Hannibal

they called him the devil, but he loved with god's love -- cruel and sublime

[iiaenium-blog]

Hi there! Sorry for the inactivity. I’ve been dealing with a UTI, a cold/flu(?), and either mild dehydration or something, the past month, so my head has been all out of sorts. Now it’s just the general exhaustion afterwards :’) Anyways, I’m still working on older stuff, so I’m really sorry for the delay! 

[omophagist]

Our core is madness. The prime directive is murder. What Darwin was too polite to say, my friends, is that we came to rule the earth not because we were the smartest, or even the meanest, but because we have always been the craziest, most murderous motherfuckers in the jungle. 

[pinklights]

[iiaenium-blog]

masonverger-rising:

Gore appeals to him, the way shiny Christmas baubles appeal to small children, and Mason smiles as he accepts his glass, tongue between his teeth, and eyes bright behind his glasses. Lecter’s turn of phrase is at once provocative and ingratiating, and his wine is good. Mason drinks half the glass in one slug and smacks his lips.

“Adversaries, hoo boy,” Mason grinned, downed the rest of his glass and plonked it on the side table, then rubbed his hands together, “You know cut throat business is only a figure of speech, right Doctor Lecter?” 

Besides which, Mason isn’t stupid enough to get his hands dirty on company time. He has people to do that, and to tell him all about it afterwards. The fellow responsible for the unionists had had a particularly lurid turn of phrase, and Mason is always looking out for a chance at repeat employment for him.

Christmas decorations, of course, are only the signifiers of the holiday, the real meat is in the presents, the gift of cruelty is fear, suffering, and most of all power. And it’s no good looking for that in a work environment, especially not when there are much tastier candidates so close to home.

“You know, in New Guinea they eat the dead to honour them, the closest family members take pride of place at the funeral feast.” New Guinea exists in his memory as the stink of burning tires and flesh, and of a small body, dismembered in a bathtub, and Papa asking if he’d had a good time and having zero interest in the answer.

Mason thinks of Margot, tears dripping down her face, and the taste of her blood, and he smiles, watching the serene mask of Lecter’s face.

There is nothing more tortuous than to watch the uncouth idle and fumble about with beautiful things more valuable than human worth. The item in question, a Georgian goblet crafted in the 18th century, tilts precariously in Mason’s hands, red liquid spinning madly behind the delicate engravings on the glass. Hannibal watches as Mason tosses it back with neither a care as to how fine the wine is, gulping it down like mere water; the muscles on his back tense as Hannibal continues to remain utterly still, his mouth a passive line and his eyes dark.

Were he another breed of man, he would’ve flinched at the way Mason handled his precious glassware, greedily tossing the wine down his throat without an ounce of appreciation. Instead, Hannibal continues to watch him in silence, the red gleam behind his eyes being the only thing betraying his irritation. 

How absolutely unbecoming.

Hannibal shifts, precisely navigating his hands onto his lap, and clasps them in a subtly mocking gesture of attention. Still focusing Mason with an unwavering stare, he allows the brief silence to punctuate the heaviness—though, perhaps, not at all a serious matter in their company—before replying: “And yet, the dead may also be consumed as a means of intimidation and power. Honored or desecrated, the dead do not rest.”

When Mason smiles, he interprets it as morbid humor on the other man’s behalf; perhaps a laugh at how something considered so taboo can still be thought of as almost holy. Regardless of Mason’s actual thoughts, Hannibal doubts that he’ll find them appetizing in any fashion.

“You speak of it as if it is more than trivia to you. I assume you are personally familiar with the practice?”

[iiaenium-blog]

Hey-oh! Just a quick note: I recently received an invite to submit a supplemental application to one of the schools I applied to, and, have a 30 day deadline to submit it. Since admissions works on a rolling basis, I want to get that in ASAP just so that I can increase my (small) chance of getting an interview. 

I have bits and pieces of drafts typed up, but won’t be really touching those until I’m done with this, so the queue will be dry for a bit. It’s unlikely that I will be on tumblr’s IM system, so please forgive me if I don’t get back to you for a bit. Thanks for your patience!

[iiaenium-blog]

I’M FREEEEEE! Will work on replies slowly and will try to q them as soon as I get the older ones done first. Thanks for being patient with me :)

[iiaenium-blog]

Hey-oh! Just a quick note: I recently received an invite to submit a supplemental application to one of the schools I applied to, and, have a 30 day deadline to submit it. Since admissions works on a rolling basis, I want to get that in ASAP just so that I can increase my (small) chance of getting an interview. 

I have bits and pieces of drafts typed up, but won’t be really touching those until I’m done with this, so the queue will be dry for a bit. It’s unlikely that I will be on tumblr’s IM system, so please forgive me if I don’t get back to you for a bit. Thanks for your patience!

[bijoux-et-mineraux]

Quartz With Hydrocarbon Inclusions - Jinkouhe, Sichuan Province, China

[iiaenium-blog]

@masonverger-rising, these are the ones I’ve finished so far! I’m still getting used to making them, so don’t look too closely, otherwise you’d see all of the bad stitching xD I messed up on the second one, thinking I could do the hat and rim separately, then put them together. That was a bad idea. I’m not doing that again -- yikes.

[fairyvore-deactivated20150321]

[comeswithasword]

I’m not normal… not anymore.

[acheforhim-archive-blog]

I think he was provoked.

[iiaenium-blog]

unstableempathy:

⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼┢ Hannibal Lecter  ┩

@iiaenium

There were…very little nights where he could say that he received a proper night sleep. However, it seemed that the nightmares had taken a small break from their constant meddling within his brain. The shadows of his past continued to linger and harass him to the point to where they reoccurred as a ghosting shadow that haunted the halls of his mind palace. Tonight, happened to be one of those times when sleep had escaped his grasp. The morning had risen with such a suddenness that had it almost shocked him when he realized it was 5:30 AM. He was encased by the warmth brought on by not only his form but the man next to him who maintained a decent distance away from him (Thank the Lord). Exhaling deeply, Will Graham silently slipped out of the covers and opened the door to the balcony before stepping outside. The waves that lapped against the sandy shores near their house was a rather peaceful sight to his eyes. He was familiar with the aspects of water and he figured that his thought process was just as fluid as the rushing streams that could be seen in the forests- always twisting and turning to create such an elaborate (yet complex) masterpiece.

[[continued here...]]

It is rare for Hannibal to dream. In his youth, he was often plagued by nightmares, his mind tormenting him with a past so severely convoluted that it could no longer bring forth whole memories. He dreamed of ghostly pale faces rapidly spinning around him, baring their sharp teeth in a wicked snarl. They chased him and bit at his heels -- he was often a little boy in his dreams and his limbs not yet able to outrun them -- somehow able to make a sound despite not having feet. His ghosts sounded like metal scraping against bone -- of death’s bell tolling with each pounding footstep he took upon the black abyss of his mind. When they opened their ghostly maw, he never heard their voices. The ghouls screamed with Mischa’s voice, childish and high-pitched.

“'Annibal! 'Annibal!” They screeched, tearing flesh from his legs and back. He would weep blood, but they did not stop.

It was only after he had exorcised them within the living plane did they leave him be. From there on, sleep was a black blanket enveloping him each time he closed his eyes. It was devoid of any sensation.

Until now.

Now, he dreams of the sea, and through affiliation, of Will. Even now, months after their bloody consummation, Will carries with him the salt of the sea; Hannibal can smell it on him, the dry and heady scent of eternity. When he sleeps, he smells it as if he is right there back on that cliff. He feels the whip of cold water against his body, or, perhaps the sting of Will’s anger. It is hard to differentiate between the sea and Will; they've become a formidable entity in Hannibal’s mind. And regardless of whether he is cast off again and again, he welcomes it. For if Will is the sea, then the icy embrace he receives from it, as he falls into its depths, is more than desired. He wants to drown in it. The salt and the waves. After all, at least there, he can hold faith in its uncaring brutality. But in Will, only a bittersweet tang.

So when he wakes from Will’s movements, it's only natural that he finds a shallow pool of disappointment upon his chest. Reality is cold, and, he thinks, not the sort he welcomes. It's a creeping ache, rather than the all-consuming force in which Will welcomes him in Hannibal's dreams.

Their relationship, in truth, is strained, to put it delicately. As much as it hurts him to accept it, Hannibal still respects the fluctuating distance between them, taking only what is given to him. It is difficult. Agonizingly so. Will does not reject him at every given moment, and somehow, they always find themselves pulled back into each other's gravity. Hannibal knows he can't escape it, knows that he doesn't want to, yet, it doesn't make it any easier when they find themselves brushing fingers as they walk in tandem. Or, the glances Will throws at him when they sit across each other in the living room. It certainly doesn't make it any easier when Hannibal sometimes finds himself next to Will in bed, the other man outstretched towards him with closed fists, too scared to close the distance, yet still craving intimacy.

But if there is anything that the both of them can be certain of, it is that Hannibal, in his own way, is a patient man.

And it is with great patience that he lays in bed, silently watching as Will makes his way out their bedroom balcony. Hannibal stares at him hungrily, committing to memory one of the rarer sights of Will in relative peace, lost somewhere in his own mind where even Hannibal cannot reach him. The thought makes him jealous, petty as it is.

With practiced stealth, Hannibal rises from their bed. On his way over to Will, he grabs at the silver sage afghan draped across the aqua bedroom recliner, and bundles it in his arms. He doesn’t mind the breeze, but he figures that Will may come to appreciate the warmth, once he is free from his mind and open to the morning chill.

Leaning against the door frame behind Will, Hannibal doesn’t say anything, simply watches him bask in the morning glory.

“If I woke you, I apologize. That was not...my intention.”

At this, Hannibal smiles. Beautiful, cruel Will. So cold, yet so considerate.

“You need not to concern yourself, Will. I’m a light sleeper. I’ve woken from lesser things.” Hannibal doesn’t move from his place behind Will. For a moment, he is quiet as he decides on what to say. 

When he does speak, his tone is gentle: “You went somewhere, Will. Where did you go?”

[iiaenium-blog]

me: i’ll queue my stuff so i can handle things better me: *chucks two replies into queue* okay this will get me at least -- everybody: *writes gr8 things @ speed of light* me: pls spare me i’m weak

[spuzz]

will monsters grow out of our graves? 

[iiaenium-blog]

shcsallrightnow:

Several months after the horrors in Baltimore, it seemed as if the world had finally moved on. Freddie Lounds’ tabloids no longer splashed the front page, nor did people whisper about “Hannibal the Cannibal” over their morning coffee. The victims of his rampage were long since forgotten.

[[continued here...]]

"Bedelia, as they say, has her moments." In fact, as of late, the woman is prone to many moments. Most days, she withdraws to the balcony, a glass of wine conveniently within her grasp to soothe the cracks further deepening in her mind. She rarely speaks, even to Hannibal, but that is something that is not completely foreign to him, nor is it anything that he considers a great inconvenience. Her presence here isn't for the sake of companionship or conversation; rather, it's a convenience, and if he must be honest, at times, an amusing pastime. 

He sees it in Bedelia’s eyes whenever they do speak. That glimmer from self-preservation's blade, sharp and quick. The alcohol, the drugs, they do little to dull her edge. Hannibal doesn't fear it though. No, he's far too interested in seeing which part of her breaks first to be afraid -- her instinct or her sanity. 

"Give her time and she'll come around. It’s likely culture shock," Hannibal responds dryly, the red curve of his mouth taking on a hint of smugness. He reaches over to pick at an imaginary piece of fluff in Abigail's hair, right by her cheek. It's an awkward stretch, with the distance she attempts to put in between them, body tucked away from him. Nonetheless, he reaches, breaking through the boundaries as he so often does, like a great dark shadow sweeping over her. 

Abigail's fear is almost palpable; the air tasting acidic. He wonders if he should feel insulted by her animosity towards him. After all, did he not guide and provide for her better than her own flesh and blood? She wanted a family and he had given that to her; whether or not she had taken it was her very own judgement. 

A flare of anger simmers in his chest, drawing him away from his thoughts. He considers the slight lapse of rationale and tucks the feeling away. 

Things will go differently this time, he thinks. She is still young; he should not fault her for her wavering faith. The tension in his jaw subsides, and, once more the dark waters that is his mind stills; serene, as if a stone was never tossed.

"You are quite correct," Hannibal hums in approval, still leaning in all too closely. "Although the sound mechanisms are different, the overall execution of a piece remains the same. I think you will pick it up quickly. In fact --" Withdrawing, he stands in a sudden and fluid movement, and cants his head to look down at her. "We shall go today to find a suitable instrument for you. Music, after all, is still a performance, and a poor match makes for a mediocre show."

He takes a few steps towards the door, pauses, then turns on his heels. "I've procured some custom items that would suit you. I will get them for you."

Hannibal leaves, the sound of his shoes clear on the wooden floor. After a few moments, he returns, her new clothes carefully draped upon his arm. “I think you will like these.”

On her bed, he places the articles, one by one: a wine-red blouse with rose and gold birds embroidered on the hem; a warm grey top with supple leather shoulder pads; a white silk blouse with a bold red bow at the neckline; a pair of black pants with fake leather pockets; dark grey pants, cropped at the ankles; fitted white pants; and three scarves, each rich in color and brightly patterned. 

“Regrettably, I was unable to find any jackets, so we must make do with the ones you currently have. Perhaps we can buy some when we go out.”

[olivesaverin]

It’s man devouring man, my dear, and who are we to deny it in here?

[kuutamosonaatti]

Hannibal Lecter + sketching

And every day I saw him… he would recreate Primavera in pencil, just as he did in flesh.

[iiaenium-blog]

So my dear friend has been hearing me ramble about Hannibal on and off for forever now. Although we both share a love of darker genres, she absolutely cannot handle the cannibalistic aspects of Hannibal (give the gal gruesome murders and she’s perfectly fine) and refuses to watch the entire show. Anyways, I finally convinced her to at least watch the finale and it was just absolutely hilarious.

On a blog related note, I have all of what I owe in drafts and will likely post/queue them during the week(end), since I’m now back to my original work schedule :’) Catch me on tumblr’s IM if you need anything or want to say hi! Or feel free to tag me in something and I will add it to my dragon’s lair of Things To Do.