An inkspot on her soul.

Independent Alana Bloom from NBC's Hannibal.

[anelasticheart]

outofbeer;

{{ i was FINALLY supposed to have a day off today so i was like “time 2 shit replies out of my firm booty” but no i got called in rip my anus }}

[helloagentcooper]

Caroline Dhavernas photographed by Jocelyn Michel, 2016

[anelasticheart]

{{ *YOWLS* i have returned from my trip. i’m gonna nap a bit and then be back on here later uwu }}

[helloagentcooper]

Caroline Dhavernas photographed by Jocelyn Michel, 2016 

[catboyhunter]

“I wanted to surprise you.”

2.13, Mizumono Hannibal picspam per episode (1/∞)

[margoblooms-blog]

I don’t feel like I dodged a bullet. I feel w o u n d e d .

[musical-music-blog]

“Still Hurting”-The Last 5 Years

[anxi]

[anelasticheart]

{{ HERE’S THE DEALIO!! after work 2morrow, i’m going on a mini family vacay for the weekend rip me. so i’ll be away and probably won’t have time to be on here. i should be active again on monday or tuesday. i got a queue running bye hennies xoxo }}

[fearled]

Shinedown sentence starters

leave a whisper

❛ i can’t control the rage. ❜

❛ sometimes i think i’m gonna go insane. ❜

❛ that bruise on your face always seems to stay around. ❜

❛ should i open up my eyes, or just ignore who you are? ❜

❛ i’ve got nothing to lose, so let me be. ❜

❛ i’m not perfect, and i don’t claim to be. ❜

❛ i wonder if the things i did were just to be different. ❜

❛ i don’t know you anymore.  i never knew you anyway. ❜

❛ i’m sick and tired of ‘you’ll be fine.’ ❜ 

❛ there’s no turning back now. ❜

❛ everyone’s pointing their fingers, always condemning me. ❜

us and them 

❛ all my heroes are dead and gone. ❜ 

❛ you can put a man on trial, but you can’t make the guilty pay. ❜

❛ i can hardly remember the look of my own eyes. ❜

❛ there’s something i need you to see. ❜

❛ maybe think about who you hurt in the process. ❜

❛ you need to look at what you’ve become. ❜

❛ you don’t even know me, ‘cause you never took the time. ❜

❛ your eyes have turned a shade of empty. ❜

❛ you can’t blame yourself for the world’s mistakes. ❜ 

the sound of madness

❛ when are you gonna wake up and fight for yourself? ❜ 

❛ you had everybody fooled in the end. ❜

❛ i haven’t slept in what seems like a century. ❜

❛ i’d sacrifice my beating heart before i’d lose you. ❜

❛ i can’t sleep without you next to me. ❜

❛ the only thing that i still believe in is you. ❜

❛ i have not one shred of sympathy. ❜

❛ i have no use for apologies. ❜

❛ i feel like i’m breaking inside. ❜

❛ tell me it’s over; i’ll still love you the same. ❜

❛ don’t worry.  i’ll be fine. ❜

amaryllis 

❛ what part of living says you gotta die? ❜ 

❛ i could get used to your company. ❜

❛ i’m not gonna leave you behind. ❜

❛ it’s a cold, cruel, harsh reality. ❜

❛ am i sick, or am i gifted? ❜

❛ guess who’s back and mad as hell? ❜

❛ you are the miracle in me. ❜

❛ don’t worry.  i’ll keep you warm. ❜

❛ without a doubt, i’m on your side. ❜

❛ there’s nowhere else that i would rather be. ❜

❛ the world will never know you like i do. ❜

threat to survival

❛ you can blame bad luck, but you were asking for it. ❜ 

❛ hold your breath and count to ten. ❜

❛ i’m full of deep cuts, right down to the marrow. ❜

❛ the harder you push, the rougher i get. ❜

❛ every day is do or die. ❜

❛ the truth will rise to tear you apart. ❜

❛ time doesn’t erase the demons you don’t see. ❜

❛ i won’t be left defenseless. ❜

❛ guilty, i may be, but don’t give up on me. ❜

❛ i know you’re worth the risk. ❜

[px3-etc]

Visit Original Link

Corinne Bailey Rae :: Til It Happens To You.

“I used to hear those violins playing our strings like a symphony

now they’ve gone away 

nobody wants to face the truth

but you won’t belive what love can do

‘til it happens to you

'til it happens to you…”

[eludeshim-deactivated20160821]

                 velvet sofas, lavish mansions, vintage wines.

[flipjack]

Groove to the music!

[lecterist]

Rôti

[boreish-blog]

      a complete stranger had the gall to condemn his work, albeit unknowingly.  another person telling him that he wasn’t good enough.    it’s lazy, she says.   lazy, lazy, LAZY.  

         I’LL SHOW YOU  L A Z Y,  BITCH.  I COULD KILL YOU RIGHT NOW.  FOLLOW YOU BACK TO YOUR HOTEL AND CHOKE YOU WITH THAT UGLY SCARF.  

        that’s what he thinks, anyway. what actually comes out of his mouth is,  ❛ haha… yeah, i guess it’s kind of a stretch to think a girl could’ve carried the bodies up those telephone poles.  that makes sense.  but, uh, you’re wrong about one thing – he’s not a serial killer.  two bodies aren’t enough for that. ❜        a frown spreads across his pale face, and he awkwardly rubs at his neck as a silence settles in.   ❛ s-so, uh, Dojima-san says you’re from out of town.  your Japanese is pretty good. ❜

[anelasticheart]

          ❝But he could be. There's one problem. We don't know what we're looking for. He's killed twice already. He'll kill again.❞

          She shoves her hands into her pockets. Her fingers curl loosely against her hotel keys and wallet. As an outsider, she doesn't belong. All the townsfolk sneak shy glances at her. She isn't blind to the stares. She chooses to ignore them, taking them with a grain of salt. Alana keeps her head up, her back straight. She looks ahead, because nothing holds her back.

          Oblivious to Adachi's thoughts, Alana continues to talk. Maybe that made her blind, after all.

          ❝I am. For the past few years, I've been living outside of Baltimore, Maryland. The States. It's a beautiful language. I studied abroad when I pursued my master's. I'm honored to be here. It's a pleasure to work with you, Detective. Your partner holds you in high esteem.❞

          She loves that scarf of hers. A hideous red and blue pattern. When she received her doctorate, her aunt gave it to her. Alana considered it a good luck charm ever since then. She wears scarves to keep the cold at bay and to cover up her neck. It has nothing to do with modesty.

          ❝Come on. I'll treat you to lunch. We can't think on an empty stomach now, can we?❞

          Alana looks over to the young man with a permanent slouch. He looks sloppy, even lazy, but she doesn't suspect him of anything. She thinks he has potential. Another smile lights up her eyes. The problem with Alana Bloom is that she's too hopeful. That sunny optimism is gonna be the end of her.

[cityserve]

@anelasticheart

       ❛ hello up there!  yes, ah, terribly sorry to intrude, but —– ❜        he knows it’s improper to listen in on a private conversation between a shrink and their patients, but when one practically lives in the walls ( temporary housing, you see, while he’s in the States ) it’s difficult not to overhear various tidbits.  he’s so eager to discuss his ( probably unwarranted ) findings about the doctor’s last session that he momentarily forgets that he is, in fact, a mouse – and an unwelcome creature in most people’s homes.         ❛ you don’t really believe what that old chap was saying, do you? ❜

[anelasticheart]

        I'm losing my mind.

        How could she put much bearing into a little mouse offering her unsolicited advice? Dr. Alana Bloom turns in an attempt to locate the source. Down by her heels is a critter dressing up like he's the next big Sherlock Holmes. She smiles at the absurdity of the situation. Alana is not the type of person to fall victim to substance abuse. She blames this on stress and the possibility of a mental breakdown. The doctor lowers her hand for the rodent to scurry onto.

        ❝Sometimes, a truth is a lie in masquerade. What do you propose?❞

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@anelasticheart

She sleeps and she sleeps and she sleeps. She was in the ambulance, she remembers that, remembers the lights as they turned off in her head, one by one by one. She remembers the loss, the distance, the emptiness, the medics saying she’s dead, she can’t even hear us, and how badly she wanted to speak, to scream, to do anything but lie there in the shelled enclosure of her own silence. To jerk awake, to touch something, anything, to insist she was awake, alive, still a person.

Now she’s awake again– the halls of the Chicago Art Institute are enormous, but now the place is bathed in dismal shadow unbroken but for the waxy light of the moon. It’s not right– she hates the dark, her Palace is always autumn. When she slides off the elegant Victorian fainting couch, subdued in its gold thread, its rich emerald, she walks steps she remembers into the main hall and–

The portrait there is Saturn Devouring His Son, the hideous Goya masterpiece, a grotesque thing, and she can swear if she looks it’s real, it’s watching inside a cage, not a painting. She finds herself nauseated– disgusted, but she can’t pin down why, and when she turns she’s almost slammed in the face by Hannibal Lecter. He’s tall, as he always is, was, will be, and his hair is a colorless blonde, iron grey. Burgundy eyes sweep across her face. He doesn’t say anything.

And then he’s not there. She blinks and he leaves, like the click of a film reel moving from one scene to the next.

“–Hello?”

She doesn’t know who she’s talking to.

[anelasticheart]

          Cronus was starving. He devoured them all. Will Graham, Jack Crawford, Abigail Hobbs, Freddie Lounds, Frederick Chilton, Miriam Lass. Even Alana Bloom. He consumed them mentally, longed to gobble them up like lambs ripe for the slaughter. Her mind's palace is a freakshow full of death, decay and cannibalism.

            Where Hannibal Lecter once was, Dr. Alana Bloom now stands. Or tries to. She feels like a mechanical monster, covered in gauze and braces to hold her broken, battered bones together again. Her crutches are a lifeline that she holds onto. She holds on so tight that her purpled knuckles bleach white.

            Long, dark hair hides her pale face. She looks different. She looks defeated, all scars and no sympathy for the Devil. When she first appeared, she looked as she did in Will Graham's dream. A woman made from ink, dripping darkness. Now, she's half-herself in this dreamland.

            ❝You're dreaming, Alana.❞

            You'll dream of drowning. Of hurricanes. Of typhoons. Of floods. Of madness creeping in.

            ❝You need to wake up soon. They need you.❞

            Intentional vagueness crept into her voice. She couldn't change what was or what would simply be. Her body ached. Alana inhaled the stale air that tasted worse than beer left out on the counter. It was warm, but forgotten.

            ❝I can fix this.❞

            I can't fix myself.

            There she goes. Lying again. Lying to herself, because it's the only morphine she has in this shadowy hellhole.