Will Graham - Blog Posts
so I just binged Philia by Gweezle (a hannibal fanfiction on ao3) and IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD
if you're in this fandom and haven't read it. go do it. right now.
but anyways now I feel empty as fuck and I wanted to ask if anyone knows a fanfic that is similar or could be read as a sequel.
I AM PRAYING TO ALL GODS AVAILABLE THAT SOMEONE KNOWS SOMETHING
so I'm currently watching interview with the vampire (the show) and these bitches make will and hannibal look like the most healthy couple in the world.
strangers by ethel cain is so will graham coded.
Hannigram zombie au
-Hannibal:AAAAAAAAAAAAH I HAVE WORMS IN MY URETHRA .
DOGSDOGS
CHAPTER ONE
I partnered up with the amazingly talented @ka3trv to create this multiple part dogsdogs fic!! Show their account some love, this story is probably my new favorite thing in existence and they're the mastermind behind it all! Will Graham is appointed to Bucharest after the events that unfolded following Hannibal's death. He's struggling with the new scenery, even more so now that Jack needs him to follow the case of the most dangerous men who live there. Nigel knows of the tabs the FBI has on him and he will do whatever it takes to make sure he gets out of this situation unscathed. A life without Gabi and a life without running.
The entirety of the room had only been lit with that of a singular light fixture; a complete contrast to that of the dance club outside the heavy doors of this private area where the men resided. The florescent purple and pink hues from the dance floor cascaded in patterns on the tiling through these doors, an invitation to the rest of society should the men choose to. However, despite the wafting smells of liquor and the promise of a good time through the eyes of the male gaze, Darko and Nigel sat unbothered and undetected, across from one another on the black leathered couches. This room was considered to be one reserved for "private showcases," and was quite lavishly decorated for its small size. Darko was comfortably sat with his arm flush against the decorative couch, seemingly calm for the situation at hand. Nigel, however, was having more difficulty finding comfort in the events of the folder strewn out before his eyes.
As if his scarring hadn't left him enough of a headache, there was now this tumultuous churning in his stomach in regard to how he and Darko would respond to this. There was an immediate threat to not only their work but their lifestyle, as this information being spread could land them in prison, or worse, with the death penalty. Nigel had escaped death once before, he didn't think he would be so lucky as to avoid it a second time.
He placed his fingers gently on the scar which adorned his forehead, a promise he made to himself never to allow his emotions grasp the better of him again. The sound of the police's bullet grazing his forehead and leaving him wounded on the streets of Bucharest resounded in his skull as a promise of his beloved Gabi's final departure from him. She would be pleased enough to live her life in the arms of that unruly American, Charlie. So be it. Her actions had aided him in his escape anyways as he was presumed dead. Continuing the story of his faux end wouldn't be hard when he pulled strings with Darko, partnering with him once again.
And this was the reason for him sitting before Nigel, clad in a professionally tailored black suit. It was properly fitted and steamed, an indication of the wealth this man possessed. No matter the attire, anyone who gazed upon his frame would've run for the hills upon sight. Nigel, however, wore his infamous dog printed button down, upon which he remembers first having given his warning to that wretched Charlie.
He had to stop himself. He couldn't afford to think of his Gabi in a time like this. Her bright red hair had signified the ever-burning flame of his love, now just tarnished embers. He had killed for her. He had died for her. All for her to choose another man.
Darko was the one to snap him out of his pit of nostalgia. He cleared his throat and gestured to the stack of papers uncovered by the manilla folder on the table in front of him, directing Nigel's attention to the task at hand. Even with Darko now on his side, a shiver ran through Nigel's being.
Within these papers were photographs, the professionally taken kind which came from the cameras of forensic specialists. These were not an uncommon sight to either of the men, as they had been partners in the craft of murder for quite some time. With an uneasy silence, save for the bass-boosted electronic beats coming from the club, Nigel's heart dropped with every single one of the images being removed from their place. Laid out before them, Darko was the one to speak first.
"They never seem to have enough, do they?" He asked, in a deep and throaty voice. He was referring to the sheer number of tabs the FBI had on the two of them and their work and was growing more and more irritable by the moment. There was more information to be gathered by the specialists and more bodies of their making to be uncovered in due time, Nigel and Darko knew this. They were in deep shit if the FBI had managed to track them to Bucharest.
Darko motions to one of the cameras placed in the corner of the ceiling above them, beckoning with his hand for someone to bring them drinks. He had owned this club which would eventually make the most sense for future business discussions with his clients. There would be no disturbances as long as the recordings had been deleted later on.
A man in a suit came in ad handed Darko a bottle of Prosecco and two respective glasses. He left almost as swiftly as he came, not wanting to be caught between the men and their business conversations, as he knew Darko's side hobbies quite well. Glasses were poured and he handed one to Nigel, whom downed the wine in two short gulps.
"They're appointing a man by the name of Will Graham to our case. He's supposedly the best in their system." Darko had procured this information from one of his insiders, however, intel was difficult to get out of the country. This was hearsay but had a substantial amount of evidence to back this claim, as these images had come straight from the FBI quarters in Virginia. Therefore, this ordeal must be met with precise planning, in the case of actuality. Preservation of one's image and freedom was never a bad idea.
Nigel was growing slightly frustrated. Darko had initially promised him that he knew a specialist to distribute the bodies of their victims in ways where they wouldn't be caught. Nigel's newfound life and identity relied heavily on this; he couldn't remain a dead man in the eyes of the government if he was on a wanted list for murder.
"We should make plans to kill him, another addition to the list won't make a goddamn difference." He stated, his words coming out more harshly than he originally intended. He wanted this ordeal to be done and over with as quickly as it had been sprung upon him as he wanted to go back to his life without potential persecution from the country. Not that he had much keeping him tied to Bucharest.
There she was again, flush in his mind. He thought back to the coffee he had earlier that he bought solely because it came from her favorite shoppe. The aroma of the freshly ground beans still reminded him of her.
"You know that's entirely unrealistic," Darko went on to explain, "If the FBI sent him to us as a means of profiling, if he were to go missing or wind up dead they would pinpoint us exactly." He stated, matter of fact. Now, Nigel wasn't one who didn't understand the inner and outer workings of their job, but he had been recently guided by anger. An angry man in a dog shirt. Irony at its finest.
"What do you suggest we do then?" Nigel inquired, tossing one of the photographs back down on the table he'd previously been examining. It was one of the man whom owned Darko money back in September; they'd gutted his insides and sold them off to make back every penny he'd owed.
"You will become his new best friend and we can form an alliance with the guy," Darko said, raising his glass to his lips and finishing the liquid, "Its been a year since she left, Nigel. You could use some company."
It was almost a sick joke the way the man had phrased his internal and now external pain. Nigel wore the wound on his head as a memoir to his long gone lover, whom he would never truly be over. Darko had a way of belittling everyone that worked for him and Nigel would be no exception. Yet, his counterpart was right. It would take careful consideration and calculation on their end to throw this "Will Graham" off of their path so they could continue their line of work.
"Don't be fucking ridiculous, I want no part in forming this shit." Nigel exasperated, even though he knew Darko's plan would be a good one. This way, they could throw of Will's intel on them and even gain some in the process. An FBI agent who could show some of their inner workings would only benefit them. He just didn't want to put in the effort of a pretend friendship to gain it.
"Unless you want another bullet to the face, then I suggest you shut your fucking mouth and do as I tell you." Darko angrily shot back, clearly disinterested in any of Nigel's potential discomfort with the ordeal. He needed this just as much as the former did. There was no way Nigel wouldn't succumb to this offer. He needed to remain out of the eye of the government.
"How long do you expect me to pretend this man is of importance to me in his presence?" Nigel began, clearly in a state of annoyance. Darko would always be the one to have someone else doing his dirty work.
"As long as it takes. We won't be the first to reach out though. That's practical suicide," Darko said, gathering up the files and handing them to Nigel to dispose of, "We will wait for this man to approach us since we have no idea what kind of intel he has on us already. We also don't want him to know we are familiar with his existence."
"What do we know about him, other than the fact he's profiling us?" Nigel asked, trying to get any potential help he could when he would be forced into an allyship with the man. Common interests and understandings worked the best for companionship.
"He's a professor. Teaches all that macabre shit. We also know he's not technically considered a real agent because he failed his psychological screenings. The man's deemed unstable."
Nigel looked at the front of the folder which had an image of the man thought to be tracing them. It was securely paperclipped despite all the other contents of the folder being haphazardly thrown in.
Something panged on the inside of his chest upon gazing at the man. There was an uncomfortable familiarity, despite not even having known him. The brunette with a form fitting blue flannel and corduroy trousers wasn't looking at the camera when the image was procured, but his piercing grey eyes were not to be missed. The man was most likely in his late thirties, with a clean stubble and two long scars stretching across the right side of his face. There was another one, slightly smaller than the two that was placed among his forehead, clean as if a knife had grazed his skin. What kind of history did this man have that would lead to such a bodily disfiguration? Although Nigel couldn't be one to talk, considering his own scars.
Despite never having met Will Graham, there was a certain aura he had that he couldn't place upon him.
Noting Nigel's eventual acceptance of the task, Darko withdrew himself from the room they'd discussed business matters. Nigel sat alone for a moment and replayed the conversation in his head. He would do this mission for himself, for the eventual life he wanted to live without Gabi. He hadn't had a murder-related task outside of his affections for her since they'd met.
He would never let anyone get that close to him again.
...
Lecturing on the topic of death had always been something Will was astute at. It had been his profession for years, to gaze upon the dead with an analytical brain, psychoanalyzing their physical states to determine their causes of death and the mentalities of those who were behind them. Pictures upon pictures of various crime scenes and people whose names and faces Will never had the intention of learning had been displayed upon the projection board above him. This was always the job description and it had never bothered him. Garrett Jacob Hobbs had come close to leaving a pit in Will's stomach as he'd been the one responsible for his death, but no one who'd been killed had ever left him with a feeling such as the departure of Hannibal Lecter.
The man who'd been his acclaimed psychiatrist and had worked his way into his heart had been around for the longest time that after he'd passed, Will no longer knew what to do with himself. It also didn't do him any favors that he came to the realization his feelings with which he shared with the man were more than platonic. It wasn't until their last moments with each other where Will was pulled into Hannibal's arms, the two of them soaked in the blood of the Great Red Dragon that he was finally able to understand what Hannibal had meant in seeing the beauty of death. And in seeing the beauty in what their relationship truly was and all that it could have been.
And it was taken away from him in the same night he was given it.
However, this work of his under the FBI had called to him once more, leading him to his recent affiliations in Bucharest. Jack had managed to convince him to set up site somewhere other than Quantico and pulled a few strings. Will had been an on and off professor at one of the universities, coming in only when the extra person was needed and then hitching a flight back to Wolf Trap, where everything reminded him of everything. In Bucharest, he was able to form himself another identity, one that existed outside of the gaze of Hannibal Lecter. On his lengthy stays at home, however, he caught himself in a perpetual waiting room, always with the underlying hope that maybe, just maybe, his partner would come strolling through the front doors of his house in that suit he always wore. He would pet Will's dogs as they all rushed to greet the man and he would smile at him with that same unsettling smirk he'd always had.
But the last memories Will would ever be graced with would be the moment they shared at the bottom of the cliff. There had been stars in Hannibal's eyes that night, an acknowledgement of Will's total and utter true form. Hannibal had seen Will for who he was and had loved him in his entirety for it. He wanted to push him past the limits that everyone else had placed upon him and to coerce Will towards the understanding Hannibal had all along. He wanted to mold him with his bare hands into the idealized shape of the gods, someone who would see and understand the elegance in the world beyond the living. Hannibal was never a religious man, but his devotion to Will was nothing short of worship.
"Achillies wished all the Greeks would die so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to stop them." Hannibal had whispered to him the night at that museum, standing in front of The Primavera, a Botticelli painting. The Primavera has stood as a symbol of new beginnings, and that was where their relationship stood. Will would travel to any continent in search of what he'd had with the man in hopes of a possibility of something new.
He wished the universe would have allowed him anything other than having to wake up on the damp rocks below, water harshly crashing into their sides, with the realization his life had been spared solely because Hannibal had wrapped him in his arms.
He stared at the card with the Romanian translation in front of him. He had spilled traces of coffee from one of the shoppes by the train station onto the cards, but he had a sufficient amount of practice by now. He was able to cite the exclamation in a rocky translation of the language. "As it is shown in the image, there's an obvious persistent difference between the simple murders. The left one is an act of...hatred, the right one an act of liberty. The dead man, whom upon arrival to the scene was deducted to be Michael Gerard. A victim of stage four cancer. After further research on the case, the mortuary team concluded that the wounds we found along the body of the man were explained by his son's desire to 'save him.' That son was none other than Jeremiah Gerard himself." Will stated, in the lecturing voice he'd grown so used to using over the years.
Ignoring the hands raised in the air, he shut the projector off shortly after finishing his sentence, dismissing the class and his thoughts from the events a year prior. This was not the time to reminisce. But there he was, Hannibal himself, standing at the back of the classroom with eyes turned towards will in a mocking manner. Will's encephalitis has gotten the better of him on numerous occasions and now a part of him was worried he was becoming borderline schizophrenic. He saw Hannibal everywhere he turned, almost hoping he were still alive. The hallucination disappeared from his gaze as he tried his best to use the counting method he'd picked up from extensive therapy.
1,2,3, and he was alone in the room once more, briefcase in hand and almost empty coffee in the other.
His newfound scars burned with his vision.
Although Bucharest was quite the sight, there were none of the winding roads and beautiful foliage Will had come to fall in love with in Virginia. This place was entirely urbanized, and social interaction was never just common, it was expected. Much to Will's dismay. There was no way one could get away with physically hiding themselves from conversation in the outdoors with a population this vast, druggies running around in the streets and children on corners with chalk in their hands. Despite this entirely new setting, Will had never felt more like himself. He understood everything now that he'd had it brought out of him, a spiral of emotions threatening to spill over until they had hardened into the person he was now. Every day without Hannibal was the same monotonous and boring schedule, but he had never felt the same since.
He pulled up to the apartment in which he resided while he was in Bucharest and not back at home. Either place was entirely lonesome; after the events that unfolded; Molly had decided for it to be the better they'd divorced. Even though he had loved her, he'd never felt such relief and remorse at the same time. And there were no more conversations with Alana, whom Will used to consider as one of his only friends now that she'd gone about her life somewhere hidden with Margot Verger.
And he was here, across the world, hoping to figure something out about this case. Maybe even about himself.
The apartment was cold for autumn because the windows weren't properly sealed. He'd been meaning to get that fixed but he hadn't the time. There was a fire going in the hearth Will had started from the moment he walked through the door as a means to try and stay warm through the night. An empty teacup and a spread of newspaper clippings were the only remnants of the night before, thrown about the hardwood floor in seemingly no correspondence. Will had gone to Bucharest in search of a new life, of course, but there was another factor at play.
Jack needed him to profile the guys responsible for the stream of Bucharest murders.
Bodies upon bodies had popped up along the waterfront, all disposed of without their organs. They were clearly uncared for, unlike the murderous artists he'd grown familiar with over the course of his work, and had their remnants carelessly strewn about. The most recent body to have been discovered was that of a man by the name of Darrow Lux, a supposed criminal with a background in Con artistry. No prints had been left among the body, just like the others. No organs either.
This wasn't a case unlike anything Will had dealt with before. There was, however, a surmountable less passion in his work than he'd had. sure, he wanted his old life back with the FBI but he still stung on the inside. He'd been subjected to some of the worst physical and emotional turmoil over the past few years, this last year being the worst.
Sighing, he picked himself up off the floor and headed to the barren kitchen, save for a small fake plant in the middle of the island. He never bothered to stock the place with food, preferring to eat out if he had the chance or skip his meals entirely. He'd lost a fair amount of weight since everything changed, but he was still pushing through.
Pouring himself a glass of water from the kitchen sink, he looked out towards the city streets below from the small window before him. There was a crowd of people smoking by the Hostel across the street, laughing and exchanging glances at the passerby. One of the women had a sketchpad that she was drawing with, and Will could almost smell the graphite of the pencils from where he stood if he only imagined hard enough. He missed drawing. He missed fishing. He missed the smells of the woods and the barking of his dogs. He missed Alana and Jack and going into work in the cool mornings. He missed his old job and his coffee maker at home that tasted much better than what they had in Bucharest.
He missed Hannibal.
Will finished his drink and then sauntered over to his loft, where he would spend the night tossing and turning with nightmares he'd grown used to.
We hope you enjoyed! This is a working fic in progress, but we both decided to release the first chapter early so you guys could get a feel for what's in store. Let us know your thoughts! 💛🦐
𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖆𝖇𝖗𝖊
Pairing: Hannibal X Reader
⚠️ Warnings: mentions of weapons and murder, implications of sexuality, that's about it ⚠️
AN: Hey panko shrimps, it's been a while! I hope to make this account more active going into 2024 so I hope this Hannibal fic is a good ease back into writing! 💛🦐
Your feet tapped against the hardwood floor in anticipation. It had been a long time coming to actually go along with your doctor's referral to see a psychiatrist and here you were, against your initial wishes. There wasn't much to you that you didn't already know as you considered yourself to be quite introspective most of the time; yet here you were with your anxieties hopefully concealed to your best ability, and the faux smile plastered on your face to hide whatever was left over. An unsettling feeling was still in your stomach which you hoped would eventually subside.
The waiting room itself was nothing short of grand. The marble flooring and intricately carved stone walls gave the impression of perfection but hindered the possibility for any sunlight that could have potentially set you at ease. It was a cold sort of old money interior, not that you had been directly expecting anything else of the sort, just silently hoping for a more inviting atmosphere. Dressed to match the occasion (and the environment, it seems), you were wearing a knee length black skirt and a white button down top. Black tights and matching flats with your hair neatly in place made the rest of the outfit cohesive. You weren't looking to stand out, especially not to whomever your new psychiatrist was.
But oh, how fast that would change.
A few more agonizing minutes went by before the large door to your right opened up revealing a tall man seemingly in his forties with unkempt hair and jackets piled one on top of the other. Black framed glasses adorned his angular and unshaven face; almost as if they were strategically placed there to cover the large under eye bags he had. Your initial response was one of surprise and then somewhat of a let down. If a man who was supposed to aide others through their difficulties looked as if he had a million and one of them himself, what work was there he could provide?
Setting your initial judgements aside, you reach your hand out to shake his. "Y/N. You must be Doctor Lecter?" You asked in a small voice, smaller than you intended. There goes your original plan of coming across as dominant and straightforward. Guess you'll have to use another tactic to try and withhold the fact you were terrified for this meeting.
"Oh, ah no." He said, offering his hand to shake yours and then immediately after doing so, wiped his hand on his jacket. A rude gesture that didn't go unnoticed. "I'm Will Graham."
Another anxious twinge ran through your whole nervous system. Were you in the wrong room? The wrong place? The wrong building, perhaps? That's infinitely more embarrassing than anything else you could've mustered about this gathering.
Stepping slightly aside and placing his hands into his pockets, another taller figure emerged from the doorway from beside this supposed Will Graham. This man, unlike the other, immediately had you floored. Slicked back greying hair with a chiseled face that of a Danish statue paired oh so wonderfully with a black tux, pink button down and an expensive tie was the only thing that filled your vision. His eyes were piercing with a hint of some unfamiliar darkness, however, that calming sunlight you had hoped for seemed a silly request now. It was almost as if those two things, this man's eyes and the sun, could not exist within the same place as though his expression would diminish the light emitting from the solar system. You'd never found yourself so infatuated so quickly and the thought scared you but drew you in with a perplexed curiosity that you hadn't experienced yet before.
"Y/N," he smiled, reaching his hands out to hold the both of yours in a formal greeting, "I must be the man you're looking for."
You almost said yes, yes you are right there and then. His hands were cold but steady, artist's hands. You briefly remember being told of Doctor Lecter's past occupation with working in the surgical room.
"Doctor Lecter?" You asked, as if you needed to confirm. You smiled at him, forgetting your worries and your determined voice came back to you and you silently thanked Will for being the person your meekness was originally directed towards.
"Ah yes, that would be me. Please forgive me for going slightly past overtime, I was just finishing up my appointment with Mr. Graham here."
Cordial and charming. What a dangerous mixture of the two adjectives.
"I'll be out now," Will said, looking down at his phone with a poignant expression, "Jack will be wondering my whereabouts anyways."
"Then you must go," the doctor said, never taking his eyes off of you once, "wouldn't want him to worry."
You watched as Will nodded and placed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and made his way to the polished staircase leading to the exit. His disappearance almost didn't entirely register to you at all as you looked down and noticed your hands were still intertwined with the doctor's. As if he just noticed it as well, he offered up an awkward chuckle as he gently removed his hands from yours, not wiping them on his shirt as his counterpart had.
"Shall you come in?" He asked, placing the large of his back against the doorway with an invitation in the form of an outstretched hand towards the room he'd just come out of, making room for you to walk through.
"Oh uh yeah." You remembered your reasoning for being there in the first place as your senses came back to you. Let's get this over with.
• • • 💉 💉 💉 • • •
Inside, the office was massive, the marble flooring continuing into the carpeted room. A large desk loomed towards the front of the room with a decorative Turkish lamp placed atop along with various writing utensils and a laptop. A couple of chaise lounges took up residency by the furthest area of the study and were closest to the largest curtained windows you've ever seen in your life. A small table with large papers littering the top of it wasn't too far off from the designated seating arrangement and to top off the grandeur of the room itself, was a second half-story with walls lined with books.
It was as if you had stepped into some sort of museum with the way everything was spotless. Everything was clean and if it wasn't organized, it was a neat type of disorderly. What stood out to you the most was this small table of disorder with all the papers haphazardly sticking off the ends and so you went to investigate as the doctor stood a few feet behind you, watching your every move. With the slight sway of your hips and the way your hair fell, he would be amiss to not focus himself on you. It was not like him to feel this strongly, whatever this feeling was, about anyone upon first introduction yet here you were. A presence so familiar yet so foreign to him as he became mentally aroused by the thought of something that wasn't murder. Something that could captivate his interest and lure him in. Perhaps it was a good thing he'd gotten the patient referral.
Your outfit was inviting, yet not too revealing. It left him with an appetite for more yet an appreciation for the craft. The way you held yourself was one of someone who has been guarded her whole life, but has done the emotional work of opening up once more, although with caution. The slight dirt on your soles gave him enough information to know that you cared about your appearance, but not to the point where you were vain or someone who required a lot to make them happy. You were gorgeous, of course that was a given, but you came with the inner workings of a traumatic past- one that made you feel as though taking up space was a crime in itself. He was determined to rewire that thinking of yours, not just as a psychologist but as someone who could see the beauty in you.
Unbeknownst to his observation, you slid your hand carefully over the papers to see they had been drawn on in graphite. Beautiful images of anatomy danced over them in an alluring yet subtly worrisome way. The figures were beautiful, yes, but the compromised positions they were in and the sharp weapons that stuck out of their flesh had your heart skip a beat.
As if he could hear what was going through your mind, the doctor spoke up to alleviate any worries you might have. "The macabre. There is art in death and I hope to shed light on that through my drawings." He said, calm and sultry.
You heard his shoes against the floor as he made his way over to you. His cologne was sharp but not unpleasant as the scent filled your lungs, his arm just brushing yours as he looked down at his own works as if critiquing them in his mind although he was only really looking to see what your reaction would be. Would you flinch away from him after seeing these? Would you be drawn in, curious or would another wave of nervousness hit like what you had felt in the waiting room?
Instead, you look up at him, the two of you very close now. "They're lovely, I think your attention to detail is phenomenally done."
A wave of heat went down his spine. Why did it fill him with such satisfaction to hear a compliment of his work (which he knew was quite good) escape your lips? He dismissed it almost as quickly as it arose, however. He must keep things professional and he wasn't fond of the way his entire demeanor seems to have gone awry upon your arrival. It was so hard to be collected in your presence. How is that so?
Returning to his original formalities, he gestures for you to take a seat on one of the lounges, away from any implication of the monster he truly was on the inside, although his stoicism concealed it well.
You complied, respectfully making sure your skirt was correctly placed before sitting down on one of the velveteen sofas, trying your best to make yourself comfortable. Any forwardness you may have regained upon walking into the study has now left you alone, struggling to regain your composure. You tried your best to go down the list of everything making you anxious so as to tackle each problem in an efficient and healthy way, as you had been told to do from previous visits to therapists in the past.
1.) You're in a new setting.
This is something that a lot of people struggle with, you told yourself, trying to put yourself at ease and to not blame yourself too much. It'll become a familiar setting with the more meetings you have with the doctor.
2.) You're nervous about keeping up appearances.
Well, you had just met the guy and you haven't embarrassed yourself all too badly yet. You had mistaken his patient Will for him, but that was an honest assumption. You doubt he would've thought anything too much of it as it didn't seem entirely unusual.
3.) There is a very, very attractive man sitting across from you right now.
This was the one thing you weren't sure you could talk yourself down from. From the way he positioned his legs comfortably one over the other with his head rested against his palm in the armchair to the notebook he had in his lap, he was the literal definition of temptation. It was as if the devil himself were trying to get you to bite the apple and consume yourself with desire. This random invigorating feeling of lust springing up on you out of nowhere was so out of the ordinary for you. There was an undeniable tension between the two of you, yes, but this sudden satiation was seemingly preposterous.
You folded your hands in your lap and settled on looking at the floor rather than Doctor Lecter.
He cleared his throat and began to speak in that tone that drove you wild. "Would you perhaps like a drink?" He asked, innocently enough.
"Sure, as long as it wouldn't be an imposition." You say, finally mustering up the courage to look at him.
He smiled and arose from his chair to busy himself at the liquor cabinet you hadn't noticed upon first glance of the study. "Not at all, are you more of a wine or beer type of woman?"
He took off his blazer and laid it upon the backing of the chair closest to the large desk, revealing the pink button down from before. He opened the cabinet and poured himself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon before turning to face you.
"I like wine, if you don't mind." You said, offering up another one of those faux faces of confidence. You felt yourself sit up straighter in your seat.
"I hope red is alright, I'm more of a red wine enthusiast myself. Pairs well with dishes." He states, before going to pour yours and offer you the glass, which you took tentatively.
"You're a chef?" You ask.
"Yes, it's a hobby of mine," He sits down in the chair again, placing the notebook in his lap once more before he asks, "Do you have any hobbies?"
He begins to write. The session has begun.
"I'm somewhat of an artist myself." You say, staring at the page as you see his hand create the unmistakable swirls of the cursive alphabet. Of course he writes in cursive.
"Mhm." He smiles to himself, reaching for another sip of the Cabernet. "Of what medium?"
"I prefer portrait work. With pencil, I mean." You notice a lipstick mark on the side of the glass you had just used, much to your dismay. You didn't want to make his dishes any dirtier than you already would be by drinking out of them. Lipstick could be difficult to remove.
He had also noticed this too, and had silently prayed for you not to remove it. Something in him told him he would be cherishing that glass after you had left it, reveling in the dark red makeup left behind by your lips. Even your stained imprint in his dishes had a divinity to it.
You set the glass down and continued the conversation. "I also enjoy reading, so you can imagine my surprise noticing your extensive library."
"You like my library? It took quite the time to build it, much less fill it with literature of my liking."
You allowed your eyes to move around the room and take in everything you may have missed on the second floor, seeing now the ladder that was placed against the side of the balcony. You would have a field day in here.
As if reading your mind again he adds, "You're welcome to it any time you'd like."
"I- thank you, that's very kind." You say, turning to face him once more. He seemed pleased you didn't immediately turn down the offer although he wasn't quite sure where the offer had come from himself.
"Not an issue at all." He states, looking directly into your eyes now. It's a gaze you don't feel as though you'll ever recover from. It's intense and cold but somehow so inviting in a way that's more peculiar than anything else. There's a darkness behind them, despite their bright blue nature. Everything around them fades to black and it's almost as if you're so deep into them that you've traveled to an alternate dimension entirely. You feel as though you're looking right through them, not into his soul, no. But to something much darker, much more insatiable.
Snapping back into reality, you notice how close the two of you have gotten to one another. He stands up, extending his arm out to you and then pulling you up with him, wine glasses and notebooks discarded along with the conversation you two never finished. Your eyes never left each other once as you were now face to face almost chest to chest, him towering over you.
"D-doctor I-"
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking down at you.
"Please, call me Hannibal."
If I saw you every day, forever, Will, I would remember this time.
Hannibal (2013-2015)
Just got new blue light glasses bc I lost my normal pair. I look like Will Graham a bit, but o well!
BREAKING NEWS:
the hannibal fandom has figured out that i like women ! i fear they plan to use this information to seduce and manipulate me, and i find myself very susceptible to such behaviours. if i am found impaled on a stag’s head with organs missing, know that i died happy.
more hannigram ladiessss
this is my favourite thing.
will grum for my 10k dtiys on insta !!
I’m aware that he’s a cannibal but I want to be held like that!
He’s holding Will as if they both will die if he doesn’t
Isn’t that so beautiful?
Hannibal 2.13 Mizumono | 3.06 Dolce | 3.13 The Wrath of The Lamb
hello !! i am here to say these guys are up for pre-order so i can fund a second batch of them since i am down to just one hannibal all on his own, this time i have opened a bigcartel for preorders so i can try it out, but they will also be up on etsy again (they're just a little pricer on there to account for etsy fees) link in pinned as always !!
hannibal 2x10 and 3x06
available as postcards on my store (link in pinned post !!)
hannibal furby throwback moment
ok proper post time !! i’m currently in the process of revamping my etsy store and getting some new stuff designed/ordered but for now i’ve opened it up again to clear out old stock and (almost) everything is 30% off right now !! thank you for ur time if you go check it out i appreciate it ^-^ the link is in my carrd in my pinned post !!
psssst, i just updated my etsy shop
sorry to get all self-promo on you folks but i’ve had my etsy down for a month bc i didn’t feel comfy having it up when we had a lockdown in place over here, so this is just a reminder i have a shop where you can buy my art and stuff !!
(i also make clay things but i’m going to put them in a separate post as to not make this one too busy)
I feel u bro
it’s because they’re so devoted and committed to each other (i am also mentally ill)
that’s actually really interesting to think abt omg. I can totally see this happening tho lmao
i like to imagine what hannibal’s reaction would be if Will slipped up in a therapy session and mentioned he misses dr. lectors cooking . not only does he kill and enjoy it,, he also craves human meat
hannibal season 2 summary
Anyone else freaking out over the Hannibal reunion happening in Chicago this April ಠ_ಠ
too excited not to post this SOMEWHERE. anyway they’re on the run, staying in nasty motels before they can flee the states.
THE PRINCE FROM ELLA ENCHANTED IS WILL GRAHM!!!!
so i was watching a videa esay on ella enchanted and the themes of consent like you do when ALL OF A SUDDEN A FUCKING BABBY WILL GRAHAM IS ON MY SCREEN like Will Ghram the Hannibal character and I just stoped working because what do you mean this baby faced prince charming from a princess movie iS fUcKinG WILL GRAHAM
nbc hannibal (2013-2015)/ matt maltese "less and less"
Hannibal (2013-2015)
2x08 || 2x10