Hello,👋

Heather has had enough of Billy’s rants about Steve

If Will dies first, it is obvious Hannibal would cannibalize Will’s flesh. Hannibal mourned Mischa by eating her, and he would do the same for Will; to consume and eat and incorporate is part of grieving. But what would Hannibal do with Will’s bones? He’d eat the marrow, maybe make soup from them, but what of the calcified parts that remain, the parts that can’t be eaten?

I don’t really see him just keeping them around or displaying them, something stagnant and to be ogled. Burying them in the family plot in Lithuania makes sense because Will is family, but it also requires Hannibal to go back to a place he can’t go. Hannibal could cremate the bones, but then what? Spreading the ashes doesn’t seem like something he would do; he can’t know what happens to them. Keeping Will in an urn on his desk or a shelf also feels out of character, a memory collecting dust.

What if Hannibal had Will’s ashes pressed into pencil lead? There are ways to compress ashes into something that could be written with or drawn. What if Hannibal draws Will with his own ashes, commemorating him in a completed cycle. Sketching the man with his own remains. Remembering Will as he saw him, recreating moments they shared from Hannibal’s mind palace. Having Will live forever in depictions of himself. Hannibal would never be truly left behind. And Hannibal would sharpen the pencils as he always had; he isn’t unfamiliar with taking a blade to Will. Shaving off a layer but keeping him sharp.

Displaying and keeping art made from Will’s ashes would mean so much more than a reconstructed skeleton or an urn on a shelf or a plot that would become overgrown with weeds. He could draw Will in motion, alive, as he wished to remember him, and create moments and memories they didn’t get to experience together.

Ok, hear me out, it actually would’ve been hilarious if Margot had the chance to give birth to the baby she and Will conceived

A friend and I have discussed this and first of all, this child is being parented by the most batshit people. He has this training in being the Verger heir at his mom’s house and then he goes over to dad’s house and daddy is having his special cannibal friend over and Will Jr gets a free dog slobber bath. Like, he would go from riding lessons at the Verger estate to trying to grab a fish from the river with his bare hands.

Plus, this kid’s gene pool is Olympic grade. He’s got the Will Graham puppy eyes. He will someday elevate his family’s status through the power of being a genetic slut. And it’s just common knowledge that his uncle tried to kill him in the womb

"Betrayal and forgiveness are...best seen as something akin to falling in love."

LUCAS!!! LOOK AT MY BOY!!! THAT IS HIS TROPHY!!!

lol i hate today’s era of absolutely zero nuance takes. a friend didn’t behave exactly as you’d wanted them to? cut them off. a guy didn’t text you back instantly bc he has his own life? he’s just giving you breadcrumbs. doing something makes you uncomfortable? don’t do it anymore. someone isn’t instantly available for you? disinterest. just absolutist statements that often don’t apply to the multilayer situations of everyday life. like. stop. literally just stop it

Eddie: I've always been a little anxious.

Eddie: Then I died.

Eddie: Which did not calm me down.

fragile little teacup

Shout at the Devil (Part 1)

Billy was feeling good despite being located in the middle of bumfuck nowhere aka Hawkins, Indiana. He didn't exactly plan to spend the last of his teenage years somewhere like this, but nothing ever really went the way he planned it anyway - curiosity of one Neil Hargrove. So, even though he was cursed being stuck in a house with his bitch of a little sister, Max, Susan, and his dad; he was determined to have his fun.

That's how he found himself here. At some chick named Tina's Halloween party, being followed around like a pack leader by the guys he'd stolen off Harrington, the former King. It hadn't been too difficult, after all, it was almost as if Steve hadn't even been trying to keep them but whatever. He had a good buzz going after doing the keg stand outside (and however many refills he'd had on a red solo cup), the leather of his jacket sticking to his sweaty, tan skin despite it being somewhere in the 40's tonight. He'd caught glimpses of Steve across the room over the past half an hour, eyeing his "costume" before lighting up a cigarette, taking a puff before making his way over. It doesn't take long to find himself face-to-face with the other boy, their eyes burning holes into each other's skulls. Tommy was standing somewhere behind Billy, a little too close, and he barely noticed how Steve's girl, Nancy, had rolled her eyes and walked off, muttering about their macho bullshit under her breath.

It was a bit of a blur after that, both of them blending into the crowd for the next couple of hours before Billy found himself laid out upstairs. He'd wanted to get away from the party for a bit, a bit of quiet to soothe his throbbing brain, but that was interrupted yet again when the door swung open, and he heard the sound of footsteps halting in the doorway.

He's slow to turn his head, his scowl spreading into a nasty smirk when he spots none other than Harrington, eyes puffy and red like he'd been crying not too long ago. This could be the fun he was looking for.

"Harrington," He practically purrs. "What're you doing here, pretty boy?"

However, he tenses a bit when instead of an outright answer, Steve kicks the door closed behind him and stalks over, stepping up to the bed and standing between Billy's spread legs where they lay over the edge of the bed. What the hell, he thinks, making a move to sit up before he's roughly shoved back down. Steve's hands grip his wrists tightly, enough to make him wince before he squirms, a breath catching in his throat.

"You want me."

"Wh-What?" Billy chokes out, his blue eyes widening before he hastily looks away from the intense gaze of Steve.

"You want me, don't pretend you don't," Steve repeats, eyes never leaving Billy. "The way you look at me, it's not normal. Guys don't...they don't look at each other like that."

Billy gulps but yanks his wrists from Steve's grip to sit up, using one boot-clad foot to shove him back. If he was about to get bashed or some shit, he wasn't just going to take it. He's been through that shit before. Hell, he's got to deal with it on a daily basis. He wasn't about to let some pansy boy add to his life's torture when he had more than enough on his plate already.

"Hey, if you're gonna hit me or somethin', fucking do it already," He spits, eyes narrowing as he stares up at Steve.

"Hit- huh?" Steve asks, looking genuinely confused by the words before he shakes his head. "What? No, that's not-...that's not what I was doing. Okay, what I said came out a-a little bit wrong, I guess," He rambles, running a hand through his hair and pushing it back.

Billy simply looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "Then what the fuck were you gettin' at, man? You can't just...imply that shit and be done with it, y'know?" He adds gruffly, rolling his shoulders and sniffing once.

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times, reminding Billy of a fish out of water. It's almost enough to get a chuckle out of him but he holds it back, getting a little annoyed with his continuous fumbling. He nearly tells him to fuck off, moving to stand on his unsteady legs but finds himself being surprised again because Steve is pushing him down again and suddenly covering his lips with his own.

What the fuck?