Hannibal's Toilet Being Removed In The BSHCI Is Something I'll Always Want To Explore In Fics Because

ugly sobbing and running into a corner to wail about them for the rest of eternity

"Be all the beautiful things you are, and be them without apology. For eternity."

"This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us."

housewife hannibal my beloved. you know he’d make Will a warm meal & bake homemade cookies or pies and end the evening with hot cocoa, curled up against Will on cold nights

🍂 we're entering housewife hannibal autumn 🍂

Had Hannibal stood in front of the bathroom mirror to practice mouthing silent, unspoken words—to make sure each motion of his lips and tongue, forming English vowels, would still flow with a familiar ease instead of a creaking jaw, stiffened from months of mutism?

Hannibal dealing with mutism and a broken ankle and a sprained wrist post-fall. He hasn’t had control over what he eats in three years and now he has to depend on Will for each meal because he can barely hobble across the room without being scolded. He hasn’t felt this helpless since he was a child. At first, he barely has an appetite, but then after a few weeks of rest and recovery, he wakes up feeling ravenous. Normally, the portions Will has been providing are enough. But not today. He doesn’t want to be greedy because what if they run out of food and it’s all his fault? He can’t stand the thought of Will going hungry like his sister. Especially if it’s due to him. Every time his stomach churns with hunger, he feels more and more like the starving child he used to be. Forced to go to bed with an empty stomach because the other orphans would steal his food.

Today, Will brings in a steaming bowl of stew. Hannibal’s heart plummets.

He hasn’t eaten stew in four decades. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep it down. But he can’t refuse either. Not when Will worked so hard to make this. Not when he’s so hungry. He wants to feed himself because at least he’ll regain control over one aspect of his life and he knows Will must be tired. Will sighs in frustration. Bats his un-injured hand away from the steaming bowl—and that sets Hannibal off. Awakens a dormant fear in the nervous beat of his heart. Because Will could take it away, if struck with the urge. Just like the nasty men who teased him with food (purposely placed just out of reach) and snatched away morsels before he had a chance to even think of taking a bite. For the first time in weeks he utters an involuntary sound: a hoarse, desperate whimper.

Will can sense something isn’t quite right. He can sense the brewing panic warring inside Hannibal’s flitting gaze and rapidly rising chest. He realizes Hannibal isn’t just being defiant—intent on pushing his buttons. He softens his voice to a soothing timber and raises the spoon to Hannibal’s clenched mouth. “This ain’t going anywhere, cher.” He watches the harsh tremble of Hannibal’s jaw as it unclenches with a mixture of reluctance and relief. How a pair of wobbling lips clamp down around the spoon with desperation as if afraid to release.

Will watches Hannibal savor that first bite, suckling every drop as if it’s his very last. Will praises him with each spoonful. Wipes away the silent tears scattered across his cheeks. Presses a kiss to his forehead when his breathing becomes shaky with the beginnings of a weak, tearful hiccup. It heals something inside of him. Until he feels the weight of a chunk of hot meat resting on his tongue. Will comforts him through a moment of panic—making sure not to feed him any chunks of meat—only broth and vegetables. His stomach is still growling even though the bowl is nearly empty. He’s too hesitant to ask for a second serving. Due to the literal physical inability to speak and the emotional turmoil.

“Are you still hungry, cher?” Will asks.

Hannibal’s resolve crumbles.

Hannibal suffering from brain damage after being beaten up in the BSHCI. He has amnesia and doesn’t remember anything past the age of eight (the year his family was killed). Will doesn’t want to believe it. But Will eventually has to when he sees Hannibal crying and pleading for his mother and father in Lithuanian because he doesn’t know English yet. The guards are still rough with him and he doesn’t understand why. In his mind, he’s only a little boy; scared and in search of his parents who never come to save him.

Will being reminded time and time again Hannibal is only human post-fall. This turned into word vomit because I just typed to my little heart's content so the ending is a bit rushed lol. It ain't a formal fic. Just a little post-fall blurb.

They're standing underneath the shower head, warm water trickling down. Will is holding Hannibal by the waist--keeping his weak body steady and upright--because Hannibal is unbalanced due to a high dosage of pain medication. It's Hannibal's first shower after the stitches from his healing gunshot wound were removed. There's only a shower in this motel room--not a bathtub. Will knows Hannibal's been dying to bathe properly for weeks instead of the unsatisfying sponge baths.

Hannibal is washing shampoo through each gray strand, removing built up grease from his scalp when every finger steadily begins to slow and comes to a complete halt. Will is worried something's wrong--maybe Hannibal strained something while raising both hands over his head. Hannibal is barely breathing. Will leans in and peers over Hannibal's shoulder. Heat is creeping into Hannibal's cheeks. Hannibal's cock is half-hard and stiffening by the second.

Will is shocked--but not at all surprised. He doesn't recall having ever given Hannibal a moment of privacy besides using the toilet. He knows Hannibal is touch starved and can't be at fault for such an involuntary reaction. Fingers stroke gentle circles against Hannibal's waist. "Rinse your hair. It's gonna get in your eyes and burn like hell." He knows Hannibal's brain damaged mind needs gentle reminders on occasion--even for basic steps such as washing one's hair. He knows Hannibal is relearning mundane tasks. He knows. He is patient through it all even when it comes as a shock that Hannibal still needs reminders for everyday things--that Hannibal could forget how to perform a single task--that Hannibal depends on Will.

Hannibal's nearly finished rinsing his hair and his fingers begin to tremble and his feet slide along the shower floor as if it's becoming uncomfortable to remain still.

Will knows what needs to happen and wonders if Hannibal is waiting for permission--permission Hannibal doesn't need yet still seems to search for, even if stuck in a perpetual state of mutism. He knows Hannibal is shy in searching for guidance--that fact never ceases to shock Will. "Take care of yourself." He waits for a long stretch of time for something to happen--for Hannibal's hands to move. But they only remain curled in Hannibal's hair, shaking as much as the rest of Hannibal's body. Then, it dawns on Will.

Embarrassment is not the reason for Hannibal's refusal. He simply doesn't remember what to do or understand what Will means. It's a fine motor skill issue and an amnesia issue. Hannibal's cheek burns Will's lips where a gentle kiss is placed upon wet and flushing skin.

"It's okay if you don't remember how, darlin', I know you've been doing your best." Will's hands move from Hannibal's waist toward Hannibal's stomach. He rubs over the soft, subtle swell of Hannibal's stomach. Giving Hannibal time to adapt to skin to skin contact after enduring three long years without a single affectionate touch. He knows it feels foreign, especially because of Hannibal's brain damage and amnesia. Hannibal awoke one month ago--confused--terrified even if attempting not to show it--because Hannibal's last unfractured memories were of being in France. Dim. Faded. Not Fresh. He keeps each touch slow and gentle, allowing Hannibal's touch starved body unrushed moments to adjust.

Hannibal's untouched cock is stiff and leaking and twitching in response to every caress of Will's hands along Hannibal's stomach. Hannibal's breathing is shallow. Hannibal's eyes are clenched shut. Will understands now. Hannibal must've been a virgin at this stage in life--a killer--but never granted anyone the chance to touch. Hannibal is aching--throbbing--barely able to contain a rising whine as trembling fingers betray him, clinging to one of Will's forearms. He trusts Will and only Will. Even though it's taken a long time for Hannibal's distrust to melt away.

Will understands in all reality Hannibal is a decade older. But Hannibal's current state of mind is only 19 years old. Will wouldn't ever dare to speak such a statement under another circumstance. But this version of Hannibal is sweet in rare moments when not attempting to ward off the world beneath a stone cold exterior--one not yet perfected--one with easily discovered fractures Will is unable to ignore after knowing Hannibal for so long. He whispers the single phrase that comes to mind. Right next to Hannibal's ear. "Do you need my help, sweet boy?"

Will can tell Hannibal is trying to fight it: the shock, the trembling gasp twisting an undignified whimper threatening claw its way forth, the small and pitiful abortive thrust--pitching forward into empty air. It comes to Will easily as if a second nature buried deep and forgotten. He soothes Hannibal's breathless whimper with a kiss against a soaking wet temple. "Easy, baby, I'll take care of you," Will whispers and curls a calloused palm around Hannibal's cock. A frail and wobbling moan erupts from Hannibal's mouth--shattered and hoarse and needy. Hannibal's other hand claws at the wall for balance. Will's grasp is gentle (unyielding yet nearly lax) as Hannibal's overwhelmed body struggles to find its rhythm in wake of such a foreign sensation--of such jaw-dropping pleasure. He knows it must feel like Hannibal's first time ever approaching orgasm due to brain damage and amnesia. Hannibal's feet are damn near slipping and Will loops an arm around Hannibal's waist. "You don't have to rush. Find your pace, sweet boy."

Echoing off the tiled walls are Hannibal's whimpers and moans--thin and ruined from rusted vocal cords. Hannibal's head is tipped back and leaning against Will's shoulder. He sobs a wordless plea once Will begins taking over with a sure and steady fist--spurring long-awaited friction around Hannibal's neglected cock.

Will can barely keep Hannibal upright because of how erratic Hannibal's shifting is becoming: sharp, unpracticed thrusts desperate to meet each stroke as if this sensation is entirely new and deeply craved--and pressing back against Will's clothed cock--Will wore boxers for Hannibal's comfort. He can't resist thrusting in response, burning with a mirrored need. He knows Hannibal is close: with nails digging into skin, with nails clawing at the walls, with thighs trembling, with knees threatening to buckle, with a rising stream of needy, breathless cries cresting into the air, with each swift twist of a wrist, with each murmur of praise breathed against Hannibal's ear. Hannibal's voice cracks on each unraveling wail--strained and wet with tears of overwhelm. He knows Hannibal's cheeks are soaking in fresh tears along with water from the shower head. Hannibal's chest is heaving bright with a flush--sinking in and filling with each ragged breath. He swirls a thumb around Hannibal's nipple--and again and again--when Hannibal's pulsing cock twitches in response--when Hannibal's sobs cease to be audible in wake of a toe-curling climax.

Will guides Hannibal through those dizzying, mind numbing moments. He presses endless kisses to Hannibal's jaw and cheek and temple. He climaxes soon after, a deep moan spilling forth. He cradles Hannibal, who's trembling and gasping through the aftershocks. He guides Hannibal out of the shower and into a clean set of pajamas. He showers quickly and steps out of the bathroom.

Hannibal is staring up at Will, eyes glassy and cheeks still warmed with a blush. He tentatively reaches out. He wants to be held. Will knows.

Here it is! Hannibal regressing at the cliff house occurs in chapter 3 (there are content warnings in the author's note of that chapter).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58286659/chapters/148434385

How do we feel about Hannibal regressing at the cliff house because he's so overwhelmed with being in Will's presence once again?

Because I'm already 6k words deep into writing a fic about it 😭 I've never taken this long to write a fic before (started in late January), but I think I might be cooking something up

will who is so fond of spiders and gently cradles them in his hands and settles them on a leaf outside his house vs hannibal who absolutely DESPISES them because they remind him of the days spent in that cabin with mischa during the winter when spiders would hide in his shoes and in her sister’s braids and he’s BEGGING for will to crush and kill it

me rn because you get me like no one else.

everything you said, specifically:

whereas, the speculative lens asks, "if we treat this character as real, how might we explore their motivations, contradictions, and inner life?" (aka pretty much the whole point of fanfiction!)

but let's take a step over to the speculative lens and consider that same line. it opens up an avenue for writers (and whoever) to explore Hannibal's vulnerability, psyche, and all of his contradictions in a way that feels authentic to our own human experience, EVEN IF it isn't aligned with the show's narrative goals.

instead of taking Hannibal's assertion at face value as a definitive truth, we get to explore how and why this idea that he's free from external influence would play into his own sense of self, as well as his carefully curated public persona.

both of these lenses are useful and good! they can and should co-exist with one another! and i think we all pretty seamlessly shift between the two lenses depending on whether or not we're in the mood for a larger thematic exploration or looking for an opportunity to personalize, empathize, humanize (etc.) the story in ways that the original narrative simply couldn't.

you are so right. fanfic authors are allowed to explore a character's vulnerability and possible trauma if it interests them. fanfics don't have to be cut and dry and stick to canon. i need some oomph to my angst and hurt/comfort.

if writing about a vulnerable version of Hannibal is wrong then i don't want to be right. i'm reading Hannibal Rising and it sheds light on how Hannibal's childhood was in fact impacted by what he went through. ignoring his trauma (something major that shaped his childhood) would make him the same as any other serial killer. Hannibal's childhood experience makes him unique and there is nothing wrong with exploring how that could possibly impact his day to day life as an adult. i'll be pondering and writing about Hannibal's vulnerability until the day i croak.

hey so can we talk about how characters in fiction are not autonomous individuals, but tools crafted to explore themes and provoke emotional/intellectual responses?

and more specifically, maybe also include how reducing Hannibal's actions to mere "evil" obscures his symbolic role as a disruptor of societal norms?

and maybe, MAYBE (if we have time), then carry the conversation into how focusing solely on Hannibal's morality erases the show's intended commentary on human behavior, repression, and connection?

please?

I can't stop thinking about how post-fall Will is definitely one of those "HEY. THAT'S MY WIFE" kind of husbands in Cuba or wherever they run away to. Jealous Will has my heart