favorite color: I love all kinds of colours but currently I'd say turquoise!
currently reading: Bonnie Leben - Eine Bonnie Kommt Niemals Allein
last series: I've started watching Heated Rivalry with @toboldlynerd, we watched ep 3 last night!
last movie: The Lady In The Van on Netflix, tbh I just saw Maggie Smith in the thumbnail and was sold xD it's a good film though, I really enjoyed it!
last song: no idea, whatever was on the radio before I turned it off during ad break... Though I can report that my Lily Allen obsession has waned somewhat so when I'm listening to playlists I'm now listening to the New Moon soundtrack instead of West End Girl on repeat! xD I'm especially fond of Sattelite Heart by Anya Marina.
sweet or salty: sweet but really depends on the food!
coffee or tea: tea <3
craving: happy to report that I'm cozy and well fed on the couch rn not craving anything! Last real craving was scones so I baked some :D they turned out really well especially for a first attempt!
working on: going through my tumblr drafts to look for the posts I'm sure I already drafted for the fics and podfics I made for the gift exchanges that reveal today! Which is also how I stumbled across this tag meme again :D
Tagging, if you want to do it, @jackwolfskid @occams-painting-knife @xylence @cacodaemonia @intensitycity @linnea-ancalime @nachdenklich-tj @sparrowrising @angryandsadgingersnaps @itsfortheplants @autisticexpression2 @operasnail @septemberbells
blank to copy: favorite color: currently reading: last series: last movie: last song: sweet or salty: coffee or tea: craving: working on:
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For the Three-sentence fic challenge, Siuan and Lan, without Moiraine 😁
you know what it can build on the same AU as in the last one
He offered to check up on her, as polite as any coworker would be, and she’d said she was fine and it was just a cold and she didn’t need anything from him, she’ll see him next week, but he’d insisted - and nobody, not even Moiraine, is mad enough to turn down the homemade soups he’s notorious in the office for.
So he had spent his morning off in the company of half a dozen vegetables roasting in his oven and turned up to her flat just after lunch with Tupperware in a bag, not even getting the chance to knock before her door is opened by a stranger, and surely, surely, Moiraine would have mentioned if she was seeing somebody.
But the stranger - Siuan, she’d said with a smile, after a You must be Lan, then - lets him in and makes him a cup of tea without having to check where anything is, as she tells him - softly - that Moiraine fell asleep an hour ago after spending half the night sneezing, and asks how long they have worked together, with the ease of someone for whom this flat is a second home.
M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.
(I mean pretty much everything is going to be River Song so IN ADDITION to River Song:)
Honestly probably the 12th Doctor. I mean, I don’t think I’m clever enough to be a companion, but I just love how grump-with-a-heart-of-gold he is and I would spend a lot of time trying to make him laugh.
N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).
1. More River/13!!
2. More AUs, honestly. I fuckin love AUs. (This includes fic, art, gifsets, etc.)
3. More River/12!!
R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?
I really adore Amy and Eleven / Bill and Twelve. They’re just such great buds and I wish we’d had more time with Bill. :(
U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.
(More side fandoms!)
Farscape - Aeryn Sun! She’s so badass! Her arc is so good!
NCIS - Ziva David. My little Israeli ass kicker. I love her horrible butchering of idioms.
Star Trek Voyager - Janeway and B’Elanna, they’re tied. They’re both so brilliant and sciencey and stubborn and badass and I adore them.
Thanks for sending a summer ask! Answering these tonight; happy (very) belated end of summer in spirit :D
⛹️ - Which people do they hang more out with more than they’d do any other time of the year?
Back in the day, whenever he was home on leave during the summer, original!Ash would meet up with his sailing buddies for a long day on the lake. They’d pack a picnic lunch, take a couple of boats and sail to the island and back, and end the evening dangling their feet in the sunsoaked water swapping jokes and stories.
The first time new!Ash is home on leave, one of original!Ash’s sailing buddies asks if he wants to go sailing with them. To Ash’s surprise, in total four out of the old group of six end up coming along.
The four who showed up are uncertain, and things are a little somber at first, but they want to support this new person with their Ash’s personality and memories who was created with neither Ash’s consent but is here now. Conversation is stilted at first, but working together on the same boat gives them a natural shared focus and point of collaboration, and things get more comfortable as the day goes on, with lots of tentative “hey man” and “bro”ing.
Of course it isn’t easy, and of course it isn’t the same.
But being out on the water getting called “bro” by his old friends makes Ash feel more like himself again, or a self, anyway.
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Fanfic is where characters can exist without any...
It’s not the case though? Fanfic is famously the place where fans get to hurt their favorite characters even more, the difference being there is room to unpack that angst or counter it with comfort if it’s the writer’s preference. As for diversity in stories, when the vast majority of minorities in story gets repeatedly treated a certain way, through certain stereotypes and harmful tropes, you can’t begrudge people for asking for actual diversity: it has to go both ways.
Fanfic is both a place where people can go for more fluff than a canon allows or more angst. Though recently the anti fandom movement has involved harassment/bullying of people for writing dark themes and an emphasis toward fanfic as fluff.
I think most of the criticisms of treatment of minority characters is from the long history of characters only being allowed to be secondary or side characters and that a lead role shifts that a bit.
Hello, that "After All Endings" is giving me the eye. What is it about?
ALANA
“He won’t think to look for us here,” she whispers into the dark, soft space between them. Margot is curled around her like a root of an old oak, wind-steady, sinking the fine strength of her arms and legs through the soil of Alana’s fear. “He–he can’t–”
Margot hushes her, stroking her fingers through her hair. “It’ll be okay,” she murmurs.
“Margot–”
“It will.”
Next to them on the bed, Alex stirs. He’s two now, almost three, still too young to know how nightmares can bleed into the waking day, and Alana will kill to keep him in such a world. She buries her head in the round of Margot’s shoulder, feeling the slight but titanic shift of her bones beneath her skin, the sweat which transfers onto her mouth, an impression of living salt on her tongue.
“I hate this,” Alana says into Margot’s skin. “I hate this, I hate him, I hate them, I hate–”
When she was a child, she loved stories about fantastic things, creatures beautiful and savage which lived in the spaces between stars, heroes and immortals and gods and angels. Now she has lived those stories, and she hates most how her sense of wonder is gone, how fantasy now makes her hard and tired.
“–I hate how they made me sick of fairy tales,” she finishes.
“This is Vegas, honey,” Margot says, laughing under her breath. Her fingers are warm on Alana’s spine. “There ain’t any fairy tales here.”
Outside their window, the lights of the strip glitter, blunt garish torches to keep the monsters at bay.
[More of the excerpt and thoughts under the cut.]
—–
MOLLY
Time moves on. Their dogs are given to adoption. She and Wally go to therapy–she’ll probably be seeing a counsellor for the rest of her life. Her friends from work bombard her with flowers and condolences and offers to spend time with her, and Molly smiles at them and thanks them for everything they do, and she shoves the flowers in the trash after they leave. She sometimes tears them apart, when she’s sure Wally’s asleep. It feels good, to destroy something. It makes her feel better than she’s felt in weeks.
Dr. Williams tells her not to blame herself for what happened.
“I’m not self-accusatory,” Molly tells the other woman with a brittle smile. “I’m angry.”
The doctor nods. “Anger can be good. Anger keeps you alive.”
She’s angry. She’s angry that she’ll never be able to own a dog again without thinking of Will. She’s angry that her baby boy has nightmares and panic attacks, and she’s now afraid of the shadows in her own house. She wants to scream and rage every time she looks on the news and sees breathless speculation about the serial killer and her ex-husband, whether they’re still alive, what they want with each other, where they are now. She sometimes hears her own name, and that makes her angrier than anything else.
Molly Foster, the victim, the helpless damsel, the duped outsider, and–God help her–the other woman. A side character in a story that gave her a scar and a broken heart and memories she’ll carry to the grave.
Why don’t they ever talk about how angry she is?
—–
REBA
“The people at the office sure do love you, honey,” her sister tells her.
“They’re very welcome for these. I certainly can’t eat all this by myself, even with your help,” Reba says, putting in a final pie in the oven.
She had decided to stay in her sister’s apartment for a little while after she was released from the hospital. Talia works as a real estate agent, having abandoned her dreams of becoming an actor after two years of failed auditions. Her place is nicer than anything Reba could afford. It smells like coffee and takeout and is filled with noises from the street, more than enough to banish the things bouncing around her head in the night. Her sister had offered time and time again for Reba to stay with her. Reba had refused for years, but she needs to be around people right now.
Plus, she’s a stress baker. Stress baking is only good around other people.
Reba loves baking. She had learned how to weigh out ingredients and gauge batters by feel on her grandmother’s knee. The smells of hot sugar and fruit buried are buried deep in her heart, the motions of rolling out dough ingrained into her muscles. It’s in her blood.
She’s not going to let the memory of a man drain the blood from her.
—–
BEDELIA
The candles are still luminescent in the gloom of the room, each one haloed and saintly, smudges of light in the haze of her vision. They drift with her, light reflecting in the ocean of her consciousness, rippling as she begins to sway. She can barely smell her own leg now. Her smell has become a faint, sour wind.
Any moment now. She’ll slip into the light any moment now–
“Oh, Doctor, you clever bird.”
Bedelia forces her eyes open at the satin voice rubbing against her ears. The face above hers swims, dark eyes shining, reflective as the barrel of the rife hovering over the woman’s shoulder. She is limned in gold, more saintly than the candles.
“How did you find me?” Bedelia says, or tries to say.
“You live not inconspicuously, Doctor,” Chiyoh says, brushing stone-cool fingers against her face. “What did you take?”
“Aconite. Over weeks. It makes the body inelegant. Bitter. Inedible. Poison for those who consume.” She has no wish to be consumed with impunity.
Chiyoh’s face moves from her sight, her halo dissolving back into candlelight. Bedelia’s eyes slip closed again, and she hears the faint tapping of fingers on a phone. The dial tone is barely audible, like the buzz of a fly. She imagines carrion flies buzzing around her, and it makes her smile, to know that they will not rot her bitter flesh.
Someone picks up Chiyoh’s call with a gruff greeting. Bedelia knows that voice, an honest, unpoetic one.
“Jack Crawford,” Chiyoh proclaims, the tones of his name musical on her tongue, “I am at Dr. Du Maurier’s residence. Hannibal and Will were here. The doctor poisoned herself so they could not eat her. She is in dire need of medical assistance.”
The agent is cut off mid-curse as Chiyoh ends the call. The soft fingers return to Bedelia’s face. “I will see you soon, Doctor.” The hunter stays until the sirens come, and then slips away just as all sound fades, and the black becomes a maw.
Bedelia is faintly aware that she is smiling. She is not easily eaten by the dark.
—–
Thank you for requesting this ancient pet project of mine, Flo! Reading over this to choose excerpts was really fun and I’ve actually become really excited about it again. Hence why the excerpt is just the first section of each of the narrators. It’s a Hannibal fic (imagine that, a non-Disco fic) addressing the lives of the women of the show after The Wrath of the Lamb. While I enjoyed the finale as much as anyone, I was really frustrated by how little resolution was given for the women of the Red Dragon arc (and, generally, how little narrative time was given to the women).
The planned plot is basically thus: Margot and Alana make a new life in California with their son. Molly and Reba heal. Molly repairs her relationship with her family and becomes a journalist. Reba starts teaching photography development classes at a local university. Molly and Reba meet and bond over their horrific experiences; Walter starts looking to Reba for advice. Molly and Reba ultimately enter into a relationship. Chiyoh and Bedelia become lovers; Bedelia starts writing a book on Renaissance art, and Chiyoh starts to plan how to take Hannibal and Will down. There will be appearances from Freddie, Jack, Bella’s family, and a cast of other characters.
I love writing for Hannibal, but I’ve never published anything in the fandom. We all know how much I love Dante, classics, Renaissance art, and a lot of descriptions, and the show just invites all that. I just might finish and publish this, even though f/f content in the Hannibal fandom sometimes feels like a disappointingly small community. I can indulge all my bad writing urges in Bedelia. Someone please stop me.
