Pensulliwen
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Recent works
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Each chapter will be a different sketch and short fic revolving around the relationship between Will and Hannibal. Each story is stand-alone and non-sequential, unless stated otherwise.
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Apple Orchard Dreaming by Pensulliwen
Fandoms: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (2006)
18 Dec 2024
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The horror movie finale is long over, and the path to healing is a slow one. While Taylor struggles to process and move on from the events of the Farmhouse Massacre in her waking life, her subconscious drags her back there night after night. Sometimes she is running through the apple orchard trying to escape, and sometimes she is in bed pulling his body flush against hers.
In all of her worst nightmares and steamiest dreams, there is Leslie Vernon.
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“Oh, no,” he murmurs, heady with pain, unsure if the litany of “no, no,” is in his head or spoken aloud. He sees how the following seconds will unfold as though they have already happened, trajectory set. Will watches it play out through Hannibal’s eyes, sees the symmetry in it; he re-birthed Abigail into this world, bathed in blood, and now he will take her out of it in the same way. “No, no–”
Will knows it's too late to save himself, but pleads for Abigail's life. At least one of them should survive Hannibal's wrath.
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The cliff house is at once new to Will and obviously a relic of the past. He can see all too clearly the ghosts of those who wandered these rooms before him, sees the outline of the future Hannibal had planned for them. The Dragon is coming. It won't be long now until all of this comes to an end, but everywhere Will looks he is painfully reminded of those he has lost, and the pain they have caused each other. He wonders if they will survive the night. He wonders if they will survive each other. He wonders on the nature of forgiveness, and if there is any point in any of this.
A missing scene from The Wrath of the Lamb.
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A certain sense of déjà vu settled over Bedelia as she blinked, reflexes slowed by the medley of pain medication and god knew what else coursing through her bloodstream. The elaborate table setting, the smell of roasted meat that could be pork but wasn't, the threat of violence humming through the air. Slowly, methodically, as if carefully maneuvering a prosthetic instead of her own hand, she curled her fingers around the fork set neatly against her dessert plate, and hid it beneath the napkin in her lap. She waited.
A continuation of the dinner scene that ended it all.
Recent bookmarks
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When Will was old enough to be left alone while his dad was out on a job, but too young to go along and make himself useful, he went fishing somewhere he shouldn't have.
Bookmarked by Pensulliwen
31 Jan 2025
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Will spits in Hannibal’s coffee. Unfortunately, Hannibal enjoys it. This could be the start of something dangerously intimate.
WARNING: Gross, abusive, with a little gore.
Bookmarked by Pensulliwen
11 Jan 2025
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Will watches Hannibal slip the needle into his own vein. This isn’t how he typically prefers to medicate himself, but he does it now at Will’s behest. There’s something about the aesthetics that rankles—it feels too common. Tawdry, even. A needle habit shared by junkies in back alleys throughout the world, strung out and glassy-eyed.
An idiosyncratic study in intimacy.
Bookmarked by Pensulliwen
15 Aug 2024
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The beast was his, whether he wanted it or not. And he did, he found, want it. He did.
Life after death: Will navigates his way through whatever mess he’s gotten himself into.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 6,958
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 2
- Comments:
- 91
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- 2,341
- Bookmarks:
- 597
- Hits:
- 26,482
Bookmarked by Pensulliwen
06 Aug 2024
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For HannibalCreative's #ItsStillBeautiful event. (And now added to Fresh_Meat_Friday!)
He can hear the formulation of something scathing on the tip of Hannibal's tongue, the man incapable of holding it in, so he forges on, reformulates, lets his eyes drop down, his brows draw together. He shakes his head in the way he knows Hannibal likes. “No, I mean...” He pauses, then looks up under his lashes, as coy as possible. “I wish you could give me a baby. Yours. And mine.” He steps closer, presses up against solid warmth, knocks their knees together, lifts his arms to clutch at Hannibal's shoulders.
Bites his lip.
“I wish you could make me pregnant.”
Hannibal's pupils blast open, and something seems to crack on his face.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,585
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 5
- Comments:
- 214
- Kudos:
- 4,907
- Bookmarks:
- 1,150
- Hits:
- 55,245
Bookmarked by Pensulliwen
11 Jul 2024