You Think Because There's Some Mutual Attraction Or, Sure, Interest That I'm Just Gonna Lay On My Back

Plate XIII.

British Butterflies. 1860.

Internet Archive

WikiFur doesn’t have a name on file so I guess they’re just called bug-furries (or exoskellie, a proposed name from this tumblr user over here) are u suggesting something

What’s the insect species equivalent to the term “furry”??

Wax poetical about art, and Will would usually sink beneath the surface of an inward stream to drown you out.  But it was a curious sensation to have someone come so close to the mark; like his intentions were being torn out from within him and placed under a microscope.  He felt simultaneously exposed and invigorated.

“Schrodinger's Painting.  Well, hell...”  Will rubbed his lower lip with his middle finger to suppress a smile - unsuccessfully.

He took Dr. Lecter’s hand and shook it, let himself glimpse the man’s eyes; he was intrigued by the color, and memorized the points of light in them for later reference.  The rest was admiration, and then...not much before the veneer of polite social grace.  Very different...

“You certainly see a lot, doctor.”  He said,  “I’m Graham, Will.  I don’t know if you saw my name on the brochure...”  He turned back to his painting, then back to Dr. Lecter.  “This one’s actually mine.  I wanted to know what you saw; you seemed enamored.”

“Can’t say I’m disappointed.”  He let himself smile this time.

Never Paint Dreams or Nightmares │runsonfear

Hannibal looked over at the man who he instantly recognized to be Will Graham, he didn’t comment on the recognition.  

Looking back over at the painting and clearing his throat, he spoke.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, does it?” He said with a small smile.

“Or it could mean everything. That’s what is so special about art. The artist’s intentions don’t matter when it hits the public’s eye. I could look at this and see nothing, while another man might look at be reminded of the tragic death of his children… and another might see, in it’s strokes, a vision of his own death, or future becoming. 

Every painting, despite the intentions, both simultaneously means everything and nothing at all. I would compare it to Schrodinger’s Cat… Or for this, Schrodinger’s Painting. 

But as far as intentions, I think it might be just that. The meaning is that there is no meaning, other than what we decide to project on to it, which is neither accurate nor inaccurate.”

His smile grew a bit wider and warmer as he held out his hand to the other man. 

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” He introduced.

-whistles- "Yeah, that is pretty bad. Christ, who did that number on you?"

@runsonfear said: “Hard to imagine you getting into many fights, Doctor. Just how bad was ‘very bad?’“ 

“I was unable to relieve myself for two weeks without the help of a catheter…if you must know.” 

IC WORD ASSOCIATION.

READ THE WORD THEN TYPE THE FIRST WORD THAT COMES TO YOUR CHARACTER’S MIND. (REPOST, DON’T REBLOG).

TAGGED BY: @drhanniballecter TAGGING: // idkk whoeverrrrr

ROUGH: Waves

HIDE: Away

FOOLISH: Mistake

SAD: Without

HATE: Burns

LIGHT: Find

DARK: Enclosed

MOTHER: Gone

FATHER: Motor

CHILD: Hope

MARRIAGE: Sweet

LOVE: Ideal

SOFT: Foam

PET: Dog

DREAM: Fleeting

DIVORCE: Loss

WATER: Power

LOUD: Shout

ANNOUNCEMENT:  Alert

POWER: Control

FIGHT: Kill

SMACK: Strike

WHITE: Noise

SICK: No

KISS: Nice

HUG: Trust

HURT: Betrayal

HAPPY: Maybe

“Hey, hey, hey: what's said in bed is like what happens in Vegas.”

// procrastination blogging // [runsonfear]: "What would you have had me do, exactly?"

“For starters you could have put oil on the pan so it wouldn’t stick.

Careless.”

The cocoon of the bagworm moth is always different, depending on the materials that the caterpillar forged to built it with.

[molls-to-the-wall]: hey hon, can you unload the dishwasher tonight? i've got a dog sleeping on my legs so i can't exactly move right now... thanks <3

OR you could just shove him off because I have work to do, Molly.  Important work.  Work that requires care and concentration, Molly.

He watched the tie flutter and swirl down to the floor and he smiled.  Tit for tat, the old black magic.  It’s a game he knew well.  He spread his arms, palms out and inviting.

“Take it off for me.”  Be polite, though, “Please.”

Shit? Hannibal almost commented, but decided better of it. In very fluid movements he took off his tie and discarded it to the floor.

“Quid pro quo.” He said nearly in a whisper as he eyed Will’s shirt.

Will outright grinned.  There is a certain flavor of satisfaction that comes from being the first to do anything for someone.  Having this would be another link in the gold chain of his mind, tying together the various impressions he had of the man in front of him.

“I think you will,” he said, fingers working to unclasp the belt and slip it out from its loops.  “And I’ll start slow.  Make it last as long as it needs to.”  The leather was tough and smooth in his palm.  Folding it once, he gave one soft smack of it against his palm.  He folded it one more time and did it again, this time satisfied with the sharp, tight sound he got.

Standing up to full height again, he unzipped Hannibal’s pants and slipped his fingers down to palm the hard girth there.  He wanted to feel it before he saw it:

“Well, shit, Dr. Lecter,” he murmured, “not bad at all.”

He continued to stroke, lightly, as he continued:  “I need you to pick a word.  Any word you like, but it’s got to be short and easy to remember.”  Absently, he slid the belt gently up and down Hannibal’s thigh, his back, up under his chin.  “Anytime you want me to stop, use that word.  I’ll stop no matter what, alright?”

He nipped at his new lover’s jaw while his mind whirred over a myriad of possibilities; some included the belt, the counter, the chocolate, and the hours left to them in the night.  “What’s your word, Hannibal?”

// if u wanna // [runsonfear]: "I assume this is a food."

“You’re not hesitating are you? I assure you, it’s delicious.”