#bedeliyoh

[cora-writes-things]

Femslash February Day 19: Gold & Day 26: Silver

Fandom: Hannibal (TV)

Pairing: Bedeliyoh (Bedelia/Chiyoh)

Read the corresponding mini-fic, “Gold & Silver”: (AO3) (Wattpad) (FFN)

All posts: {Day 1} {Day 5} {Days 8 & 17} {Days 12 & 16} {Day 18} {Days 19 & 26} {Day 20} {Day 27}

Interested in joining #femslashfeb2021 with fanwork(s) of your own? Check out the prompts here!

[galacticcoyote]

I’m not sure if I have any followers left since it’s been so long 🤣, but while I’ve picked up some new fandoms in my absence, I still think about my Bedeliyoh epic every so often. Aside from a few short drabbles posted on AO3, I never posted the WIP because I wanted it to be finished before I started putting it up. That eventually backfired, because I have a mammoth unfinished fic (60k+) with no ending. 

I hate to give up entirely on this fic, so before I do, I thought I’d throw this post out there and see if anyone would be interested in helping out. It’s Bedelia/Chiyoh, with Abigail as their adopted daughter. 

If you’re interested (or want to know more), please send me a message! 

[the-girl-who-didnt-make-anysense]

look what you made me do

[banshee-cheekbones]

for day 14 of Inktober for Writers, here’s some Bedelia/Chiyoh, based on the prompt ‘haunted.’ 

no warnings apply, 700 words, rated G. on ao3 here.

They do most of their talking in the darkness.

The heavy blackout blinds covering Bedelia's floor to ceiling windows don't let in a single iota of light; it's only the red numbers of her alarm clock, floating in a sea of blackness the consistency of tar, that gives the room some semblance of shape and form, that keeps it from simply being a void of darkness.

Chiyoh is resting on the bed beside her, motionless. Even in the stillness and silence of the room, her breathing is nearly impossible to hear, could easily be mistaken for some other kind of sound, one of the idiosyncrasies that all houses possess in varying ways, like creaking floorboards or windows that groan in the wind. It's only her body heat soaking into the mattress that betrays her existence at all.

Perhaps if she got cold enough, if her body heat became low enough, she would simply blink out of existence.

“Your home is haunted,” Chiyoh says into the blackness, her voice soft and measured, the words always carefully chosen, no room for spontaneity.

Bedelia wonders how long she’s been pondering over those words, how long it took her to choose them to split the post-coital silence with.

“I wasn’t aware that you believed in ghosts,” Bedelia replies, rolling onto her side, the silk sheet bunching and shifting along the line of her hips.

Chiyoh’s laugh is a very strange thing, unpracticed and quiet, like she’s still trying to form it, mold one that suits her.

“I don’t. Even if they did exist, memories haunt us with far more efficiency than any specter ever could.”

“Yes,” Bedelia says simply. She doesn’t need to ask what kind of memories Chiyoh is referring to; there’s only other person who has so thoroughly invaded the corners and open spaces of her home, whose presence has left remnants as clearly as if they had branded their signature there, on walls and floors instead of skin. Some days, Bedelia turns a corner, walks down a hallway, enters a room, and expects to find him there, standing in her path, holding a glass of wine or perhaps a knife, eyes darkened, the veneer of respectability permanently wiped away.

Although that is more of a defensive mechanism, her mind preparing her for the inevitable final encounter, than it is a series of memories.

“Some nights, I dream about setting the house alight,” she says, speaking into the part of the darkness that Chiyoh inhabits. “Pouring gasoline from room to room. Spreading it heaviest in the rooms that he carved out space in. Stepping out the front door, tossing a book of matches in and watching as the sky turns orange, as the remnants of him turn into curlicues of ash and smoke.” It’s a reoccurring dream of hers. It seems to appear most often around the times that some article or newspaper column about him catches her eye, when some intrepid reporter does a where are they now piece about prominent serial killers.

If he sees the pieces, she’s sure that he’s offended to be included right alongside the offal of humanity.

When Chiyoh does not respond, Bedelia slowly stretches out her hand until she brushes against the warm, firm skin of Chiyoh’s thigh. Responsive, powerful muscles flutter underneath her fingertips.

“Do you believe that it would accomplish anything?” she asks, her curiosity piqued by Chiyoh’s silence. “Or would it simply create yet another ash heap?”

“I believe that the fire would be magnificent to see,” Chiyoh answers, resting one of her hands, calloused on the fingertips and the palm, on top of Bedelia’s. “It would attract a crowd. But I do not believe it would end the haunting.” As she rolls onto her side to face Bedelia, Bedelia’s palm skims across her stomach and comes to rest on her other hip. “Hannibal has haunted me my entire life. I don’t believe there is a way to get rid of him. I believe the only thing to do is to accept that he will always be there, always in the next room over. Waiting in the darkest corners.”

Bedelia sighs deeply and slides across the space, until their legs twine together, until Chiyoh’s body heat becomes her own.

“That,” she murmurs, leaning in until she can feel Chiyoh’s breath against her cheek, “is precisely what I’m afraid of.”

[galacticcoyote]

whisky sweet (hannibal, bedelia/chiyoh)

Whisky Sweet:

Three months to the day after Bedelia returns to Baltimore, she finds Chiyoh in her home office. Even in a robe, hair loose about her shoulders, her only sign of surprise at finding Chiyoh in Hannibal’s old chair is to pause in the doorway.

“I caged him.”

Hannibal has been in his new home for weeks already, but there’s something final about the way Chiyoh says it, as if she’s taken care of his loose ends. Bedelia suddenly feels sick and wonders if she is the last one.

“Where does that leave you?” she asks, voice calm.

(read the rest on AO3)

[galacticcoyote]

Femslash Ex Gifts

I received two very lovely Hannibal fics this year for Femslash Ex. It was my first year doing the fest and I definitely got spoiled!

wait till you’re announced by Lizzen: Chiyoh/Abigail Two celestial bodies orbiting the same sun.

out of the black (into the blue) by FreshBrains: Chiyoh/Bedelia Du Maurier “He’s gone,” Chiyoh says, voice hollow.

“Yes,” Bedelia agrees. “But I remain.”

[galacticcoyote]

The Darkness of the Labyrinth - Hannibal (Bedelia/Chiyoh)

After their encounter in Florence, Chiyoh made sure their paths intertwined again. She was intrigued by the slight woman who matched her so easily, and then played with la polizia while drugs swam in her blood. She had heard of Bedelia from Hannibal’s letters, but seeing and hearing her was different. Bedelia has a way of speaking that leaves Chiyoh thinking about the simplest sentences for hours and days afterwards. “I was curious,” she says finally, lips moving along Bedelia’s inner thigh.

“I approve of curiosity.” Bedelia’s hand lands on Chiyoh’s head, elegant fingers twisting through her hair.

Now Chiyoh laughs, and she’s pleased when a tremor runs through Bedelia at the vibration, because her mouth is so close to where Bedelia really wants it. “I wouldn’t care if you didn’t approve.”

(Read the rest on AO3)

[galacticcoyote]

i will regret this in the a.m.

but i am very tipsy and 7k words into my epic Bedelia/Chiyoh + Abigail fic. this thing is going to be so damn long.