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    To say that Will Graham is still an unmated, childless omega at the age of thirty-eight is his own choice is true. It is not to say that it is his preference. Will wants a mate and a family just as much – perhaps even more – than the next omega. He’s simply never met that one person who fit the bill before. And then he walks into Jack Crawford’s office and meets Hannibal Lecter and well that, as they say in the business, is that.

    Now all he needs to do is convince Hannibal of that. But well, this is Hannibal Lecter he is dealing with. It must be done a certain…flair. But that isn’t a problem for Will. Not at all.

    After all, snakes may kill mongoose, but one must never forget this as well: mongoose hunt snakes too.

    It’s Will Graham’s turn to wage his war.

    Or, here is a fic about omega!Will Graham manipulating alpha!Hannibal Lecter into getting exactly what he wants.

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    11 Feb 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    That when the SUV and the Bentley with Jack and the team does pull up, that Hannibal is the first one out is no surprise.

    That he is a visible mess is, just a little bit.

    Because here’s the thing, Will isn’t unaware of how Hannibal feels towards him, or the depth of that feeling. Even with their recent fight included, Will’s never been worried that Hannibal doesn’t feel strongly enough for him or their children - that fight was really about Hannibal’s hubris and Will’s fear of losing him, and although Will maintains he was still right, he never once thought that Hannibal didn’t love him, or that something like this wouldn’t effect him.

    But he never once thought it would be to this degree, because the Hannibal that gets out of the Bentley and burns a trail to Will looks wrecked. Dark eyes that look so damned haunted, something that can only be called a terrible hybrid between agony and terror in them, hair unkempt and clothing wrinkled from being run over by worried hands. He engulfs Will in an full body embrace the second he reaches him, burrowing his face in the soft flesh of Will’s neck and breathing in the scent of him through great, shuddering breaths punctured with whispered words that must be Lithuanian, because Will doesn’t recognize the as English.

    He’s shaking. All over, full body shudders, as if he is helpless to control his own body. Hannibal Lecter, the man in the pristinely constructed person suit, whose every word and gesture is a work of art in it’s preparation and presentation, is shaking.

    Because of Will. It shocks him right down to his core, this visceral demonstration of Hannibal’s devotion.

    It’s so terribly lovely.

    “Hey,” Will says, wrapping himself as far as he can into Hannibal’s embrace, making himself as soft and omegean as he can in physical comfort as he croons platitundal truths of comfort into Hannibal’s ear, a continuous soft litany, “hey, hey, I’m fine. I’m here. We’re all fine. It’s ok.”

    Hannibal doesn’t respond, not verbally at least, but Will keeps up his mantra until the shaking has stopped, and until the hands that grasp at him only flutter, and Hannibal is able to pull some semblance of his person suit back on. Not the full suit, of course, but enough that he is able to pull his face away from Will shoulder and take a position at his side instead, tucking Will into the curve of his body, a protection against the world.

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Will and Hannibal meet in prison. Hannibal is still the Ripper, Will is still a profiler who had encephalitis. Only now they're cell mates

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    English
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    71,358
    Chapters:
    29/29
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    08 Feb 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    "Could you explain it to us?"

    Will clears his throat. He can feel Hannibal watching him, but can't bring himself to look back. God, if he's wrong Hannibal's never going to forgive him.

    "Everyone moves through the world making little decisions about how we interact with those around us. There are rules of society and cultural guideposts for what right and wrong are. Most of the time, Hannibal moves through the world politely and unobtrusively: He isn't racist, sexist, ageist. He doesn't have road rage, or get angry when he has to wait in line. He tips well and is polite to wait-staff. Hannibal doesn't abuse children or animals. He was an excellent surgeon who was respected by the nurses, which is rare. Hannibal Lecter follows the rules better than most of us.

    "There's a word we don't have in English; Rawa-dawa. It mean, the sensation of suddenly realizing you have the opportunity do something reprehensible, and no one is there to witness it, so you know you'll get away with it. Some people take those moments to hurt their children, or exploit employees, or kick dogs, or other cruelties. Hannibal takes those opportunities to kill people and eat them.

    "He knows that killing people is against the law. He knows that eating people is taboo. You're also not supposed to short-change people, or cut them off in traffic. To Hannibal, it's all the same."

    Bedelia asks, "In what way are they the same?"

    "On a cosmic scale," Will says. "If nothing matters than everything matters. If God isn't real then it doesn't matter. If God is real, then he sure as shit - sorry your honour - doesn't care about the suffering of humanity, so it still doesn't matter. Hannibal put aside good and evil and placed himself at the top of the food chain."

    Bedelia has an amazing poker face. She gives nothing away. "That doesn't sound insane to me," she says, laying it out for him.

    Will shrugs. It's a lot for the jury to take in. A lot of talking, a lot of philosophy. He's set up the argument the prosecution is making and now he moves in for the rebuttal. "It makes sense if I say it like that. But if I phrase it differently it sounds nuts - totally crazy."

    "And how would you phrase it to make him sound insane?"

    "He kills and eats rude people. That's his victim pool: rude people," Will says. "He kills them without remorse or mercy. And sometimes he likes to torture them to death, pose them in ironic tableaus, and feed their remains to Baltimore's high society." He gives it a beat, lets it sink in for the jury and then says, dry as the desert, "It's all in the tone."

    The jury can understand that. Hannibal Lecter eats rude people. It's clear, it's simple, it's insane. They'll remember that.

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Drabbles and one-shots set in the “Pushing Us Into Self-Destruction” 'verse.

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    English
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    5/?
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    137
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    30 Jan 2018

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  4. Public Bookmark 46

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    The story of Orpheus is a tale of tragic weddings and love beyond death.

    Months after their escape from both death and their old lives, Hannibal and Will are finally healing from wounds physical and mental — but they may have escaped one cliff's edge only to face another. With decisions about the future looming, Hannibal and Will attend a performance of Monteverdi's L'Orfeo and ponder marriage, the Underworld, what it means to look back…and, just maybe, what it might mean to look forward.

    Language:
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    Chapters:
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    28 Jan 2018

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    Bookmarker's Notes

    “Would you look back? If I was trapped in the Underworld.”

    Hannibal blinks. He can’t quite give the question the consideration it deserves when Will has cast himself in the role of Eurydice and Hannibal in that of Orpheus. Spouses, bound beyond death.

    He wonders if escaping from the sea counts as escaping the grasp of Hades.

    Will shakes his head and smiles mirthlessly. “You’d look back,” he says in a light tone, but Hannibal hears the weight behind it. The sadness. The implication that there will be no joy when they reach their fated end, sundered forever by gods and weakness.

    But Will has overlooked the key facts. He has assumed, correctly, that Hannibal would follow him, even to the mouth of hell. But what he has neglected to consider is that if Hannibal were so foolish as to lose Will, he would not abscond into the heavens alone.

    He would break down the gates of Hades a second time.

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “How long have I been here?” Will asked, but immediately waved off her answer, realizing it didn’t matter either way. “Look, my name is Will Graham – I don’t know what happened but you have to give my partner a call.”

    “I’ll get the doctor,” she told him, her voice trained to the mellow murmur just about all medical professionals used on omegas.

    Will opened his mouth to tell her that there was no need, that he felt fine, and if she would just listen, he could discharge himself and be out of her hair in thirty minutes flat. He grabbed the safety rails and forced himself to stand, though the motion made him a little dizzy. Something on his peripheral vision grabbed at him. The whiteboard strip above the hospital bed – W GRAHAM-LECTER, omega, male, B positive – struck him like a physical blow.

    Language:
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    27 Jan 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    “I don’t expect you to feel bad or regret what you did,” He picked up his spoon, glad to see that the establishment had kept to proper cutlery as opposed to rough unpalatable plastic, “But you need understand that it’s considered bad form to take pleasure in hurting others.”

    The girl dug her spoon viciously into her treat, delightfully uncowed.

    “Even when they’re bad people.”

    “Unfortunately.” He smiled, finding something so oddly charming about the child’s distaste; she reminded him more than ever of a small tiger cub, gnawing on a tree stump, not quite understanding yet that urge to chase and bite and rip but somehow inherently aware that this was important and required every effort. “Even when they are bad people.”

    “Even when they deserve it?” She queried, her disgust with the moral quandary moving now into genuine distress that people could be so stupid.

    He chuckled, refreshed by such forthrightness. While not one to be swept away by flimsy dreams of the future above all the sensual details of the present, he allowed himself to entertain the fantasy of the creature that might spring forth out of the small slip of a girl before him. Was that a horn he could see? Or was that the sharp tip of a fang?

    “I’m going to tell you a secret,” he whispered.

    The drop in volume had the desired effect. She leaned in across the table, eager to be entrusted with something hush-hush, to get that boost of being special. It’s unintentional, but he supposed that with the long gap between her and her elder brother, his emotional investment in the latter relationship might appear disproportionate to her. There’s no need for such jostling though. She was her own being, his and theirs, a peace-offering and living sacrifice, sired upon his beloved and bestowed back to him magnified.

    “Doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good,” He whispered, and then sitting back upright, resumed speaking at a normal volume, “But people don't like to talk about that.”

    And neither should you.

    Sucking her spoon clean, she frowned, “Why not?”

    “Because,” He smiled as he finally dipped the steel spoon into the frozen dessert, “It’s considered a form of gloating. And gloating is rude.”