LOVE character regression. love when characters get hurt and revert to their old ways as a way to deflect, cope, and recuperate. love when they get scared to make a difficult decision. love when it takes time and effort. it's going to be worth so much more when they get better.
Now speaking more seriously about the scene where Hannibal jumps against the door again and again...and again. Do you guys understand the mental state he was in to do something like that...? It was quite clear the door was very thick and resistant, he knew his own door, he probably also felt like his jumps were not effective...yet he was so desperate, he kept doing it. Do you understand how angry he was because of Will? And I feel like "angry" doesn't do him enough justice cause he was feeling so many things besides that. Jumping like that against the door is so unlike him. He is always composed, even when he kills. He is so elegant, his movements are clinical, calculated, swift, I bet he never even breaks a nail when he is going for his victims.
And it makes sense. Cause this time it was the first time he was not dealing with pigs. He was dealing with Jack and Alana and Will who were all people that meant something to him. And what probably took him aback was that hurting them took a toll on him as well.
"Did you think you could change me the way I've changed you?"/"I already did"
Definitely this. He could have easily finished off everyone in the room and left. Or leave before the whole massacre. But killing the people that got close to you during the last year and which you surrounded yourself with is not as easy as killing strangers who pissed you off in the parking lot of a supermarket.
So imagine what insane things were going on in his head that he had to throw himself like that against the door.
I have this headcanon that one of the few things that get Hannibal anxious or uncomfortable is when he has no control over his body reactions, like heart rate going up or not being able to breath, basically the biological correlates of a tense mood. And that's because he is used to not being agitated so when something like that happens he just doesn't have enough experience with dealing with it. I think that the post fall nightmares and the fear that Will might leave at any moment plus the older age are messing up his nonchalance.
Ouughhh if I could just have someone sit on my couch with me while I write,,, I would get it done SO much faster.
Since my best friend moved to Ireland a little over a year ago, I've fallen into one of the biggest writing slumps I've ever had, and it's because we used to visit each other, eat snacks, talk shit, and write.
I do not have any other IRL friends. I do not have anyone to sit with me while I write.
yall ever start writing a fic in a certain mood and the next day youre not in that certain mood anymore so now you gotta wait until youre in that mood again so you can continue writing the fic ??
if we post too fast, we get accused of using ai (no, you don't know how fast someone can write. you don't even know if the "too-frequent-to-be-human updates" you see are something that have long been finished and sitting in an author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted, doesn't necessarily always mean it's recently written too. a lot of writers finish the whole thing first before they start posting it chapter by chapter).
if we take "too long to update", we get people pressuring us to "update faster" even though fanfics are our hobbies and we write for ourselves first and foremost.
if our works are grammatically correct, we get accused of using ai (some of us just love correct grammars).
if our works are not grammatically correct, we get insulted/criticized (mind you, not everybody writes in their native language. kudos to writers who write in their second, or third, or fourth language — I'm willing to bet a lot of people who criticize fanfics because of poor grammar can't even speak other languages besides english).
if our paragraphs are "too long and too detailed", we get accused of using ai.
if our paragraphs are "too short", we also get accused of using ai.
if we are autistic and we write in ways some deem "too robotic", we get accused of using ai.
some people just don't use their brains to think "ai was trained on human-made works, it was trained to look human-made. ai writes this way because the way it writes is the way real humans write — real humans whose works it was trained to mimic". instead they somehow disregard this logic and think "hmmm this work looks ai-generated. I will engage in witch hunt, be a bully and harass writers whose works I don't vibe with".
I'm sure it's been mentioned before, but Hannibal's love language is so very obviously physical touch. This man takes every opportunity to touch Will, whether it be a hand on his shoulder, touching his hands or his face, that weird almost-hug-almost-kiss thing he did in Su-Zakana, caressing Will's face and pulling him forward against him even after he's stabbed him in Mizumono, taking a second for himself to sort of hug Will in Dolce, actually nuzzling Will on the cliff in The Wrath of the Lamb...
Hannibal Lecter loves physical touch. He's not a gift person, he doesn't use his words, he does sometimes do acts of service, but he is always touching Will.
Will, on the other hand, is a gifts person. He brings a bottle of wine to Hannibal even though he doesn't intend to stay for dinner, he buys fishing gear for Abigail, he brings meat to Hannibal and brings Randall Tier to him even though he could have disposed of the body (not necessarily a gift, but can be interpreted that way).
And it makes the lines "I gave you a rare gift ... But you didn't want it," and "Didn't I?" hit even harder. Because Will did want it. He recognizes the gift in Hannibal exposing himself as he is, letting Will into his world.
But I still miss the fudge pops my Mamaw had during the summer.
I don't like tomatoes.
They'll never be as sweet as the ones in my Mamaw's garden.
I don't like diet coke.
It's the only soda she kept in her fridge.
I hate the smell of cigarettes.
It's all I could smell when we cleaned out her house. There were burns in the walls, the furniture, the bedding.
I don't like turquoise jewelry.
Her step children took all of hers. They didn't ever visit or come over for the holidays. I haven't spoken to them since she passed, and I'd like to keep it that way.
I have her antique vanity in my room. Sometimes, I can't look in the mirror. I'm afraid I'll see her looking back at me. I have her nose, and my eyes crinkle like hers did when she smiled. I'm going to have crows feet by the time I turn 25.
I never realized how frail she was in the end. Not until recently. She had such a big personality, it was easy to look past the slowness, the fogginess. How thin her skin got, how easily she bruised.
They say cancer takes a lot from someone. It took her strength, and her energy, and her hair. It never took her spirit. I never saw her cry. She fake cried once, when I wouldn't eat my dinner. But I never saw her shed a tear.
She loved Christmas. I used to. Now I'm more or less apathetic, but I still try. I keep her picture in the living room, and one in my scrapbook. There are dozens more in boxes around our house, in closets and cabinets. I look at them when I can't remember her face.
I know she wasn't as good of a person as I remember. She was petty and vindictive, and more than a little prejudiced. But she was also kind, and loving, and fiercely protective of her family.
I miss her, but sometimes I wonder if I would even like her as an adult. Loving someone and liking them are very different things. I wish it were simpler than it is.
They probably called Hannibal's maid to be a witness during his trial and I was thinking how funny it must have been.
"Have you ever noticed anything suspicious?"
"Yes."
"Could you please describe it?"
"Oh, yes. Dr. Lecter kept inviting this man over, that one, yes, *points towards Will in the audience* and I started to suspect they are-"
"Forgive us, m'am, we are referring to anything related to the murders he was accused of."
"Oh." *Pause* "No."
"Did Dr. Lecter use to pay you more on certain weeks?"
"Dr. Lecter was always very generous and a very good man. The only one who should be accused today is the man who seduced him *points towards Will*. You are not insinuating he would pay me to ignore what was happening inside his house, are you?"
"Just checking."
"Well there was this one time, when he paid me double and asked me to leave early."
"Is that so? Do you have any idea why?"
"He told me that that devil *points towards Will* is coming over and that they need the house to themselves, of course. I told him we should do a cleansing ritual before and after. He refused politely. And now, here we are. Not even God could save him." *sigh, a tear falls*
"Is there anything you can tell us that is not related to Will Graham?"
"Yes. Dr. Lecter, when you get out of there, call me, I will pick you up from the hospital."
Does anybody else feel a little crazy about how Will was the one and only person who ever entered Hannibal's kitchen with a bag of ingredients and said, "I brought these, what can we make with them?" The one and only person who ever got close enough for Hannibal to accept a bundle of things to cook with that he did not choose, the one and only person who he would actually acquiesce to when they asked him to cook for them. For everyone else, a meal must present itself: everyone else must wait for him to feel like cooking for others, and they must wait to be invited.
Alana did get to be in the kitchen, too, but she was his assistant helping him make garnishes. With Will, he started from scratch and truly shared in the experience of cooking - he handed him the knife and said, "We'll make it together. You slice the ginger," not just as a joke but also to say, "I want you to build this dish with me." They were in the kitchen as equals, not as chef and assistant.
Does anyone else ever feel a bit nuts about that, can anybody hear me.
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