on what he’s fantasized on doing after your first kiss together and is on a daydream-guided autopilot– and he brings you into a tight hug and buried his head into your wild hair. You laugh into his chest and when he tried to bring you out to ask you why, you clung to his wrinkled white shirt even more and blindly found his hands, tangled with his bracelets and rings, then laced your fingers soundly with his. Gokudera can hardly believe the kiss happened, can believe he’s still alive even less, but he’s sure you can hear the quickened palpitations of his heart and that notion does no good for his health either. You’re an absolute dream and Gokudera is ready and happy to die right there, but you pull away from him, hands still interwoven, and smile so beautifully that he is sure that angels exist and you’re the vision of seraphim, disguised as human so barely that if you were anymore angelic he would surely fall dead where he stood, kiss-dizzy and sweetly dazed. From his dazed mouth, stupidity falls out. “So what was it that you had to tell me?” You laugh and press a kiss– more confidently this time– to his collarbone. At his affirmative, stuttered, elated hum, you press another and another, up his neck and jawline and chin until you reach his lips again and he kisses you back with adoration and love and his still evolving understanding of your feelings for him. “I’m not sure how to say it any clearer,” you said with a laugh that rang like the church bells that sounded in Gokudera’s head as clearly as he imaged they would on your wedding day, as he pressed his own kisses all over your face and held you close with the intention of treasuring you as long as he had a pulse and then some. “Hayato, I really, really like you.” And that was the day that Gokudera Hayato had come to face the reality, one that he had long accepted, that he loved you more than anything and you felt the same, but most importantly, that you were the right one for him. And that he was the right one for you.

#gokudera hayato #gokudera hayato/reader #gokudera hayato x reader #reborn #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #reborn fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #gokudera

[the-shy-lonely-weirdo]

Johnny is Dead

I made up a story based on the “Murdoc is God” song. I understand that Johnny is probably supposed to be Jimmy, the guy that was planning on killing the group, but I thought this would be an interesting “What if” scenario. Here is a story about Murdoc and his relationship with Johnny, and how it affected him further in life. This story will cut past to present with each chapter.

Chapter 1

Murdoc is King

              Though the store clerk had his mature magazine laid out in front of him at the counter, it was very clear he was not actually observing the large chested women in it. His blinks carried on for far too long and his head lobbed back and forth like a newborn trying to get their bearings. He was nowhere near the spriness of a newborn though, judging by his wrinkles, as defined as those on a bald cat, his grey hair, that’s path came from his sideburns, down to his chin, up his lips, into his nose and ended sprouting out, and his glasses as thick as a hookers left boob. It was clear that he had spent a long time in the old town of Stoke-On-Trent, and didn’t have much time left.

               No one would blame him for his inappropriate choice of reading, or his lack of duty as the shopkeeper at a time like this. By now, all the residents of Stoke-On-Trent would be happy at home, eating their home cooked meal, or huddled around the heater watching the telly or reading a book. If anyone were to come, it would be some steaming drunk sod stumbling in or some sprog tossers looking to cock up his night with their endless goddy and disregard for the rules. He had the Old Bill on speed dial because of those folks. Still, not a single customer had come in for sometime, and with closing time being soon, the elder suspected the day would end with not a single disturbance. That was until he heard the familiar chime of his store front door.

                The clerk’s gaze was high at first, expecting a red faced adult or a rambunctious teen. Nothing. He pauses and looks slowly down, to meet eyes of a young boy. The boy was no older than 5, clothes tattered and worn. From some of the holes, the man could see a few bruises and bandages. The boy’s hair was very crudely teased, he could tell from the occasional curly hair flicking out. When their eyes met, he could see what looked to be an infection in one of the boy’s eye, making it look red. But out of all this boy’s features, the most striking was his skin. It was green! Green as a leaf! Green as money! Green as a turd!

‘How in the world did this boy get green skin?’ The shopkeeper thought ‘... And why does he remind me of someone?’

The man decided to not ponder this and instead address the boy.

              “Bit late for a young chap to be out an’ about, wouldn’t ya say?” The clerk asked as the boy walking past his counter. He didn’t even give a glance, he simply walked into the nearest aisle and started scanning the shelves. The clerk huffed and shrugged his shoulders, now awake he peered back to his naughty Penny-dreadful, not caring about the company he had in his store.

               The boy didn’t have time to talk to some old sod, he was on a mission. The boy’s mismatched eyes roamed the aisles, looking for specific items. He had one hand in his pocket and another swinging back and forth. Before his hand would reach for an item, he would look at each end of the aisle, just in case that crusty dimwit was there.

               When he was done, he returned to the checkout area. The old man flinched slightly when a carton of milk and a box of crackers were shoved right in his face, as if he forgot about his young customer. He looked over his counter and peered at the little one.

“You better ‘ave good money fer this.” The clerk warned.

               The boy nodded and the clerk started to ring him up. As he added up the milk and crackers prices, his mind wandered back to trying to figure out why this child was so familiar to him. He gave the kid a price and he shuffled through his pockets, taking out the change he needed. The elder suspected he would have to count it out for him, but to his surprise the boy already did so and give him the precise amount.

“Quiet the smart little man ya are.” The man commented. He was met with silence.

The man put his items in the bag, but stopped just before handing it to the boy.

“I got it! I know who ya are!” The old geezer said, snapping his fingers.  “Yer dad, ‘is name is Sebastian, in’t it? Or was it Jacob?”

               The man could have sworn that he saw the boy’s face go pale at the mention of his father’s name, but it must have been his imagination. The boy looked away from his face, clearly not wanting this conversation. The old knob pressed on though.

“Yeah! Yer dad’s stumbled in ‘ere a few time. All pissed up an’ shouting about ‘is life an’ ‘is brats. Told me he ‘ad two ‘em. One was called Hannibal, the other… the other was… let me think…”

The boy’s gaze moved away from the floor and to the pondering old man, a gaze that was very shirty.

               “Hm… Oh! Yes! Murdoc! The other was called Murdoc! ‘ow could I forget that one? Sebastian complained about ‘im the most. Goin’ on about ‘ow he’s a good for nothin’ freeloader. Always causin’ trouble an’ he wishes he was never left on ‘is stoop.” The man eyed the child. “That wouldn’ ‘appen ta be you would it?”

                Murdoc didn’t answer, he just leered at the aging fuck and stuck out his arm, making it clear he wanted his items more than this conversation. The man huffed and handed over the bag.

                “Didn’ mean ta get you all miffed son, jus’ tryin’ ta ‘ave a chin wag. ‘Ey! At least you ain’t as skint as your dear old dad, eh?” The old man laughs, Murdoc turns to leave. He stops when the man calls to him. “Oi! Those are some odd names yer family ‘as! Sebastian, Hannibal and Murdoc? Hah! Whot’s ya mum’s name? Bloody Mary!”

                The laugh the old fuck gives this time is louder. Murdoc turns his head around to the man that was practically leaning over his check out station with tears in his eyes, cackling away. Murdoc waited for his laughter to mellow out a bit so that his next words could be heard.

“Wouldn’ know.” Murdoc stated “Never met me mum.”

                Murdoc smiled slightly as he walked out the store, leaving a bewildered cashier frozen in place. After getting over the initial uncomfortableness, he righted himself up and peered back at his filthy magazine, grumbling.

“Little bugger…” He mumbled “No better than ‘is sodding father…”

                Murdoc began the long trek out of that daft neighborhood and back to the outer rim of Stoke-On-Trent where his home was. He turns a corner into an alley, taking a shortcut. As he walks, he unzips his coat and licks his lips. Oh, what treasures he got this time! One by one he would take out an unpaid item and examine it. A deck of card, some hard candies, a top, a dark chocolate bar, a toy car, some bandaids and a guitar pic.

                The next stash of treasures were for his brother. A roll of film, hair gel and a small pocket knife. Murdoc grumbled, remembering how his brother broke the last one. Murdoc probably should have taken the hint after the 21st time Hannibal warned him that if he kept “playing” his cardboard box guitar, which was really just him making fake loud guitar noises, there would be consequences. Of course, Murdoc ignored him, and by 22nd time Hannibal bursted into his room wielding the pocket knife. For a split second, Murdoc was scared that Hannibal was going to aim the blade at him. It wouldn’t really have been that surprising though. In fact, it was in those situations that his other knives broke. But this time Hannibal started stabbing the fake guitar Murdoc dropped, again and again, until it was a crumpled mess. It didn’t matter how much Murdoc screamed and begged him to stop or that by the end he was stabbing the ground, his assault only subsided when the blade broke from the handle, leaving it jabbed firmly into the wooden floor. While sobbing, Murdoc could hear Hannibal threaten that if he could not replace his pocket knife, he would end up in the same state as his cardboard box guitar.

                Murdoc didn’t know if Hannibal’s threat was genuine or not. Hannibal was a lazy and dumb nine year old, most of the time never finishing what he started. So half the time his threats would never be carried out. But on the other hand, Hannibal could do what he said he would and more, so to not take any chances, he got him his bloody knife. Hopefully it wouldn’t really get bloody from his own one day.

                 But where as Hannibal’s threats were only sometimes taken seriously, his father’s were always held as completely true. Because they always were. Murdoc shivered, not from the cold air, but from what might have happened to him if he did not complete the task put to him by his father when he sent him to the store. Murdoc took out the items his father demanded from him one by one, just to triple check that he had truly gotten everything he asked for. Some meds that his father didn’t need but said he did, a razor, some foot cream, some John Thomas cream, a nail file, hook shiner and most importantly, a pack of cigarettes.

                  The cigarettes seemed to have trigger another memory. Somehow even worse than the last. One night, while Hannibal and his father watched a football match, Murdoc walked in and examined their behavior. Hannibal would yell “Fuck me ragged!” when his betting team scored, and then yelled “Fuck me!” when the other did. Sebastian was just silent, he never really got into this stuff, but he had 200 pounds staked on this game. Which meant that if his team won, he would come home drunk for a couple of nights. If his team lost, that meant he would beat the crap out of Murdoc for a couple of nights. Either situation would spell bad news for him. Murdoc didn’t want to enter the living room, for fear that a bottle of plock would be lobbed at his head. He watched the bottles move back and forth from his father’s and brother’s face and back to it’s resting place. The others stayed resting in their place on the floor, only moving when a foot kicked one. The other moving objects were their cigarette, doing the similar motion of the bottle.

                  The two were very similar, in Murdoc’s eyes, because when you saw his family members, most of the time they had one or both items. Murdoc wondered why the two older males were so dependent on them. His observations led him to understand that whenever they had those things, they would calm down a bit and smile more. Until they had too much and calmness became shambolic rage. After understanding this, Murdoc, with his mind not necessarily innocent, but still very young, decided he wanted to calm down a bit and smile more.

                  When he was sure that his brother and father were completely engrossed in their game, he tiptoed his way into the kitchen. He took a chair from the table they never ate at and pushed it against the kitchen counter. He crawls his way up and pulls out the kitchen drawer next to him, from it he took out a lighter and a bottle cap opener. He knew what everything was, where it was and how to get it simply from his father asked him to do this action everyday. He almost makes the mistake of hopping off the chair, surely attracting attention with the noise. Instead, he daintily crawls off the chair and walked toward the fridge.

                 Opening it a crack so that the light doesn’t blare out of the kitchen, he reaches his little arm to the nearest brown and green bottle. He softly closes the fridge door and walks to the table. He places the bottle opener and lighter on the table and reached down to his foot. Out of his gross, smelly, torn sock he picked out a single crinkled cigarette. Repeating the action of sticking it between his pointing and middle finger that he saw his father do so many times, and fumbling a bit, he pressed it to his mouth and held it there with his lips. He got on his tippy toes to grab the bottle opener on the creaky table, and once again taking pointers from his father, popped the cap off the bottle.

                  Swapping the bottle opener for the lighter, it took him a few tries before he could successfully flick the light on, burning his tiny finger in the process. He wanted to scream in pain, but he held back. It wasn’t hard, he learned how to not cry in intense pain from experiencing a lot of it. Crying made his father even more vicious.

                   He held the fire to the end of the fag and light it. He places the lighter back on the table and paused. He knew what he had to do but something was holding him back. That thing was fear. But of what? Fear of what this would do to him? Fear of if it would or wouldn’t help? Fear of his dad finding out? It was probably a mixture of those fears, leaving him paralyzed, not breathing or moving. But soon fear was replaced by anger. Anger at himself for facing unbelievable amounts of fear by getting up in the morning and still have the energy to keep going. Murdoc felt constant fear, but he never let it get to him, or so he told himself. But this was the one that would keep him from what he wants? No. His pain was inevitable, so why deny himself this pleasure? He was strong! He was brilliant! He was as great as the king! He was as great as a God! He was a God! Reassuring himself he takes a long deep breath in on the cigarette.

                   And immediately regrets it when a sudden twang of gross smoke goes from his mouth, down his windpipe, to his lungs and back again, leaving him a coughing fit. The smoke that came out of his mouth like he was a cartoon character that just ate something super hot.

                    Now, Murdoc’s father had often spoken of Hell. While it wasn’t spoken in the tone of those raving lunatics on the streets, telling all that they were going to Hell if they do not reach salvation, or those knobish preachers that give their sermons to mugs, telling them they’d have to suck off God or something, else they don’t end up in Hell, there were similarities. He spoke of fire and ash, a place of eternal pain and where no one can save you. But unlike those slag preachers that say there’s hope, Sebastian never gave hope to anyone, especially Murdoc. Sebastian told Murdoc that no one was safe, that all would go to Hell because all were sinners no matter how “pure” they seemed. God was a nobody that didn’t care for his “children,” like Sebastian didn’t care about his. No, the only true way of living was by Beelzebubs rules. From Sebastian’s point of view, that meant living the philosophy of Hedonism. To strive for nothing but pleasure in life and not care what morals or consequences one may encounter, at least, that’s how Sebastian explained it. Sebastian was very good at that, never caring if the people around himself were affected negatively by his actions, as long as they made him happy. Sebastian said that as long as they lived life to the fullest, the man downstairs would give them a full afterlife. Where every deadly sin would be accepted and valued. They could have as many brods to shag, more food than they ever had in life and could torture those cock ups that preached their God would save their grotty souls. They would burn in the fire and ash.

               Just as Murdoc’s respiratory system was burning in fire and ash. Hell truly did exist, in Murdoc’s throat, and the Devil was having a grand time. Murdoc searched desperately for relief, the kitchen fauset was busted and he couldn’t run all the way up to the bathroom for water. His only option was the drink in his hand. Stilling his coughing long enough to press the bottles rims to his mouth, he took a great chug of it.

               Then Hell moved from his lungs to his stomach, burning and gross. It sloshed around down there and went back up to is throat and out his mouth, all over the already dirty kitchen floor. Murdoc left his first puke mark on the floor, along side his other family members. The coughing returned and seemed to go on forever, tears filling his eyes, a mixture of snot and stomach juice dripped out of his nose. When it started to die down, he was hunched over, and used one hand to whip the tears out of his eyes and nose funk away from his mouth. He stared at the brown and green chunky mess he made on the floor, the cigarette he dropped floating in it. He felt lucky to be alive.

                But then didn’t when he heard an older, colder and familiar voice ask “What are you doing?”

                Murdoc turned his head so quick you could have sworn he snapped it and saw his father staring at him from the doorway, with his arms crossed, miffed. He righted himself quickly, bottle still in hand, and tried very hard to find the right words that would make the inevitable beating less intense.

“D-D-D- Dad! I m-mean Sir! I mean- I- I- I- I didn’- i-i’s not- I-I mean it is b-but- P-P- Please don’- I- I- I was jus’- I’ll- I’ll- I’ll put it ba- I-I’m sorry!”

Murdoc attempted to put the bottle back in the fridge, but was cut short by his father speaking again.

“Don’t you dare put that away!” Murdoc froze, his hand still on the fridge handle. His father pointed at the cigarette swirling in his sick. “Pick up that fag.”

                Murdoc paused, looking from the cancer stick to his father, then back again. He did not want to touch something that was covered in his bodily fluids, but when he looked back at his father, whose face was clearly losing patience, he didn’t waste anymore time. He quivered at the smell of his own puke, like a diseased pumpkin threw up in a diseased pigs arse, that ate diseased brusselsprouts, therefor shatting diseased crap with the diseased pumpkin puke. The feel of it was like a rotting slug had a baby with a rotting crocodile and the rotting baby had some sweating and dermatology issues, and was rotting. He was careful not to spill the vile liquid in his hand.  

“Now put it back in your mouth and take another drag.” Murdoc’s father commanded. “And after that, take another swish of that beer.”

Murdoc looked at his father, then to the baccy and then to the pig swill. Finally he spoke. “But… But I don’ wanna…”

“And I don’t want a sodding failure for a son! But look what I got!” Sebastian boomed, making Murdoc jump. “That was a perfectly good smoke and beer, and you ruined them! Just like you ruin everything else! Now you are going to finish both, or you’re throwing up your insides next!”

              Murdoc was wide eyed, his stare remaining on his father, wondering why he was telling him to do the thing he presumed he would be punished for. But seeing no way out, he took the cigarette back in his mouth and had another drag. The coughing and tears returned and it burned twice as hard. Murdoc tried his tactic again of washing it down with beer, but again, it did not work and made things worse. More groote substances escaped his stomach and mouth, hurting more as it came out. Now it was starting to give him a headache, making him sob.  

              “Oh sweet satan! You’re so daft you can’t even drink and smoke right! Don’t cry! What are you a bird?” Murdoc stilled his tears at his father’s words. “You are not going to grow up to be some bender that can’t even keep company properly! In fact…” Sebastian left the kitchen, leaving Murdoc standing in his own sick. A few minutes past, it sounded like a zoo was going through the house, floorboards being stripped away, furniture being ripped apart, his brother screaming “OI!” presumably from his father taking something from him, and then getting slugged in the face for being cheeky, and Murdoc could have sworn a donkey was involved at some point. When Sebastian finally came back, his upper half was obscured by boxes of alcohol and tobacco. He couldn’t understand how his father could have that much and still say he was flat broke, perhaps he saved it all for a special occasion? Well the occasion was now.  

“You’re going to drink and smoke all of this until you get it right!” Sebastian informed, dropping it all on the table, nearly breaking it. Murdoc stared at the pill, gobsmacked.

“... A… All that?”

“All that!”

            Murdoc looked around, trying to find a satan cursed answer to what the hell was going on! Murdoc didn’t know much about what a normal household was like, but he could guess from television and observing the families in the houses down the road, watching them eat and salivating at the meals he would never have in his house. This very thing would be considered severely wrong and highly punishable. Yet, here his father was telling him to do it again ten fold.

“Are…” Murdoc didn’t know why he was promoted to ask this question. “Are ya punishin’ me for stealin’ from ya or fer huffin’ an’ drinkin’?”

Sebastian’s hardened his eyes at Murdoc, in a way that made Murdoc believe ever word of what he said next.

“I’m punishing you for being born.”

          After that Murdoc didn’t ask anymore questions and did what he was told, snookered. He drank and smoked for hours, it didn’t matter how much he cried or how much he threw up, he just kept going. He only stopped when he blacked out, and woke up in his pavement pizza, practically showered in it, the next morning with a splitting headache. His brother stepped over him in order to get to the fridge, laughing and congratulating him on having his first hangover. He couldn’t find the strength to get up, so he just layed there, smelly and weeping. He laid there until midday, finally finding the strength to get up on his wobbly legs and slowly make his way back to his room. On the way, he saw his dad, sitting at his normal spot on the couch, watching another game, not even turning his head to acknowledge his son, with another beer and cigarette.  

At that moment, Murdoc wished he had never been born.

#gorillaz #fanfiction #writing #murdoc niccals #sebastian niccals #murdoc #hannibal niccals

[hooryayy]

TWO YEARS TO THE DAY LATER and I am finally ready to share the story of when I fangirled hard enough to Edward James Olmos that he gave me a free autographed photo of him and Mary McDonnell

So this might get a tad longish, so I’ll be under a cut, but here is a brief summary: a Trump supporter pissed me off so much that despite me being high as heck on adderall, I had to go talk to EJO

In July 2015 I got my then romantic partner and his roommate to watch BSG with me so when I found out EJO was going to be at San Jose Comic Con in August, it only took a little bit of pestering to get them on board.

It was a 2-day convention and my always broke ass had to work late Friday night so we were only going to make it for half of the first day. Saturday morning rolls around and the boys are tripping out because our usual drug guy fell through. It was kind of a ritual for us to pick up some uppers anytime we went out of town, and tbh we were all heavily drug dependent back in those days SO you bet we took 2 extra hours to pop in and out of the city to pick up.

Finally dosed and got on our way, hit the usual weekend bay area traffic and arrived to the con at 3pm. We walked in and the line to meet this guy stretched wall to wall and I was immediately intimidated and tried to walk back out lmao. An announcement was made that they were ending for the day at 4, so I felt a lot less pressured to overcome my anxiety yet. Spent that hour in Star Trek collectors heaven though..

Rest of the eve/night we spent doing things GROWN ASS ADULTS shouldn’t be doing like sneaking into mini-golf and climbing trees with bottles of Jack and hot-boxing our hotel room while watching the series finale of Hannibal...

OK so Sunday. This was my day. We were having breakfast at the Red Robin in Morgan Hill with all the white families that just got done with church, the three of us doubled-down on 60 extended (okay this is a pretty big dose) and I’m starting to get anxious again (with or without the drugs it wouldn’t have mattered) like “I’m not/I can’t meet this guy, I don’t know how to approach him or even what to say blah blah blah” and the boys are getting mad at me because I talked about this for weeks (and planned what i wanted to say) and I’m being lame and I’ll be fine..

We show up to day 2, 12pm.. and literally no one is in line and now I am hella freaking the fuck out because literally it is only me that is stopping this from happening. My friend immediately walks up and shakes his hand and chats for a second and comes back and says the obvious that he is a nice dude, and I am like frozen, second hand embarrassment even though nothing bad happened. But my scared ass walks to the exact opposite corner of the building to slowly browse and psyche myself up for this.

so I got sucked in to this guy’s 90s scifi trading card collection, specifically the x-files binders lol and then he starts to make small talk and stuff, he asks what I study. OK I studied Political Science and Religious Studies, and it LITERALLY does not matter which answer I give it always starts something. but I choose the easier one and say politics.. and hooo boy

This fucker just goes off on me, saying shit like how stupid and lazy my generation is and that we don’t work hard, are entitled and have no idea how the real world works (the usual propaganda), and if we did we would be thinking about voting for Trump in the 2016 election (mind you this was VERY early on where Trump was still considered a joke even to the republicans)

Remember I am HIGH AS Shit. I am 2000% extra aware of and feeling the aggressive and hateful energy coursing through my veins from this interaction. Now Im sure he said other things I don’t remember because all I could do is focus on my breathing as to not get manipulated into whatever space this guy was trying to create but I heard a break in his rant, looked up, smiled and said “Thanks for sharing your collection with me” and dipped for the back exit to smoke 18 cigarettes.

Here is where I am letting myself get fucking pissed off, pacing and chain smoking. Neither of the boys are answering their phones. Then I realized how badass I was just then, and proud of myseelf for spiritually blocking out a nazi (again this is before they identified as such and punching them was a thing). I was like if I can handle this asshole, I can go meet Edward James Fucking Olmos no. problem.

I march back in and go straight to his table but then I took a detour to sit in a white folding chair about 20 feet away for 25 minutes first. Eventually one of his security dudes comes up to me and is like “Are you waiting for an autograph?” and I’m like “no, but I do want to talk to him for a minute if that is possible”

The guy asks for my name and we walk up to EJO together and he goes “This is Amy. She would like to talk with you.” And now I am realizing that everyone here is trying to gauge how severe my social handicap is.. but he puts out his hand to shake

“Hi, I am Ed.” I shook his hand!!

“I’m Amy. I just had the most awful interaction with a Trump supporter here so Im a little put off. He kept telling me how stupid me and my generation are and it makes me very grateful that you are a humanist and philanthropist. I’d recently watched the UN Panel and you talked about the invention of race as a tool for genocide and it means so much to me that you would use your voice and influence on that platform to address these kinds of things...”

and I trail off cuz Im about to ramble and shit and I noticed how he was just taking everything I said very seriously, like wasn’t expecting any of that at all. HE pauses and looks back up at me and says how special that panel was to him, that he’ll never do something as important again in his life. Then he asks me where I go to school and what I study, so I tell him and he is impressed with all the creds. Asks me if I am planning on going into politics.

“Not in the public sense. I want to do policy research targeting intersections of poverty, race, and education” And I swear to god his eyes snap up so fast to meet mine, like he is in admiral mode here and I am captivated. Straight in the eyes to me he goes

“We need you. All of us needs you up there doing that, fighting for that, for us. I have a feeling we are about to enter some tough times. I can tell you are special and it takes special people to make things happen”

I said thank you but I am about to burst into tears. I mean we all know this but let me reinforce it.. Ed is such an intense human and I had all 100% of this guy in my presence, overwhelmingly so, and I am mostly shook because he literally had no obligation to say anything. This guy fucking met me 5 minutes ago but he is ready to say that, and I sense he isn’t the kind of guy to just say shit. Also I AM STILL VERY HIGH lets not forget

So I change the subject because that other stuff is getting too intense for me, and I switch over to BSG lol and I ask him about Adama’s tendency to punish himself physically when he feels he has played some role in pain or negativity coming into his loved ones’ lives. He talks particularly about Adama’s alcoholism in season 4 and how he approached it as a combo of punishment and escapism (which let me tell you is..accurate). He finishes up his answer and all of a sudden I fucking blurt out for some ungodly fucking reason

“I love you and Mary, you are so cute together, I hope to meet her too”

Mortified. I am overstepping boundaries. I am dying inside and I can’t believe I got 3 thoughts out before I stopped.

He smiles and giggles and grabs this pic to sign for me for freeee and says “I hope you will too”

Amy- all of my love to you.

Like is that something he would normally sign for someone? Is that something anyone would sign to a random fan?

Anyways he gave it to me, I said thanks and I literally ran out of the convention clutching this picture to my chest and sat down against the building and started crying of the ultimate level embarrassment I could personally possibly be on. My boys find me and laugh at me and I cried the whole way home.

I still get major embarrassment even today just thinking about this interaction, no matter how well it turned out and how much of an impact EJO had on me.

Feels good to finally share my story in its entirety!! Thanks for reading

#first full account #im serious i have psychological issues surrounding this #personal #edward james olmos #spaceparents #sjcc

[elfnerdherder]

Magnum Opus: Chapter 24

You can reach Chapter 24 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 24:

           He slept, but he did not sleep. It came in blurred images, shifts between dreams and muted realities so that they blended to an unrecognizable nightmare.

           “Where am I…?”

           “I found you outside, you collapsed. You’re running a fever, Will. What’s happened?”

           Hands passed over arms, legs, wrists, feeling, touching, caressing. Blood spattered across a concrete floor, and Charlie cried in agonizing horror, begging to let it end, begging to let it…

           “Stop lying, j-just stop lying to me, please!” Begging. Hands grasping, gripping, kneading against threads that hold and do not break, arms that ensnare and do not let him get away. A blue light flashes, flashes. With each flash he is farther gone, and he cries, teeth gritted against the ache that builds just at his temples, screaming for release, clawing for the small bit of relief, just one more dose of pain medicine, just one more to keep it away…

           The feeling of falling, falling, falling, though there is no ground to fall to, no place where he will land. An eternity of darkness gives chase, suffocates him until every last drop of breath is gone.

           “You’re in a safe place. You’re safe. When you close your eyes, you will feel calmness, serenity. No harm can come to you here.”

           Nicholas Boyle does not lunge, does not fight. He is terrified –why? Reaching for him but he’s dead, he’s gaping open in the air, and the kisses taste like triumph, a bitter, ugly victory.

           “You’re going into shock. I can help with that.”

           No, no, no, no, no…

           Jared Freeman speaks through him, and he sees it is not his skin anymore, but a patchwork quilt of all those he’s tainted, ruined. He’s running, sprinting, but someone stops, reaches palm to palm in holy palmer’s kiss. It’s not enough –it’s a lie. He lifts the gun and shoots, and it’ll be over soon, it’ll be over soon.

           “I killed him, I feel like I killed him, oh my god –what am I? What am I?”

           The cold, the snow, the headlights. He’s drowning on air, but he sees everyone is breathing fine. The ravenstag impales him, and it takes the hit of the car, harming him but ultimately saving his life in the process. He goes flying, and as he lays in the dark, dark forest, he passes hands over his wounds, thinking that if this is how he’s going to go, at least no one had to see him fall.

           “Will?” Abigail asked, and Will opened his eyes. He was in Abigail’s bed at the institute, the short distance between them shared by the quiet whisper of his name. He stared at her face, features sharp in the muted light, and he reached up, brushing away a stray hair. She allowed the touch, although her gaze narrowed when he shivered.

           “I don’t know how I got here,” he confessed, and he pressed his head to the pillow to ease the pounding in his skull.

           “You came in through the same window I sneak out of,” she replied. He thought that it would be appropriate to sit up, to put distance between them and what Abigail was capable of, but every inch of him ached, and breathing was too difficult. He lay on top of the covers with her underneath, her hands placed under her head as a prop. It was alright to lay still for a little while; it was alright.

           “Did you sneak out after last time?” he asked when he could speak again.

           “Only once,” said Abigail. Her eyes traced his face, and she inhaled sharply, finding something awful there.

           “To see Hannibal?”

           “It’s not always to see Hannibal. Sometimes to just sit in the park you and I sat at, once. Before everything fell apart.” Will knew the park. He nodded, and he was there between Alana and Abigail, staring at the vast expanse of a world that got along far better than he could. Things were better then. Tentatively grasping, but at least he had a hold. Something tainted the park, though, something with nothing but a black abyss for eyes and antlers stained with blood. The memory was no good, and he shook his head rapidly, whining low in his throat.

           “I feel like I’m drowning, Abigail,” he said quietly. “And I’m losing what little grasp I had over myself.”

           “Do you think you’re my dad?” The question was presented with wide eyes. She froze, and he thought of the first time Hannibal had cornered him, how he’d frozen as well –no one liked to talk about the prey that froze. No one liked to talk about the prey that knew no matter what they did, they were trapped. It was to acknowledge that sometimes, fighting or fleeing didn’t work, the same way that freezing didn’t work. Sometimes, one was trapped before they ever even began.

           “I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t understand what I’m capable of…I’m bleeding into the skins of people I’ve never even met.”

           “Not a skin that hates me, though?” she asked.

           “Not even close,” Will promised. Abigail nodded, and the tension left her shoulders. They were two secrets compressed on a small twin bed in a psychiatric institute, and for the moment, the world was holding its breath.

           “Hannibal said you’re having a hard time,” she informed him when he didn’t say anything else. He swallowed heavily and nodded.

           “I am,” he agreed. Hannibal, Hannibal; there was something about Hannibal.

           “You look like you have a fever,”

           “I do.”

           “Why did you come here, then?” She blinked slowly, languidly at him. Will laughed, a hiss of air between his clenched teeth.

           “You’re the only thing that I have left,” he said. “Isn’t that sad?”

           “A little,” she said, and they shared a smile, one of savagery and horror alike, like they could somehow make it better if they suffered together. That was the truth for survivors, though, and that’s what they were. Will just wanted to know when he could finally stop living like it, when he would finally stop seeing the monster in the mirror.

           “I think maybe I should check into a hospital,” he said, and she nodded.

           “You look like you should check into a hospital.”

           “I won’t stay the night, don’t worry. I don’t want you to get into trouble. They’ll think I’m taking advantage of you.” Abigail snickered at that, her eyes rolling dramatically.

           “Hannibal told me that the two of you were lovers,” Abigail revealed, and even she seemed shocked by her words. Her hands moved to cover her mouth, like she could somehow reel them back in, and Will was horrified to discover the emotion underlying his reaction wasn’t disgust or discomfort, but a steady pulse of pleasure. Was that the thing about Hannibal? They were lovers? Hannibal said they were exclusive? God, he couldn’t even remember something as important as that anymore.

           “Is that what he said?”

           “Is it true?” she pressed. He shook his head, mouth gaping to try and find the words.

           “I don’t know what we are. I don’t feel like I know anything anymore, at least; not enough to answer with conviction.”

           “But you long for him,” Abigail said, and it appeared that whatever expression was on Will’s face, it was enough for her. “You want to be with him right now.”

           “I do,” Will said quietly. “But I’m afraid.”

           “What are you so scared of?” she asked. “What does Will Graham have to fear above all else?”

           “What if I’m not enough? What if in the end…I destroy myself?” Abigail reached out, and she pressed her palm to his heartbeat, staring at it intently. She glanced up at Will, and she smiled gently.

           “You survived me,” she said, and that was all that Will needed to hear. He grabbed his coat, and he snuck through the window, ignoring the biting chill of the late night, as it protested his presence. Short, curt puffs of air billowed from his lips, and he climbed into his truck, firing it up. He blinked, and frantic, trembling hands shook as it steered him towards freedom, towards safety. He blinked again, and he was driving with a steady grip, heading towards a house he’d driven to for many times before. When he reached it, he put it in park and strode towards the door, knocking on it with short, heavy bursts, his fingers tapping and drumming against his pant leg erratically.

           When Hannibal opened the door, expression guarded, Will did not hesitate. He threw his arms around his neck and kissed him, all of his fear, his rage, and his confusion melting away, leaving nothing but the taste of his lips and the heat that radiated off of him in intoxicating waves. Hannibal was surprised for only a moment. When he realized who it was, he dropped something with a clatter and grasped at the door, yanking it closed against the cold as he hungrily moved his lips against Will’s. There was a fumbling of hands, of teeth that crashed against one another as they pressed too close. There were no words; words were long since burned away, nothing but a primal, dark need to devour, to consume.

           Will pressed him against the wall in the hallway and dragged his tongue over Hannibal’s lips, hands roving over his chest, his shoulders, and along his neck. He tangled his fingers in his hair, and he dragged his teeth along his lips, needing. Wanting. Hannibal groaned, a low rumble in the back of his throat, and he pushed back, slamming Will against the opposite wall as his body slid along his, thigh pressed taut between his legs. Will was trapped from knee to chest, unable to do anything but let out a low, agonized groan as Hannibal undid the snaps to his coat, yanking it off of him and throwing it to the ground, his breath smooth and even despite the way his heart thundered against him as he rubbed his thigh against his growing desire.

           Will wasn’t quite sure how they managed to get from the hallway to the bedroom; everything was a blur of clothes, of teeth on pleading skin, of pauses between fumbling footsteps as they stopped to steal another taste. Will found himself on his back on Hannibal’s bed, Hannibal sliding along his body sensually, slowly. His hips pressed to Will’s, acknowledging his arousal with a teasing pressure, and his gasp was swallowed up as Hannibal pressed a lazy, deep kiss to his lips. Will was drunk off of it, and as Hannibal paused, poised above him, he opened his eyes and stared, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

           “Do you know what you’re doing?” Hannibal asked, his voice gravel. He let go of Will’s side to reach up and slide his fingers over his cheek.

           “I haven’t been this much in control of myself for a long time,” he replied, and he grabbed Hannibal by the back of his head, pulling him down for another spine-tingling kiss that left him reeling, stars behind his eyelids as Hannibal showed him just how much he wanted to consume him.

-

           He woke late; laziness was a drug that’d soaked into his skin and left him sunk into the pillows and blankets piled about him with languid bliss. Sunlight spilled across the bottom of the bed, and Will opened heavy-lidded eyes to study the slant of it, a sleepy groan passing his lips. He rubbed his head and considered sitting up, but the effort was too much. His thumb brushed along his bottom lip, and he could still taste Hannibal’s skin. At the thought of it, he smiled ever-so-slightly and arched his back, rolling over to press his face to the pillow.

           Just at the edge of the bed, Charlie Yorkman watched without eyes.

           When he found it in himself to get up, he debated taking a shower, but he tossed that idea aside. For the first time in a quite some time, he felt that his skin was his own, and he could still feel every inch of it that’d been touched. He didn’t want to ruin it. He nudged his feet into his jeans that were discarded by the bedroom door, then found his shirt in the hallway about halfway down. Part of him wondered where Hannibal was, and if he minded the mess of clothes strewn about –he decided it wasn’t important. He followed the scent of cooking meat, and he found Hannibal poised over the stove in the kitchen, making breakfast.

           “Good morning,” he said, ducking his head. He couldn’t quite meet his gaze, somehow sheepish now that he was wearing yesterday’s clothes. Hannibal looked up, studying from head to toe before he smiled.

           “Good morning, Will,” he said lightly. “Did you sleep well?”

           “I did.” Will walked closer and paused, keeping the island between them. “I’m…sorry for bursting in like that.”

           “On the contrary, I found it rather pleasant,” Hannibal said, adding a pinch of salt over whatever was in the pan. “When you surprise me in the future, it should be more along those lines rather than lost time and disappearances that result in my almost calling Agent Crawford.”

           “What?”

           “Do you remember your visit to my home just two days ago?” Hannibal looked back down to his work, elegant fingers dancing over the minced and chopped herbs and onions.

           “…No.” Will’s neck grew hot, and he gripped the counter top.

           “You collapsed in my front yard Tuesday afternoon, and by the time I found you, you’d been unconscious for some time. I was able to regulate your temperature and lower the fever, but you became erratic upon waking. You left despite my protests, and I didn’t hear from you Wednesday or Thursday.”

           “…What’s today?” Will asked hollowly.

           “Friday morning.”

           “…Oh,” he said, and that’s all that he could say. His fingers pawed at his phone and opened it, but there were no messages or missed calls from his father or Jack. He looked at the text messages, but the last one was from Beverly on Tuesday, confirming homework. He shut the phone with a snap and set it on the counter, nodding.

           “I lost time,” he informed Hannibal. Hannibal nodded gravely.

           “You lost time.” He stirred a few things around in the skillet and frowned down at it, like it could solve his problem. Will sat down on one of the stools, and his fingers dug into the cushion of it, like it could rip it in two with will alone. His rear twinged with a pleasant sort of ache, distracting.

           “I remember waking up at a crime scene…I thought I’d killed them.”

           “Is that what you last remember?” Hannibal asked.

           “That’s why I came here,” Will said slowly. “I don’t remember going to the crime scene, I don’t remember…” He stopped. Started again. “Someone murdered Charlie.”

           Saying it made it real. He leaned across the island and buried his face in his hands, fingertips pressed roughly to his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to fall. His eyelids burned, coals against his retinas, and he shuddered.

           S-stop lying –please stop lying to me!

           You’ve had a seizure…

           “That was the crime scene he took you to?” Hannibal asked. He stopped cooking and walked around the counter, grabbing Will’s shoulders gently. “You don’t remember going?”

           “I’d have said no; I don’t remember ever saying yes,” Will whispered. He allowed himself to be turned, and he lifted his head to look up at Hannibal, teeth gritted together tightly.

           “My condolences, Will.” Hannibal said, squeezing his shoulders tightly. “I know he meant something to you.”

           “When I came to… I felt like I’m the one that killed him,” he confessed, and he reached up to grab Hannibal’s hand tightly. “Anyone that gets too close to me becomes endangered. What if that’s what I’m doing when I lose time? I don’t know the Will that’s Will when I lose time. I feel like I’m drowning on air, like I’m forcing myself under, and I…I can’t fathom what it is I do when I can’t remember. What if I’m-”

           “The one that’s killing them?” Hannibal suggested. It stopped Will cold, and as he stared at Hannibal, a calm, light glow from the window outlined him. It was ethereal, peaceful. Will swallowed heavily and looked down, blinking rapidly.

           “I think,” he said slowly, “that I should see a medical doctor.”

           “Are your headaches worse?” Hannibal asked, lifting a hand to his head. He felt his temperature, then released him, moving to oven as it pinged.

           “Yes.” Hannibal hmm’d under his breath at that, and he turned as he removed something from the oven, the smell of freshly baked potato filling the air. It contrasted the somehow bleak, tepid air that draped around Will oppressively.

           “If they could bring some insight to your position, it’s for the best. What happens if it is not neurological though, but mental?”

           “What do you mean?” Will asked, looking up.

           “What are you going to do if they run the tests on your brain and it’s not a neurological illness, but a mental illness?” He set the pan down on oven mitts on the counter, leaning in to inhale the scent.

           “…Probably try and find someone that can treat that,” he said reluctantly.

           “You don’t trust me to?”

           “Is it really ethical to? If we…” His voice trailed off, and he coughed to dispel the pressure in his chest. He looked down and traced over his wrist, almost able to see the kiss marks Hannibal had left behind there. From over his shoulder, Charlie peered down to see, too.

           “That is a fair statement,” Hannibal said. “Although, as I said before, I’m not your psychiatrist. I’m your friend.”

           He served a salmon quiche, Will to his right at the elegant dining room table. When Will would look up from his food, he’d find Hannibal watching him, a small, delicate smile on his lips. It made him self-conscious in a heady, dizzying way, and he looked back to his food, taking another bite. His left hand rested on the table, and halfway through the meal, Hannibal reached over and lightly caressed it, encasing Will’s hand in his own to hold. Will looked at it, then to his face, and he swallowed his food with difficulty. He made no move to remove his hand.

           “I must correct my earlier statement,” Hannibal said lightly, like they were discussing the weather. “We are far more than just friends, Will.”

           “…Oh,” Will managed. He swallowed his food and nodded, a short laugh bursting from him. “That’s a relief.”

           “And I do offer my sincerest condolences. Would you like to talk about what happened at the crime scene, when you saw your friend?” That stopped his smile cold. He grimaced, and the blood pooled between them, hands without arms that lay in the loss of life, forgotten.

           You take them fishing?

           I take them fishing.

           “I don’t want to think about that right now,” he said hollowly, taking another bite of food. It turned to ash in his mouth, dry and rotten. “I think that’s…something I’d actually just like to forget entirely. One of the few things I’d trade if I got a better memory instead.”

           “Is that why you came here? You needed help replacing it with something else?” Though faint, a sliver of apprehension slid through his question. Will shook his head.

           “I wanted something real. Something…tangible. When I closed my eyes to think about what I wanted most in the world, all that I could see was you.”

           “I’m happy to oblige,” Hannibal said, and Will heard the smile in his voice.

           “You’re going to get eaten,” Jared said from across the table. He glared at Will, and it was the most tangible he’d been in a long, long time. Will forced himself to swallow his food, and he stared at the image, frozen. God, he needed to see a doctor.

           Hannibal saw Will to the door after breakfast, when they’d collected all of his things from the hallway to the bedroom. At the slight tear near one of the buttons on his shirt, Will laughed, then Hannibal laughed, and they stood in the hallway, arms full of clothing they’d been in such a hurry to remove that they’d ripped them to pieces. When he got into his truck, he headed towards home and decided that everything was going to be alright.

           It had to be.

           Such ideals, while optimistic and hopeful, are ultimately, tragically wrong. When Will pulled up to the house to the image of five SUV’s and a couple of police cars, he realized with a sinking, dark sensation that no matter how hard he grasped, he’d always lose his footing and fall.

           Jack Crawford waited for him as he turned off the car and climbed out. The police lights lazily flashed although no siren sounded, and he winced at the blue that spun about and occasionally hit him with its beam. It wasn’t an invasive light; it was muted. It still stung him though, pricked at something in the back of his head he couldn’t reach, couldn’t quite touch.

           “Good morning, Will,” Jack said, and it wasn’t anywhere close to the same tone Hannibal had used when he greeted him earlier. Will frowned at the cars, then back to Jack, confused. His fight or flight instinct was flaring up, telling him that he had to run, and he had to run far.

           He froze.

           “Is something wrong?” he asked shakily.

           “You know, there really is,” Jack laughed, and he slung an arm around Will’s shoulder, pulling him in tight. “Tuesday, I had you take a look at the crime scene of a man by the name of Charlie Yorkman. You had a fit of some sort, and I removed you from the crime scene. Interesting enough, not once in that entire encounter do I recall you ever mentioning that that very man you faced down in that warehouse was actually one that you lived with up until that point when he disappeared.”

           Will’s blood turned to ice. Bits and pieces came back to him, of Charlie’s face, of his missing eyes, his missing hands. Breakfast churned in his stomach, and he had to fight to keep it down, his eyes darting from the cop cars to the agents that scoured the entire property with purpose. He’d thought to tell him, thought to inform him of his dark, twisted luck, that kept piling bodies up around him until he was going to drown in them, but he’d blacked out before he could, time lost and never regained. Now, it seemed, it was too late. What little time he had wasn’t even his own.

           “I didn’t…”

           “So then I show up here, and I find a dog that isn’t registered to you keeping guard. We ran the chip information, and that dog belongs to the deceased Cassie Boyle.” That was news to Will. He almost doubled over, sucker-punched, but Jack hauled him along, unwilling to let him drop. His grip was iron, a dark suspicion rippling off of him.

           “If it was the one, I’d chock it up to a nasty coincidence from a kid who’s seen a lot in a little bit of time,” Jack continued. He shoved Will forward until he stumbled and fell against a cop car, and his expression darkened. “But two in one day is probable cause, and we’re searching this place.”

           “I didn’t…do anything,” Will stammered, and Jack held up his hand.

           “If you haven’t, then we’re not going to find anything. But for now, you probably don’t want to say a word,” he advised, and he motioned to two cops to keep an eye on Will. Jack walked away, towards the barn, and Will pressed his palms to his face, sweat beading at his temples. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening,

           “This isn’t real,” he told himself, but he was grounded enough in the moment that he knew it was a lie without even having to consider it. Lazily, the blue lights flashed and blinded him with each pulse, unheeding of the way that his breath came short with it, the way his palms grew clammy and cold.

            You’re in a safe place. Safe. Comforted. Safe.

            “C-can you turn off the lights,” he asked one of the cops, but they didn’t answer. He rubbed his eyes, the light piercing him, swaying against him as it knocked him back into the waves, reeling, spinning. Needles, sharp and vicious pricked along his veins from his feet up, and the longer that Will stood there, the worse it became, red-hot in the way that it spread like a rash, burning, burning, and when he whined in pain, a cop turned towards him.

            He’s going to devour you.

           “What’s he doing,” one of them murmured, but Will couldn’t hear it, not the way that heard Charlie’s screams as he begged for mercy, for the pain to end. He blinked, and he licked the blood from his knife, the taste of iron and pennies hot on his tongue. It was the sweetest of flavors, the essence of another. Across from him, Garrett Jacob Hobbs smiled, his mouth black and gaping.

           Would you like see what someone else’s blood tastes like?

            Will fell to his knees and grasped his head, the blue light flashing, flashing. Heat poured from him, and across his arm he saw his skin blister and burst. He was cold, he was hot, and he clawed at his arm to get the needles out; he didn’t need the needles in his skin, he didn’t want the needles in his skin. Shivers racked his body, and as someone came running, the last thing he saw was the ravenstag watching him between the police cars before it all went black.

#LiaS scribble #writing #magnum opus #someone help will graham #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram #will graham x hannibal #hannibal's psycho is showing #and Will is too sick to see it

[elfnerdherder]

Dread and Hunger: Ch. 5

You can read it on Ao3 Here

Chapter 5: Pinot Noir 2

           Hannibal’s house was a little under an hour away from DC, a fact that he’d politely neglected to mention until Will saw them leave the city. He’d thought about protesting since Hannibal would have to drive him back, but once again, the idea of someone else handling things, even for a moment, seemed relaxing in an almost drug-inducing way. He really needed to find a way to destress.

           He really needed to find a way to get the Chesapeake Ripper to stop sending him letters without dying in the process.

           He played classical music, and Will reveled in it, the soft notes lulling and relaxing. He leaned back against the leather of the chair, eyes closed.

           “Do you always ride your bike?” Hannibal had asked, helping him load it into the vehicle.

           “I have a three-generation Subaru, but it’s parked in the garage of the complex. Way past its prime until it snows or I’m desperate.”

           After that, a lull in conversation that didn’t seem forced or uncomfortable. Maybe that’s why he’d agreed? In all of his time serving Hannibal, not every moment had been exhausted with words. In at least two years, he could maybe fill a few chapters of a book with what’d been exchanged between them. Not having to fill the silence was nice.

           In the farthest corner of his mind, he hoped Hannibal followed him to the next gig he got, but he wasn’t going to bet on it.

           Dr. Lecter’s house was a modest Tudor style with a wraparound driveway. The entry was deep, rich tones, and following him towards the kitchen, Will stopped several times to admire the oil paintings on the wall. There were several sculptures of stags, elk, and all manner of woodsy things, a mild cross between a cultured and sophisticated art aficionado and a poised lumberjack. The air held the same scent as Hannibal did –something electric and oaky, an expensive cologne but a nice one none-the-less

           The kitchen was granite, steel, and taupe, everything cleaned and in its own meticulous place. Hannibal instantly began the preparations to cook, leaving Will to hover by the chopping table, fingers passing over the wood idly.

           “I appreciate you being so willing to travel for your meal,” Hannibal said, gathering his ingredients. "I’ve been smoking liver on wood chips all day, and I supposed correctly that I’d made too much.

           “Smoked liver?”

           “Are you not a fan of liver?” Hannibal looked back from the pantry he was stepping into, poised to turn around.

           “I’ve never had it,” he said, and Hannibal disappeared into the pantry. He came back with a bottle of red wine, and he made quick work of uncorking it and letting it breathe.

           “Then I am glad to be your first experience,” he said, and maybe it was the way he peered over at Will while he poured two glasses of wine, or maybe it was the way his lip curled, but Will decided that he was definitely hoping Hannibal decided to follow him to his next job, whatever that may be. It was a dangerous sort of thought, indeed.

           He tried to help, but Hannibal deposited him on a stool to watch as he worked, insisting that it was his treat. His skill with the blade as he diced, chopped, and minced was phenomenal, and by the time he finished, Will’s mouth was watering at the smells. He was escorted to a cobalt blue dining room with fresh herbs and plants growing along one of the walls, and he couldn’t help but gape, the fireplace lit to a sharp crackle of ambience that made him tap fingertips along his thigh absentmindedly, leisurely.

           “Stuffed roast heart, deviled kidneys, and smoked liver with fresh greens,” Hannibal said, setting the plate in front of him. Will stared down at it, then to the large wine glass presented. “I thought this particular pinot noir would lend itself to the meal.”

           “It smells amazing,” Will said, leaning in. He noted Hannibal watching him intently. “Do you often use a lot of meat in your meals?”

           “This is no herbivore’s dinner, Will. Tonight, this is an ode to the carnivores.”

           “I don’t even know how you made all of this,” Will said with a short laugh, “and I watched the entire thing.”

           “Cooking is my pleasure, and I’m always happy to share with friends.” Friends. At some point, the descriptor had shifted from acquaintances to friends.

           “Thank you,” he said, and Hannibal nodded.

           “I do hope you like it. I’m rather particular about what I eat, which is why I don’t often eat out. I prepare almost all of my meals, if I can help it.”

           “If I could cook like this, I would too,” Will agreed. He cut the smoked liver, taking a small bite. The flavor was rich, heady and delicious, and he nodded in appreciation, taking a sip of wine after. “I’ve decided that I’m a fan of liver.”

           “It was from a particularly stout pig, so I’m glad it appeals to you.” Hannibal watched him take a few more bites before he began to eat, cutting his food with delicate precision. A small smirk graced his mouth, something self-satisfying and secret. He ate European style, tines down, and Will found himself mimicking the action, small bites with small cuts.

           “I confess that I have a question for you,” Hannibal said, glancing up at him. Will managed to return the stare, although he had to take a full gulp of his drink after.

           “Okay.”

           “When you speak with people, does the degree of your unease determine whether or not you begin to mimic their speech patterns, or is it through a natural course of time?”

           “What do you mean?” Will asked uneasily.

           “When I spoke with you about your secret admirer, the more uneasy you became, the more your words and flow of conversation matched mine. When a woman at the table near mine continued to engage with you flirtatiously, you matched her tone and influx, although the words differed as you ultimately rejected her advances. I was curious if your melding of yourself with another was a direct correlation to stress or not.”

           “I try not to,” Will admitted after a moment. He took another sip of wine to steady himself. “Someone once accused me of making fun of them.”

           “Yes, I noticed when you attempted to force yourself to speak another way. You do realize it, although you can’t entirely help it.” Hannibal held the glass poised in the air, allowing the muted light to strike the color, rendering the rich plum a glowing red.

           “Just how much do you notice about me?” Will asked. It was a dangerous question; he wanted an honest answer as much as he wanted Hannibal to change the subject.

           “Perhaps too much,” Hannibal admitted after a moment.

           “It doesn’t bother you to say it, though.”

           “Does it bother you?” Hannibal asked, looking at him. “At times it does, that much I know.”

           “Is this where you tell me that you can’t help it?” Will’s lip quirked, and Hannibal laughed lightly. It was a clipped sort of sound, something that seemed to hold back so much more.

           “I certainly can help myself. I choose not to.” At Will’s shocked laugh, he continued, “In reality, small talk is what creates bridges between people, the repetitious connection that they use as stepping stones to the more in-depth discussions that ultimately create lasting relationships. I have never been adept at the inanities of it. Why use such faux manners of speech when you can leap directly to the heart of your intended discussion?”

           “No, you go right for the ‘How was lab, Will? I noticed you wore the same trousers as your last shift, and you’d mentioned having to be there for a fifteen hour time period.’”

           “You remember that?” Hannibal asked, surprised. “That was a conversation from some time ago.”

           “…I remember a lot of things,” Will said reluctantly. He focused on his food, not wanting to admit that he remembered most of their conversations. Eidetic memory was sometimes a curse.

           “You are not so good at small talk either,” Hannibal noted, and Will felt his gaze burning on him. He studiously refused to look up.

           “I’m not,” Will agreed after he swallowed a mouthful of food.

           “And yet something broaching deeper, darker waters leaves you drumming your fingers and glancing about for an exit, an almost panicked expression in your eyes.”

           “I guess that’s why I keep getting fired,” Will replied dryly.

           “Someone of your personality doesn’t belong in customer service –at least, not in this country. Americans expect a cashier to stand for eight hours in one place, scanning items, and at the mention of a chair, they have such a panic at the presumed laziness. They expect a retail employee to run about grabbing items that they could retrieve themselves, bending their back to make a simple sale, and they expect you to both serve drinks and become friends with every single person that walks through the door, no matter how disrespectful or rude they are.”

           “I think you just endeared yourself to every millennial that ever had to work in customer service,” Will said.

           “I have a rather low tolerance for the rude,” Hannibal informed him, cutting into a kidney with enthusiasm. “They have a certain sort of…taste about them.”

           “You’d really love the FBI agent that I spoke with, then,” said Will thoughtfully, then stopped. The thought of the Chesapeake Ripper soured the meal, tainted it with the blood and blasé manner in which he dealt life and death.

           “When he accused you of being the Chesapeake Ripper?” Hannibal inquired.

           “…Yeah.” He didn’t want to mention the second meeting, the third death. The way he’d woken up that night, bathed in sweat and terror as he stared into the faceless man’s empty eye sockets, blood dripping steadily onto his lips. Nightmares came with the territory of seeing so much more than he’d ever wanted to, left him convulsing with tremors as he fought to get control of himself. Normally, two fingers of whiskey did the trick, followed by background noise of Netflix, but that was on a good day. Days where the only face he could see was the one representing his secret admirer were not good days.

           “How is your secret admirer, by the way?” Hannibal asked.

           “Still a secret,” Will murmured.

           After dinner, Hannibal made two Old Fashioned's, cutting the rinds with skilled precision. He deposited Will in a comfortable leather chair before the fireplace in his study, and he lifted his glass in cheers, taking a sip. Will smiled a little, buzzed from the wine before dinner and the wine during, turning his drink around in his hand so that he could watch the firelight through it.

           “Do you bring all of your patients to your house for a drink?” he joked lightly.

           “Do you consider yourself my patient?” Hannibal wondered. He stood by the fireplace, watching Will with the firelight silhouetting his back, streaks of gold and russet red flickering along his shoulders.

           “I don’t know what I’d call us,” he said, taking a long drink. He got a third of it down and nodded appreciatively at the taste, the citrus undertone sharp on his tongue.

           “Because we haven’t had enough small talk, or because you are evasive of anything more?”

           “Because I’m pretty sure you’re at least ten years older than I am,” said Will, glancing from his drink to Hannibal.

           “Is age so terrifying a thing for you?”

           “I’ve heard enough from friends to learn from their mishaps rather than make the same disastrous mistakes. Age difference…doesn’t really work out in the younger person’s favor. It’s messy.” Were they really having this conversation? Was Will really being so bold? It was the alcohol; Hannibal had a rather good collection of it.

           “It doesn’t have to be. The first step to dooming a situation is declaring it as doomed in the first place.” Hannibal sipped his drink, studying Will. Be it the firelight or the shadows it cast on his face, but there was a hungry, primal edge to him, finely honed and delicious. Will took another long drink, pressing his back to the chair. His eyes fell to Hannibal’s dress shoes, gaze fastened to the way the tweed slacks fell at just the right angle against them. The man was as meticulous as Will was rumpled.

           “And what would you call the ‘it’ that does or does not have to be doomed?”

           “Whatever you’d like it to be, Will,” Hannibal said lightly. “Labels were created to give comfort to those that are unsure of themselves or their existence and place in this world. I harbor no such reservations of who I am or where I stand.”

           The fire popped cheerfully behind him, and Will glanced to it before his eyes flickered up towards Hannibal’s face, holding his impassive stare. The silence surrounded them, curling like a well-snapped whip, and Will stood and finished his drink, the alcohol warm in his stomach. Call it liquid courage, call it the heady sense of recklessness, but he crossed the room at a slow, leisurely pace and stopped just before Hannibal, the tips of his shoes a whisper from what had to be Italian leather.

           “I have a habit of ruining the foundations of something that could be a good thing,” he revealed, voice dropping.

           “Previous friends and lovers alike destroyed with their perceptions of your apathy when in reality you merely lacked the ability to convey affection in a way they’d understand,” Hannibal noted, and Will nodded slowly, gaze fastened to his lips.

           “Their faces connected to faces of others I’d rather forget.”

           “No stable barriers in the bone arena of your skull?” Hannibal murmured, matching his tone.

           “None.”

           “Associations that follow you well away from the physical connection, aligning themselves with your true feelings until you can’t determine what is yours and what belongs to someone else?”

           “It disgusts me,” Will said, and Hannibal’s head dipped down, the slightest of space left between them.

           “Shocked at your feelings, horrified at the associations. How could you see such ghastly things and understand them so intimately?” The heat burned off of Hannibal, and it seared Will, made his breath catch at the sudden need that gripped him. He wanted to touch, to take.

           “How do you see me?” Will wondered.

           “I imagine your peers have handled you as fine china, brought out only for special occasions and held with care. Used gently, hand washed and returned to the curio to collect dust until the next parlor trick.” The hand not currently occupied with a drink lifted and glided just along Will’s jaw, sliding into his curls. Will’s eyes flickered closed, opened lazily.

           “I want to know what you think, though.”

           “You are the mongoose I want under the house for when the snakes slither by,” said Hannibal. Will laughed a little, teeth bared.

           “Not the most romantic thing I’ve heard.”

           “You’re not here for romance,” Hannibal said huskily.

           “What am I here for?” Will challenged.

           “You’re here because you can’t quiet your mind, and for just the briefest of moments, you’d like someone else to take control. You’d like to turn off the mirrors that reflect the world around you and amplify within your head until you can’t see reality anymore.”

           Will balked under the words said with such poise, such ease. Was his mind stripped bare so quickly? Was he so easily reduced to a summary, a psyche-eval? Hannibal tilted his head back and finished his drink, the space between them distorted by the glass and the amber liquid within. He took both glasses and disappeared from the room, leaving Will before the fire with mercury sizzling in his veins.

           Will heard his steps as he returned, but he made no move to turn and acknowledge him. He didn’t have to. Hannibal walked closer, and his body ghosted behind Will’s, almost there but not quite. If Will leaned back, he’d be pressed against him, and he knew without having to know that it would be the sort of invitation to forget everything for a short while, let someone else take command and see all of the ugly things inside without fear or reluctance. He tucked his hands into his pockets, and he swallowed heavily, a breath away from leaning back, a breath away from falling forward.

           “I think,” Hannibal said, voice caressing his ear, “that I should return you to your home.”

           “Did I scare you, Dr. Lecter?”

           “On the contrary, I think you scared yourself.” Hannibal’s hand lifted to his shoulder, squeezed gently and slid along his shirt, pausing just over the space the Chesapeake Ripper had made his horrendous suck mark. He touch lingered, then lifted, and he headed towards the door. “I’ll get my keys.”

           The ride back was quiet. Be it the elevated pulse that refused to calm no matter how long he sat, or the heat from the alcohol that lurked just under his skin, but the ride was faster, and with directions from Will, Hannibal pulled into a parking space at his apartment complex. He put the car in park and looked to Will, expression veiled in the darkness of the vehicle.

           “Thanks,” Will said, getting out of the car. Hannibal helped him get his bike out of the back, the awkward maneuvering causing hands to fumble and bump into one another before he stood straight, the bent and structured metal the best sort of barrier he could have at the moment. Hannibal closed the trunk and studied him, eyes unnervingly steady.

           “Do try to get a good night’s rest, Will,” he said. “If I’ve made you uncomfortable-”

           “You haven’t,” Will assured him quickly.

           “I was thinking about your loss of sleep, and I have an idea, if you’d like to hear it.” Will wheeled his bike up to the sidewalk, and he paused, looking to Hannibal poised at the driver’s side door of the car.

           “I would.”

           “You use a particular aftershave with a pungent smell. Sometimes smells leave us with something, an after-effect of headaches, dizziness, associations of circumstances.”

           “What’s my aftershave have to do my dreams?” Will wondered, confused.

           “It smells like something with a ship on the bottle. If you’re having bad dreams, I’d recommend changing the aftershave.”

           He got into his car and drove away, leaving Will puzzled, a little drunk, and more than a little confused.

           He told himself he was confused due to the mention of his aftershave and not because he’d been a breath away from sleeping with an older man.

#LiaS scribbles #hannibal fanfic #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal au #hannigram #murder husbands #will graham x hannibal #someone help will graham #or not