#slaughteristhelamb

[fiercelyprotective]

you're so flawless omg

//AWW WHAT? Thank you, darling But you are the flawless one here <3 ;D

[liverandchianti--archived-blog]

✉

[Placed carefully on the nightstand beside the bed]

[continuingsurvival]

Two Little Lambs || Clarice Starling

Becoming part of the "civilized" world had not been an easy transition for Abigail. It took the better part of two years for her to be able to easily converse with strangers, to engage in activities and explore unknown areas to forge new memories. Forging new memories is exactly what she was attempting to do in that instant, walking through the streets of this new and loud city. Her hands were curled around a steaming cup of coffee, the taste bitter against her tongue but she drank it anyway. The caffeine was needed for her system, her mind still a little groggy from waking up that morning only a half hour before. She licks at her lips, eyes constantly moving from face to face in the crowd around her, flicking from one building to the next, from one store sign to another.  When she spotted a small little sign for a used bookstore, Abigail cut across the small group of people standing outside of it and pushed open the door, ringing the little bell above it. Stepping into the store, the smell of books filled her nose and it brought back some memories; it brought the comforting scent of the library in Hannibal's home. That place that had become her second home during her time of need. A small painful tug of homesickness squeezed at her stomach and she did her best to push it away, walking down the aisles as she searched alone the bookshelves for any familiar names. Her gaze is so focused on the book spines that she doesn't see the young woman in the corner of her eye until their shoulders bump, the coffee in Abigail's hands almost slipping but she manages to catch it in time. A light, nervous laugh escapes from her and she takes a step back from the woman's personal space. "I'm so sorry, are you alright? I didn't spill my coffee on you, did I?"

[devourtheimpolite]

‡‡ <3

[Thank you, except I feel so guilty that I haven't responded to our roleplay yet I'm so so sorry ;_;]

[continuingsurvival]

things that i'm aware i owe as of this moment;

starters to;

clarice starling

eames

replies to;

???????

greeting/random starter posts to;

??????

If anyone is still waiting for a reply, please please please tell me. If anyone would like a starter, whether it just be random or we plot something out, please please please tell me! I'm always looking for more stuff to start up so if you'd like a starter, just let me know by liking this post and/or sending me a message!

ETA: If you're waiting for a reply to a meme, I promise I'm working on it. As of right now, I owe a 'Dear Will' letter to an anon and a smut meme drabble prompt for Will. They'll be posted in the next day or two, I promise!

[devourtheimpolite]

Verrouiller Choisir | slaughteristhelamb

The door was locked, just as was expected. Or, at least, it had been, and then it was again. He had managed to break in and, in an attempt to cover his tracks as best as possible, had locked it once again.

He was looking for something, something he was sure had to be around here somewhere. Being unaware of whether or not the owner of the apartment was home, he attempted to be as quiet as possible, continuing to search as quickly as he possibly could before he was found out, and if the one that occupied the area and called it their home was to find him, then he was sure to be able to make quick work of them if need be.

Was he sure he was even in the correct apartment? While he had been sure that it was correct, there was always room for a small margin of error. Being entirely sure that he was correct, he continued to search, looking high and low.

But then he heard a noise, all too reminiscent to footsteps. Straightening up properly, he turned around, hopeful that the owner of the footsteps wasn’t standing right behind him.

[hostestuosdevoret-blog]

plat principal - et slaughteristhelamb

Hannibal stood outside her front door, the strap of a leather bag looped over his one arm and caught in the crook of his elbow, his other arm raised to knock on the door. It had been some time since he had the pleasure of Ms Starling's company, and since this was a reunion of sorts - a celebration, even - and he liked to make an impression. A good one, most times. He knocked quickly, firmly, and waited. She was home tonight, and home alone. He knew she hadn't made any plans that could intrude on what he promised would be an evening she would never forget. Oh, well. It was a delight to be able to cook for an old friend, in any case.