#c. lou

[spacelys1]

top 100 : lip & hip – hyuna.

    she didn’t want to interrupt the movie : a film she’d forgotten the name of long ago, but nevertheless remained invested in, though phone calls from her classmates were rarely ignored and thus … its length had caused sawyer to feel bad enough as it was, the conversation nearing double digits which could’ve been spent with boy who’d been beside her, and its CONTENT certainly didn’t help put her at ease. she returns, flopping back down on the couch. and almost immediately, she enters a state of uncertainty. should she tell him? should she not? did it even matter? teeth scrape against her lower lip, though with eyes back on the screen she chooses the former. honesty was the best policy, was it not. “ so … jared asked me out. ” / @downhearteds

[stevcns]

@lhlstd

❛ y’ever been to the cemetery at night ?? it seems creepy, i know, but it’s actually quite relaxing. and a good place to draw. ❜

[invnio-blog1]

@misericos !

‘ I don't really know what I'm doing, help me. ’

[eatrude]

" What is it about the cold that makes your eyes so dull? "

unprompted asks || always accepting ! 

There is a tired sigh, the lines of his face weary – he doesn’t feel the need to DRESS UP for Lou.  He isn’t the public eye that requires the careful and precise face of the good doctor.  Hannibal stares out the window at the blustering white, unable to tear his gaze away from it despite the BALEFUL howling that tears at doors in his mind … ( He stands so still he may not even be BREATHING, so still he could be mistaken for a statue, hewn of perfect marble … ) 

And Abruptly the spell of stillness breaks and Hannibal lifts his mug, now hardly even LUKEWARM and drinks from it, curling his lip with distaste when he finds the heat has already leeched away from it. 

WHAT IS IT ABOUT THE COLD THAT MAKES YOUR EYES SO DULL. 

“ Do you know how WENDIGOS are born, Lou? “ His voice is a blizzard.  As white and frigid as the howling beyond the windows.  ( That’s what he sounds like, some nights, isn’t it?   The BAYING of the wind in wilderness where only the ears of the WILD may hear it.  Forlorn and lonely, HOWLING WHITE. )  —– “ I was born in the winter.  Once, and then twice.  In the dead of it, in the cold.  In the white – and in the red.  I have a particular distaste for it, as such. “ 

( CHERRY syrup red on the snow, hissing STEAM as it splashes … hot, hot, so hot – and then frigid, so quickly.  In the dead of Baltic Winter, the body loses the flush of life so quickly. ) 

[eatrude]

"i wanna see your animal side."

unprompted asks || always accepting !

("pretty suit or not, you reek of blood that's not your own." ) 

the BEAST blinks at him from within human skin, lips curling over perfect teeth.  A monster will always recognize a monster -- the scent of blood clings to them, the scent of EARTH that refuses to be so easily dissuaded.  Nights spent in the forest, on the HUNT will do that ...

“ Are we to play a game of -- I’ll show you mine if you show me yours ? “   He’s no better.  He REEKS of blood, of the hunt beneath his skin and the MOON in his veins -- of wild HUNGER that Hannibal is too familiar with.   It slides over his senses. ( scent and sight and the perceptive empathy so damnably impossible to FOOL. ) 

“ A rather rude remark to make to someone you hardly KNOW.  But blood calls to blood and kindred spirits often know one another ... but you aren’t like me, are you ?  You are and you aren’t ... I wonder what separates us. “