18+ | Hannibal Lecter

[murdersanctum]

ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

Throughout my time here I have received many compliments on my portrayal and writing and for that, I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart because I absolutely need the assurance sometimes and who doesn’t like being complimented? Recently, I’ve experienced some personal struggles and the straw that broke the camel’s back is my long-time pet passing away. I love you all and thank you for the continued support. I’ll hopefully be back very shortly. <3

[navalta-gfx]

Mads dreaming of the day Hannibal gets renewed for a 4th season

[kuutamosonaatti]

my never-ending list of hannigram AUs 

[kuutamosonaatti]

I am a field of wheat he parts with his fingers. Poppies bloom in my veins. When he kisses me, he tastes pomegranate. The night crawls nearer. The moans of the dead roll and swell.

- Tara Mae Mulroy, “Persephone Writes to Her Mother”

[fallingfrozenprince]

Helping My Injured Muse Sentence Starters

[rpmemesandmusings]

“Oh, God, you’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot.”

“Stop squirming, I’m trying to help.”

“Hang on, I got you.”

“Just lean on me, I’ll help you walk.”

“We should get that looked at.”

“Don’t tilt your head back, you’ll make your nosebleed worse!”

“Just sit up and breathe, ok?”

“Eh, you’ll be fine. I think. Maybe.”

“What ever you do, don’t go to sleep. Stay awake.”

“Oooooo. That looks painful.”

“Oh, thank God! Don’t scare me like that!”

“How the hell did you do this to yourself?”

“Hey, hey, stay with me, ok?”

“You stopped breathing.”

“Oh look, it’s alive.”

“Take deep breaths, you’ll be fine.”

“Arms shouldn’t move like that…”

“What happened to your leg?!”

“Yep, that’s broken alright. How’d you manage that?”

“Here’s some ice.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Do you need an ice pack for that shiner?”

“Yeesh, you look like shit.”

“Wait, you were mugged?!”

“Is that a stab/gunshot wound?”

“Ok, ew. I’m not cleaning that up.”

“Easy, easy! Just lay down, you hit your head.”

“You probably have a concussion, so I wouldn’t be moving arou d too much if I were you.”

“We thought you were dead!”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does it hurt?”

“Can you walk on your own?”

“You’re getting blood on my clothes!”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

[castielstiel-deactivated2023020]

“Oh, the skies, tumbling from your eyes So sublime, a chase to end all time Seasons call and fall, from grace and uniform Anatomical, metaphysical” Love Crime -Siouxsie Sioux

[castielstiel-deactivated2023020]

[lewis-tan]

[klennnik]

Mads Mikkelsen by Celina Dahl, January 29, 2019

[murdersanctum]

a-kitten-with-claws‌:  

She thought about that. Kit thought about it very deeply for a few moments, as she tried to stop her heart from racing. It had begun when he’d touched her - the sensation of ghosted digits to her upper torso, which then segued (quite annoyingly) into admiration of jewellery.

The last man who’d laid hands on her without her express prior permission, had found his nose suddenly broken. Not by her…of course. She had an assistant for that kind of thing. Kit had two assistants actually - one who assisted with paperwork and diaries, the other that broke things on command. The two men did not get on, bickered like and old married couple in fact. However, she’d discovered them one time, in flagrante delicto. And the most surprising thing about the event, other than them agreeing on something, was that the ‘paper’ assistant was the one who had the ‘breaking’ assistant bent over her antique walnut desk, when she’d thought it would be the other way around.

She’d watched for at least ten minutes before lightly clearing her throat to make her presence known, causing them to scarper with a duo of red faces. Neither of then orgasmed, which she enjoyed thoroughly for the rest of their time with her that evening. Eventually she’d dismissed them from duties and as strange as it was, she had hoped they immediately rushed off to continue what she had interrupted.

But anyways…….the touch of Lecter did not inspire thoughts of cartilage being forcibly shattered in the slightest. No it had the opposite effect. Kit subtly raised her shoulder into it, searching out more right before he moved away from her. And while his offer of being her subterfuge was welcomed, she could not resist but to push further, to want more. She was born that way, it seemed. Then her upbringing had honed the trait to it’s apex, to be a dagger that lusts to find a home in the fresh and supple flesh of acquisition.

“You’ll…..say…we’re having an affair? Isn’t that rather dangerous? Under questioning, you may slip-up on vital details about me or my body - which perfume I prefer, whether I wax, the size of my nipples or how my breasts fall…about how I fuck and like to be fucked. Far easier, I would’ve imagined, to make any such a claim cast-iron guaranteed, by backing it up with knowledge”.

Women are delightful creatures. Humanity is all individual, divided as much as activists wanted the species to be united. Not all see eye to eye. Katherine didn’t leave you wondering or wandering, she was a guidebook in a space shuttle, you’re crashing down and awaiting further instructions, her voice is a beacon that will give you an accurate composition of information and fruitful direction. With that said, her bluntness caught him off guard. It shouldn’t have because her openness had said it all. In many ways, he could debunk her theory.

Would whoever they’re claiming this to have them give a live show? Would they undress Katherine to check whether his intimate description of her body is accurate? As for the perfume she wore, the past two times Hannibal had seen her, he’d keyed in on her taste. It was sophisticated, sweet yet not overpowering, a nice peony, a modest fragrance, yet alluring. Careful planning meant he wouldn’t slip up. Ms. Prince would back him up, say he’s not lying about what she liked in front of any interrogators, she could play along but something told him that what she said now was simply because she wanted the satisfaction of being naughty. 

Why would he deny her of that?

Compromised by his lingering gaze, the movement of her body swayed into his palms with subtilty yet with an underlying passion. Touching people without having known them for a while was not permitted by his brain, usually, this time he found it irresistible. The way the light ate her flesh, caused it to shimmer, the softness alerted him to know she likely moisturized. Thinking about her body being slicked up was heavenly. “Are you propositioning me?” His voice boomed from behind her, there was a smirk playing up on his features that she wasn’t licensed to see.

“How could I say no? It would be effective, as you said, to engage in such activities to benefit the credibility of our story.”

[murdersanctum]

W I L L:

    IT WAS UNNERVING, the sight of a man so accustomed to weaving to a fro beneath the pressure of social graces and societal norms. A man whose hands were practiced in fatal artistry; fingers brandished as knives, polished and sharpened; well manicured and smooth, as though they had only seen the violence of paper clips and paper cuts. A man whose body commanded the space it frequented- as though it demanded the attention. Intelligible and all encompassing, an omnipresence other men trembled beneath. And still, Hannibal remained, bleeding and bruised and alive.

    IT WAS BREATHTAKING, the sight of a man who would take life with little more than a hair out of place. It had been morbid curiosity that once kept Will afloat, awash in the tide of intimate spaces and syncopated breaths. Where death had once frightened him, it was now a source of RAPTURE- he was utterly enthralled; ensnared with little interest in being set free. And Hannibal, oh Hannibal, had reached forth into Will’s conscience and had molded him into what he desired him to be: self-sustaining, self-sufficient, self-aware.

    THEY COULD BEGIN ANEW this way, having tore through these barriers with sharp teeth and wire nails. All it took now was a swift push. “Please.” Is Will’s response, both pleading and timid- this matter of their unity having shot him back into his mind. Eyes watch as Hannibal brings himself back into view; transfixed by either the sight of long fingers or honeyed drink Will is not certain. He plucks his glass from the table all the same. “Buy me dinner first.” His smile is coy where it peeks from behind his cup, the motion never quite reaching his eyes. Drink is pulled into awaiting mouth and EVERYTHING BURNED, from Will’s legs up to his shoulders- to his very throat as the fire consumed him. The press of a new topic seems only to derail Will’s movements, causing him to falter. He swallows wrong and he’s choking, a violent rack of his body that prompts him to put the drink down, lest he invite another mess for Hannibal to attend to. Clean up on aisle Will Graham, house keeping needed. “Cuba?” Will coughs, incredulous. There is a moment where Will simply stares at the other man lounging across the furniture just beyond him, dumbfounded, hitherto his reengagement with his generous helping alcohol. Will takes another drink, and another- “You want to go to Cuba?”

ETERNAL AND UNDYING. Many fancied him the Devil, had spoken of such menace that curved itself around the circumference of his soul. Meat tarnished, it bruised and it beckoned. It was left to be scarred and required a period of healing. It eventually rots in the ground where it gave life to plants, fed the soil as it decomposed. Consciousness might remain through the process, you’re overlooking your shallow grave as your visible body is laid to rest but you’re welcome to wreak havoc in the afterlife, to darken corners and empty hallow places with the screech of your woeful, trembling voice. You’re free to play the harpsichord, spook the family dog, to haunt and wither marriages and sanity.

SOCIAL CUES hinted at what intentions one may have. Hannibal extorted them many times, to succumb them to strained positivity when others laid around but two people that missed his cues suffered a damnable fate. Mason Verger, Franklyn Froideveaux, those times he’d placed his nasty, used tissues on the end table, the former ruining an expensive, exclusive couch, had come in with such flair that overshadowed his own and those that tried to poke the bear eventually got brutally RAVAGED. It made him wonder how they missed the subtle expressions.. Will never did, only when he showed moments of vulnerability and affection did the other miss the snap.

A CONSUMING COUGH belittled a customary function, the failure of such a vital part of the human body. This brought his ears to sharp awareness, heightened senses of a lonesome wolf in the woods peaking. The ceiling was a warm tone, added to the unity of the moment. With their lips sealed, they could be shipped off in a delightful package cornered with gold. Attractive pieces always held such ugly secrets. Cuba wasn’t received well with the tone he’d obtained from the younger man, “It’s the Caribbean, nobody would think to poke their heads there in our search. While it will have been an assumption that you pushed us off that cliff, they won’t discover our bodies and therefore assume otherwise.” A pause, “We can go to El Capitolio, live a simple life together. Change our names if necessary.” There is little movement from his end; as if he would disturb the quiet, the air, ruin his chance to reel Will into his carefully devised plan. They’ve both been wanting to run away together. Their FREEDOM started now. Their NEW lives.

[murdersanctum]

a-kitten-with-claws‌:

It almost sounded like he wanted her to have sex with the detective. Certainly, men had held fantasies about her in the past, but they mostly involved Kit doing unspeakable, lust-fuelled activities with themselves, rather than another man. Well, apart from that one fellow MP who had a kink for the cuckold thing. He’d had the smallest penis she’d ever laid eyes on, so his predilection was understandable.

But Lecter….she imagined he wasn’t the kind of man who got off to thoughts of other people engaging in ‘the beast with two backs’. He seemed much too refined and what’s more, self-serving, for that sort of caper. Admittedly, it would be the shorter route, the more easily explainable tactic. Yet, for a woman who had fucked so many repellent men, she really, absolutely and positively did not want to fuck the detective.

He was abhorrent, not even his thirst of extortion would redeem him, in her eyes and usually, she could respect the vices and crimes of others to the point of attraction. Not now though. Not with him.

Plus, he wasn’t worthy of her. It was perhaps (definitely) egotistic, yet she was a prize - perfect alabaster flesh that was stretched to ideal tautness where it counted and rounded curves exactly where men noticed them. A face of undeniable symmetry with wide, inviting eyes, straight nose and strong chin, lips that not only demanded attention but gave freely of their own. Not to mention the vast array of skills that could only have been accumulated with ultimate dedication to them need of them.

Women like her should only be gifted the most deserving of men - she firmly believed that.

“I know I said before that I’d do whatever you deemed best……..but I can’t fuck him. At least not without a handful of Diazepam and a litre bottle of vodka inside me and even then, the amount of therapy required afterwards would bankrupt me”. A small joke, though serious in intent.

“Is there a way we can achieve our goal without me opening my thighs for him?”.

Expressions spoke volumes. Tone, body language, posture, they are all that made us human and contradicted the words that came out of our mouths. A woman could say, ‘Yes,’ with her arms crossed, brows furrowed and a light tap of her foot. If you read it right, you’d come to understand that she did not give you her approval by any means whatsoever. Quite the opposite, actually.

The slightly open mouth, side-eyed glance, light flare of nostrils that bore the elements of disgust allowed him to learn that she felt such complete revulsion to the idea that with a simple image of the night’s occurrence brought her to her knees while retching. Pacing behind her, his fingertips are brushing the expanse of exposed skin on her shoulder. It made him laugh, the joke well-received. “I never mentioned you had to do anything. I said I’d falsify a doctor’s note. Go there with the intention of compromise.”

A small hum is leaving him, sipping on the blood-colored beverage, his fingertips lingering as his tips wove the chain of her necklace around his long digits. From there, he inspected the stones, “Swarovski, excellent taste.” It waterfalled down his palm and situated itself back in its previous place. From there, he paced towards his books, tracing their spines as if hoping they’d shudder. 

“Have me on speed dial in case things go awfully wrong and he actually tries committing a crime. It’ll be to your benefit but I don’t want you getting injured. Make sure you have proof that you’re going there with the intention to talk, send him a text message. This is for the reason that they might say you knew what you were heading in for but we can always say you have the freedom to change your mind, it’s simply more credible when you have undeniable proof of your intentions.” Nodding to himself, he’s narrowing his eyes.

“We’ll make it look like a robbery. I’ll be your alibi... I’ll tell them you were with me all night. We can say we’re having an affair. There have been a few murders recently of men who rape. We’ll make sure it falls on whoever this individual is.”  

[soljua-deactivated20180215]

reasons i haven’t replied back:

- i’m socially exhausted - i don’t have the time right now - i don’t know how to reply - i have a bad memory and got distracted - i’m having a depressive episode and don’t have the energy to socialise

not reasons i haven’t replied back:

- i’m ignoring you just because - i hate you - i’m fed up with you - i don’t want to be your friend anymore

[hannibalgifs]

[murdersanctum]

CREATIVE TYPE.

YOU ARE THE MAKER. Commited to your craft.

Creative Strengths: Focus and dedication, ability to achieve mastery. Untapped Potential: Taking creative risks, finding joy and play in the process. Ideal Collaborator: The Visionary.

Driven, focused, and dedicated to the creative process, the MAKER has mastered the art of manifesting ideas and visions in three-dimensional form. Society greatly benefits from the work of MAKER types, who develop the systems, structures, tools, and innovations that the rest of us rely on.

One of the hardest workers of all the types, the MAKER is almost always busy solving problems, making headway on personally meaningful goals, and completing projects. There are few things that bring you more satisfaction than applying your brain power to crafting things and making progress in any form. You tend to excel in design, crafts, architecture, and other fields that blend artistry with business and technology.

You’re driven by tangible results, and you know how to deliver. A quiet type, you enjoy collaboration but generally prefer to work alone so you can focus on your own creative process.

You know how to play the long game, and you’re not afraid to do the unglamorous legwork that goes into building something of value over time. Your gifts of focus and dedication can lead to achieving mastery and coming to be seen by others as an authority in your field.

Your biggest challenge? To connect more deeply with your intuition and emotions in order to bring forth ever more authentic and original work. Productivity is only half the equation of doing great work—the other half is inspiration. Creating the space to dream, imagine, and play can keep your work from becoming rote and mechanical.

Combine forces with the enterprising VISIONARY to take your creativity to new heights. The VISIONARY’s soaring imagination gives you permission to dream bigger and envision the impossible—and to fearlessly risk failure in order to make it a reality.

TAGGED BY: @a-kitten-with-claws (love ya x) TAGGING: @mxtamcrphcsis , @specialagxntstarling , anyone else x

[murdersanctum]

REPOST DON’T REBLOG, POST WHAT YOU ASSOCIATE WITH YOUR MUSE(S); AND THEN TAG OTHERS.

ANIMAL: Fox. COLOR(S): Purple, red, blue. MONTH: October or December. SONG:  J.S. Bach, Goldberg Variations BWV 988, aria. NUMBER: Of victims? Let’s just say a lot... DAY OR NIGHT: Night. PLANT: Deadly Nightshade. SMELL: Rain, homecooked food, cologne. GEMSTONE: Tiger’s Eye or Flourite. (Don’t know much about stones, this is based on what I briefly read.) SEASON: Autumn, Spring. PLACE: Florence, Italy. FOOD:  Foie gras au torchon, heart tartare. ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Scorpio. ELEMENT(S): Water. (Aside from a few traits.) DRINK: Wine.

STOLEN FROM: @whenthe-inkwell-runsdry TAGGING: @savantisms , @specialagxntstarling , and anyone else!

[murdersanctum]

unstcbleempathy‌:

Slight NERVOUSNESS gathered within the pit of his stomach and it sank like a settling STONE. Dismounting, Will kept the leather reins looped around his steed’s neck as he stepped forward to her face. He glances at his reflection in her gentle eyes and a small smile crossed his features as he placed a hand on her forehead. A soft snort blew from her nose and he caressed her nazal bone, stopping at her muzzle.

There would be nothing that signified his ROYALTY if it hadn’t been for the crest that was engraved into the left flap of his saddle and the clip that held his black robe closed. The head of a black stag with raven feathers entangled in its fur and a rack of antlers that eight points were what people correlated him with. His family crest could be seen as MYSTERIOUS or extremely FOREBODING- it just depended on which way someone thought.

Facing forward at the sound of footsteps, the prince lowered his head in a sign of respect. His blue eyes graced the figure before him, taking in the details as he raised his gaze. Hannibal Lecter was much MORE than the man he had observed in mere portraits.

The compliment almost made him blush, but he forced himself to bite back the flush that threatened to coat his cheeks. “I say the same about you,” he spoke, a slight accent visible in his voice. Placing a hand on his mare’s muzzle, Will gave her a light scratch with his fingertips before stepping away towards the indicated direction.

Servants gathered by the Prince, bowing before him, paying their RESPECTS to his HONOR and contribution. As he passed his reins down to them, they welcomed the beast under their command. The healthy animal was then led to the stables where she would be pampered with brushes, food, fresh water, and other necessities. Love was given especially to the crest detailing familial correspondence. It was a crest they’d witnessed flutter on flags.

A King never lacked vanity, from a handsome man it meant more than from a measly peasant. To be admired by his equal tickled his nervous system, clamored him with grace and elated him beyond this world. They disappeared behind the heavy doors, the doorknockers slamming behind them as his footsteps echoed in the massive hall. Two great fires stood on each side of the grand staircase; a rolled out red carpet with GOLDEN STRIPS at each side. Others preferred ravaging lions but his love laid with the stag, an otherwise nightmarish creature.

Up the stairs there were diverging paths, King Lecter swung his coat to the right and led Prince Will to the room where many life-changing discussions were planted and had bloomed. “With deep personality, I have studied your letters. Do not think at once that I have not pondered the caliber of such changes. I have been awaiting your arrival, it is expected as your tone grew with heat even at the palm of your hands. I could see the ink was forced out DEMANDINGLY in certain words.”

“I ask you now, what purpose does this visit have?”