Prologo - Urla nel buio
Nel silenzio e nel buio c'era una tranquillità fredda, come quella dei ghiacci perenni nel giorno in cui un orso polare è sazio. Le stanze, o meglio le celle, allineate lungo il corridoio di pietra sotterraneo, erano vuote quella notte: una terapia sperimentale aveva costretto i degenti ad allontanarsi per essere portati a dormire all'aperto, a contatto con la natura, sotto le stelle brillanti e sull'erba verde e fresca.
Una sola cella era piena e dentro di essa vi era un uomo che sedeva immobile, trattenendo il fiato nel tentativo di capire per quanto tempo si potesse protrarre un silenzio perfetto.
E anche se tratteneva il fiato, poteva sentire rumori che non avrebbe voluto sentire: c'erano topi che zampettavano dentro i muri e grilli lontani e blatte e un infermiere che guardava la televisione al piano di sopra, il volume abbastanza alto da poter essere percepito se ci si concentrava.
Il manicomio criminale di Baltimora, o ospedale come si ostinavano a volerlo chiamare, non era mai abbastanza silenzioso per Teo.
Teo era quell'uomo solo, così disinteressato alla fuga e al recupero della propria sanità mentale che aveva rifiutato la terapia all'aperto per poter rimanere da solo, sperando nel silenzio. Non che amasse particolarmente l'assenza di suoni, anzi ne era pesantemente disturbato: ma in quel momento stava conducendo una particolare ricerca sull'assenza di rumore e su come la sua voce sarebbe potuta risuonare nei corridoi vuoti, come si sarebbe sparsa e avrebbe rimbalzato sulle pietre riempiendo quegli ambienti solitamente occupati da gente sporca, rumorosa e inutile.
Teo prese un profondo respiro, ascoltando l'aria che sibilava su per le narici e giù per la gola. La sua mascella scricchiolò appena e poi fu il turno delle sue scarpe di gomma sul pavimento mentre si alzava in piedi e si avvicinava alle sbarre, avvolgendole fra le mani e stringendo.
Allargò le gambe, spalancò la bocca e iniziò a urlare nel buio totale.
Era un suono lacerante, terribile, sofferente. Ma Teo non stava soffrendo, stava soltanto mimando il grido che in quegli anni lo aveva impressionato di più.
La musica, e più in generale il suono, era la sua passione.
D'un tratto smise di gridare e prese a parlare fra sé e sé
«Non va non va» disse, preoccupato, premendosi gli indici sulle meningi «Non c'è abbastanza silenzio. Avrei bisogno di armonizzarmi con una seconda voce per coprire le interferenze, ma dove trovo una seconda voce capace di farlo? Dove la trovo oggi, soprattutto!».
Perchè una voce si armonizzasse con la sua, nel modo in cui lo intendeva, aveva anche bisogno di qualcuno che potesse assumere perfettamente il suo punto di vista. O, perlomeno, che avesse una voce straordinaria e un'altrettanto straordinaria capacità di comprensione. Un genio, della musica o della vita, qualcuno che potesse penetrare nella mente più oscura e vibrare all'unisono con il battito del cuore di qualcun'altro.
Aveva una vaga di idea di dove trovare qualcuno del genere, l'aveva udito gridare in un delirio ad un altro dei prigionieri, un tale Eldon Stammets con la fissa dei funghi e un concetto del tutto errato di come le creature possano connettersi fra loro. Stammets aveva detto che esisteva qualcuno là fuori capace di entrare nella mente delle persone empatizzando con loro e non si trattava di un ciarlatano, no, perché l'FBI usava questo suo talento per catturare i criminali.
Il poliziotto pazzo, così l'aveva definito il Tattle Crime ed era l'unica rivista che Teo leggesse e di cui si fidasse.
L'uomo che per vivere pensa come un killer, il tormentato, insonne agente che non aveva passato i test di stabilità e non era un vero agente dell'FBI: Will Graham.
Quel pensiero dipinse un sorriso che nessuno avrebbe visto in quell'oscurità. Così Teo reclinò la testa all'indietro e ululò quel nome, Will Graham, nel buio, ancora e ancora e ancora, per intere ore.
Sapeva per esperienza che tutto ciò che veniva chiamato a gran voce e con la giusta perseveranza, prima o poi compare. Un pensiero che, insieme ad alcuni effetti collaterali connessi ad esso, gli avevano fruttato la diagnosi di una mente disturbata. Eppure aveva ragione.
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venerdì 30 settembre 2016
La risonanza - Indice
Ogni manicomio nasconde i suoi segreti e i suoi casi unici, e certamente ogni manicomio criminale ne ha così tanti da poterne riempire scatole e scatole, ma nessuno più del BHSCI, il Baltimore hospital for the criminally insane. Qui, fra vecchie celle e uffici all'avanguardia, assassini che parlano con i funghi e piccoli psichiatri dall'ego gigante, c'è un folle che si chiama Teo (o almeno che si presenta con questo nome) e sta testando un potere capace di distruggere la realtà stessa (o almeno così crede). Collaborando con gli altri internati, creando esasperanti rivolte coinvolgendo cannibali e agenti empatici dell'FBI, beh... ne combinerà di tutti i colori. E darà inizio ad una catena d'eventi irresistibile.
(Una fanfiction in Italiano, finalmente! E scritta (e illustrata) da noi ;)
Indice:
(Una fanfiction in Italiano, finalmente! E scritta (e illustrata) da noi ;)
Indice:
giovedì 29 settembre 2016
mercoledì 28 settembre 2016
For Old Times' Sake
+++For Old Times' Sake+++
Illustrated by us, FuriaAndMimma
Warning: this is the first multichapter fanfiction that we illustrate (and also the first real NSFW fanfiction), and we decided that we will post on the blog only the chapter one. If you want to read the rest, follow the link at the end of the chapter! And don't forget to leave a kudos to our talented writers ;) Thank you!
CHAPTER 1
It’s a far cry from her usual mail, and she’s somewhat surprised it hasn't been mis-sorted into Margot's correspondence. As she reaches for a silver letter opener and tears open the heavy paper the card falls out face down on the antique desk.
The perfect writing on the back is in a hand that is entirely and chillingly familiar to Alana, although it's not signed.
She rises and closes the door of her home office, locking it for good measure. She returns then to read and examine the card. In recent months she's begun to wonder if her obsession with Hannibal is one-sided. Indeed even as Margot had refused to fund Alana's search further, and she settled into a semblance of domesticity, a part of her mind has been restless, wondering at the fare of her once mentor and lover, one who deluded her into believing her his captor.
The other side of the card is a picture postcard of an astrological clock.
It reads:
'Dearest Alana, You have two things that belong to me. I would like to discuss them, if you will, on the anniversary of a harpsichord kiss. If you come alone, you will be safe.'
Nothing more is written.
The clock she knows. Hannibal always told her of the beauty of Prague, and although she has never been she hung onto his words like the wide-eyed innocent she had once been, counterpoint to his wealth and experience.
It takes her less than a minute to make her decision.
Margot will be furious, of course. But Alana is bored with small minds and small problems.
The next day she purchases her plane ticket in cash, careful to leave no paper trail. As the weeks elapse there are arguments and bruising make up sex but nothing Margot can say or do can deter Alana from her purpose.
She lands in Prague the morning of that fated day, trailing her small suitcase behind her as she gazes up at the gilt arms of the clock.
Hannibal is sitting at an outside table at café in the Staroměstské náměstí, one that commands a view of the famous medieval astrological clock, sipping a strong Czech coffee. He wears light-coloured trousers, a darker sweater, a casual jacket, sunglasses. His hair is longer than it ever was in Baltimore, his chin silver with stubble; his skin is bronzed.
He spots Alana immediately from a distance, by her posture: upright, shoulders back, that slightly hip-first stance that always gave her an air of confidence, even when that confidence was put on to hide insecurity or naiveté.
He smiles. Alana Bloom is no longer naive. But that confidence is as assumed now as it was then. This time it's to cover up fear. But he admires her for it, as he always admired her for it in the past.
Smoothly, he stands, leaving behind coins for his coffee on the table, and walks across the square to stand behind her, face slightly raised, breathing in through his nose to catch her distinctly remembered scent. He stands behind her for a moment, observing. Then he steps up beside her.
“Dr Bloom.”
Alana smirks, unsurprised by his ability to sneak up on her in the crowd of tourists. As he turns to face her, she wonders just how long he's been standing behind her. He's a sentimental creature, but she doubts he'd allow himself to feel too much in such a public sphere.
She takes in his greeting with crimson lips pursed. "Hannibal."
She feels her heart begin to thrum with excitement and fear. Even in this most public of places she can never feel truly safe around Hannibal. The upshot to that is she feels more alive than she has in many months—not a comfortable thought, but a truth she must acknowledge.
"You've summoned me. I assume there's a reason." Not that Alana wants her time with Hannibal to be over so soon but his cryptic engagement with her has piqued her curiosity.
His gaze flickers down to her suitcase. “You’ve only just arrived. I know the Verger family flies first class, but you are surely in need of some refreshment.”
Gently, but with cordial authority, he takes the handle of her suitcase from her and leads her across the square, to the café he has just left. He gestures her into the seat he has vacated, still warm.
Alana allows him to take the case. She’s spent the overnight flight plagued with uncertainty which was only compounded by the complimentary whiskey.
"I could eat," she confesses as she follows Hannibal across the square and takes the proffered seat.
Her attire is somewhat more formal than she'd usually don for a transatlantic flight, but Hannibal is special to her, so she's donned a favourite grey boucle suit and red blouse. Her hair is still a dark, fetching bob.
"Can I trust you to order me something without people in it?" she quips in a low voice. "I could murder some sausage, maybe eggs?"
She's very good at pretending that dining with Hannibal is the most natural thing in the world. But if that's how he wants to play their encounter for now, she can put his crimes to the back of her mind.
Ignorance is bliss, even when it's a fallacy.
He smiles at her. In perfect Czech, he orders from the waiter: grilled klobásy and poached eggs. He remembers that Alana liked them poached, when he would cook her breakfast, Saturday mornings when she would wear his shirt and dip her toast in perfect golden yolks. He orders them both coffee and, for himself, a plate of trdelnik pastry.
And then he turns his attention to her. “How is the family?”
"About as well as can be expected when you tell your wife you're going to Europe for an unknown period at the start of summer leaving her in charge of a precocious seven year old boy." Her lips curl into a smirk. "Is that what you were hoping to hear?" She shakes her head. "I care for Margot, I do, but she doesn't understand that I get bored shitless without my work."
“Is that what this meeting is, Dr Bloom? Work?”
"Well that's what I told Margot. But you haven't yet revealed to me whether I lied to my wife or not."
“I wondered how you would get her to allow you to see me. I didn't think you would go to the extent of deceiving her. You are nothing if not adaptable, Alana,” he says with barely-concealed relish.
"There's no way she would've let me come otherwise. In the end she was pretty insecure about our affair." She sips her coffee, blue eyes peeking up at Hannibal over the rim of the cup.
Maybe with good reason, Alana thinks.
Hannibal speaks thoughtfully, aware of the connotations of his words. “You have changed in so many ways, Alana, and yet in others, not at all. Your clothes, your hair, your makeup, your job, your life--all different from when you and I were friends. And yet you still use the same shampoo.” He draws in a long breath of it. “I remember the scent of it on my pillow.”
"It was you who triggered all of this. That night in Baltimore. I had to grow up, fast. I had to become stronger or you would've destroyed me." She gives him a sour look. "Life is so complicated now, I almost wish I could be blind again."
“Complicated, Alana? How so? You are beautiful and intelligent; you have a stunning wife and a precious child; you have wealth beyond most people's wildest dreams, and an international reputation—though perhaps for different reasons than you might once have hoped. I should have thought all these complications were welcome ones. What are your regrets, Alana? Why would you wish to be blind?”
Their food arrives, but Hannibal hardly acknowledges it, he is so focused on Alana.
"Mostly it's the responsibility. To look after my son who was born into this world with a price on his head. Making that up to Margot. Learning to live with cooks and cleaners and a butler. Watching Margot smother Morgan and get mad at me if he so much as skins his knee."
She reaches for her plate, slicing off a sliver of sausage and putting it between her red lips. “Just because we're the poster children for lesbian America in the tabloids doesn't mean that translates into real life."
“I expected you to be much more guarded about your life with me. For three years, when you were my keeper, you never told me your son's name. Even though I had a hand in making him.”
"I've come all this way. If I clam up now, to what end will it be? We exchange pleasantries, you crack a joke about eating me I go home none the wiser as to what game you're playing. Think of it as a gesture of trust." Alana leans back, folding her arms. "Are you ready to tell me?"
“Patience, Alana. You've come all this way; you can't begrudge me a little more of your time. Especially when you kept me captive for three years. And it's a reward in itself, to spend time with an old friend. Besides, now that you mention it, I haven't made a single joke about eating you yet.”
He lifts his pastry to his mouth and takes a bite.
Alana rolls her eyes at Hannibal. How could she have expected any less of him. At their last meeting she held all the power. Now, Hannibal has lured her into a strange land against her better judgement.
Perhaps it was nothing more than the thrill of the cat and mouse game they enjoyed. Once strictly intellectual, Alana now imagines it unfolding on a grander scale. Yes, after all these years, knowing Hannibal still gives her a thrill, her fear a keen edge on desire, tinged with inevitable self-loathing.
Alana breaks the yolks of her eggs, watching the yellow pool on the thick bread before she eats it.
“Also,” Hannibal adds, “I've been flirting with you outrageously. And yet you haven't even mentioned how good it is to see me. Or expressed any surprise that I've apparently returned from the dead.”
"I know as well as you do how capable you are of faking your own death. I chose not to believe it until there was a body in evidence. You've taught me that much. As for the flirting, did you summon me to relive the glory days of our love affair?"
Her tone is harsh, caustic, but Alana can't help but grow misty-eyed. She really loved him, probably always will.
“Relive our love affair?” Hannibal reflects on the interesting choice of words, and the way that her expression belies her hard tone.
He had assumed that fear and curiosity would bring Alana to him. And they have.
But there is still this tug of attraction, the frisson of the intimacy they once shared. Even after all this time, and all that has passed.
Alone, in this city, both of them having slipped away from unknowing lovers...he wonders if he suggested a hotel, if she, against her better judgement, would accept.
This is not why he wanted to meet her. But it is unexpected and interesting. It gives him another point of leverage, should he need it. And it is, overwhelmingly, enjoyable to flirt with this beautiful, desirable woman, in a medieval square, under the watchful eye of the clock, and time, and Death.
“Perhaps not 'relive', no. But to reminisce…” He sips his coffee contemplatively. “You remembered the date.”
Alana the student to Hannibal's mentor would've blushed at his his words. But the cocky confident woman she is now merely levels her gaze at Hannibal, a smirk playing on her lips.
"I had a crush on you since my residency. Can't go past an authority figure. As if I could forget the day you first turned your desire towards me."
She can feel a wave of heat rise in her chest at the memory. There will exist always between them an attraction, as impractical and downright dangerous it is for both of them.
The smirk, but then the blush. It makes him think of her as he first met her: the student, as she says.
“Will thought that I initiated an affair with you to threaten him,” he says. “To use you as a hostage in our game of chase, because he cared about you. But I cared about you too, Alana. I always have.”
So it wasn’t all a lie. "Will..." She’s wanted to ask after him, but they've gotten bogged down in their own tangled past and it’s slipped her mind. "How is he?"
At the name, a genuine smile warms Hannibal's features. “He's well.” He touches his overgrown hair, ruefully, and then his scruff of beard. “He's been giving me style tips.”
"You're letting yourself go. You must be really happy together." She toys with her cutlery on the empty plate, looking down. "I'm glad you found someone who could follow you the places I couldn't go."
Her voice is tinged with something akin to regret; if fate had twisted slightly more conventionally she could've devoted her life to this man. And yet, she realises with a snort, in a way she has. If not romantically, than in a pursuit to contain his darkness from the world.
“But you could go there, Alana, with the proper motivation. Your brother-in-law being a case in point. I doubt that regret over him ever keeps you awake, nights.” He smiles at her. “It's extraordinary what we will do for love, isn't it?”
"I somehow doubt most of your victims are as deserving of death as Mason Verger."
Alana swallows. The truth is her part in Mason's death did used to keep Alana awake. Not because she felt guilty for killing him, but because she felt guilty for enjoying it. It made her feel powerful like nothing else, though playing Hannibal's keeper was a close second.
Hannibal looks swiftly around the café to see if they have been overheard. “Would you like any more to eat, or shall we walk?”
"Let's walk. It's too nice a day to just sit here." Alana gets to her feet. "Where shall we go?"
Hannibal also stands, leaving money on the table for their meal. “Let's walk along the river. Unless you'd like to drop off your case, at your hotel?”
"It's not heavy, it can wait." In truth Alana is still a little anxious at being alone with Hannibal behind closed doors. She trusts his word when it comes to her safety, but doesn't trust him not to worm his way around it to his own ends, whatever they may be.
The sunshine feels good on her skin, the ancient buildings adding an atmosphere of grandeur. And despite it all she couldn't imagine a more fitting companion for the day than Hannibal. After all, he always talked to her of Europe.
He takes her case again. A crowd has gathered, and as they walk across the square, the clock strikes eleven a.m. Hannibal stops and points out the clock to her.
“That skeleton striking the time represents Death. The figures flanking the clock face are Vanity, Avarice and Lust. They're shaking their heads because they haven't yet been banished from the world.” He looks down at her with a smile. “Death, Vanity, Avarice and Lust. You and I could almost write the book.”
"Almost," Alana agrees, once again reflecting on how much she has changed since that first much-longed-for kiss. And yet her fascination with him still taints her thoughts to the detriment of her relationship with her wife. "Is that why you asked to meet here? So we could reflect on our mutual sins together?"
“I know my sins, and I've come to peace with them. Indeed, I enjoy them.” He gives her a wry look. “Vanity has perhaps gone by the wayside recently, while I'm on the run from the law. Have you reconciled yourself to your sins, Alana?”
"When I got pregnant Margot made me promise never to tell our child what happened with Mason, with you, any of it. I've spent seven years trying to protect him without being able to explain why. Shielding him from the truth that he will one day undoubtedly uncover. Trying to live up to the ideal domestic bubble that Margot wants to live in. I think she assumes, even though she knows better, that somehow she has the lion's share of the issues. Perhaps that's why my work is so important to me; it allows me to engage with something...darker."
Alana sighed.
"So no, I haven't made my peace with my sins because I'm not even allowed to acknowledge they exist." It is a bitter realisation, and her red lips twist into a pout.
They start walking again, away from the crowds.
“How is Morgan? Is he more like Margot, or more like you?” He glances at her, his expression carefully wiped blank, but noting hers: the pout, the line between her brows. “Has he shown any resemblance to his father?”
"Not behaviourally." Alana says in relief. "He's got my colouring but he's going to be tall like Margot." She smiles at the thought of her son. "He's smart, loves animals—Margot has been teaching him to ride. He's stubborn as all hell though. I think he gets that from me."
He smiles at her as they walk. “Aristotle said 'Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man.' He has the seeds planted in him already that will lead to his future self. Seeds planted from many people. You, Margot, Mason…“
"I suppose you feel like you have a hand in it somehow? And in a way you do." She watches the ripple of the river. "Do you ever regret not having children?"
“To my thinking, I had a direct hand in Morgan's conception. Quite literally. And Will...you know that Margot once chose him to be the father of her child. Mason prevented that, unfortunately. But I planted that seed, as well. I'll admit that there's a large part of me that would very much like to be a father. I would like to help form a person. Pass on what I know. Share that bond with another human being. A love that's unconditional and giving.”
He takes a deep breath. “I had hoped that Abigail might be that person. But it was not to be. I miss her very much. As does Will. Will's paternal urge is very strong. He longs for family.”
"I suppose one of the disadvantages of being on the run is you can't register for surrogacy or adoption. I'm guessing you already have a pack of dogs." She takes a minute to study Hannibal. She could imagine him as a father.
“Dogs. Yes. We have...several. He finds strays, Will. He has a talent for it. And I can refuse him nothing. My happiness is entirely bound up in his. It's an emotion which I thought I would never feel.”
"And yet you summoned me. I imagine the time for my influence on your happiness has passed."
“It hasn't passed at all. On the contrary, I'm very glad to see you, Alana. This feels like a moment out of time. The two of us, together, both free, neither blind. It means a great deal to me to know that you are happy and well, and that you are glad, on some level at least, to see me too.”
They are strolling along the broad, brown Vitava, with a view of the statues on the Charles Bridge. It could almost be romantic.
Alana can't resist Hannibal's warmth. He was one of the constants in her life. Learning to live without him was like being paralysed - and she would know.
"I am happy to see you, Hannibal, to know that you and Will are safe." She even flashes him a broad smile.
“Of course,” he says, “I haven't forgotten my promise to you.”
"You said I'd be safe, and I know you're a man of your word. Are you going to give me advance notice of when you're going to collect?"
“If it's in my advantage to do so. I may prefer surprise, or I may prefer you to anticipate your fate. But I will collect, Alana. Even if it pains me. Even if it hurts Will.” He tilts his head. “Are you afraid?”
The bright day suddenly seems dark to Alana.
"Afraid? No. Regretful that it will come to that one day. If you get your way anyway."
Though Alana knows how capable Hannibal is. As long as he's at large she and her family are at risk.
“One should never have regrets,” he says. “They're a waste of time. You had your choice, and you took it. The rest is fate.”
For the first time in a very long time, Hannibal touches her. He brushes a dark strand of hair back from her face, carefully, and with tenderness. “I know that you will be delicious.”
Alana shivers at the touch, a knot forming in her stomach at how good yet how strange it felt to be touched by him. She stops short, blood running hot and cold at the same time.
"What are you playing at?" she whispers.
He feels her shiver, and sees her pupils dilate. Deliberately, he pushes back another strand of her hair.
“It takes two to play a game, Alana.”
Despite herself she leans into the touch. "Hannibal... " It's a fevered whisper, her hand rising to stroke his stubbled cheek.
“Alana.” Slowly, he inclines his head and kisses her cheek, near the corner of her mouth.
Alana turns into the teasing kiss so their lips connect. It's so wrong and yet she can't resist.
Damn him. Damn herself.
Alana lets the kiss linger, losing herself to the memory of all they once shared.
Hannibal enjoys the kiss. This beautiful woman, in this beautiful place; the memory of all the many intimacies they have shared; the tenderness he still feels for her; the fact that this is forbidden to both of them. It's a simple pleasure with a complexity of meaning, and he lets his lips linger on Alana's before he gently pulls away.
He almost regrets what he has to do next.
“I want a child,” he says.
She is slightly disoriented as he pulls away, his words taking her mind a moment to process.
"Hannibal, no." It isn't a judgement of what he asks of her but rather a denial of hearing it. "Please tell me you're not going to ask me what I think you're going to ask me."
Her hair has become dishevelled by their kiss. He strokes it back. “What do you think I'm going to ask you?”
"Well, you want a child. I imagine the list of people you could ask that of is pretty short."
“The list of children whom I have helped to create is even shorter.”
"No. No. Not Morgan." Alana backs away slightly. "He's my son, Hannibal. My son."
“He's your son, yes. But your life belongs to me.”
He takes a small step forward, closing the distance Alana has made.
“Will misses Abigail,” he says. “He misses Walter. He has his dogs, yes, but he longs for a family, and a family, to him, means a child. I have told you: I will do anything within my power to make Will happy.”
"And what? You just expect me to give up my child? I couldn't do that to him, to Margot, to myself. Not even for Will."
She begins to cry, looking for a way out of the isolated stretch of river bank they find themselves on.
“I wouldn't take away a child from his mothers, Alana. Even I would not be that cruel. I'd like you to send him to me for an extended visit. A month, perhaps, to start, during the school holidays. To stay with his uncles Hannibal and Will. He's old enough, as you say, to begin to know about his origins, and his family. We could teach him a great deal. And it would make Will happy.”
Perhaps. He is still not entirely able to predict Will. But he is confident that, given time, that Will could learn to love another child, after the three he has lost.
Alana releases the breath that she's been holding at the prospect of losing her son completely. Still, she is wary of entrusting Morgan's wellbeing to Hannibal, though deep down her rational mind knows he would not harm the boy.
She drops onto a nearby bench, her face falling into her hands as her mind ponders the logistics of Hannibal's proposal.
"What am I supposed to tell Margot? How am I meant to lie about this? How can I tell the truth?" It is one thing for Alana to entrust her own life to Hannibal, quite another to send her son into his lair.
“It's quite simple, and from what you say, it could also be advantageous for you. You've wanted Morgan to know the truth. So this is your opportunity for him to learn it. Tell Margot that if you don't send the boy to me, I will kill you. It's quite true—though of course I intend to kill you anyway, so perhaps you may feel that you have little to lose.”
He looks at her contemplatively.
“Although there does appear to be another option,” he continues; “one that I didn't anticipate before seeing you again. Interestingly, it seems to be the first conclusion that you reached when I said I wanted a child.”
"Perhaps it was simply that I assumed you'd want a child with your blood, devoid of the same complex past as Morgan." She sits back against the bench. "What you've proposed sounds reasonable. But when you finally collect on your promise it's going to put my son in a delicate position."
She shakes her head at the absurdity of the situation "Would you prefer that I gave you and Will a child of your own?"
She is hardly going to abandon any child she mothers, but she is worried for her son.
“You find it easier to contemplate growing my child in your body, and giving it up, than sending your son to me for a holiday?”
Her head drops back in her hands.
"I don't know," she sobs, knowing that giving up any child of hers would break her heart and yet...
"If I gave you your own baby, would you call off your intention to kill my family and me?"
It is rare for Alana to hold a bargaining chip when it came to Hannibal, and she isn't about to give up the opportunity.
“A life in exchange for a life. It's something to consider.” He tilts his head. “And yet the child would be a part of you out in the world, under my nurturance. It would be loved, very much. But I would teach it all I knew, Alana. This baby would live in a world of exquisite monsters, nourished on human flesh, a beautiful life of love and horror. My child. Would you sell a child to Will and me, in exchange for your own life?”
She feels a monster. She knows it would break her heart to give up any child. Would her life be worth living knowing she has sold this child to Hannibal?
"I need to see it. Once a year. On your terms." She sniffles, looking out at the water. "And Morgan and Margot will be safe too."
“Do you really think that Margot will be more understanding of you carrying my baby, than of sending Morgan to me for a time?”
"Of course not. But if I can guarantee our safety, even if she hates me for it, isn't it worth it?" Her eyes peek up at him, bright and clear. "I'm not ready to die."
He sits beside Alana on the bench, watching the broad river go past.
“You've surprised me, Alana. I didn't expect you to be so desperate, or so generous. I have to think.” He pauses. “Will doesn't know I'm here. As a psychiatrist, what do you make of that fact?”
Alana exhales sharply as she tries to calm herself.
"I'm trying to make a rational decision about something that is inherently, inextricably emotional,” she says. “I'm trying to do what's best for myself, and for my family."
She pulls out a business card, scribbling something on the back.
"That's where I'm staying for the week. Don't think too long, I might change my mind."
“I won't need to think for long.” He stands, tucking the card in his pocket. “There's a decent restaurant down the street from your hotel. I'll make reservations for us for eight o'clock.”
He looks down at her, with concern. “Get some rest. You must be tired. And these are big decisions.”
He tells her the name and address of the restaurant, and then stoops and kisses her forehead before walking off briskly, leaving her alone to think.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
If you liked this fic, remember to leave a kudos, or even a comment on the original on A03, HERE
make a writer happy!
Etichette:
Alana Bloom,
fanfiction,
fanfictions,
Hannibal,
hannibal lecter,
hannibloom,
hannibloom fanfiction,
hchannibloom,
illustrated fanfiction,
nbc hannibal,
nbchannibal,
post season 3
venerdì 23 settembre 2016
AT - Nike and Themis
“In love and war, don’t seek counsel”
For the @nbchannibalbigbang: art trade with @malchikelf, Margot/Alana piece with Margot as Nike (Victory) and Alana as Themis (Good Counsel).
Don’t worry, there will be another, more detailed version later ;) Just, I’m
still working on it. In the meanwhile I hope you like this!
domenica 18 settembre 2016
Hannibal Commission - Ice cream on the grass
Commission for Annarita, our friend in real life. She's a Fannibal (like the 99% of our friends) and wanted to see chibi Hannibal and Will eating ice creams.
★ | Patreon| Deviantart | Hannibal Artblog|Commissions|RedBubble★
venerdì 16 settembre 2016
Hannibal chibis - I will be your sea
“If you were a mermaid, you said, If you were a mermaid, I was the sea.”
― Francesca Lia Block, Wasteland
― Francesca Lia Block, Wasteland
Chibi merman!Will and human Alana (from our merman AU) for @hannibalcreative ‘s #EatTheRare!
lunedì 12 settembre 2016
Leather
+++LEATHER+++
Written by hchannibloom (bleepin_ufo)
Illustrated by us, FuriaAndMimma for the #EatTheRare event by Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive
--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
Alana and Hannibal shared a glance over the breakfast table. Today was the day, they’d discussed it, but breaking the news to Will was going to take some doing.
The young man’s hair had grown into a wild mass of curls which was currently his most prominent feature as he hoovered down a generous serve of Hannibal’s scrambled eggs.
Hannibal could sense Alana’s hesitation to broach the subject so once Will had finished eating he stepped behind him, casually sipping from his coffee and placing a reassuring hand on Will’s shoulder. “Alana and I have been talking…” He began. “You’ve been a very good boy to us.” He began to stroke Will’s hair.
The blood in Will’s veins turned to ice. Were the past few blissful months he had spent with Hannibal and Alana about to come to a horrible end. He had shared so much of himself with them, he didn’t think he could bear to be without them.
Alana could clearly see the panic forming on Will’s features. She reached across the table, taking his hands. She smiled proudly. “Will, we want you to come to the club with us.”
Hannibal rounded on the pair, wearing his own expression of pleasure. “It will be a debut of sorts. A chance to show off our boy.” His fingers tangled lightly in Alana’s hair. She leaned into the touch.
Will grinned with relief, but after a moment his face fell. “But I don’t have anything to wear.”
“A tiny, insignificant detail.” Hannibal reassured him.
Half an hour later they’d piled into the Bentley and were cruising to downtown Baltimore, the dodgy end. Hannibal parked in front of a small, unassuming leather goods store. Although he and Alana frequented it for various supplies for their trysts with Will and each other, they had never brought the empath there.
“I’m going to get some coffee.” Alana announced as she climbed out of the car. “I’ll see you guys in there.”
Hannibal nodded, putting his arm around Will. They wandered into the shop, the front of which was filled with handbags, wallets, luggage tags, all hand made and expensive.
However Hannibal’s gaze barely acknowledged the finery. He quickly drew Will into the back of the shop which displayed an array of whips, straps and crops, some of a kind which Will was intimately familiar with. He blushed, remembering the groans and whimpers and even tears such implements had extracted from him. And worse, how much he had enjoyed it, whether it be Hannibal with a single tail whip or Alana’s more delicate kiss with a riding crop.
While Will stood agape, Hannibal had busied himself talking to the shop’s owner, getting advice on the best sizes for Will’s attire, or perhaps on a new toy to torment his boy with.
Alana soon arrived, coming up behind Will just as he turned flusteredly away from the wall of implements. They collided, sending a shower of coffee all over Will’s white dress shirt.
Alana gasped in shock, quickly pulling the shirt open and off so the hot liquid wouldn’t burn Will’s skin. “I’m SO sorry.” She said, running her hands over his bare chest. Once she had ascertained Will was unharmed, she dipped her mouth to his for a quick kiss.
Hannibal cleared his throat, gesturing towards a small changing area in the back. “Master Peter has set out some things for you to try on, William.” He said with a wolfish smile.
Will nodded obediently, trying not to feel self-conscious in his shirtless state. He wasn't quite comfortable with the large scar across his belly, even if it was a token of Hannibal's admittedly unconventional love.
Inside the changing room was a rack of leather pants. They all looked the same to Will, but if his Master and Mistress wanted him to try them on, what choice did he have?
“Make sure you show us every pair.” Alana called “We want to make sure you will look your absolute best.”
Will hesitantly pulled on the first pair. It felt strange, a bit like he was trying on Daddy’s clothing. Though the pants were a perfect fit for his waist, they were a snugger fit than he was used to, almost like a second skin.
“How’re you going in there?” Alana called.
Will cleared his throat. “F-fine. I’m coming out now.” He said, and pulled back the curtain.
Alana nearly dropped her coffee, though she tried to act casual. Hannibal’s tongue snaked out across his lower lip. “Turn around.” He commanded gruffly.
At Will’s resultant movement, Hannibal’s eyes slipped closed. Oh yes. The soft black leather perfectly accentuated Will’s ass and Hannibal had no doubt the pants would fit even better once Will’s underwear were done away with.
“What do you think?” Will asked innocently.
Alana and Hannibal exchanged a glance.
Alana schooled herself into practicality. “I think we need to see some more, I mean you’ve only tried on one pair and you must have a dozen in there.”
“Okay.” Will replied breezily. He went back into the change room and put on the next pair. These ones had a bootleg cut, balancing out his chicken legs.
He struck a pose as he came out. Alana came over, tugging at the leather and taking the opportunity to fondle his ass, under the guise of checking the fit. “I think I preferred the first ones. Hannibal?” She turned Will so Hannibal could appreciate his ass, landing a hard spank against his left cheek.
Hannibal smiled “I need to see more to be sure.”
Flustered by Alana’s attentions, Will returned to the cubicle.
He tried on 8 more pairs of leather pants, with Alana and Hannibal finding fault with each of them, after they’d fabricated excuses to fondle his leather-clad ass. Finally, frustratedly, he put on the final pair.
Will’s cheeks were pink with discontent as he emerged from the cubicle.
Alana looked him over, from the mass of curls on his head, down his rosy cheeks, eyes brimming with tears of frustration, along the shadow of his beard. As her eyes dipped to his muscular arms and chest, she began to step towards him, fingers dancing along the waistband of his pants.
Hannibal similarly moved closer, stalking around behind Will and inhaling his scent, intermingled with the strong scent of leather conditioner that the shop had.
“You’re beautiful.” Alana whispered to Will, allowing him to bury his head in her shoulder.
“Obviously not. If I can’t make a pair of leather pants look good.” He sulked.
Alana couldn’t hold back a peal of laughter. Her eyes met with Hannibal’s over Will’s shoulder. “You think that’s why we made you try on all those trousers?”
Will blinked, pulling back to look at Alana. “Well, why else would you?”
Hannibal kissed Will warmly on the forehead. “Because you look wonderfully distracting in them all, and we were enjoying ourselves.” He replied soothingly.
“So which ones do you want me to wear to the club?” Will asked more calmly.
“Whichever ones you like. But you must wear them properly. Without underwear.” He leaned into Will’s ear “Like a second skin.”
Will shivered with desire, covering Hannibal’s mouth with his own. “These ones will do.” He breathed impatiently “Can we go home now, Master?”
“Of course.” Hannibal smiled “I believe your Mistress has a new toy she wants to try as well.”
Alana paid for their purchases and she and Hannibal escorted Will out of the shop, one hand each on one of Will’s ass cheeks.
---------------------
If you liked this fic, remember to leave a kudos, or even a comment on the original on A03, HERE
make a writer happy!
Etichette:
Alana Bloom,
alannigram,
digital art,
Eat The Rare,
fanfiction,
fanfictions,
Hannibal,
hchannibloom,
illustrated fanfiction,
nbc hannibal,
nbchannibal,
shirtless,
will graham
sabato 10 settembre 2016
Alannigram sketches collection 2016
In honour of #EatTheRare,
finally we can post on this blog all the rare pairings related sketches
that until now were divided between Patreon, Deviantart and our Tumblr Hannibal blog (and some are also never seen before)!
This is the second collection that we decided to post, and it's not really a pairing, but poly relationships count, right?: Alana x Hannibal x Will aka the Alannigram!
So... enjoy!
This is the second collection that we decided to post, and it's not really a pairing, but poly relationships count, right?: Alana x Hannibal x Will aka the Alannigram!
So... enjoy!
Hannibloom sketches collection 2016
In honour of #EatTheRare,
finally we can post on this blog all the rare pairings related sketches
that until now were divided between Patreon, Deviantart and our Tumblr Hannibal blog (and some are also never seen before)!
This is the second collection that we decided to post: Hannibal x Alana aka the Hannibloom!
So... enjoy!
This is the second collection that we decided to post: Hannibal x Alana aka the Hannibloom!
So... enjoy!
Willana sketches collection 2016
In honour of #EatTheRare, finally we can post on this blog all the rare pairings related sketches that until now were divided between Patreon, Deviantart and our Tumblr Hannibal blog (and some are also never seen before)!
This is the first collection that we decided to post: Will x Alana aka the Willana!
So... enjoy!
This is the first collection that we decided to post: Will x Alana aka the Willana!
So... enjoy!
Lazy Afternoon
+++Lazy Afternoon+++
Written by hchannibloom (bleepin_ufo)
Illustrated by us, FuriaAndMimma for the #EatTheRare event by Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive
Alana’s hair swirled around her in
the breeze as she rolled over, nuzzling against Hannibal’s naked chest.
Her arms wrapped lazily around his waist as she leaned up to kiss him.
The summer sun filtered through the trees, dappling their naked skin and the rumpled blanket they lay on.
Hannibal welcomed the lazy pace of Alana’s mouth on his own. They were both sated, bordering on spent, and Will would be back soon. He’d taken the dogs to the summit, leaving the doctors to their own devices for a while.
“I’ve half a mind to have you again” Hannibal murmured, his mouth drifting upwards to plant kisses on Alana’s eyelids “You look like a damn nymph with that crown of daisies.”
Alana smiled, lifting her hand to touch the delicate strand encircling her head. She’d forgotten about it. Will had made it for her on their earlier ascent.
“Mmmmm” Alana lost herself in Hannibal’s renewed fervour for a moment, shivering as his hands glanced teasingly over her body. “Will will be back soon” She moaned, her fingers tangling in Hannibal’s chest hair as she pushed him away.
He groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position and beginning to gather his clothes. Once he was dressed, he helped Alana with her attire, rather more than was necessary. She allowed his hands to linger on her curves.
When Will and his dogs rounded the bend, Hannibal was kissing Alana’s neck as she attempted to rifle through Hannibal’s wicker picnic basket.
Applesauce greeted Alana with a lick to the hand and she rewarded the dog with a piece of raw sausage.
Will intercepted Hannibal’s mouth, smelling Alana’s perfume on his lips as they shared a kiss of greeting.
“What have you been up to?” Will asked as he took a seat on the rug. He had only been gone an hour, but he was worried that Alana and Hannibal had grown bored with his suggested foray into nature.
Alana and Hannibal shared a look that encapsulated the lust simmering between them, only just beneath the surface. Alana was about to speak when Will cut in, rapidly interpreting their silent exchange.
“You didn’t did you?” He asked, taking Alana and Hannibal’s guilty silences as a confession. “This is a common track. Old people use it. Children!”
“I assure you, Will, we were careful. I wouldn’t have gotten away with half the things I have had I not had an instinct for these things.” Hannibal reached out a hand, cupping the side of Will’s face. He knew how easily the empath yielded to his tenderness.
“I know” Will conceded with a scowl “Just don’t do it again. I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of sexual pervert.”
Alana passed him a plate of pie “Honey, you’re in a polyamorous relationship with a cannibal and the woman who loves him. You’re kind of beyond redemption.” A smirk danced across Alana’s lips.
“You always know how to make me feel better” Will’s voice was thick with sarcasm.
Alana furrowed her brow at Will’s response, letting it hang while they ate their lunch in silence. Alana’s bare feet grazed along Will’s calves, while Will leaned back against Hannibal’s bare legs and Hannibal’s hand hovered over the small of Alana’s back.
Once they had eaten their fill, Alana reached for Will’s hand, pulling him over to sit between her and Hannibal. She laced her fingers with his, looking deep into his eyes.
“You know I love you, don’t you Will?” Alana was genuinely concerned that she’d upset him. As she asked the question, Will could feel Hannibal’s arms snaking around his waist.
“I know” Will sighed “I just worry sometimes, that I should’ve stayed with Molly, chosen a more conventional path.”
“You were never meant to be conventional, Will” Hannibal interjected “You are unique and as such a run-of-the-mill circumstance could never satisfy you in the long term.” He took a sip from his wine glass.
Will reached for Alana’s face, claiming her lips as Hannibal’s fingers danced at his waistband. He didn’t swat the older man’s hands away, rather grasped them firmly in one of his own to stop their teasing.
Eventually the nuzzling of Will’s pack of dogs distracted the three of them from their embrace. Hannibal put away the picnic things, then Will and Alana folded the rug. They walked 20 minutes back to the car, Hannibal humming softly to himself as he carried the basket in his strong arms.
He and Alana got in the front of the vehicle while Will piled into the back with the dogs. As they pulled back onto the road, Alana craned her neck, looking into the back seat. She smiled as she saw Will fast asleep, Winston curled up in his arms. Briefly, she touched Hannibal’s arm, sharing a silent smile with him.
It had been a good day.
The summer sun filtered through the trees, dappling their naked skin and the rumpled blanket they lay on.
Hannibal welcomed the lazy pace of Alana’s mouth on his own. They were both sated, bordering on spent, and Will would be back soon. He’d taken the dogs to the summit, leaving the doctors to their own devices for a while.
“I’ve half a mind to have you again” Hannibal murmured, his mouth drifting upwards to plant kisses on Alana’s eyelids “You look like a damn nymph with that crown of daisies.”
Alana smiled, lifting her hand to touch the delicate strand encircling her head. She’d forgotten about it. Will had made it for her on their earlier ascent.
“Mmmmm” Alana lost herself in Hannibal’s renewed fervour for a moment, shivering as his hands glanced teasingly over her body. “Will will be back soon” She moaned, her fingers tangling in Hannibal’s chest hair as she pushed him away.
He groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position and beginning to gather his clothes. Once he was dressed, he helped Alana with her attire, rather more than was necessary. She allowed his hands to linger on her curves.
When Will and his dogs rounded the bend, Hannibal was kissing Alana’s neck as she attempted to rifle through Hannibal’s wicker picnic basket.
Applesauce greeted Alana with a lick to the hand and she rewarded the dog with a piece of raw sausage.
Will intercepted Hannibal’s mouth, smelling Alana’s perfume on his lips as they shared a kiss of greeting.
“What have you been up to?” Will asked as he took a seat on the rug. He had only been gone an hour, but he was worried that Alana and Hannibal had grown bored with his suggested foray into nature.
Alana and Hannibal shared a look that encapsulated the lust simmering between them, only just beneath the surface. Alana was about to speak when Will cut in, rapidly interpreting their silent exchange.
“You didn’t did you?” He asked, taking Alana and Hannibal’s guilty silences as a confession. “This is a common track. Old people use it. Children!”
“I assure you, Will, we were careful. I wouldn’t have gotten away with half the things I have had I not had an instinct for these things.” Hannibal reached out a hand, cupping the side of Will’s face. He knew how easily the empath yielded to his tenderness.
“I know” Will conceded with a scowl “Just don’t do it again. I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of sexual pervert.”
Alana passed him a plate of pie “Honey, you’re in a polyamorous relationship with a cannibal and the woman who loves him. You’re kind of beyond redemption.” A smirk danced across Alana’s lips.
“You always know how to make me feel better” Will’s voice was thick with sarcasm.
Alana furrowed her brow at Will’s response, letting it hang while they ate their lunch in silence. Alana’s bare feet grazed along Will’s calves, while Will leaned back against Hannibal’s bare legs and Hannibal’s hand hovered over the small of Alana’s back.
Once they had eaten their fill, Alana reached for Will’s hand, pulling him over to sit between her and Hannibal. She laced her fingers with his, looking deep into his eyes.
“You know I love you, don’t you Will?” Alana was genuinely concerned that she’d upset him. As she asked the question, Will could feel Hannibal’s arms snaking around his waist.
“I know” Will sighed “I just worry sometimes, that I should’ve stayed with Molly, chosen a more conventional path.”
“You were never meant to be conventional, Will” Hannibal interjected “You are unique and as such a run-of-the-mill circumstance could never satisfy you in the long term.” He took a sip from his wine glass.
Will reached for Alana’s face, claiming her lips as Hannibal’s fingers danced at his waistband. He didn’t swat the older man’s hands away, rather grasped them firmly in one of his own to stop their teasing.
Eventually the nuzzling of Will’s pack of dogs distracted the three of them from their embrace. Hannibal put away the picnic things, then Will and Alana folded the rug. They walked 20 minutes back to the car, Hannibal humming softly to himself as he carried the basket in his strong arms.
He and Alana got in the front of the vehicle while Will piled into the back with the dogs. As they pulled back onto the road, Alana craned her neck, looking into the back seat. She smiled as she saw Will fast asleep, Winston curled up in his arms. Briefly, she touched Hannibal’s arm, sharing a silent smile with him.
It had been a good day.
---------------
If you liked this fic, remember to leave a kudos, or even a comment on the original on A03, HERE
Etichette:
Alana Bloom,
digital art,
fanfiction,
Hannibal,
hannibal lecter,
hannibloom,
hannibloom fanfiction,
hchannibloom,
illustrated fanfiction,
illustration,
nbc hannibal,
nbchannibal,
will graham
sabato 3 settembre 2016
Hannibal Hogwarts - Ravenclaw Will
The thirs of the series of Harry Potter/Hannibal crossover
illustration, is the young Will Graham! He's an absolutely brilliant (and emphatic) Ravenclaw and he's an become an animagus too (he says that he's a wolf, but that curly thing is clearly a dog ;) ) and owns a brown mouse named Winston (occasionally transfigured into a dog XD). Despite not being a slytherin, he's a Parselmouth (he can speak Parseltongue) and he's friend with the basilisk that inhabits the Chamber of Secrete, who has called "Basilia". His wand is made of chestnut wood and phoenix feather.
<Previous character - Alana
Next of the series? I don't know... any suggestion?
venerdì 2 settembre 2016
Patreon reward - moray eel headsketch
Ren K, our patron (aka @pussnhikingboots), asked for Mason’s moray eel headsketch in black and white (honestly, a weird request, but hey, we loves it!). Here it is, hoping that you like it!
giovedì 1 settembre 2016
willgrahamcalendar2k17 - BW
Werewolf!Will, from the webcomic Exoterism . Work in progress (still have to color it) for the illustration for the wolf moon @willgrahamcalendar2k17.
I have to admit that now I start to like this illustration...
★ | Patreon| Deviantart | Hannibal Artblog|Commissions|RedBubble★
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