#the same could be said for Reba for Dolarhyde

[suchawrathfullamb]

FRANCIS/REBA + WILL/HANNIBAL

I came across a TikTok talking about the correlation between Reba, Dollarhyde and Hannigram, and although throughout the whole Dragon plot, it may not seem like there is any correlation, after Reba's plot, we have her last scene and it is essentially confirmed that it was, indeed, related, and it is confirmed by Will himself, by speaking to her in a way that is very obvious he understands what she's been through on a personal level..."not just the blind". And also him projecting, telling her "there's nothing wrong with you", clearly talking to himself there. So this scene is the grounding point for this messy rambling.

With that in mind, if we go back to the other episodes where we were getting through the Dragon's plot, there's a lot of interesting points to correlate to Hannigram, such as the scene where Reba feels the tiger, "the beast", a word that has been used to refer to Hannibal before. Reba is in awe of the creature, yet it is harmless because it is sedated. We could look at it as Will being Reba ("blind" to danger) and the tiger being Hannibal, as the TikTok creator proposes, she talks about Will/Reba being able to feel the soft side of Francis/Hannibal that the world does not see.

Alternatively we could look at it as Reba being Will, the tiger being his wild instincts and his own darkness, and Dollarhyde being Hannibal: he took Reba to the zoo and watched in amazement as she delighted in the experience of feeling the tiger, much like H delighted in seeing Will "interacting" with his own darkness.

"The beast's heartbeat" could be a symbol for how even though the man (Francis and H) are conceived as separate from the beast (Will implies that in the conversation with Reba, saying "you didn't draw a freak, you drew a man with a freak on his back")...But now as I write this it's making think about how Will could just as easily be referring to himself, as if he perceives that H is the "freak" on his own back...Hence why he wants to help Francis, and yes, we know he was jealous, yet Will has the tendency to be extremely compassionate towards the criminals he feels are fighting something within, and says so in the same convo with Reba...He says Francis was trying to stop, says, again, that Francis isn't a freak, just "has a freak on his back". He relates somehow. He tries helping them because he wants to believe he can help himself, which was directly shown in S2, in the horse episode, with the social worker and Peter, the guy Will related to.

They (Reba and Dolarhyde) also shared a deep (and quite mystical) sexual connection. It was the first time Francis experienced love...or what he perceives love to be. The symbolism of Reba being blind could be saying that, for Francis, one needs to be blind to truly accept him (he thinks he's ugly/deformed)? Maybe. Maybe it's even the opposite...She can't see how he looks so she likes him on a deeper level (in his perception, at least). It's an interesting aspect to contemplate nonetheless, I have no definitive answer to that.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the biblical text this plot derives from, the Woman Clothed With The Sun, or The Apocalypse Woman, is said to be carrying a child, a son, and the Dragon (Satan) wants her child, but isn't able to get him or able to even attack her, though he tries. We see that on the show, where after they make love, Francis' Dragon wants her. He tells Hannibal this and we have this interesting line:

This makes me think of how Hannibal thought he needed to eat Will (in that conversation with Bedelia) but never actually did it. I wonder if he came to a similar conclusion, "having him alive", although of course Hannibal doesn't kill or eat people because there's a greater force inside him making him do so, but he does have the whole idea of needing to eat in order to forgive (which is ambiguous).

This dialogue happens immediately after Hannibal says he feels love for Will. Obviously H is extremely arrogant or downright delusional and doesn't seem to consider that what he did to Will in the first place, was betrayal, and what Will did was merely a reaction to the hardcore betrayals he experienced, and so he still thinks he's the one who has to forgive somehow. Or perhaps he's just lying to himself. Either way, we have a similar situation with Francis, the Dragon, H and Will. The *extremely* ambiguous dialogue between H and Bedelia seems to imply that he does not accept feeling love? He "blames" Mischa for making him feel something he cannot control (picture above).

Is that why he feels the "need" to consume Will? In the original work H is fed his sister unknowingly, but in the NBC version it's implied he simply ate her to honor her death. Mads says so in a s3 special, he found the caged man molesting and killing her, therefore this cannot be the same as people feeding him Mischa without his knowledge or consent. Bedelia also implies this in the bathtub scene, she asks what was his first "spring lamb", then immediately asks "what did your sister taste like?".

All of this to try to make sense of why he said that to Francis. He couldn't have predicted Francis was interested in Will, so that's not what he had in mind when suggesting to keep her alive, and "not worry about feeling love for her". Did Hannibal finally came to this conclusion/acceptance himself? That he doesn't need to consume Will just because he loves him, just like Francis doesn't need to kill Reba because the love he felt for her incited the Dragon? Maybe. H actually contemplates killing Will when they're at the cliff house (see WOTL script) but his "compassion is inconvenient" and so he doesn't.

What's the point of this? God only knows. Anyway,

Closing this useless mess up with canon Hannibal is Will's God. I'm sorry if you came this far and thought I actually had a point. This show destroyed my brain and before that I was on the Supernatural fandom so, imagine my state of being, pray for me.

#hannibal #hannigram #nbc hannibal #murder husbands #will graham #hannibal lecter #meta #i haven't sleept

[palatial-monstrosity]

You and I have begun to blur: Will Graham as Bluebeard, Molly as Bluebeard’s penultimate wife

NBC Hannibal s3 // Illustration by Gabriel Pacheco for Bluebeard (detail)

#the same could be said for Reba for Dolarhyde #Reba Molly & Bedelia are all left almost but not quite dead as their latest male partners chose murder instead #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #bluebeard

[darling-i-read-it]

The Wrath of the Lamb

3x13

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4.7k (this is officially the longest thing i’ve ever posted, i beat my own record three times with this series lmao)

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, guns, pregnancy, burning, canniablism, death, gore probably more idk 

Author’s Note: My very favorite thing about this rewrite is watching the show and seeing how those writers and creators took pieces of the original source material to create their own show and I took both the novels and the show and just did this. I am very very proud of this. I am so happy I decided to do it. I was going to make a substantial change to the ending but I honestly am hoping that one day, season 4 will happen and maybe I’ll stil be writing. Thank you all SO MUCH for getting this far. I am so happy we got to share this together and that this show is as good as it is. I hope I did it justice because this show is so complex. I hope that you all enjoy and thank you again. 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: Will orchestrates a plot involving Hannibal in hope of slaying Francis Dolarhyde; Bedelia is concerned for Will and the lives of those close to him.

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

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) 

You looked in the small window of Reba’s hospital room. You were standing outside of it beside your husband, your hand tight around your upper arm. You were almost cradling yourself in a way. This reminded you of when you had come to visit Abigail, when she was still in the hospital. As your eyes went from the window to Will you were once again thrown to the reality of now. If it had been Abigail in that room you would have looked to see a shaking, sweating puppy dog Will Graham who was so unsure of the world around him. This Will was so different. His hair was done, his shirt ironed. You had ironed it. 

He met your eyes and you gave him a small nod. He opened the door and you let him go inside. You did not follow him. He had enough empathy to give Reba and he understood where she was standing. You and him understood. You had all loved a monster.

-

Will grabbed your arm gently. You and him stood in front of Hannibal’s cage. You had no doubt that Hannibal saw you somewhere else. But nonetheless, you allowed yourself to ease in his presence. A thing Will was once again learning to do.

“Ding-dong, the Dragon’s dead,” Will said. Hannibal raised an eyebrow. He looked between the two of you and his smile faded.

“Pity. I had such plans,” he promised. You believed that. “Are congratulations in order?” Will approached the other man, just against the glass wall. 

“I didn’t kill him. Neither did Y/N. Suicide.”

“I would have liked to kill him as well,” you muttered. Hannibal seemed disappointed at that.

“Then he wasn’t as strong as the Dragon after all,” Hannibal whispered. 

“He was trying to stop,” Will argued. You weren’t sure why Will was arguing for Francis. You hated that he was. He had hurt you. Francis had scared you. You didn’t mention it but you could feel that Hannibal caught the emotion

“I was rooting for you, Will. I figured you would adore killing the man who attacked your family, it’s such a shame. You came all this way and didn’t even get to kill anybody. Only consolation is Dr. Chilton.” Hannibal paused for affect. “Congratulations for the job you did on him. I admired it enormously. Did you do it together? Was the idea hatched in the duo?” You straightened your back. 

“No,” Will said simply. 

“What a cunning couple you are,” Hannibal said anyway. 

“Are you accusing us of something?” you questioned.

“Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation? Even a little bit?” Hannibal questioned. 

“We came back to stop the Dragon. He’s stopped,” Will stated. 

“Your family was on his itinerary Will. You’re safe now, all three of you. You can go home again. If there’s any point?” Hannibal suggested. You gave him a look. 

“I like my life,” Will said but he did not sound convincing. 

“It won't’ be the same. You’ll see it’s not the same,” Hannibal promised. You stepped closer to the glass.

“I want it to be the same. Together, we will make it the same,” you promised.

“Mutual assurances you try to exchange in the dark and in the day will pass through some refraction, making them miss their mark. When life becomes maddeningly polite…” Hannibal thought about his words and made you both think about them as well. “...think about me. Think about me, don’t worry about me.” 

Will was ready to leave. You could feel it. 

“You turned yourself in so I would always know where you are. You’d only do that if we, together, rejected you.” Will put his hand on the nape of your back. “Good-bye Hannibal.” Will started to lead you out. 

“Will…” He turned. “Was it good to see me?” 

“Good? No.” 

Will walked out and you followed him. He kept going but you stopped as the doors behind you shut. Your mind reeled and he could see it. 

“I need my own goodbye,” you whispered. He gave you a long look. He knew that this was what you needed. He knew it was. Still though, he didn’t want it. He wanted to protest. 

“I’m going back to the motel. Meet me there?” You nodded. He walked down the hall. You could feel his tenseness but ignored it as you walked back into the room with Hannibal. He was clearly surprised to see you. 

“Was that not good-bye?” he questioned. You shrugged.

“That was Will’s good-bye. Not mine.” 

You walked in front of the glass and sat down. Hannibal did the same. You were arguably one of the only people he would sit down like that for. 

“I take for granted, on occasion, that you enjoyed my company,” you told him. You played with the hem of your pants. “I recognize, to a fault, that you would eat me if let out. You would eat my husband. You would eat my baby. But still…” You smiled, reminiscently. “I loved you.” 

He was pleased to hear this. He was so pleased.

“You never would have left him. Not even if I killed him in the kitchen,” he suggested. You thought about that for a moment. You thought back to that terrible day and felt it again.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“When you came in to interview for the secretary position I had already picked someone. I didn’t want to be rude, so I let you in.” He stopped. That was the end of his story.

“Why would you let me work for you?”

“Because I liked you. And as it turns out, we would have met eventually. Through Will.” You nodded.

“But it would have been different.” 

“Yes. Yes it would have.” You pressed your hand against the glass. He looked at it and he did not put his hand on yours. 

“Will is right. I turned myself in so you and he would always know where I am. Because you rejected me.” Your hand fell off the glass slowly.

“I deserved that.” 

You stood up and took a deep breath.

“Good-bye Hannibal.” 

-

You walked up to the hotel room and started to grab the key from your purse. You struggled for a moment but eventually found it. You slid it into the lock and unlocked it, walking inside. Your mind hung over Hannibal still when you were grabbed. You had just been able to see Francis coming at you enough to push him off, hitting his head. He ran out of the door and you followed him but eventually he went too far and you had to stop. You turned back to the room and ran back, your hand on your stomach as you breathed hard from adrenaline. 

Will sat in the chair, tied down. You rushed to him, locking the door behind you. 

You started to untie him.

“Who was that?” you asked. 

“The Red Dragon,” he breathed. You scoffed.

“Not dead then.”

“Clearly.” You got him out quickly.

“Are you alright?” you questioned. He nodded, rubbing his wrists. 

“Yeah. He didn’t hurt me much.” 

“What did he want?” 

You stared at each other. He didn’t need to tell you. You knew. 

-

Will, you and Jack Crawford stood in the hall leading to the morgue. 

“The obvious thing is to try to get him to come to us. Bait him with something he wants more than us,” Will said. Jack gave him a look.

“He’d be an idiot to go for it,” Jack muttered. 

“I know. Want to hear what the best bait would be?” you asked. Jack stared at you. You stared back at him.

“Not from you.”

“Hannibal would be the best bait,” Will said so that you didn’t have to. Jack shook his head.

“Why in God’s name would anybody want to meet Hannibal Lecter?”

“To kill him, Jack. The Dragon could absorb him that way, engulf him, become more than he is,” Will explained. It gave you a moment of just realizing that was how he used to speak about killers he didn’t know. 

“You sound pretty sure Will.”

“I’m not sure. Who’s sure? I’m not even sure Hannibal would draw the Dragon. I say it’s the best shot,” Will explained. 

“Set up how?” Jack asked.

“I would be hell to do, I know that. We’d take Hannibal into federal custody,” Will said. You gave him a look. 

“Because Y/N and Alana would never sit still for what you’re about to suggest?” You gave Jack a bitter role. 

“We fake an escape.” Will stared at you for a moment and Zeller called his name. “One moment.” He disappeared in the morgue that left you and Jack alone, annoyingly. 

“You’ll have both their lives in your hands,” you whispered. 

“Since when do you care about if Hannibal gets hurt under my care?” he questioned.

“Since now.” 

-

Bedelia did not look happy. You did not expect her to be happy either. You respected her bit of unhappiness. 

“We assign a moment to decision, to dignify the process as a timely result of rational and conscious thought. Yet what you propose is so thoughtless, I find it difficult to imagine that moment exists,” Bedelia said bitterly. You stood behind Will, walking around the room slowly. Will sat down across from her.

“Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They’re more often a lump than a sum.” Bedelia stood up, walked to where she kept the drinks and poured herself one. She offered one to you that she then realized you couldn’t drink. 

“However you think you’re going to manipulate this situation to your advantage, think again,” Bedelia said.

“There is no advantage. It’s all degrees of disadvantage,” you argued. Bedelia fixed on you and Will with a piercing stare. 

“‘Who holds the Devil, let him hold him well. He will hardly be caught a second time’.” 

“I don’t intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.” A flicker of alarm played in her eyes. 

“Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him. Is that what this is?” she asked, bitterly.

“I guess this is my Becoming,” Will suggested.

“I just tag along,” you whispered.

“Because you have two crazy men in absolute love with you,” she told you. Will stood up, straightening his jacket. He was done here.

“I’d pack my bags if I were you Bedelia. Meat’s back on the menu.” 

-

Alana looked annoyed. She sat in Jack’s office, a place you hated to the ends of the Earth. You messed with your hair a bit, leaning against the wall.

“Hannibal has tentatively agreed to the deal, as proposed,” Alana said.

“What will make him less tentative?” 

“He wants Will and Y/N to ask him.” She turned to him. “He wants you to say ‘please’.” You gave a bitter smile. So very like him.

“I’ll say ‘pretty please’,” Will said. He was preparing to speak to you. He knew what he had to bring up would not blow over right.

“We will have a stampede when people think Lecter is out,” Jack explained.

“Let them stampede. Authenticity. And let them think I helped Hannibal escape,” Will muttered.

“Authenticity?” 

“Someone has to be close. When the Dragon comes.” He turned to you. “And just one person.” For a moment, the other three people in that room let that sink in. It was a surprise even to Jack Crawford that Will would even suggest that he go somewhere without you. 

“Sorry?”

“You can’t come,” he repeated.

“No I heard you, I was letting you change your sentence.” 

“I don’t think you need to be there. You don’t.” You clenched your fist and looked away from him. You understood where he was coming from. There was no reason for you to be there. You would only be in the way and you had a child. It would be stupid.

But still.

Every piece of you wanted to be there with Will and Hannibal. You were always there with them. They were your boys. 

You shook your head slowly. 

“What do you suggest I do?” you asked. Will thought about that for a moment.

“Whatever you want.” You couldn’t look at him. He pulled a pocket knife out of his jacket pocket and handed it to you. You took it slowly but still looked away from him. “For if you need it.” You weren’t sure what that meant and you didn’t want to ask. 

-

You and Will walked into the room with Hannibal again. You had hoped to never have to see it again. He did not look surprised to see you this time.

“I thought you said your good-byes.”

“We’ve had one last good-bye between us.” Hannibal was tied up in a straight jacket. You hadn’t been this close to him for a while. You wanted to touch him but you held yourself back. 

“You didn’t just say good-bye, though, did you? That little extra bit at the end for you Will. It felt very final for both of you. I believe it’s called a ‘mic drop’. You dropped the mic, but here you are having to come back and pick it back up again,” Hannibal explained. There were nurses in there with you that stopped any kind of intimacy feeling you may have.

“I knew you would keep running if I kept chasing you. I knew you wanted me to know exactly where I could find you. When we needed you,” Will said.

“And you did,” Hannibal commented. 

“I need you, Hannibal,” you said. Will finished it off.

“Please.” 

-

Will stared at Hannibal in his cage. Even as Francis drove by, he stared at Hannibal. His mind became blurry. But still, he saw the outline of Hannibal’s face in the fog that was his mind as it crashed. People died. People were killed. 

Hannibal was let out. 

Will did not panic. He figured this would happen. He knew this would happen. 

When his mind regained his moment, he got up and stepped out of the broken car. Hannibal crossed to the police car as he took off his straight jacket. He opened the door and pulled the dead driver from the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” Will called.

“You know Will, you worry too much. You’d be so much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself. Are you coming? He’s not going to kill us here. What he wants to do requires something a little more private.” Hannibal behind the wheel was an interesting scene. The side window was smashed, blood splashed across the inside of the windshield. Hannibal pulled up alongside Will, opened the passenger door and shoved a dead police officer out of the vehicle. He leaned over the seat.

“Going my way?” Will looked through the car door and then looked back down the road.

“You know it can’t just be the two of us,” Will said.

“It never was and never will be, just the two of us.” 

-

You sat in Jack’s office. Will’s pocket knife was in your hand tightly. You were getting a play by play that way which was the only reason you were truly there. You sat in a chair, head in one of your hands as you heard the voices go out and static. You looked up and Jack looked at you.

“What is that? What happened?” 

“Hold on.” He dialed a number.

There was an excruciatingly long moment in silence. You held your breath, biting your finger gently as you waited. Someone spoke on the other line. You couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

Then he hung up and looked at you. You stared back at him and waited.

“They were intercepted. We don’t know yet if there are any survivors.” You stared at him and he waited for that backlash. He was ready for it. But there was no anger that went over your face, instead it was just a small laugh. You shook your head and that laugh fell. 

He saw that face and he recognized the look in your eyes. 

“Do you remember the first judge of Will’s trial?” you asked quietly. 

“What?” 

“Do you. Remember. The first judge. In my husband's murder trial?” you asked again, louder this time. 

“Yeah. Hannibal killed him.” You widened your eyes and shook your head slowly.

“No. I did.”

He had no time to react. You opened the pocket knife and leaned across the desk, slashing his throat. 

-

You reached the motel room quickly after that. You pulled in at the same time you saw a car pull into the parking lot behind you. You got out of your car, hands still stained in Jack Crawford’s blood. The car slowed down beside you. You looked into it and the window rolled down, revealing Will in the passenger seat, Hannibal in the driver's seat.

You let out an audible sigh of relief. 

“Jack told me you were dead,” you said as you rushed to the window.

“Get in the back,” Will said gently. He went to grab your hand but stopped when he saw the blood. Hannibal noticed it at the same time. You did not address it, instead you got in the back of the car with them. 

Hannibal pulled out of the parking lot and away.

“The blood isn’t...the b-” Will started but you cut him off.

“No. I slit Jack Crawford’s throat,” you stated. Hannibal, pleasantly surprised, laughed. Will turned around to look at you. He didn’t look exactly surprised at you. More surprised at his lack of shock.

“About time,” Hannibal said. 

“Is he dead?” Will asked. You shrugged.

“I left before figuring that out.” 

You were so happy to be back beside the both of them. You just let out another sigh of relief.

-

You got out of the car and admired the scenery. It was such a Hannibal place, you weren’t even surprised. The sun setting, the cliff, the way the house stood on the Earth. So serendipitous. 

“The bluff is eroding. There was more land when I was here with Abigail. More land still when I was here with Miriam Lass,” Hannibal said. Will looked over the view and down the cliff a bit. Water, crashing. Gorgeous.

“Now you’re here with us,” Will said. 

“And the bluff is still eroding. You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlaninic. Soon all of this will be lost to sea,” Hannibal explained. You walked over to where Will lingered by the cliff. Hannibal walked away from you to find the key to the home. 

“This isn’t the right place for us to be,” he whispered.

“Yes it is,” you countered. 

“Running from the law with a child?”

“Sounds like something we would do and do well.” He looked over at you away from the view. 

“Let’s get your hands cleaned.” 

-

The sun set completely. The moon showed through the glass walls. You stared through the view and Will stood beside you, watching you watch your new life. He put his hand on your shoulder and you leaned into him as Hannibal walked into the room. Hannibal pulled a wine bottle from the rack and poured two glasses of wine. 

“I apologize that I cannot offer you any wine Y/N,” he said. You turned to him. Will’s hand dropped. 

“No worries.  I never liked it anyway,” you lied. Will took a glass. 

“You’re playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon,” Hannibal said, moving toward the window as well. “Wasn’t surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon. Was it surprising when you both heard from him?”

“Yes and no,” Will said. 

“Surprised me. I just wanted to sleep in my own bed,” you whispered. Hannibal smiled gently but that quickly fell off his features. 

“You intend to watch him kill me?” Hannibal questioned. You shook your head but Will spoke first.

“I intend to watch him change you.” Hannibal took that in, a sad smile on his face as he fingered the corkscrew. He saw it in his hands and wondered if he should kill you. Kill Will. Get it over with. Instead, he uses the tip to cut the seal on the wine bottle. 

“My compassion for you both is inconvenient,” Hannibal stated.

“If you’re partial to beef products, it’s inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow,” Will muttered.

“Save yourself, kill them all?” Hannibal asked.

“I don’t know if we can save ourselves. And maybe that’s just fine,” you said. 

“No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend’,” Hannibal recited. Will looked out the window and sensed the danger.

“He’s watching us now,” Will whispered. He looked at you and you looked back at him. You were staring at each other the second that the glass wall shattered, impaling Hannibal in the stomach. You turned quickly, moving toward Will subconsciously. Hannibal’s wine bottle dropped from his hand and a large red stain on his sweater blossomed with blood. Glass shards fell through the air and beyond them, the patio is just the black knight. In the darkness came Francis Dolarhyde.

Hannibal slid down to his knee. Blood pumping from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Will grabbed you but Francis raised his gun to the two of you. 

“Don’t run. I’ll catch you.” Hannibal glanced down at his belly wound.

“Hello, Francis,” he said.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” he echoed. Francis pulled a tripod from his bag and tossed it to you before pointing the gun at your head. Will took the tripod from your hands and began to set it up. 

“I’m so happy you chose life, Francis. Suicide is the enemy.” 

“I had one rag of pride that Reba McClane gave me. It told me that suicide was a sorry end,” Francis explained.

“You were seized by a fantasy life with the brilliance and freshness and immediacy of childhood. It took you a step beyond alone.” Francis pulled out a 16-mm camera from his bag and handed it to you who fixed it on the tripod, still at gunpoint. 

“I’m going to film your death, Dr. Lecter, as dying, you meld with the strength of the Dragon.”

“It’s a glorious and rather discomfiting idea,” Hannibal muttered. You back away from the camera and he reached for the gun that was in his waistband. You wanted to reach for Will’s knife he had given you but hesitated. 

“Watching the film will be wonderful, but not as wonderful as the act itself.”

Before you even knew what was happening, a knife slammed in Will’s face. You screamed. Francis shot you in the stomach. You stumbled back and then moved forward again. Will fell through the broken wall you attacked Francis. You had enough strength to get him outside.

Francis lifted Will off the ground and Will stabbed him with the knife that was once in his cheek. As you found your own knife, Francis started to again fight Will. As you moved you saw Will rag-doll across the stones. Will’s blood spattered across the thick drops to the stone. He got to his hands and knees. You went to stab Francis again but he got to you first, slashing your side. It stunned you enough that you fell back on the stones beside your husband. 

Will pulled his gun out and Francis immediately disarmed him, tossing the gun over the bluff. You wanted to scream but nothing came out. Just as Francis went to slash him again Hannibal came out of the darkness. He tried to snap Franics neck but the man's neck was too strong and he swatted Hannibal away. 

The two of them staggered across the patio. You tried to get up and Will did as well. He tossed Hannibal off but you and Will were up again.

You started to use your knives on his legs, hoping to disarm him. Hannibal grabbed a hatchet that he found off to the side. He slammed it into Francis achilles tendon and then his knee. 

You, Will and Hannibal all stood now. Exhausted but equal. Francis bleeded from his wounds, leg destroyed. Hannibal staggered up to him and bit out Francis throat. He arched his back and blood fell all around him.

Eventually he fell and let out one last breath as he stared at Will in front of him. 

Dead. 

Will started to finally feel his wounds, as did you and Hannibal. He looked down at his hands which were drenched in red. 

“It really does look black in the moonlight,” he whispered. You didn’t know what he was talking about but you didn’t ask. You stumbled to Hannibal who caught you. In his other arm, Will stood. The three of you embraced, not quite hugging, not not hugging. 

You caught your breath together. The night was still otherwise. 

“See,” Hannibal breathed. You did not look up at him. Will’s head was against his chest. You were buried in his neck. You grabbed Will’s hand and he held it for dear life. “This is all I ever wanted for you,” he choked. “For all of us.” 

Hannibal sounded broken. 

You felt broken. 

Will looked broken.

You closed your eyes, brushing back the tears that you didn’t know were there. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying. Will stared at you and he genuinely felt that it was beautiful. He felt what you did. A single tear cut through the blood on his face and fell. 

You held onto him and Hannibal tightly. 

These were your boys. These were the people you had risked it all for. And you did not regret it for even a moment.

Hannibal let out a shaky breath and you felt the Earth underneath you move. You felt the ground and then you did not. 

Where you once stood was drenched in blood. It was illuminated by the moon. If someone was to stand there, despite there no longer being a living person standing there, they would feel the emotions that had left. That place was no longer still. It was breathing. 

The sea underneath it was breathing. It had engulfed three people who loved each other more than anyone had loved anyone. 

The waves crashed against the rocks, the only noise left in the dark of the night.

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal imagines

[headofhelios]

Ok I am a single follower but I like hannibal tv but would enjoy ur movie thoughts I like some of the books too and have been meaning to get around to the movies 😳😳

OKAY I'M EDITING A READMORE ONTO THIS LOL I REALIZED THATS SOMETHING I CAN DO! so now my incredibly waaayyy too long answer abt my thoughts on 2002 will is under there. apologies bc this is less "movie thoughts" and more "2002 movie will thoughts" but well thats how the chips fell

GOD okay sooo for the record i am reading the red dragon book and am like 7 or 8 chapters in and full transparency im not like. enjoying it lol. the book pisses me off with its misogyny (all the women in it are either dead or it feels like you're supposed to think theyre Selfish Bitches or theyre just there for like. bizarre and uncomfortable sexual moments like the guys talking abt that woman in the elevator, or that one part of mrs. leeds diary which is like. i guess could be there to Show Her Humanity or whatever but 1. there are more ways to do that 2. the book doesnt seem particularly concerned with her humanity considering she's barely even given a first name and so far the novel hasnt seemed to disapprove of how will thinks of her as a possession of her husband) and its inconsistency with will's most important character trait or whatever (he's so intensely, extremely empathetic towards EVERYONE, even serial killers, which makes him really good at finding them! and he can never turn this off, to the point where every time he has a conversation with someone, he ends up mimicking the way they talk, even if he tries to stop! but also he never empathizes with the victims or HIS OWN FUCKING WIFE? HELLO? so it really feels less like "extremely strong empathy for everyone that he cant control" and more like "he can empathize with serial killers extremely well and also other people if we want to Make A Point in one scene instead of letting the point show through the whole book") BUT UHHH ANYWAY. MOVIE THOUGHTS. THE MOVIE THOUGHTS YOU ASKED FOR COMING RIGHT UP!

okay this is what i am worried will either 1. draw annoying tv will graham stans to my blog like flies or 2. end with me being hanged in the town square BUT. it must be said. i prefer 2002 red dragon will graham to tv will graham. and quite frankly? so far? i think 2002 red dragon will graham is better than book will graham. i cannot lie.

my reasoning: because 2002 will actually empathizes with more people than serial killers and his boss! y'know! like you'd assume someone with constant extreme empathy would! the difference between the first scene with molly in the book vs in the movie are SO striking to me now that i've read that part of the novel. in the novel he seems very... rough, i guess, and like he doesnt care about molly's worries. he doesnt seem to see things from her perspective, which especially feels like a kick to the gut because MOLLY! SEES! THINGS! FROM! HIS! PERSPECTIVE!!! she literally empathizes with him more than he does with her! what the fuck! MEANWHILE in the movie, he does seem to care about her. his assurances that he wont get too involved seem like assurances rather than him trying to get her off his back. he hugs her and tells her he loves her and i actually believe that yeah, he loves her, he knows she's worried about him, and he wants to comfort her and ease her worries. and the victims! AGAIN such a stark difference to me! in the book, will is like... uncomfortable empathizing w the red dragon, of course, but he doesnt seem to empathize with the victims all that much, ESPECIALLY not the women. he doesnt care about them. he sees them as possessions belonging to their husbands and its so fucking gross. despite already suspecting that the red dragon chooses families based on the women, he decides to waste time focusing on the husbands as a way of "asking permission to look at [their wives]." what the fuck? meanwhile in the film, he feels for the victims so much that he can barely even say that the kids were shot in bed! when he watches the tapes, he focuses on the women! because that's his fucking job!!! and we see him empathizing with them! wow!!

siiigh okay im gonna stop talking abt the book vs the movie now bc again im only like 8 chapters or so deep. but now we come to tv will vs. 2002 will, which is admittedly gonna be more subjective and part of that it bc i cant remember a whole lot of specifics from the show bc my memory is Very Bad. but anyway

let's get the shallow stuff out of the way. yes i prefer ed norton's face to hugh dancy's. call hugh dancy "gender" or whatever have your fun i support you and your right to call any blood covered man a gender but by god is that not even REMOTELY my experience. next shallow thing to get out of the way: ed norton's line delivery is like music to my FUCKING ears compared to hugh dancy's i am so sorry. like the jokes about will shaking like a damp chihuahua before taking 5 minutes to stutter out "he's killing them....... On Purpose, jack." are funny and all but christ i had SUCH a hard time watching the show bc of that im not lying. literally hearing 2002 will just say "he's not keeping them. he's eating them." nice and quick, matter of factly is better than well im actually gonna end that sentence there but you get the idea. like YESSS you little blonde bitch get to the point i love you!!!

OKAY NOW less shallow points but also less uhh idk man i just dont remember a lot of hannibal. but basically: after seeing how caring 2002 will is, i'm kind of... idk i'm just so over tv will and how abrasive and harsh he is in comparison. like i fell in LOVE with how vulnerable 2002 will is, how he feels like he cares deeply about the people around him (and honestly... idk i cant remember a moment in the hannibal tv series that made me feel the way i felt when 2002 will can't say "the kids were shot in their beds". it's like... yeah this is a guy who feels so deeply for everyone around him at all times. i believe that.) and i just dont remember getting that same feeling from tv will. i have been gently spoon fed the most excellent chocolate pudding and everything else in my memory is just a snack pack. i guess tv will has those moments (what comes to mind is when he brings gideon to hannibal's house and is crying and he says "please dont lie to me") but idk they just didnt really do for me what 2002 will does. and then their scenes with reba! wow! i rewatched the tv version after watching red dragon, bc the film version made me tear up, meanwhile the tv version i barely remembered and i wasnt sure if that was just bc of the different mindsets i was in while watching them or what. and ok i just rewatched the tv version again and like... yeah. it's the wills lol. i LOVEEE tv reba SO much she is giving everything in that scene!! she sounds so like... broken, both bc of dolarhyde's apparent suicide and bc of finding out who he was + what he was doing, she sounds so fragile and guilt ridden! she's amazing!! but will. idk. tv will's delivery just seems... idk this feels dumb to say but it sounds like writing. i admittedly LOVE the line "people who study this kind of thing say that he was trying to stop because you helped him." and his delivery there is good. but between tv "you didnt draw a freak, you drew a man w a freak on his back" and the 2002 version, the 2002 delivery seems more genuine while the tv delivery sounds rehearsed. idk overall the 2002 version of that conversation just makes me feel more? its like. idk i can feel the 2002 version gently holding my heart while the tv version is a scene that is nice in h/nnigram gifsets or w/e.

umm ok this is already suuuper long and my brain is getting a bit mushy so i'm gonna start wrapping it up lol. i'll probably compare book will and 2002 will again after i finish the book, and then i miiight rewatch hannibal, or at least parts of s3. but right now my thoughts are basically: book will is a fucking dick who has an easier time empathizing with serial killers than with his wife. tv will is a nothing girl after being so completely catered to + also idk he doesnt have the same fragility that i want from my wills now. and 2002 will is my little caramel apple. he has this delightful vulnerability and feels like he cares so much and empathizes with more people than serial killers and his boss and 4 people in a diner for one scene! 2002 will made me care about will graham! which is honestly kind of a feat!

#long post #like so so so long #my condolences anon and also anyone following me who doesnt want this on their dash #but yeah 2002 will is my booboo bear my cinnamon swirl coffeecake my little heavensent angel #and ed nortons performance made me feel more than hugh dancy's #i think ed norton does a really good job at giving his characters that kind of vulnerability and i LOVE that!! #like yeah whatever 'you're gat arent you dont you just think hes hot' sure say that but also like #have you seen him in primal fear? its a movie thats a firm Its Complicated for me but his performance is so good and he feels so vulnerable #and even in fight club and kingdom of heaven i think he gets that in there! idk i genuinely think he's a good actor #personal #red dragon #if im writing an essay i may as well put it in my tags #asks #anonymous #<- FORGOT TO ADD THOSE TAGS. anyway #EDIT: NOW FEATURING A READMORE LOL.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 8

<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->

Summary: Frederick alone. 

2,163 words

How many days had he been in the hospital? There had been at least one more surgery since you left. More blood transfusions.

It all bled together without you there. There was nothing to distinguish one day from the next except the tedious procedures—a blood test to see how his kidney was holding up, some new skin here, a z-plasty there. He was a little bit glad you were not there when they grafted his penis with a stretchable mesh of skin. God forbid he got aroused while that was healing. He laughed at the thought, as if your absence was just temporary.

The sun outside his window told him whether it was day or night, but the stretches of hours he was knocked out under anesthetic and pain meds made it impossible to know whether it was was from the same day, or if he had slept until the next one. Without your schedule to ground him, it was pointless bothering to find out.

At least you were not always touching him, asking him about his feelings. Staring. He could feel the pressure of your gaze on his face, dancing like jabbing needles across his barely-healed skin. He hated it. He had some peace and quiet now.

It did not feel real yet. It seemed so certain you would be back—you had become such a steadfast presence in his life for the past three years, he never imagined you could leave it. Not forever. It did not seem beyond taking back.

But as much as he was in denial, he knew what he said could not be taken back. One cannot break off an engagement, tell their fiancé to move out, and expect things to ever go back to normal.

He didn’t need you. You always hated his preening, the sophisticated circles he traveled in. You wanted him this way—destroyed and disgusting, unable to pass in decent society. He was not sure if he really believed that, or if he just needed a reason to hate you.

A nurse could bring him the phone. All he had to do was press the nurse call button and Pamela would come running, and he could call you. He could apologize. If he reached you before you got rid of the ring, before you packed your bags, he might be able to convince you to stay.

He did not call.

***

The sun was down, whatever day it was. There was still fluorescent light shining in from the hallway, enough to dimly light the room. Frederick lay awake. Parts of his back ached from lying in the same position too long, and it had been too long since a nurse came and shifted him. He shifted himself, what little he could, and the heart monitor climbed frantically with the feeble effort of a few inches. His tight scar tissue pulled like he was wearing too-tight denim over his whole body, and his more recent stitches stung. He was so weak. So pathetically weak.

The sun was up again, some time later. Frederick eyed the small stack of mail for him at his bedside table. You were always the one who read to him. But he did not need you.

He pressed the nurse call button, which had been rigged with tape and a wooden tongue depressor into a large switch he could push more easily with his limited dexterity. He pushed down on it and it buzzed so loudly he swore, a throb of pain shooting through the back of his skull. Part of the jury-rigged switch caught on the gauze mitten wrapped around his hand and left the switch stuck on in a continual buzz. He swore again, more fiercely, and jerked his hand until the makeshift switch snapped, and the call button fell off the edge of the bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

Where the hell was the nurse? If this had been an emergency he could be dead by now.

In his last physical therapy session, he had been able to reach nearly as far as the bedside table, with assistance. He reached for an envelope, and his mittened hand made it all the way to the edge of the bed before bumping against the metal railing that prevented him from rolling out. That was it. All at once, every latent frustration came out at that goddamned railing in a primal scream. He punched the metal—barely a twitch with his atrophied muscles, but enough to sting his tender fingers and draw another enraged shout. His breathing came in heavy, choked bursts, and he began to sob.

When finally a nurse showed up—his favorite, Pamela—she didn’t make any humiliating sympathetic comments about the tears wetting his face. He asked if you had called or tried to visit.

You had not.

***

The dead at least have the luxury of being done with what they lost.

The sky was dark, nearly black with clouds, though Frederick suspected it was day. Heavy rain pummeled against the window, and it gave the room a cold, dreary cast. He wondered if there was a way he could kill himself. To be done. It would have been easy in a hospital, if he had use of his legs and hands—he could tamper with his morphine drip, or find some anesthetic… the options were limitless to one who knew what he was doing with medical equipment.

The one person who never manipulated him into danger, the one person who stood beside him, the one person who loved him completely for everything he was, he had thrown away. Was it worth it staying alive for revenge alone? He was never going to get better. Not completely. He would be trapped in this scarred, aching body for the rest of his life. If he died, his will left all of his money to you. Then you would be free.

But he was Doctor Frederick Chilton, damn it! He did not give up. He did not give up after Abel Gideon tortured him, or after being framed for murder and shot. Every time he fell, he held his chin up, and rose higher. This whole incident brought him notoriety, a spotlight he would take advantage of to bring him greater fame than even Hannibal Lecter himself. Forget national bestsellers, this time he was thinking movie deal. In a few years, he would be walking again, he would have a new face, lips. He would have everything back.

Except you.

He could never get back the one thing that already felt like a hole in his life, and would feel like a gaping sinkhole when he finally returned home and you were not there. His comfort. If you were coming back, you would have done it by now.

Every time he angrily demanded you leave, you would always slink off with your tail tucked, but crawl back all sweetness and forgiveness the next day. This time was different. He said so many unforgivable things. But he had to go that far, he told himself—he had to break things off.

He was so bitter, and angry. He was never the easiest man to live with, and now all of his compassion had been burned out of him. You didn’t deserve to keep running back to a cruel, bitter man out of loyalty, to be smothered inside a dark hospital when you were meant to be in the sun. He knew exactly what Chiltons could be like, and he never wanted to put you through that. If that was the nightmare he was turning into, then it was better for you to be far away, not married to it.

But, oh, to touch you one last time…

***

Another day. He thought about calling you again, if just to hear the sound of your voice. But what would be the point? You could have called him. Clearly you wanted him out of your life.

A nurse knocked tentatively on the door. Not one of his usual nurses.

“You have a visitor, Mr. Chilton. They said… they’re not sure if you want to see them?”

He perked up immediately, so eager to respond, “Of course I do!” that he didn’t bother to correct the nurse about his title. His face fell when a young black woman walked in, carefully tapping a long white stick across the ground. “Oh. You.”

She stopped in her tracks, a timid expression of guilt written on her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here...” she stammered, turning around.

“No, no, no. Come in, come in, Reba McClane,” he pronounced her name pointedly. “I wanted to speak to you anyway.”

“You did?” She began searching her way closer to his bed.

“Naturally. For my book. An interview with the Tooth Fairy’s lover.”

Her tentative smile quickly turned into a scowl. “Freddie Lounds already offered to tell my story.”

Frederick scoffed. “Tell me you are not considering that libelous TattleCrime gossip rag. I am a distinguished, respected author—what I could do with your story is far—”

“I told her the same thing I’m telling you: I do not want my name associated with that man. My entire life is already tainted. I won’t talk about him anymore. I only came to apologize… it seemed the least I could do. You’re the only one of victims left alive to apologize to.”

“You forget to count yourself,” Frederick corrected with uncharacteristic empathy. “We are both his survivors.”

Reba’s shoulders relaxed a little at that. “I wasn’t sure you’d see it that way. A lot of people, they think I knew. Or that I must be a monster to have loved a monster like that. I can’t blame them… I don’t know what to think of myself anymore.”

“There is no accounting for taste.”

Reba and Frederick settled into a surprisingly comfortable chat. She unburdened her guilt—she thought she had sensed someone else in the room that night, and knew something was off, but didn’t call the police—and Frederick magnanimously forgave her. Dolarhyde would have killed her and slit Frederick’s throat on the spot if she tried to be a hero. He chose not to call out for help, knowing that. They talked about love, and the deep vein of anger they both shared. Perhaps it set Frederick at ease that she was blind. If she stared, it was not with any regard to his face. 

Then she went to the window, to stand in the warm light streaming through the glass, and knocked over a vase of plastic flowers. He snapped at her, his voice raising with violence so out of proportion to the offense, she wasn’t sure whether to apologize or yell back. After scrambling to find to the vase on the floor, she settled on dryly calling him an asshole.

Nobody had called him out so bluntly since before he was hospitalized, and it made him smile, as best as his cheeks could manage. “You remind me of someone,” he said.

Reba pondered why his voice was so fond at the memory of someone who called him an asshole. She wondered what the flowers meant. “Was this the somebody you were hoping it was when I walked in? Who—”

“Nobody important.”

“Really? That’s not what I’m hearing.”

He sighed grumpily. Then just sighed. “You told Dolarhyde you were not so damaged that you were incapable of love. Do you still feel that way?”

“If you’re looking for relationship advice, I do not believe myself qualified to give any,” she said, reading him like braille. “But I’m not going to give up on the goodness in people. Everybody has a darkness deep down, but not everyone’s darkness is murdering families. I survived Dee, and if I can do that… I can find someone whose darkness is a little softer. Soft enough to live with. I have to believe I can still love—that he didn’t break me. I hope he didn’t break you, either.”

***

Another day. He ruined everything with you.

The first question Frederick asked when EMTs found his still-smoldering body—rasping it over and over until someone understood—was if you were safe. Had Dolarhyde gone after his family? But of all the things that the Red Dragon had taken from him, you were the one he had destroyed all on his own.

Finally, after two weeks of resisting, he could not bear it anymore. When his physical therapy session ended, he quietly, firmly, with fragile pride, asked the nurse to help him with the phone. He dialed your number, and she held the receiver to his ear as it rang.

It rang.

It rang.

It went to voicemail.

Frederick leaned into the receiver as your friendly, guileless voice instructed him to leave a message. It must have been recorded before everything, back when you were so happy all the time. It had been ages since he heard you sound like that. He wondered if you would be happy and carefree again soon, without him.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba  @caked-crusader @itsjustmyfantasyroom @thatesqcrush @dianilaws @permanentlydizzy @eclecticreader2020  @mrsrafaelbarba 

#did someone ask for angst?? Who do I have down for angst? Come get your order! #frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Hannibal #Raúl Esparza #dr. frederick chilton #My writing

[bluebeardsbride-archive]

Do you think Will could ever truly love Hannibal?or are thier moral differences too drastic?

Will does love Hannibal! His love for Hannibal is the entire reason why they fail to catch him in 2x13, and why the plan to kill Dolarhyde in 3x13 fails.

The initial dealbreaker for Will is not the fact that Hannibal kills, but the fact that (1) he framed Will and let him go insane (2) he kills some innocent people (Beverly and Abigail). And even with that, Will still chooses him. He call Hannibal with the full knowledge available to him: that Hannibal killed Abigail, that Hannibal killed Beverly, and that Hannibal won’t stop killing. He still calls him to warn him. He still wants to run away with him, as he said to Jack in 3x04. And after everything that happens— he still forgives him.

Let me give one example to illustrated this: the scene after Dolarhyde shoots Hannibal in 3x13, ‘The Wrath of the Lamb’:

I think a lot of people misinterpret this scene: there are a lot of memes about Will looking on at Hannibal’s suffering and portraying him acting with apparent indifference, but it’s not that. It’s anything but. Will is anything but indifferent in this scene. He drinks the wine after Hannibal is shot because wine is a relaxant: there’s a reason a lot of people turn to alcohol to deal with emotions they don’t want to handle.

Remember Will’s words to Reba earlier in the episode: “In the end, he couldn’t kill you and he couldn’t watch you die.” In the end, Will couldn’t kill Hannibal, and he couldn’t watch him die, for the same reason Dolarhyde had with Reba: because he loves him. Love is as inconvenient for Will as it is for Hannibal.

#hannigram #daffyduck9779 #whispers #I think the really awful part of all this #is that Will doesn't learn until 2x12 that Hannibal loves him back #(and sometimes I wonder what would've happened if Bedelia never told him-- or told him earlier) #he knows he’s important to Hannibal but he thinks he's important to Hannibal as a cow is towards a human #(his own metaphor in 3x13) #I don't think Will believes for a long time that Hannibal is capable of love #which is wrong-- of course #one of Hannibal's biggest mistakes in my opinion was when Will said 'How many have there been? Like Randall Tier? Like me?' #in 2x10 #instead Hannibal deflects with 'Every patient is unique' #but the answer is #there have been no others like you #if he had said that... Will might have run away with him instead #my meta #3.13 #hg

[kiss-my-freckle]

3x13 Rewatch: The Wrath of the Lamb

They open the episode with Francis testing Reba. He gives her the house key and tells her to lock the front door. "Don't try to run. I can catch you." Like Will later in the episode. "Don't run. I'll catch you." She tries to escape. Will lying in season two, the wrong thing being the right thing to do was too ugly a thought. Francis leaves Reba to burn. Hannibal leaves Will to bleed. "I wish I could have trusted you. I wanted to trust you. You felt so good." Hannibal puts his broken heart on display. "Probably saved some lives." Like Will. Hannibal left everyone to live, then tried to keep the peace in Italy. "You didn't draw a freak. You drew a man with a freak on his back." Will understands. "I know there's nothing wrong with me." But he’s unable to differentiate. She drew Francis, he drew Hannibal, so she must feel what he feels. "In making friends, I try to be wary of people who foster dependency and feed on it." Something he spoke about before. "You're fostering co-dependency." Hannibal responded with a question. "Is that what I'm doing?" I think Will views it that way because he's unable to separate himself in his associations.

He informs Hannibal that Francis committed suicide. "Only consolation is Dr. Chilton. Congratulations for the job you did on him. I admired it enormously. What a cunning boy you are." I love it when he nibbles on Will’s ear. "Are you accusing me of something?" Like he did with Bedelia, Will tries to deny that part of himself. "Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation? Even a little bit?" Hannibal knows the lion agrees. He can't even look at Alana without seeing shards of mirror. "When life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me. Think about me, Will. Don't worry about me." Worry about Molly, since Will imagines killing her over and over. Associating prior to understanding. "I love you, and I miss you, and you're doing the right thing." Let me just reiterate that line... the wrong thing being the right thing to do was too ugly a thought. "You turned yourself in so I would always know where you were. You'd only do that if I rejected you." He turned himself in because Will wouldn't run away with him. If Will ran away with him, he'd have no reason to surrender. That's why he hasn't tried to escape, “We’re waiting for Will.” He lies to Hannibal, it was good to see him, but he's ready to go home now... to do what he did three years ago.

He returns to his motel room, where Francis knocks him out cold, then wakes to water being splashed in his face. I love this scene between them because they both want from each other, that’s why Francis isn’t torturing him. He's gonna find out for himself who Will is. He tells him to sit up, wants him to see that he didn't break his back. "Your face is closed to me." Because Will is cut down the middle. Able to hide, he's been doing it for so long. He already got into a cat fight with Bedelia, now he's looking at a man who could very well replace him. If Will goes home without a word, it'll be over. Francis will have the man he loves, and he'll be stuck with Molly... the wife he imagines killing over and over. Tried to replace Will with Bedelia in Italy, now he’s back at it with Francis. I mean... the man has been waiting for him for three years. “Hannibal said those words... to me.” lol!!! You’re just a temporary fill, Francis. Feel the competition now. There will be no sharing Hannibal with anyone. Big brother hands little brother everything he needs. "I shared with Reba a little, in a way that she could survive." Reba and Molly, Reba and Will. What makes Will different from Reba and Molly is the lion within. "I chose not to change her. I'm stronger than the Dragon now." What Hannibal spoke of when he thought Francis committed suicide. "Then he wasn't as strong as the Dragon after all." If Francis is stronger than The Dragon, Will is capable of being stronger than The Lion. No need to fear becoming Hannibal. Bedelia is funny. That kind of strength for Will would allow him Godly powers as a righteous, merciful, loving, empathic, and compassionate being. Downright dangerous. Like Hannibal, killing and sparing whenever he chooses. "Saving lives is just as arousing as ending them. He likes to play God." That's why I love Hannibal's conversation with Jack. I could totally see Will baiting his enemies into a church and collapsing its roof just to impress his murder husband. "Hannibal Lecter is who you need to change." Will is ready to become. Like Reba, he shared with Molly enough.

Then Will shows his ability to manipulate. Doesn't tell them he met with Francis, but allows them to learn he's alive through the autopsy. "The Dragon could absorb him that way, engulf him, become more than he is." He’s not gonna tell him The Dragon wants to meet Hannibal because he's the one who put it in his head. He knows very well that Hannibal would draw The Dragon, and I wouldn't be surprised if Will kept in touch with him after their meeting to let him know when the escape would happen. He makes sure to tell Jack the same thing he plans to tell Hannibal because it's based on the Chinese symbol in the tree. 

With Jack, allows him to believe it's their best shot at Francis. "The character also appears on a mahjong tile. Marks the Red Dragon." With Hannibal, informs him Francis will be helping them escape. "You hit it. An expression sometimes used in gambling." This scene plays well off Hannibal's surrender.

Gamble everything for love, gamble everything.

"We assign a moment to decision. What you propose is so thoughtless, I find it difficult to imagine that moment exists." This ties in Will's previous conversation with Jack. "Not all of our choices are consciously calculated." Choices aren't, decisions are. "No. But our decisions are. You remember when you decided to call Hannibal?" Will tells Bedelia, "Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They're more often a lump than a sum." Will's kneaded feelings because he never stopped wanting to run away with Hannibal. I love how he uses "lump" after talking about “kneaded” feelings. Sums can be separated by their individual parts unless they’re lumped together like dough. His feelings can't be separated individually, so he can't cut out that part of himself that will always want to run away with Hannibal. "I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time." He wasn't caught the first time. Will doesn't intend for Hannibal to surrender a second time. "What you are becoming is pathological." I swear she's talking about herself here. "Extreme acts of cruelty require a high degree of empathy." Will is hilaroius in this scene, I love it. "You've just found religion. Nothing more dangerous than that." Will found the best religion. Love. There’s nothing more dangerous than that. "I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu." Foreshadowing what's to come, and Bedelia is pissed.

I love Chilton's scene, in the chamber like Georgia was. Fire in, fire out. He's able to confront them for what they did, even though he's just as much to blame. "What Hannibal is capable of. What Will Graham is capable of. What you are capable of. You were the roper. Too bad there was not enough rope for you to hang yourself with. Just enough to hang me." Chilton was the one trying to rope everyone while they were recovering in the hospital, wanting them to catch Hannibal so they could put him in his hospital. I love it because of what he says to Alana. “Your face did not change at all when you first looked at me. Shock, in seeing me, is usually delayed.” Like Will saying her face changed because she knew he was hearing things. Alana meets with Hannibal to propose their deal. "Was it Will's idea?" He already knows it was, but he doesn't know if Will plans to kill him. "Yes. That worked out so well for Frederick Chilton." He knows his wrath is coming, he already warned Jack. He and Alana seem blinded by those three years they spent apart, they don’t think Will has reason to run away with him. "Your wife... your child... they belong to me. We made a bargain for Will's life, and then I spun you gold." He's the one who milked Mason with a cattle prodder. I believe this storyline would've played out a little bit had the show continued. I think Hannibal would've wanted to give Will another non-biological child. All opposite from their first meeting in 3x9.

Cut to Will, Jack, and Alana. He uses the same concept from his conversation with Bedlia. He told her he put his hand on Chilton for authenticity. Chilton's face, now Jack's career. For authenticity. Because "Someone has to be close. When the Dragon comes." Such a fun episode, it's got everything. "We kill Dolarhyde. And then... we kill Hannibal." Laughing at Jack for being dumb enough to believe Will would allow them to kill Hannibal. He takes another trip through the chapel. So much change in his eyes, love in a lovely scene. He continues to cover up his meeting with Francis, being specific in front of the orderlies. He told you, not me. "He told you he wanted to meet you. Maybe that was a serious invitation." Hannibal has yet to learn he and Francis met, he thinks Will learned he’s alive through the autopsy. “You hit it.” Francis is coming to help us, Hannibal. 

A flash to the museum when they met on the elevator, the double symbolism. "You know, Will, you worry too much. You'd be much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself." This is his last chance to walk away, his last moment of decision. He stays, he can claim they were ambushed and return to his life. Jack loses his lamb. Alana loses her Verger castle. The last family Francis killed was the transport team.

Cut to the cliff. "You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlantic. Soon, all of this will be lost to the sea." One could easily survive it so long as the water is deep enough for their speed. World record cliff jump is 192 feet. "You're playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon." It's after their conversation at the edge of the cliff when I believe the fisherman thinks about faking their deaths. "Wasn't surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon." He knew Jack put their faces in the paper and The Dragon would reach out to him instead of Will. Because Alana took his comfort, he didn't have access to TattleCrime. He only knows Will caught up with The Dragon because he helped them escape. "Was it surprising when you heard from him?" Will tells him yes and no. “And you... You wanted to surprise me.” This gives him reason to ask if Will plans to watch The Dragon kill him. "My compassion for you is inconvenient, Will." I like how he downplays his feelings when Bedelia already told Will how he feels about him. Will is super-cute. "If you're partial to beef products, it is inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow." Quiet in comparison because he's sorting things out in his head. "I don't know if I can save myself. Maybe that's just fine." Hannibal doesn't want to think about Will not being able to save himself. He just spent three years without him. He thinks Will is about to lay down his life for Jack. This entire scene plays off their 2x13 scene. Hannibal said he gave him a rare gift, but he didn't want it. Will wanted it, and he wants it still. He's about to give Hannibal a rare gift...

“Bella used to say your face was all scars, if you knew how to look. There's always room for a few more. How much room does Will have, Jack?"

Let’s paint each other black. 

“If this pilgrim feels a special relationship with the moon, he might like to go outside and look at it, before he tidies himself up. If one were nude, say, it would be better to have outdoor privacy for that sort of thing. One must show some consideration for the neighbors.”

“Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will? It appears quite black."

“Blake's Dragon stands over a pleading woman caught in the coil of its tail. Few images in Western art radiate such a unique and nightmarish charge of demonic sexuality.”

Let Molly and Walter have the dogs, Will. 

“I like my life there.”

“That life is an anchor streamed behind him in heavy weather."

Abigail and Miriam... you faked their deaths. 

“And the bluff is still eroding."

“Sometimes at night, I leave the lights on in my little house, and walk across the flat fields. And when I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea. It's really the only time I feel safe.”

The same unfortunate aftershave, Will. 

Hannibal, the only thing that smells good on me, is you. 

[bonearenaofmyskull]

It was originally Bryan Fuller's plan to have the Hannibal fugitive storyline and the Red Dragon storyline to be separate seasons before he decided to merge them into one to save time. Do you think the show is better off with the two storylines in one season? Or do you think it would have benefitted from Bryan's original plan if it was given a fourth season to do Red Dragon?

Speaking purely of the story that was told and nothing about rights and cancellation and all that, I do not think the show was better off with Italy and the Red Dragon arc smooshed into one season. Frankly, as far as plot and character development go, I think the third season is the weakest of the three--the directions things went were fine, but there wasn’t as much depth as I would have liked to see and a lot of it felt rushed. But, hey, weakest of the three seasons of the best show ever made is still pretty good. ;-)

Essentially, the story felt to me like the series ended at “Digestivo” and the Red Dragon arc was a one-off miniseries adaptation special event that came after. There was just too much starkness to the differences between the two halves, and the Red Dragon arc had too much straightforward adaptation and not enough deejay mashup to feel like it was part of a whole with the operatic snail-fest of the first half, even if there were parallels between the two stories and threads from the first that didn’t get tied up till the second.

This is not to say that either storyline would have been expandable into thirteen episodes without major revamping, but there were a lot of things I felt were underdeveloped, and by the time the show got to those things which played as straight adaptations--such as Francis and Reba’s relationship and Pazzi’s story--they bored me some because I had grown accustomed to the show overturning my expectations from the films and books. Keep in mind, though, that I didn’t mind the pacing of the first three episodes, even though a lot of people thought they were slow, and I didn’t mind the return back in time in 304 and only felt the story bogged down at 305 with all the slow conversations between Hannibal/Bedelia and Chiyoh/Will. So I’m not likely to be turned off by slow pacing as long as things feel revelatory and like they have direction.

Anywho, here are a list of the things I would have liked to see done differently or expanded upon:

Jack’s development going from trying to clean up the mess he made with Will--and thus showing growth from the man who sacrificed Will’s mental health for the “greater good”--degenerating back to where he began, or even worse. Getting a chance to see him living alone and failing at catching some murderers would have done the trick. Also, Hannibal’s suggestion that he was dating someone younger has killed me ever since he said it.

Hannibal’s trial and early incarceration. Some interaction between him and Jack (and Alana) during this time could have helped Jack’s arc.

Will’s introduction to Molly. I know the fandom would have gone through major drama if Bryan would have invested in making this relationship seem like it posed a real threat to Hannigram, but honestly, it should have. We should have been divided neatly down the middle of the torment of either wanting him to be safe with her or fulfilled with Hannibal. As it was, it was hard to take that relationship seriously, as threat or solace. He should have met her either in Italy or during Hannibal’s trial.

Same same for Walter.

Chiyoh. It isn’t that I feel that Chiyoh’s story isn’t complete--I just feel like it stopped starring her and started starring Hannibal after she pushed Will off the train. I think she deserved more time and more elucidation of her journey.

Reba. I’m pretty content with the way they integrated Dolarhyde into the relationship between Hannibal and Will, but I always felt like Reba was just a little too off to the side. I know it would be stretching the limits of plausibility to have had her involved and knowing the other characters on the show, but HAHA WHEN HAS THAT EVER STOPPED THEM.

Taking longer with Hannibal and Will together at the apartment before the Italian police picked them up and delivered them to Mason. I feel like this could have made a fantastic bottle episode, could have had a lot of the dialogue that so many of us wish they would say to each other, whether angry or hurt or loving. TBQH, my personal sense of the main reason the first part of the season felt slow was because people were waiting for Hannibal and Will to connect again. Bryan had said that we would find that, like Threepio and Artoo, Hannibal and Will were just as interesting apart as they were together, but….yeahhhhhhhhh, no. They weren’t, or at least not for very long. They needed to mope around for a while to drive the point of them pining away for each other home, but we were all really just waiting to see what would happen when they met up, and that wait exaggerated the frustration about the pacing of the plot. Abbreviating some snail conversations and spending more time with Hannibal with his captive Will would have been sweet torture for all of us, and it would have rebalanced the season.  

More Margot, not for any good reason except that I love her.

#hannibal meta #season 3 #hannibal #long post for ts #personal #Anonymous #bear answers

[elfnerdherder]

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 8

You can read Chapter 8 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 8: Two Baby Blues Pt. 2

           Reba Dolarhyde-McClane had rich, sepia brown skin and a smile like a 100-watt bulb. Her matching brown eyes fixed where she heard the voice come from, and if Will hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she could see right through him. Perhaps, being blind, she saw better than most.

           Not enough, though. Not enough to see Francis Dolarhyde.

           “He’d always been reclusive at work, but that suited me fine. People sometimes were rude to him, but he was always kind to me, always nice,” she said. She sat in her seat across from Jack and next to Will, hands clasped on her knees. “He never coddled me for being blind the way a lot of people do. He always respected my independence.”

           “How long did he go to Dr. Lecter?” Jack asked. Will wasn’t supposed to ask anything, merely observe.

           “About six months, and he said he’d gotten better. After Dr. Lecter was imprisoned, he took it pretty hard. He tried another therapist, but that fell through, then he said he’d be okay.” Her teeth bit over her bottom lip. “…I thought everything was okay.”

           “What happened the night that he…lost control?”

           Tactful, Jack. Will chewed on a hangnail and slumped lower in his chair, watching her. He felt Lecter’s indignation and mild unease like an ill-fitting suit. Four days strong without him. Will liked to pretend that he was doing just fine, like he didn’t wake sporadically and have to run himself to exhaustion on the treadmill at the hotel at 2 AM just to fucking sleep.

           “He wanted to be intimate.” She said ‘intimate’ like she’d had to practice the sound of it not feeling so intimate to say in front of strangers. “I sat on the bed, but he left the room, and when he came back, it felt wrong.”

           “Wrong?”

           “Serious. Dark. I asked what was wrong, and I smelled the gasoline…he said he had to. He loved me, but he had to. Then…” She nodded to herself, thinking of the timeline, “then the room went up, and a gunshot. I went to him, but he…his face was…”

           She stopped, hands clenched. Will tasted sorrow on the tip of his tongue, followed by a hint of bitterness.

           “I got out. I got to the neighbors, and they helped me call the police for a fire truck. It was all gone, though, all of it…” She sighed, composing herself. Reba had the poise of a Michelangelo painting, the grace of an angel. Will envied Dolarhyde’s time spent with her. “I miss him. He was troubled, but he was…he was so sweet. So gentle.”

           Will and Jack exchanged a glance, and Will nodded. She wasn’t lying.

           “Did he ever mention his eyes changing color, Ms. Dolarhyde-McClane?” Jack asked.

           “…His eyes?”

           “His eyes were different shades of brown.”

           She didn’t know what to say to that, and Will felt the befuddlement, the confusion. That they would bother to tell her, after all this time…

           “What’s that mean for me?” she asked.

           “We ran a test, and the shades of brown in the left eye correspond to a 92.4% match of the color of your intermediate family members whose eyes are on record due to filing their soulmate eye color,” Will said, speaking up. Reba looked to him, and it pierced him in the chest. “We believe he had a partial soulmate bond with you.”

           “Why are you telling me this?”

           Jack waved a hand sharply in his direction, but Will ignored it. He leaned closer to her, studying the way her lips quivered, her hands fluttering to the necklace at her neck before falling back to her lap. She knew. She knew.

           “You knew.”

           “…He’s not dead, is he?” she asked, a mere whisper.

           “He’s not,” Will said, “but he loved you enough to leave you. He loved you enough that when he started talking about red dragons and you got scared, he let you think he was dead rather than drag you into the mire he’d made for himself.”

           “Will,” Jack warned.

           “He said he was going to be okay,” Reba suddenly cried, and she covered her mouth with her hand, like she could hold back the words she’d kept to herself for so long. Like a wave cresting the breakers, tears began to fall, and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing soundlessly.

           Will leaned back into his chair and stared at the desk leg. His stomach settled a little, now that the truth was out in the air, ugly in its reality. In that moment, Jack both loved and hated him.

-

           Molly called him while he was getting lunch, and he sat outside, picking at a questionably soggy sandwich. Soulmates had half-off prices on Saturdays at the sub shop, but that hadn’t been enough for him to pull one of the contacts from his eyes. For what he’d paid for too much mayo, he wondered idly if he should have just bit the bullet.

           “You should have told me, Will,” she said when he picked up. There was as much accusation in her voice as there was worry.

           “Maybe,” he agreed. Then, “No, probably not.”

           “Have you been to a doctor?”

           “Yes,” he lied. Then, “No, no I haven’t.”

           “Will,” she admonished. His ears grew hot at the lie, and he chewed morosely on the bread, gritting his teeth against the texture. If that’s how she sounded when he lied about a doctor, he wondered the tone she’d take when he finally showed her his eyes.

           What did you do to your eyes, Will?

           “I’m fine, Molly.”

           “Is he going to try and kill you once he knows who you are?” she asked.

           “Maybe,” Will admitted. “I’ll have people on me. SWAT.”

           “They’re calling him Red Dragon in the news now, Will. Did he really eat that painting?”

           Will laughed and looked up at the sky. Something inside of him was tearing, and he coughed at the shortness of breath. “Yeah, yeah he did.”

           Silence. Will listened to her breathe as he chewed his dismally awful sandwich, and he wondered just what she’d say if he begged her to come visit. He thought of Red Dragon seeing her with him, though, and the thought was struck from his mind. He thought of Reba telling them everything she knew, how he’d found the painting one day by coincidence and began obsessing over it. How he’d wake her in the night sometimes, growling into a mirror in the upstairs spare bedroom. Guttural. Animalistic. He loved her, therefore he left her.

           “I miss you,” he said, desperate. “You haven’t mentioned the news casters once.”

           “Their eyes haven’t changed,” she assured him. “Not since the new guy.”

           “Good, good.”

           “Do you think about Garrett Jacob Hobbs a lot, now that you’re up there and alone?” she asked.

           “I do.” Molly was the only one to be able to get away with asking that, and she knew it. He wondered if Alana had called her.

           “I want you to come back down here. Forget what I said about helping people, I’m scared for you, Will.”

           “Oh, Molly,” he sighed. “I think it’s too late for that.”

           “Fuck Jack Crawford, just come back home. You want to come home, don’t you? Aren’t you already tired of this? You were tired before it even began.”

           “My darling Molly,” he murmured to her. “I wish that I could. I really, really do. We’d get the boat and go along the coast, getting fat off of beer and mangos.”

           “You hate mangos.”

           “I’d eat a thousand mangos if you asked me to,” he vowed.

           Another prolonged silence. He thought about Reba crying in Jack Crawford’s office, the stench of despair. She’d mourned Francis Dolaryhyde, but now she feared the Red Dragon like everyone else did. Jack promised to relocate her, that way she’d be safe in case she was the final product of his ‘transformation’. He wondered if in Reba’s dreams, she saw Red Dragon devouring her the same way Will did.

           “Please be safe, darling,” she said. She’d never called him that before. Stud, dear, honey-bunches, and sometimes William, but not darling. He didn’t care for it. Too many new names; Red Dragon, darling, dear Will, my Will.

           “I told you,” he said, and somehow she knew.

           “You did,” she agreed. “You said you’d be different, and god dammit if you weren’t right.”

-

           Will avoided the alcohol cabinet out of a stubborn need. He paced his room that evening, thought about Hannibal, cursed himself. When it began to rain, smeared images of a dark city with occasional bursts of light, he slumped into his chair and stared at the image of the Red Dragon next to The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun, trying to blend the two together. In the picture of Red Dragon, his cleft pallet was less noticeable due to the turn of his head, like he was used to trying to hide it. He didn’t look at the camera. Whoever had taken the photo, they’d done it against his will.

           “I’m trying to see you,” Will said to him glumly. “Beneath the pixels, the blood, the mirrors, the photos, the…textbook analysis. One part of a whole that never finished, and you’re trying to fill in the pieces.

           “How’d you talk to Hannibal Lecter in prison? How'd you get past the screening of letters? What’d you say that made him so delighted to pit you against me? Is that it? Is it a competition?”

           Red Dragon didn’t say anything in return. Will laid his head on the small desk, staring sideways out of the window as the rain fell, mocking him with its steady pace. He wished he could be so steady. With every flash of light that leapt across the sky, he wished he could be so steady, able to catch the guy and keep the girl in the end.

-

           He got a call early in the morning, a few days later, and he supposed he should get used to running on only a few hours of sleep. Seven days without Hannibal. Seven days with sleepless nights. He glared at the shadows under his eyes, and he resented them, resented the bastard that’d given them to him.

           “Dr. Graham, there’s something of urgency that I think you should see here,” Dr. Chilton said. “I’ve already called Jack Crawford, and he’s on his way.”

           Will didn’t realize he was wearing the same clothes as the day before until he walked into the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane –Jack’s facial expression made it painfully apparent. He looked down at his plaid shirt, brushed off a few crumbs from an English muffin, and followed Chilton into his office. Still two brown eyes.

           “We were doing our cell-to-cell inspections, as we normally do, when Barney found this in Hannibal Lecter’s cell, wadded up inside of a roll of toilet paper.”

           On the table, written in a short, neat script, was a letter.

           “Is that toilet paper?” Jack asked, eyebrows lifted.

           “Yes, very biodegradable from the feel of it. Not ours,” Chilton said with a sniff. He looked from the two-ply and fixed Will with a stare that he avoided. “Someone has been writing your ‘witness’ little love notes, Dr. Graham.”

My dear Dr. Lecter,

           I wanted to tell you how happy I am that you’ve taken an interest in me, after all this time. I thought I was nothing more than a blip in your timeline, a mere shadow within the memories you no doubt hold dear from the time when you were free to do as you wished and conquer your small portion of the world.

           When I heard from you, I thought, dare I? Of course I dare. It is of no consequence the body in which I am bound to, now, for this shell is not important –what is important is what I am becoming, and that is of greatness. You of all understand the power of transformation.

           I keep cutouts of you whenever you are in the press. We have a lot in common, you and I, from our ways to the unfair names they sling at us. They call me Soul Stealer, like a thief in the night rather than a creator. I thought of you seeing such crude attempts at naming, but I know it is of little consequence to you. You who was also slurred in the newspapers, first Chesapeake Ripper, then Hannibal the Cannibal…

           Dr. Will Graham interests me. He’s not very handsome, but there is something purposeful about him, even as I held him by the throat. He was not afraid as he looked at me. There was no fear in his eyes as he snarled. Perhaps he is a dragon, too.

           How you managed to warn me of his scent on my artistic depiction gave me the time to do as I will; I hold myself indebted. Perhaps one day we will meet, and I will share with you the ways that I am utterly grateful to you.

           Though the papers of this letter are insufficient, I thought it best under the circumstances, should you need to eat it. Your own note was on far better cardstock, something smacking of connections beyond your cell. I applaud your grace and wit, even as I learn from and ascend beyond it.

           Until then, I remain your,

                                                                                                                       -Avid Fan

           There were places ripped out, small spots where bits had been removed. Will had to resist reaching out to touch it, get a feel for the texture of the paper Red Dragon had so lovingly leaned over. He wondered if the smell of him was still ingrained in the fibers. Probably not.

           He could hear him, though. In person, his speech would be slurred, rough. On paper, no matter the quality, his eloquence was far beyond the physical shell he thought himself doomed to.

           “He bears screams like a sculptor bears dust from the beaten stone,” Will said quietly.

           “What?” Chilton said, a curt burst of noise. Jack waved at him to be quiet, and Will found himself wandering over to the window, rubbing the sleep from his yawning mouth. Hannibal was close. Hannibal was so close, but not close enough. If anything, Red Dragon was closer. He wanted neither one of them close, but he needed both of them to be close.

           “Is that what you get from this, Will?” Jack asked.

           “Avid fan, indeed,” he muttered, staring out at the early morning. It already looked like midday due to the brightness, and he squinted at the wraparound parking lot at the front entrance. “He knew what Lecter was, even as he saw him for treatment. He knows Lecter relates to him.”

           “Lecter reached out to him first,” Jack said.

           “He knows we are not the sum of our parts. We are light, dust, spirit, the many parts of a whole that furthers his growth. His transformation.” Will fiddled with the blinds, knotting and re-knotting the pull-string. Red Dragon thought he was a dragon, too. Will noted the fact that he said a dragon, not a great dragon. One of potential many, but he was The, and Will was a.

           Chilton opened his mouth, and Jack lifted a hand to silence him, staring at Will. “How’s he going to finish his transformation, Will?” he asked gently.

           “Hannibal Lecter would be the final death. Beautiful. Glorious. Like John the Baptist taking a knee when Jesus waded into the water.” Will glanced to an orderly stepping outside to meet someone pulling up. “Did you read it? ‘Even as I learn from and ascend beyond it.’”

           “How did he get the correspondence out?” Jack asked.

           “Ask Chilton’s orderlies, Jack,” Will said with a snort. He abruptly dropped the pull-string and gave him a wan glance. “Enough money or persuasion, and he’d be able to get whatever letter out wherever he needed it to go.”

-

           Matthew Brown was the easiest catch Will ever had while consulting with the FBI. Under the pressure of Jack, Will, and an indignant Chilton, he cracked and admitted to sending out letters unscreened for not only Lecter, but other inmates, too.

           The last one confused him, though, he admitted. Lecter had it sent to the newspaper, Tattler, as a personal ad. It ran just yesterday, he said, an odd request for meeting a single young lady by the name of Molly.

           Will Graham had to be held by back by Jack and Chilton both, fist halfway to Matthew Brown’s face before they hauled him out of the room. It took a while for him to realize, pacing the hall, that the ragged, guttural wheezing was coming from him and not the smoking, fiery maw of a dragon.

-

           “Molly, my Molly, please answer the phone. If you get this, call 907-XXX-XXXX immediately. Find a safe space to hide in until they call back and give you further instructions. You know where I put the gun; find it and put one in the chamber, like we practiced. Please tell me you’ve still been practicing.

           “I’m so sorry…my Molly, I’m so sorry. I love you.”

-

           They were on a plane to Florida when Jack got a call from one of the guys at HQ. It was a skip code, and a rather decently complicated one at that.

           ‘Save yourself, kill Molly –Graham’s love,” Jack said. Will paced the length of the jet, turned around, eyed the liquor cabinet. Told himself no.

           When they got another call that Molly had crashed a car into the hospital parking lot before falling out of the driver’s seat, unresponsive, he broke down and made himself a strong, strong drink. Three years sober, indeed.

-

           He woke to someone finger-combing the back of his head, mindful of the rather large, ugly scab at the crown. Will lifted his head blearily, and at Molly’s pained, drawn face, pale but very much alive, he grabbed her hand and wept.

-

           “Those aren’t your eyes,” were the first words out of her mouth to him.

           “No,” he said hoarsely. She didn’t draw away from him, stuck as she was with a gunshot wound to the shoulder. She let him hold her hand and kiss it, pressing his face to her palm with a need border-lining on desperation.

           “What’s underneath those eyes, Will?” she asked him. “What colors am I going to see?”

           “One blue,” he said, and he dropped his gaze to the fine lines along her palm. He traced her life line, then the heart line. “The other’s maroon.”

           “Do I want to know who it belongs to?”

           “No…no, you really, really don’t.”

-

           In his dreams, he took out both of his eyes and tried to crush them, a raging grief that took the breath from him, left him gasping for air that would not come. Before he could destroy them, someone reached out and took them from him. They held regret and sorrow with equal weight, and their kisses tasted like rotting flesh.

-

           Once she was well enough to be moved, Jack had her taken to a safe house with a round-the-clock guard. Will would have thought about going with her, but the need to see Red Dragon dead burned him with such a fury that he didn’t offer to go. The look she gave him, equal parts betrayal and equal parts unease at his mismatched eyes was enough to send him after Jack’s heel like a well-trained dog to the master’s boot. She didn’t tell Jack about his eyes. He didn’t tell her about Hannibal. Thankfully, with her injuries, she didn’t ask.

           “I’ve got my best guys on her, Will. Molly’s going to be okay,” he assured him. “She outsmarted the bastard. He tried to get her, and she got away.”

           “He outsmarted us,” Will said after a prolonged pause. “Lecter outsmarted us.”

           He felt a disquieted, uncertain sort of thing, and he wasn’t sure if it was Lecter’s pain at the distance, or if there was something more to it than that. He relished in the way that his skin burned, the way that he felt small cracks in the shell around him. Every time the pulsing pain faded, then returned, he reminded himself that if he was hurting, Lecter was, too. In the hotel room before they flew back to Baltimore, he drew idle designs with his finger on the table beside a glass of whiskey and his gun, staring for a long, long time. Only the burning need to see Red Dragon dead keeping him from doing something permanently destructive.

-

           Chilton didn’t want to let Will see Hannibal; he said it wasn’t wise, what with the way he’d been able to put people in legitimate danger, even while incarcerated. It wasn’t until Will leaned over the desk at him, contacts burning holes into him, that his stubbornness was quelled and he relented.

           “He almost killed Molly,” he said, a low growl. “I’m owed some answers.”

           “Perhaps he supposes that one-sided soulmate relations are enough for him to claim you,” Chilton said, leading him towards maximum. He tone was petulant, even as he relented.

           Will didn’t reply.

           He let Barney set up the partitions and the chair alone, his skin on fire. It’d been three weeks, and the time away burned, blistered, and reeked of bruises that sunk too deep. He reveled in the pain. It was his bedmate, his food and his water. He reveled in the destructive thoughts it lent him, in the bleak way that it made him stare at a wall for minutes that stretched to hours until he realized just how much time had passed, uncaring in the zombie-like manner that it lent him. Molly almost died because of him. Molly almost died because of his games. Molly almost died because of Hannibal-Fucking-Lecter.

           “Poor Dr. Graham,” Gideon said. He leaned against the bars of his cell, and if not for the nonchalant swing to his arm that hung, he’d have seemed truly piteous. “Word gets around quick.”

           “Does it?”

           “Matthew Brown; fired for smuggling contraband inside of these walls and willfully endangering the life of a person,” he said, ticking the acts off on his fingers. “Compromising a current investigation, impeding justice, and accessory to attempted murder. Quite the little naughty blend of illegal behaviors for an orderly of such a prestigious place as this, don’t you think?”

           “Do you think so?” Will wondered. “You sound like you’re not surprised.”

           “Oh, I’m really, really not, Dr. Graham,” Gideon said. He huffed a short laugh, lip quirking into a smile. “The orderlies here call this row the deadly crazies, but it’s here that they walk, isn’t it? Wouldn’t one of us, with practice, learn to walk as they do? Talk as they do?”

           “Do you think he’s like you then?”

           “No, he’s far uglier, far less sophisticated.” Abel shook his head, deep in thought. When one came to him, his eyes lightened and he looked back to Will. “I will say, though; he often condescended to have small little chats with Dr. Lecter, much like you do. Whisper on the row is that he’s going to find himself back here, in a uniform like mine rather than a uniform like Barney’s.”

           “Justice at its finest,” Will found himself saying.

           Gideon liked that. A lot. “Irony, too. I do feel bad for your girlfriend, though.”

           “That word got around too?”

           “Oh, yes,” he said with a somber nod. “When I was a surgeon, I was informed that I had hands that were just nimble and quick enough to do what other surgeons couldn’t do. If I was at that hospital, I’d have ensured she was taken care of.”

           “That’s honestly very kind of you, Dr. Gideon,” said Will. If he’d been at that hospital, Will would have shot him dead.

           “I think it’s because you have the ability to be just as rude, just as dismissive to me as the orderlies around here, but you aren’t. You give politeness where politeness is due, Dr. Graham, and I think about things like that.” Gideon smiled, dragged a finger along one of the bars of his cell. “I think about politeness, about who is and isn’t kind, about the people that show kindness even when they don’t have to.”

           “The world is nasty enough, I think; me being rude would just add to a problem.”

           “The world is nasty enough,” Gideon echoed. “Yes, with people like Matthew Brown lurking about, profiting from your woes, the world is nasty enough. I’m glad there are upstanding individuals like you to offset it.”

           “Dr. Graham?”

           Will looked over to see Barney hovering by the partitions, like he’d been there for quite some time. Will cleared his throat, looked to Abel, then back to Barney.

           “You have business to take care of, I think,” Abel said slyly. He moved away from the bars, settled down on his cot. “Thank you for the chat, Dr. Graham. Thank you for always being kind.”

           “Have a good day, Dr. Gideon,” Will found himself saying. He nodded to Barney, resisted the urge to press down on the indignant impatience curdling inside of him.

           “He’s awake,” Barney said as Will went to the partitions. Will nodded, already well aware of that.

           When Barney left, he walked around the partition and stared at Hannibal, his vision going red.

#LiaS scribbles #the fault in my code #suicide mention #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal soulmates #soulmate au #hannibal soulmate au #will graham #hannigram #slow burn #hannibal slow burn #someone help will graham #red dragon

[darling-i-read-it]

...And the Beast From the Sea

3x11

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, guns, pregnancy, worries of miscarriage

Author’s Note: Dudes I love this one so much. I  really really liked this one. It’s hella long but the last one was short so I think that’s okay. I am very excited for y’all to read this one because I made some expenitonal changes to the script which I’m excited for you guys to see. Enjoy!

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: With a full moon approaching, Jack and Will are certain that Francis Dolarhyde will strike again but they lack a solid lead; Alana gives Hannibal a chance for redemption.

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

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) (top two @/rocktheholygrail)

“Nightly news countdown to the next full moon. Chicago and Buffalo police are under a media blitz,” Jack said. You, Will and Alana were all in his office. Will had made it a sport to argue against you going with him anywhere these days but he knew he would lose the fight. 

“Two days left. And he’s not going to kill again in Chicago or Buffalo. He’s moved on,” you muttered. You were sitting beside Alana. Will was standing behind you. 

“Let me fill you in on what’s up for the twenty-fifth.”

“When he does it again?” 

“If we have a problem on the twenty-fifth.”

“Not ‘if’. ‘When,” Will muttered.

“He didn’t kill the docket at the museum. What if he’s trying to stop?” Alana asked. 

“He would’ve been better killing her. And both of you,” Jack suggested. You pursed your lips.

“I know we don’t get along Jack but that’s just cruel,” you teased.

“You think there's a way to push him to be self destructive?” Jack asked, ignoring you completely.

“You mean push him toward suicide?” Alana asked.

“Suicide suits me just fine,” Jack muttered. 

“If he was really trying to stop he’s not going to kill himself. How could he be sure his death would affect whatever's inside him?” Will asked. He had his hands shoved in his pockets, his mind reeling. 

“You must know something about him otherwise you wouldn’t have found him,” Jack leaded. You gave him a look. Will gave him a harder one.

“Jack Crawford. Fisher of men, watching my cork move against the current. You got me again.” Will was bitter. You liked it. “Hannibal told me where to find him. He knows.” 

-

Hannibal and Francis talked to each other. Francis was relying on this conversation to clear some things up. A couple of things. 

“I..put my hand...on her beating heart. Heard the sound of her..living voice. A..living woman. How bizarre,” Francis whispered. Reba flashed in his mind. Beautiful. “I don’t want to give her to the Dragon,” he whispered. 

“The Dragon is in your belly now. The Dragon wants her alive, you don't’ have to worry about feeling love for her,” Hannibal explained. Francis looked at Hannibal.

“Is that how you stayed with Y/N?” At the mention of your name Hannibal tensed. Ever so slightly. If Francis wasn’t paying acute attention he wouldn’t have noticed. He read it as something bad. Something that struck something dark in Hannibal that he wished to be rid of. “And Will Graham. He interests me. Odd looking for an investigator, not very handsome. But purposeful. They’re married aren’t they?” 

Another slight change in attitude. 

Slight.

But there. 

And if he wasn’t going to kill Reba then he had to kill someone else.

-

“Yes, yes. I see.” Your voice was quiet. Will watched you speak, your hand holding your other arm. You were on the phone with the neighbors that were watching your dogs. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Thank you so much for calling.” 

You hung up the phone and let out a long sigh. You looked over at Will. You were both standing in one of the main rooms of Alana's hospital. You finally looked over at him and he grabbed your hand gently, bringing you toward him.

“That was the neighbors girls. They say that the dogs have been sick, all of them. I’m going to go home and see to them, make sure it’s all okay.” Will nodded quickly as he held you in his arms. He was happy about this. He didn’t want you here, in harm's way. The safest place for you was home. “I’ll sleep the night, take the dogs to the vet and return the next day. I’ll bring new doggo with me.” You moved away from him to gauge his reactions.

“This is good,” he whispered, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. “It’s safe at home.” You shrugged.

“I like to keep you safe.” 

“But you have to think of yourself now. You have to keep safe,” he whispered. “Both of you.” You closed your eyes for a moment and took that in. It sounded so pleasant from his voice. A child. His child. You loved the idea of a curly haired little boy running around that had his blue eyes.

“Two days we’ll be away from each other. And I shall call you when I get there and also when I am about to leave. And probably between that.” He nodded.

“Of course.” 

-

“I have to do a little homework,” Francis said. Reba handed him a fresh martini and he took it, sitting on his couch between the projector and screen. Music played softly around them. Reba sat beside him, curious to what he was up to today. 

“Sure. If I’m keeping you from working, I can go,” she suggested. He shook his head quickly and realized she couldn’t see him. It would take some getting used to.

“No. I want you to be here. I do. It’s just some film I need to check. It won’t take long,” he promised.

“Does it have a soundtrack?” Reba asked. 

“No.” 

“May I keep the music?” she asked. 

“Um-hmm.” 

“I think I’ll stretch out for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.” He started to move so that she could lay down but she shook her head gently. “No, don’t move. I have plenty of room. Wake me up if I drop off,” she whispered. She lied down on the couch, holding the glass to her stomach. The tips of her hair touched Francis' hand beside his tight. He flicked the remote switch on and the projector began. Light flickered and whired across both his and Reba’s face. “Are these your nocturnal animals?” she asked quietly.

“Um-hmmm” 

The picture moved down from a bright white moon to find you, smiling and laughing as you moved toward a cabin in the woods, holding a blanket in your hands. A pack of dogs excitedly milled around your feet. 

“They know they’re being filmed?” Reba asked.

“No.” 

-

You stood in the vet anxiously. As the vet came back in you stood up quickly. You had talked to the girls who were taking care of the dogs and they were just as worried as you had been. 

“They may have gotten into something they shouldn’t have. Has there been any change in their diet?” she asked. You took a deep breath and felt the guilt creep in.

“Wi-my husband usually makes their food from scratch. We’ve been out of town with some dog sitters and I told them to just give them canned food,” you explained. 

“Was it canned food made in China?” she asked.

“Is it bad to be made in China?” you asked anxiously.

“If you’re pet food. Dogs get poisoned by Chinese pet food all the time. Pet food safety isn't’ regulated the same way as human food. And it’s barely regulated at all in China. There have been thousands of illnesses and deaths.” 

All of the sudden you thought about having to call Will with the news that, despite the fact you were having a human child, all the dog ones were going to die. That was a call you never want to make. Ever. 

“Are the dogs going to be okay?” you asked, moving the long sleeves of your shirt up to wrap your fingers around it. 

“Yes. You got them here fast and the activated charcoal should soak up whatever’s in their system. But it’d be helpful if you brought me a sample of whatever they’ve been eating so we can run some tests,” the vet said. You nodded quickly. 

“I’ll bring it by tomorrow.” The vet put a hand on your arm with a warm smile.

“We’ll keep the dogs overnight so we can monitor their recovery. They’ll be fine.” 

You nodded with a smile released. 

-

Will walked into Hannibal’s caged room. Hannibal got up from his desk and walked over to the glass.

“I’m not fortune’s fool. I’m yours. ‘Behold the Great Red Dragon’,” Will said. 

“And did you?” Hannibal questioned.

“I had a random encounter.” Hannibal looked behind him as the door shut quietly. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Where’s Y/N?” 

“The Brooklyn Museum is closed to the public on Tuesdays, but researchers are admitted. You know that’s when we’d both be going,” Will said, ignoring the question. Hannibal tried to push you out of his mind. Likely just toying with him. 

“A sophisticated intelligence can forecast many things. I suppose mine is sophisticated enough. You’re so close to him now. You and the Dragon are doing the same thing at various times of the day,” Hannibal said, allowing his ignorance of you to seep. 

“He’s contacted you.”

“How do you imagine he’s contacted me? Personal ads? Writing notes on admiration on toilet paper?” Hannibal asked. 

“Alana thinks he’s trying to stop,” Will suggested. Hannibal came closer to the glass and Will did not move. 

“To begin to understand the Dragon, to hear the cold drips in his darkness, Dr. Bloom would have to see things she could never see,” Hannibal promised. “She would have to fly through time.” 

“There is a family out there who don’t know he’s coming. We could save them. Tell me who he is.” 

“I don’t know who he is.” Will studied Hannibal’s face and knew he was telling the truth. “And I do not know the next family, before you ask.” He was telling the truth about that too. 

“You’re willing to let them die.” 

“They’re not my family Will. And I’m not letting them die. You are.” 

-

“I’m sorry to interrupt. You have a telephone call. It’s your lawyer. Would you like to take it?” Alana asked. 

“Did he say why he was calling?” Hannibal questioned. 

“I called him. To confirm that he hasn’t called you. Not since you’ve been declared insane,” she stated. Hannibal shrugged.

“I could have told you that.” 

“If only I’d known to ask.”

“If only.” 

“Would you have told me the truth?” she asked.

“In my own way, I always have,” he promised. Alana pressed a button and spoke into the telephone.

 “Mr. Metcalf. That’ll be all for now. Thank you for your time.” She killed the call and now her cold anger showed. The door behind her opened and Jack entered. “You were speaking to the Tooth Fairy.”

“I think he’s earned the right to be known by the name he’s chosen. He is the Great Red Dragon,” Hannibal said. Jack approached the glass wall. 

“You have hubbed hell, Dr. Lecter.” 

“I often do.” 

“You got what you wanted. Suddenly, you’re very relevant. There is one way for you to stay relevant...and comfortable,” Alana said. Hannibal thought about it for a moment.

“You want me to speak with the Dragon. You believe he will seek counsel after the next kill.”

“We’ve got to make your contact work for us. Standing trace order for any time you’re on the phone. When he calls, you keep him on the line.” Hannibal inclined his head.

“I can’t refuse him a sympathetic ear. He no doubt needs it.” 

-

The house seemed so empty. The dogs gone, Will away. You had to pick them up in the morning and then be gone again. In the meantime, you were staying up late to make as much dog food as you could.

“Yeah and add a little bit of the meat I have in the fridge,” Will said over the phone. His voice was staticy but there. It made you feel safer.

“Alright I think we’re good. Thank you sweetface,” you said, leaning into the phone. 

“Anytime. Have a good night's sleep. Drink water. I love you.” You smiled gently to yourself. 

“I love you too. Sleep tight!” You hung up the phone and then it was empty again. You glanced at the clock. Much too late. You shouldn’t have kept Will up, he needed to sleep. “I suppose I should sleep too,” you said aloud. You convinced yourself you were speaking to your unformed child rather than yourself. That sounded less insane.

You put the dog food in the fridge and finished up the last of the notes for the neighbors teenagers. You took a deep breath and turned around, eyes catching the green of the alarm monitor. 

Caught it just soon enough to see it go dead. 

You didn’t realize what that meant right away. Then it hit you. Fear slammed into you and you tensed up completely. You grabbed your phone and shoved it in your pajama pants pocket. You grabbed a knife from the knife block and quietly walked over to the kitchen table, where your keys were. You peaked out the window and saw a man outside, walking up the front steps.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You tried to control your fear as you quietly walked around back. You heard the door jiggle open. You were suddenly reminded of your second body, Will’s words screaming into your heart. Both of you to keep safe. 

You suddenly missed Will terribly. You opened the back door quietly and stalked around the side of the house. As you ducked underneath windows you felt your heart beating in your ears. You held the knife tightly in your hand as you peaked around the side of the house to see if he was outside. 

The coast from where you were to the car was clear from what you could tell. 

You closed your eyes tightly and then opened them just as quickly. 

You sprinted to the car and unlocked it on your way. You jumped into the driver's seat and struggled to put the keys in the ignition. 

Your attacker had heard the car unlock and he was on the porch now. Gunshots broke your front window and shattered onto your lap. You squealed just as the car started and you were able to pull out. 

You, however, were not able to miss the gunshot that hit you in the shoulder harshly. You let out a harsh surprised noise as your arm pretty much went limp. With your other arm you were able to drive away from your home. Your home. The place you had found so sacred. Will’s and yours first place together.

You focused on driving through the dark, winding roads and hoped that he wasn’t following.

-

Will ran through the hospital. A horrible glare of the hospital fluorescents over his face as he approached Jack Crawford.

“Where is she?” he asked rushingly.

“In surgery now.”

He did not seem to be any more eased at that. 

“You’re both safe here,” Jack said and Will gave him a harsh look. 

“Now is not the time to talk to me Jack. Not the time at all.” Will pushed past him. He didn’t know where he was going. He couldn’t see you. All he could do was pace. He wanted to ask Jack about the baby. He wondered, terribly, if the baby was gone. Two times in a row his child would be ripped from him by the puppeteer strings of Hannibal Lecter he was sure. 

Will couldn’t make it make sense. He thought that Hannibal liked you. He thought for sure that you, if anyone, was safe from his wrath. 

Jack took his turn approaching Will again, now that some time had passed by. The doctors promised you would be okay but made no mention of the baby.

“You think you might lose me after this, Jack? You think I might go back to my family?” Will asked, teeth almost barred. Jack stared at him. 

“For a minute, I did.”

“I want so badly to. If she had died because of this I would have killed you with my bare hands Jack. She warned me against you time and time again. And again. If she had died because of you…” his voice trailed off but Jack got the message. “But then I realized what you realized. I can’t go home, and neither can Y/N, never, until the Red Dragon is out of the way.” Will looked away. 

“As soon as Y/N can be moved we’ll put her at my brother’s house on the chesapeake. Nobody in the world will know where they are but you and-”

“She’s pregnant.” 

Jack stopped. This information hit him and it sunk in, very slowly. He took a deep breath. He was careful speaking.

“Have you asked-”

“No. I’m too scared to,” Will admitted. He looked back at Jack and shook his head. “But if the baby lived or didn’t, if she is able to walk, she’s not going to leave my side now. She’ll put on a brave face and walk with me wherever I’ll go and you will let her.” He paused, thinking. “I’ll let her.” His eyes lightened slightly. “And even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t want anything from you. She’d be glad to see you in hell with your back broken.”

Something about the truth in that made Jack want to smile.

-

Will walked into the room. You had been awake just long enough to talk to the doctor. Will had been in the bathroom when you woke up but now he rushed toward you. 

He practically skidded on the ground to grab your hands. You gave him a weak smile but your face was practically dead. You swallowed and squeezed his hand. Will didn’t say anything for a moment.

“The baby is alright,” you whispered. He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “The bullet hit my shoulder, far away from anything that could harm them.” Now that that was out of the way, he could apologize for you. You had been hurt. That was impossible.

“The dogs are safe. I’m going to pick them up tomorrow and bring them here.” You nodded.

“Bring the vet the canned food.” He laughed dryly.

“I don’t think that’s a priorit-”

“Bring it,” you stated weakly. He nodded, not willing to argue with you right now. You looked up at the ceiling and then over at him, smiling at his pretty face. “I made the food. You have to bring that too, I’m proud of it.” He nodded, kissing your hands he was holding.

“I will.” There was a beat of silence.

“You aren’t going to get me to leave. The second I can sit up I will be back out there with you.” He nodded lightly.

“I wish you wouldn't. But I know.” You looked into his eyes, hard.

“Hannibal did not advise this.”

“He knows about the killer, things he couldn’t possibly know unless he knew about him. There’s no way that this wasn’t him.” You shook your head.

“He wouldn’t. Not to me.” Will believed that, despite it all. He kissed your hands again and stood up.

“I’m going to ask him.” He waited for you to respond but you just thought about that for a moment. 

“I wanted to be the one to tell him. But I see now that you must.” He nodded. It would add to the effect, whichever way that effect went. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“I love you more.”

-

Will quickly walked up to Hannibal’s cage. Hannibal could tell something was wrong immediately. Will looked like he was about to kill someone with his bare hands. 

“I’m just about worn out with you crazy sons of bitches,” Will stated. Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“It hasn’t hit the papers yet. Care to enlighten me on the family this time around? Did the dog make it?” Will stared at Hannibal, dumbfounded.

“You really don’t know do you?” Hannibals face scrunched into confusion. 

“I’m sorry, should I?” Hannibal questioned. Will’s lips turned into a bitter smile. He knew that Hannibal had talked to this killer and Will was about to relish in the fact that he got to tell Hannibal his efforts had messed up someone he cared about. 

“Y/N went home to tend to the dogs for the day,” Will started, really milking this out. “Dr. Lecter, the killer went for her.” 

Hannibal’s mind worked quickly. He took a deep breath in and for once, hung off the words that Will was saying. He hadn’t suggested Francis kill you but he should have known he would. He should have known. He was almost angry at himself for not seeing it.

“Is she alright?” 

“Yes.” Hannibal let out a barely audible sigh of relief. For once it was the two men, almost in love with each other but definitely in love with you, just happy you were alive. “She was shot but she’s fine.” Will paused. “She’s pregnant. Still pregnant. You didn’t get this child and you won’t.” 

Hannibal took that in quietly. He would deal with that later.

“I’m happy for her. Happy for you both.” Will turned to leave, finished with this conversation and wanting to return to you but Hannibal did not let him. “Will?” 

He turned.

“Yes?” 

“I didn’t know it was her.” 

-

As the orderly came into the room, Hannibal almost jumped up. But instead, he kept his dignity and walked over to the phone, taking it in his hands. He knew that Jack and Alana were listening. He had to keep this careful. 

“If I’m not as strong as the Dragon, she will die. I know that,” Francis said firstly, bluntly. “I need to think. I need to think. I told her I can’t be with her.” 

“Y/N Graham is not dead,” he pointed out stoutly. Francis did not like that he changed the subject so quickly. 

“I chose Y/N because she rejected you. I chose Y/N and she should be dead.” Hannibal straightened his back. “I’m afraid she will come to the house. To talk. I don't want what will happen in the house.” He was now referring to Reba, not you but Hannibal knew how to steer a conversation. 

“What made you think I wanted Y/N dead?” 

“You insinuated-”

“No. I did not.” Hannibal stared through Jack and Alana, enjoying an audience but wishing these next words were spoken in confidence. “You thought wrongly. You insinuated wrongly.” Hannibal straightened his lips. “Think about how you wanted to hold Y/N in your arms, as she lost blood and her heart quivered like a bird until it went out. Think about it.” He paused, allowing him to think. “Now think about Reba in her place. Because that is what is coming.” 

Francis didn’t know how to react to that.

“They’re listening,” Hannibal said and hung up the phone. 

Alana and Jack looked betrayed but Alana was all too happy for what came next. 

“You’ve just lost your toilet Hannibal,” Alana said.

And Hannibal did not say it but he knew it was worth it.

3x12

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal imagines

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 9

<- Chapter 8 || Sequel: A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry

Summary: The goddamned Red Dragon. 

2,384 words

The smell was what hit you first. It entered your nostrils, filled your lungs like smoke, and shivered down your spine. The charcoal of burned flesh. If not for the bitter mingling of burned hair and gasoline, it might have smelled like steak on the grill. The thought turned your stomach. You gave yourself a moment to get used to it, to calm your breathing, before pulling back the curtain.

It was shocking. Horrifying beyond anything you could have prepared for.

He lay unmoving in the hydrotherapy tub in the ICU, burned over ninety percent of his body. You knew it would be bad, but you thought you had already cried your eyes dry when you were first told what had happened, and you stood in the hospital waiting room for hours begging every receptionist and nurse to tell you if he was going to live.

When they finally let you see him, you knew you had to be brave. Breaking down would only make it harder on him. Whatever you do, don’t react.

“Hey there,” you greeted him cheerfully like nothing was wrong. Don’t react. Monitors beeped steadily, and a strong antiseptic smell overpowered the smell of burning. His eyes lifted sluggishly, unfocused. Don’t... Your head swam, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut with all your might to force back the tears biting behind the lids. It felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs, and it was all you could do not to fall to your knees crying.

“Hard… to look at… huh?” he croaked after a while. You gasped at the sound of it, so pained that he had given up on forming proper words halfway through the question and ended it with a grunt. His voice was as charred as his flesh.

There was no skin left. None, except a few patches below the waist, cooling in the tub in an effort to preserve them. His hair was singed off down to the muscle, and the red remains of his scalp were blackened, cracked open and oozing in places. White teeth stood out in sharp contrast in his lipless mouth, like a skull. His lips were gone. Ripped off his face even before being burned alive by a serial killer who thought he was a fucking William Blake painting. A serial killer Will Graham had thrown in Frederick’s path, just to see what would happen.

Little fly, Thy summer’s play My thoughtless hand Has brush’d away

You opened your eyes, surrendering to the tears that poured out unimpeded.

“I don’t know what to say,” you breathed, trying to collect your thoughts. You stepped up to the edge of tub and looked him directly in the eye, making a point of showing that his appearance wasn’t why you had to close your eyes. He had bigger things to worry about than what he looked like right now, but you were sure he was going to be acutely insecure about it. With his contact lens removed, his one dead eye completed the living-corpse effect, but you weren’t repulsed. “I was trying to think of something to say to you—something I could say that would make things better. Because I don’t want to ask a stupid question like ‘how are you feeling?’… or make cliché promises like it’s going to be OK. I tried to think of what I would want someone to say to me if I was the one lying there, but there’s nothing. Nothing I can say will magically make anything better, and I...”

The urge to hold him overwhelmed you. You wanted so badly to kiss him, but you couldn’t even touch him—not an inch of his scorched body—without hurting him more. Choked sobs broke through the tight constriction of your throat, and you gave up trying to speak, kneeling instead by the side of the water tank, your head leaning against its cold metal walls. It was all you could do, the closest you could get.

The last thing you wanted was to make him have to comfort you, but that was exactly what you did; Chilton started whispering sweet consolations to you, though every syllable was an effort, and without lips to press together he had great difficulty forming many sounds, and could no longer pronounce the letters b or p at all. You struggled to make out the words, but you understood the meaning behind them.

You just wanted to touch him again, and he felt the same way.

“Put your hand near mine,” he suggested, slow and raspy.

Carefully, you placed your palm down on the smooth white rim of the tub, avoiding medical tubing and wires, next to his. His wrist was restrained in a soft bandage to keep his arm from sliding off the edge and to keep the IV needles in place.

With painful effort, he stretched his fingers out. Even moving an inch hurt, the skin crisp and easily broken, but he gently touched the back of your hand. He released his muscles and let his hand relax on top of yours. A sigh of relief puffed from his chest. It was exhausting, but worth it.

You still wore your engagement ring, but his had to be cut off of him. A nurse had handed it back to you in pieces, the gold warped from the heat.

Chilton was furious with his situation. He was furious with Will Graham—his initial diagnosis of intelligent psychopath seemingly more accurate by the day. He was furious with Hannibal Lecter, with Jack Crawford, and with himself. Every part of his body screamed in pain the drugs could barely dull. He was grateful for one thing, however.

He was glad Dolarhyde had taken him in his car, and not at home. The goddamned Red Dragon. Francis Dolarhyde tortured him and killed two of his best bodyguards, but his modus operandi was murdering whole families. If Chilton had considered the risk, he would have never agreed to that interview. It was supposed to be publicity for his newest book, The Dragon Slayer. He pictured the headline: “Hero psychiatrist once again aids in the capture of serial killer.” If anything had happened to you, he wouldn’t have survived. He wouldn’t have wanted to.

God, he wished he could touch you. Wished you could comfort him. Wished he could feel anything besides pain. Would he ever kiss you again? Would whatever they could reconstruct of his face be something you would ever want to kiss? You stood by him through so much, but he could never ask you to walk through this hell with him.

  *****

Two familiar voices spoke in hushed whispers outside the thin curtain. No. The hairs on the back of your neck bristled like an angry dog. Those were not the people you wanted to see right now.

“He’s trashed. You ought to get ready for this,” said the deeper of the voices, as if you couldn’t hear him.

Will Graham and Jack Crawford pulled back the curtain divider and entered the room, and you immediately leaped to your feet and rounded on them. You'd been holding in a scream since you saw Frederick burned, and now you unleashed it on them in full force.

“You bastards. You fucking bastards!”

Will’s eyes fell on Chilton, and regarded him with a disturbed, yet wholly unsurprised expression, like someone who set a mouse trap and now had to deal with the bloated carcass.

“Frederick, it’s Will Graham,” he said, ignoring you. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He wasn’t.

“He knows who you are,” you hissed through bared teeth. You would have screamed at him, physically pushed him out of the room, but you heard Frederick rasping, tongue moving behind his teeth as he tried to talk, his eyes locked on Will. You stood aside and let him speak for himself.

“You… set me… up. You knew it… You put your hand on me in the picture… like a pet.”

Will translated his broken speech for Crawford, and asked if he saw anything in the Red Dragon’s lair.

A blind black woman.

“Reba,” Crawford said. “The Dragon said her name when he called Lecter.”

With a lead to follow, the pair turned to leave.

“That’s it? That’s all you came here for, huh? You get your answers? Was it worth it?” you laughed bitterly. “Why the hell didn’t you protect him?!” you roared at Crawford, snarling savagely. “You gave Will a SWAT team when both of them were in that fucking article! Why wasn’t anybody watching him?”

Crawford shifted uncomfortably, unable to show the guilt he deeply felt while there was still a killer to catch. “We believed that the Dragon would—”

“Yeah, you believed he’d target Will, right?” you interrupted. “Because that’s what Will told you? You are at best a criminally negligent idiot being led around by the nose by psychopaths, and at worst, you are complicit in enabling them!” The fierce tears streaming down your face warned him better than to argue. You turned your fury back to Will where it truly belonged. “You! Stay the hell away from us. If you come near him again, I swear I’ll—” you spat, but stopped your threat short. You wanted to rip him limb from limb. You did. But saying you’ll kill someone was more than empty words around people like this. And the truth was, you didn’t have that in you. Not like Will did.

So you let them walk out without taking any revenge, or even promising to.

As soon as the curtain swished shut behind them, you wanted to fall to your knees again, but your anger hadn’t yet burned itself out. You turned on Frederick. “Stop getting involved with them! You keep trying to swim with the sharks, but you’re not a shark, Frederick—you’re chum on the water!” Your chest heaved with emotion and your voice was too hoarse to continue without a fresh round of tears.

Chilton wouldn’t dignify that analogy with a response, but grumpily turned his head away to stare at the opposite wall. At least you imagined it was grumpily—he was unable to cross his arms over his chest with annoyance, or leer haughtily through his brow which was singed to the bone, or curl his torn-off lips into a scowl, or even produce an offended growl from his raw throat, and yet you could see him doing all of it clearly in your head.

He was still your Frederick. He hadn’t changed. He never did. No matter what horrific punishment he suffered for his hubris, he would pick himself back up and continue to stick his nose where it didn’t belong until the fates knocked him down again. You admired that most about him—surviving the worst odds again and again, and keeping his ego intact. It was what first made you fall for him, all those years ago.

It never was pity at all, was it? It was always his strength that drew you in.

“I don’t… want you to get hurt again,” you explained, calmer, softer, your voice a trembling mess. “It’s a miracle you survived this, and I…” You wondered how much more could his body take before there was nothing left to recover—before he was nothing but a mass of scar tissue and empty space where bones and organs once were. But you couldn’t tell him that. He had to focus on healing now, not long-term outcomes. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He survived, but with massive trauma. It had to all add up. His blind eye, lost facial bones and teeth, missing organs, and now the majority of skin would be scar tissue and grafts. How many medications and risks of complications were stacking up? How many years were taken off his life? If he went septic before the grafts were completed he could he still die here in the ICU. If he made it out, he might still never move without pain again.

His maxillary prosthetic would get sore after wearing it for too long, but the sagging of his cheek and eyelid without it was also uncomfortable. It was difficult for him to reach things above his head because of the way stretching pulled at his abdominal scar. And those were small compared to this.

What would his life be now?

“You don’t have to stay… out of loyalty,” he wheezed, sensing the way your eyes drifted over his broken body.

“It’s alright,” you smiled through tears, the salt getting in your mouth, “I cleared my schedule. I’ve got nowhere else to be but here.”

“You know… what I mean…”

“Are you suggesting we call off the engagement because you can’t fuck for awhile?”

He made an attempt at a laugh that sounded like choking, then fixed you with a desperate gaze. “This is… not what you signed up for...” He knew he would never be the man you had wanted to marry again. He couldn’t ask you to help him through a long recovery, to look at the nightmare he had become and pretend to still love him.

“How uncharacteristically selfless of you, Dr. Chilton,” you teased, “but I just told you I don’t want to lose you. Asshole.”

His one good eye searched your face through a layer of tears that clung to its surface, but you couldn’t tell if he was smiling or frowning.

There was so little left of his face that was recognizable, but around the gaping hole of teeth the cheeks were still Chilton’s cheeks, the shape of his nose still Chilton’s nose. His one good eye was still the color of water at Chesapeake Beach.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so the only thing you should worry about is living long enough to make that happen. I’m never going to leave you, however bad things get. I love you, dummy. Always.”

Slowly, he released a breath he’d been holding since he was fished out of that fountain. The side of his mouth that always tugged up into a crooked smile when he was winning twitched. A contented, charred noise hummed in his throat. “You thought of something to say… to make it… a little better.”

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Hannibal #hospitals #sorry this wasn't a fix-it fic in the traditional sense #more of a 'at least someone holds your hand after the whump' fic #does a Chilton fic count as whump if his entire life is whump? #my writing