#writinghannibal

[serialcannibal]

Expressing that love, our beloveds potential comes true.

[fbiartist]

( ft. @writinghannibal, @la-mangouste, @pistolslinger, @youareawarrior, @brighterrors, @klarsynt, @denieddeath, @baugenius, @bauresurrected, @bulletsoverbensonhurst, @snipesaw, @moisovrenyi, @caestillo, @deceptivemorals​ ) mutuals may reblog.

[roi-et-mangouste]

writinghannibal

Am I?

Yes - blatantly so. Why did you invite Freddy Lounds to dinner?

[firstloss]

@writinghannibal​ ♥’d for a small starter

           “It’s supposed to be a giraffe,” Sarah said. She held up her notebook for him to see. “But I can’t get the face right... It looks too much like a weird, alien dog.”

[bigdlittleibignlittleozzo-moved]

@writinghannibal​

"I spent most of my birthdays as a kid alone at a boarding school in New Jersey,” his tone was conversational, like he wasn’t imparting some secret he’d kept from everyone around him until now. “Most of the other kids went home for the summer but Senior paid extra for the school to keep me. Couldn’t be bothered to entertain his own kid, I guess.”

He shrugged, grabbing a pen and spinning it around his fingers. “They weren’t all bad though. One year, the art teacher took me to the Met. That was a good year. He let me see all the paintings and sculptures that I wanted. I led him on a good chase through the museum. Couldn’t decide what I liked best. Then he took me to Little Italy, to one of the delis Nonna used to take me to. It was probably the best birthday I had after Nonna died.”

Flipping the pen around in his hand, he smiled, sad and thoughtful. “I never really put much stock in celebrating my birthday, after Nonna died. I wasn’t the one who did the hard work that day. Shouldn’t my mum be the one everyone celebrated?”

[mylittlegeekery]

@writinghannibal wrote: x

Hannibal half lifted his hand to shield his eyes when Abel's car pulled around the corner, headlights bright in the pouring rain. The man seemed otherwise unbothered, an umbrella shielding him from the worst of it and neat leather gloves encasing his hands. He waited until Abel had gotten out of the car before he spoke, aware of how the drumming of the rain on the two vehicles could easily steal a voice.

"Thank you for coming, Abel. I didn't know who else to call," Hannibal's voice had the faintest strains of stress to it, a crack in his normal composure.

Abel never got voice mail from Hannibal. Not once. That was the first thing that made the surgeon stop and scowl, but the message left made him almost frantic. He immediately called back and received instructions. His wife had already left for the night, allegedly for a night with friends, so no one noticed or cared when Abel grabbed his car keys and grabbed a coat.

Using his navigation, he found the storage facility in the dark and pouring rain, thankful for Hannibal’s exacting directions on his location. Finding him was relatively easy, even with slightly obscure vision due to weather. 

Abel pulled his car around and shut it off, grabbing an umbrella and popped it open as he pushed the driver door open. “Don’t think anything of it!” he said, shutting the door. “You’ve never called for a favor before. What’s going on?”

[kyniklos]

on Hannibal’s tenderness:

what lives in my mind at all hours of the day is how tender Hannibal Lecter can be. aside from the obvious moments, like cradling Will as he guts him in Mizumono or the weaponized care against Abigail, too. the best example I can think of is when Miriam Lass discovers the Wound Man drawing in his office. he creeps behind her in stocking-feet, like a parent careful not to wake a sleeping child. after he strangles her into unconsciousness, “putting her to sleep,“ he nuzzles his face into her hair, holding her limp in his arms.

it reminds me of how @writinghannibal said “There is always violence in my hands and blood in my teeth. Just as there is violence in the paws of the lion as he sleeps. Tenderness does not bleed it out.”

and Shakespeare’s violent delights with violent ends. The sweetest honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness.

[daedaluscried]

@writinghannibal​

“ What kind of bread can I get you, sir? “ Suri was rushing around the bakery, but even still, her breathless voice strained to be polite, “ I apologize for the wait. What can I get you today? “