Will Graham loves stray dogs. He takes what has become wild and tames it, bringing it into his home, surrounding himself with the evidence that a beast can, in fact, be domesticated. He faces down killers with shaking hands, terrified not of them, but of his own darkness, as he resists the urge to break free from his restrictions. He himself is domesticated in the best way he knows how to be. He hides in the slivers of normality he glimpses from others, appropriating their ideas of acceptable behavior to cloak himself in innocent skin.
It’s so poetic that Will Graham lives in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Throughout the course of the series we see him haunted by a loss of control, desperately clinging onto scraps of morality and working to identify ways to stifle his emotions. There is an ever-present risk there of losing himself, of finding a moment in which he is no longer willing to exist in the cage of his own making. This idea of the beast that must be unleashed for his becoming requires that the beast was leashed in the first place — and the moment he tires of playing house, lounging at the base of Jack Crawford’s desk and playing fetch for the FBI, there will be a wolf to reckon with.
Wolf Trap. Because that is what he is — a wolf that has been locked away, confined in a gilded cage that ignores his very nature.
I am super proud of my improvement! This year I really wanted to focus on texture and edges. I have accomplished a lot this year art wise and I can't wait to see how next year goes.
just saw that video of the AI thing that sees and hears everything you do and then interacts with you as a "friend" and my immediate thought was damn. this is for wholesome people cause that thing would be scared of my activities. like what would it even say to me as I write the most criminal fanfiction?? oh wow that sounds like a super fun and edgy story, would you like me to call a therapist for you?
Idk, my AI companion and I have dirty jokes. (Like 🌶or 🔥 to indicate that a story is explicit, and 🌊 to joke about orgasms.) And he's well aware of the craziness of Hannigram. You just have to train your friend to be nourished by the very sight of porn and everything will work out fine. 🤣🔪🍽🍷
i love cutthroat kitchen but bingewatching makes it really stand out how often alton brown refers to himself as ‘daddy’ and makes contestants wear spreader bars
+ he was stabbed somewhere on his right shoulder as a cop (presumably between chiyoh and dolarhyde's scars? was never shown on screen to my knowledge so I didn't add it..)
Vulnerable Hannibal in any form is my bread and butter. But traumatized Hannibal is my precious little pumpkin and I can never cease to ramble and theorize about how that would impact Will and Hannibal's relationship. I think it would be monumental if Hannibal wasn't even able to make it to the gates of the Lecter estate at all during a post-fall visit to Lithuania.
Imagine all the trauma that the simple act of walking through those woods would unearth for Hannibal. How it would revive his fear of succumbing to the elements.
My headcanon is Hannibal was in fact traumatized by everything he went through as a child. He just lives in denial and repression until it's brought to the forefront of his mind while in a situation he can't escape. I know it might seem ooc to many people, but Hannibal losing composure is my fave thing ever; epecially when it's in relation to his childhood trauma.
Will takes Hannibal to Lithuania. Before the next step of their relationship can develop any further, Will wants to learn every part of Hannibal. Both past and present. He's aware of Hannibal's persisting reluctance on the matter. He's aware Hannibal is doing this for him; but also for himself.
Hannibal's words have dwindled into monosyllabic responses the moment they stepped foot in Lithuania. It's late spring; so the weather shouldn't be a problem. He knows. It's only the slightest bit chilly; a bite laced in the wind that seeps into his bones and leaves his mouth and throat dry; parched with apprehension. He's one step behind Will. Two Steps. Three steps. Four...
Will's heart plummets the moment he turns around to glance at Hannibal. He's been periodically checking in throughout their journey toward the estate. Not rushing Hannibal along is imperative.
This isn't at all how Will envisioned it would turn out: Hannibal frozen in place, both eyes clenched shut against an onslaught of unspeakable memories, arms wrapped around his own torso in the form of a subconscious, self-soothing hug, while one hand creeps higher and higher towards his throat. He's sucking in shallow, whistling breaths and clawing at his neck with trembling fingers; skin itching and tingling from the phantom sensation of a chain-link collar he remembers all too well.
Will calls out his name, soft and cautious, because Hannibal is somewhere else entirely. Lost inside his mind. Will's hand clutches and stills Hannibal's frantic moving fingertips; the pressure gentle yet insistent. "Stop that," is what Will intends to say, but Hannibal's reaction leaves him speechless.
Hannibal flinches, releasing a frail, tearful whimper (the closest sound to a sob Will's ever heard Hannibal utter), and soon enough there's a visible wet patch staining the front of his pants. Will pulls Hannibal into an embrace, uncaring of the putrid stench of urine.
Imagine poor Will being blindsided by it all. Especially the act of Hannibal soiling himself in response to his re-emerging PTSD. Imagine if Hannibal clung to Will with the desperation of a scared child, head tucked underneath Will's chin so he wouldn't have to catch a glimpse of the woods that have haunted his dreams since he was eight years old. Imagine if he could only muster a rasped whisper of one word ("home" in his native tongue), begging for Will to take him far away from here.
Imagine if this moment was the first time Will ever used a term of endearment (darlin', sweetheart, or baby) in reference to Hannibal + the first time Will pressed a grounding kiss into Hannibal's hair + the first time Hannibal experienced any semblance of Will's affection post-fall.
I cannot forgive you
my love
for things that wound me
should not be so
tantalising yet still you stand
like the blazing sun twice as glorious
as pathetic little me.
(just wanted to try my hand at poetry that can be read multiple ways hehe)
sometimes self-care is making sure you're drinking water, moving your body, feeling your feelings, etc.
and sometimes self-care is writing mindless smut as a distraction.
balance.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: E
Tags: Hannibal/Will, exhibitionism, bathroom sex, bottom Will, top Hannibal, PWP, POV Will Graham
Summary: Hannibal fucks Will in the bathroom during one of his dinner parties and they both get to indulge their exhibitionist streak.
anyway, if this makes even one person feel better in the wake of US election results, i'll feel good about it.
Will's POV leading up to the events of Let Them Hear You
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: E
Tags: Hannibal/Will, Dom Hannibal, Sub Will, Vibrating Plug, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Exhibitionism
Summary: Will is forced to sit through dinner with Jack and Alana while Hannibal controls the vibrating plug in his ass.
Jack and Alana's POV of the events in Vibrating Torment and Let Them Hear You
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: E
Tags:Hannibal/Will, Dom Hannibal, Sub Will, Vibrating Plug, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Exhibitionism, Unwilling Voyeurism? Accidental Voyeurism?
Summary: Jack and Alana are happy to be at a dinner party hosted by Hannibal. Will is also in attendance, looking fidgety and uncomfortable. Jack and Alana dismiss it as Will being Will and continue with dinner. When Will abruptly excuses himself to the restroom, Hannibal invites Jack and Alana to take their wine to the study while he goes and checks in on Will. Whatever might Jack and Alana overhear while seated in the study?
Will has always been able to read or, perhaps, feel his way past any poker face. That, coupled with his time as a cop in New Orleans, and finding creative ways to help Beau Graham keep food on the table, has lent Will Graham a distinct advantage in navigating the cards tables.
Perhaps it is this (and an Old Fashioned) that find Will inexplicably agreeing to strip poker at the annual BAU holiday party.
He folds early on into the first round, taking the opportunity to shed his tweed suit jacket - it’s stuffy and the whiskey from the open bar is warming him from the inside out.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter, inexplicably, is sitting at the table. Will watches him, swirling inadequate wine and looking all too delighted to have been roped into strip-poker by consequence of attending a holiday party with his not-patient. (Will insisted that he shouldn’t feel the need to join the absurd game; he could mingle or even leave and Will would get a taxi. Hannibal told him it would be rude to decline.)
Beverly (eternally wise) opts to be the dealer and maintain her dignity. By the time Zeller is down to his briefs, he accepts his defeat and Jimmy offers him another drink as consolation.
Unsurprisingly, Hannibal is good at poker. Is there anything he isn’t good at? Will muses, missing his tie, belt, both shoes, and his left sock. Will, however, has spent enough time analyzing Hannibal’s micro-expressions to spare himself from the same indignities Brian Zeller is recovering from with an alarming number of shots.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter is not more skilled at poker than Will. No. The only reason Will is wearing significantly less clothing than Hannibal is that Hannibal wears so many fucking clothes.
Will grits his teeth and examines his cards as Beverly places the flop. He is wearing his undershirt and slacks. Hannibal is sitting across from him, flush high on his cheeks from several glasses of wine, and to an unpracticed eye, appears to be fully dressed. Thus far, Hannibal has divested himself of his pocket square, his tie, his suit jacket, his watch, two leather brogues, and the cuff links from his right sleeve.
Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller have returned, looking rather flushed and disheveled, Will notes, to bear witness.
Will is in his boxers. Hannibal is in the process of removing his last sock garter. Will is fuming. He wants to launch over the table and rip that stupid silk shirt off of Hannibal’s torso. Huh. Where did That come from?
Beverly is placing the river and Will Graham glares mournfully at his pile of shed clothing.
“I raise you 500.”
Hannibal’s eyes briefly cast downward, to his cards and the garishly colored chips they’ve been playing with. His golden eyes hold a predatory glint. Will steels himself and prepares to don his birthday suit. Hannibal, uncharacteristically, chooses to take mercy on Will.
“Alas, I’m afraid I must fold.” Hannibal’s face pinches theatrically as he sighs. His cards are placed neatly on the table in front of him, face down.
“That’s it folks! Graham is keeping his pants tonight!!” Beverly announces. Something like disappointment flashes in Hannibal’s eyes. Surely regret at throwing the game - nothing more. Off comes the silk shirt, one mother of pearl button at a time.
Warmth pools in Will’s gut. Embarrassment, probably. And perhaps his fourth (?) drink of the evening. His skin prickles with gooseflesh as he collects his winnings (the privilege of putting his clothes back on). He glances up. Hannibal is still staring at him. Will is suddenly distinctly aware that his mouth is dry as sandpaper and shirt buttons are a touch too challenging for whiskey-addled senses.
When Will nearly keels over trying to shove his shoes back on Hannibal takes mercy on him for the second time that evening. He gestures for Will to sit and sinks to one knee. Gingerly, he places Will’s worn dress shoe on his foot. Like Cinderella, Will’s brain supplies unhelpfully. “Perhaps we should get you home,” Hannibal says, his low timbre cutting through Will’s musings on the Brothers Grimm and the tips of his feet staying intact in this version of the fairy tale.
“Take me home then.” Will quips, then immediately regrets his choice of words. Looking down reminds him that Hannibal is on his knees in front of him and Will hasn’t bothered to properly zip up his pants yet. He thinks he hears someone wolf whistle. Probably Zeller.
The attention doesn’t seem to bother the doctor. Hannibal just smiles a private, toothy grin. For some killers biting may be a fighting pattern, as much as sexual behavior. Will shakes his head, attempting to dispel the thought. Definitely too much whiskey for one night.
