#yes hannibal is a fish in this scenario

[angelicdevil666]

Choosing to believe this artwork by Nathan W. Pyle is about Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter…

[tethered-heartstrings]

whats ur softest hannigram scenario that u have of them after the fall? <3

I am a sucker for platonic bathing. Washing each other’s hair with care, no obligations or expectations, just genuinely wanting to ease a small burden for the other person. Cutting each other’s hair as a form of trust and relinquishing some independence without consequence. Being able to just sit there and be taken care of. Wound healing has a bit of angst attached to it depending on how they got injured. But wiping away blood, suturing wounds, bandaging, giving medications to easy pain and discomfort, checking on the wounds and making sure they are healing well when the person injured may not be thinking about it. Teaching the other person the depths of what they are passionate about (yes, Will knows how to cook but Hannibal knows some weird crazy funky stuff, and Will can teach him fishing), teaching each other languages, traveling to places to express parts of themselves that may be difficult with words, getting pets together, getting new hobbies together... I guess this was more than just one scenario, I’m sorry. I like the idea of the being soft. They don’t need to shed their entire personality for softness. They can still kill and maim be violent. But I like to think they can replace some of that hardness and hesitancy and fall out of old habits at the knife’s edge and warm up to something softer. 

[k-s-morgan]

Hi K :)

What is your headcanon for the first “I love you” between Hannibal and Will?

I have read fics where they don’t say it to each other as if those words weren’t for them, or couldn’t explain what they felt but I don’t see that as true. They’re both romantic in their own way and express it differently, but both Will and Hannibal are tactile blokes, always touching each other, Hannibal with his romantic poetry and literature quotations, Will with his touches and lingering looks... so I definitely see them saying I love you.

Hannibal saying it first and Will taking a few days, and then after hunting together, Will says it back, covered in blood :P

Hi! I spent so much time thinking about this ask, and I kept having different answers :D Finally, I arrived at some more consistent ones.

I agree, Will and Hannibal are extremely romantic. The stuff they do can honestly be applied to some rom-com: sailing through the ocean to find your beloved? Leaving a bloody Valentine in the most poetic place (for them)? Moping around, checking the list, touching a phone in longing while the dramatic music plays just because your object of infatuation hasn't come for an appointment? Digging up the body your beloved has killed to decorate it and express your admiration? This is hilarious, although in a dark way.  So yes, I don't think they are above such words as "I love you."

At the same time, I think Will is just... not used to saying or hearing it. He doesn't seem to have had a good relationship with his father, he doesn't seem to have had friends, so it wouldn't surprise me if he never said or got "I love you" at all. Hannibal, on the other hand, must treasure these words greatly and apply them only to those rare people he truly, fully loves - loves to the point of self-sacrifice. I think Mischa and Will are the only people in this category.

I can definitely see the scenario you proposed. This makes sense to me. In fact, this is exactly what I settled on after my lengthy contemplation :D

Hannibal: I imagine the words just slipping out one day. He's watching Will do something like the repairs, fishing, or cooking, fond and appreciative, and he's suddenly overcome with such intense wave of affection that he blurts out, "I love you" and then just stares. Will drops the fishing rod/knife and stares back.

Why this scenario: Hannibal seems to always focus on such grand things, it would be ironic and lovely if something small and trivial took these words out of his mouth. He was thinking about having a soulmate who'll share his interests and deep insights, but now he's watching a guy fish/cook/repair something and he's nearly undone by the surge of love and affection.    

Will: I agree that he would stay silent for a while, not mentioning it again. But he'd be thinking about it obsessively, recalling how the words sounded, what intonation they had, how Hannibal looked like when he spoke them, etc. When they go hunting a few days later, Will feels high from the blood and the kill, he looks at Hannibal and he knows that right now, he's the happiest he ever was. That he's never going to be alone again. So he says, "I love you," and watches Hannibal gape, duck his head, and smile that sweet shy smile he gives him in S2, as they are eating Randall.

Why this scenario: for Will, his feelings for Hannibal have always been tightly connected with his Becoming. It's not that he couldn't accept Hannibal, exactly - he couldn't accept himself. After coming such a long, Will is finally free from the limitations he placed on himself, and in many ways, it's because of Hannibal. Hannibal gave him freedom and acceptance, an eternal reprieve from loneliness, and when the realization fully hits home, Will utters "I love you" for the first time in his life.  

[hola-ninos]

you   ll   Part 2

Summary: Percy and you finally made it to safety when you find someone who shouldn’t be there. 

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: stabbing, more water controlling, and there is a little bit of bigbrother!Percy.

A/N: I’m sorry if you don’t like fish, And if you don’t have long hair, I was just trying to make up a good food choice and some hair style. Also, I got this far in the series, so, yay! Also, this series will be covering everything up until The Blood of Olympus and maybe after that, so the parts may get super long. Please enjoy though!

https://depressed-teen-needs-her-coffee.tumblr.com/post/625639882430251008/you

find part one here ^

The look on the boy's face was not easy to read. You could see several different emotions go through it. Love, hope, regret, fear, hurt, loss, and so much more. Even though it was almost physically impossible, the boy grew paler. That’s when you realized why he was going pale. Noticing the faint light, you turned around to see Percy behind you, gripping Riptide with a death grip. He started advancing on the boy, pinning him up on a wall before questioning him. “Who are you? Why did she scream when she saw you? What did you do to her?” Percy asked, a growing anger in his voice. You knew his big brother instinct was kicking in, and as much as you loved how much he cared about you, he was going to kill this boy if you didn’t stop him immediately. The pale boy spoke up. “Woah, dude, put me down first off-” Percy dropped him on the floor, “Second, I don’t know who you guys are. I have never even seen you people before,” he continued. “Liar.” You called out. He may think he was good, but you knew better. Suddenly, you remembered something else. “Ghost King,” you muttered, grasping on to the two words as they popped in your mind. “What did you say?” Percy asked you. “Nothing,” I lied to him. I had just lied to my big brother for a boy I didn’t even know. It was all so confusing. “Why did you scream when you saw him Y/N?” Percy looked at you. “Why?” “He just scared me. That’s all. It’s fine.” you replied, while also trying to sound believable. Hazel finally piped up after watching this entire scenario go down. “ Guys, this is my brother Nico. Clearly y’all got off on the wrong foot, so, um, be nice.” You shot her an apologetic look as you walked over to the boy and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” you shook his hand. “Nico di Angelo,” he replied, not once taking his eyes off you. “Guys, I don’t mean to be rude, but you both seriously need baths. Why don’t you go down to the bath house and get nice and clean,” Hazel told Percy and you. You nodded and dragged Percy through the door as he shot daggers at the son of Pluto, Nico di Angelo. 

…

After one of the longest showers you had ever taken, you felt like Venus herself. You styled your hair into some intricate braids before heading to where you thought you would find the legion. When you got there, you matched almost everyone else in your purple t-shirt and jean shorts, hoping that they might welcome you if you looked a little like them. After being approved by Octavian, he asked if you and Percy had any letters of recommendation. He knew you didn’t, so you responded by quietly mumbling no. “Does anyone stand for these pathetic Greeks with nothing to fight for?” Octavian yelled to the legion. This stupid, pale, skinny little jerk think he can talk about Percy like that? Oh hell no you thought, blood boiling. You opened your mouth to rant on him when you heard Frank. “ I stand for them! They saved my life!” Frank shouted. “Frank, you’re still on probatio, you can’t stand for them yet,” Octavian replied, which only made you want to punch him more. “I’ll stand for them!” Hazel cried out, and you could not be more grateful to see the golden-haired girl as she glared at Octavian, daring her to challenge him.

Before Octavian could say anything to her, Reyna responded. “Hazel may stand for them, so they can join the Fifth Cohort if the centurion will accept them.” You saw a tall boy step forward and nod to Reyna. His lips were stained red, which gave you a bad feeling. It triggered something in your memory, but you didn’t know what. You put it into the back of your mind and focused as Reyna told everyone that Dakota has accepted Percy and you into the Fifth Cohort. “All hail legion ultima!” the legion yelled. Hazel made eye contact with you, giving you a wave and a “come here” signal. You grabbed Percy’s wrist and dragged him over to Hazel. “C’mon, I’m sure you guys are starving,” she said as soon as Percy and you joined her. “Follow me.”

…

Food. Glorious food, you thought as you sat down. You hadn’t eaten since yesterday and really wanted some sushi. You were about to ask Hazel where to find the food when a wind spirit came passing by. She threw several different sushi rolls on your plate, including 2 spring rolls. Another one came floating by and there was suddenly blue cream soda filling the cup. When you took a sip, you felt home. You looked over at Percy, who was shoving handfuls of fries into his mouth, having no manners whatsoever. You giggled and popped into tuna roll into your mouth. You felt a sudden chill next to you as the boy from earlier sat down next to you. Percy looked at him and then looked back at you. You gave him a look to tell him you would be fine, and turned to the boy. “Hi,” you smiled at him, even though he had a face like he hated everyone there. “Hi,” he mumbled. You offered him a piece of your sushi, and he shook his head. “I’m not a huge fan of fish,” he said, looking at you as if you should know that. You thought he was crazy. You may be a daughter of Neptune, but fish was still pretty good. “Look, after War Games, can we talk? I know we just met, but it’s, uh, really important.” He almost whispered. You didn’t know why, but he was really cute when he was nervous. You also didn’t know why you were think that. It was not something to be thinking about when you had amnesia and didn’t know if you even had a boyfriend. Well. You kinda assumed the boy from the memory was your boyfriend, but this boy was acting like he had never seen you in his life, definitely not acting like a caring boyfriend who hadn’t seen his girlfriend in 6 weeks. You wanted to know what he was really doing here and why you knew him, so you nodded your head in a quick yes. “Ok, I’ll, um, find you after the War Games ok?” he quickly responded. “Okay,” you replied, not looking forward to the fight ahead. You ate a couple more rolls before Frank dragged your to the armory to stock yourself up for the War Games.

…

The plan your team came up with was stupid. It was completely and utterly stupid. The Fifth Cohort being used as a “distraction”? You thought it was super dumb, but had to prove you were loyal to your team. That’s how you ended up blasting water canons from outside of the stronghold with Percy. The First and Second Cohorts would be out, but not for long. You got Frank and Hazels’ attention before telling them to go, so they could get the banner. You knocked a couple more guards out before following them up the wall. After almost being cut down several times, you made it to the top of the wall. With the Fifth, Fourth, and Third Cohort backing you up, you all barreled through the First and Second Cohorts defenses. You climbed up the wall to get better positioning when you saw Frank, Hazel, and Percy riding Hannibal our the front gate of the bunker. In Percy’s hand was a large banner, signifying the Cohorts winnings. You smiled, only to be interrupted. You didn’t have enough time to fight before you were stabbed straight through the chest with a spear.

taglist:

@mariesunflowerchild​ and @subjecta13-thefangirl that’s it. Please inbox me if you wanna be added to the taglist :D

[ajokeformur-ray]

Im going to cast a healing spell (I have never done this before..) because a friend of my father is very seriously ill and I think he will die if the hospital continues to treat him like shit. And Im wondering how Hannibal (nbc) would react if he found out his s/o is starting to try things like that for a serious problem?

Word count: 165.

“I’m going to cast a healing spell.”

Hannibal looked up from the fish he was easily gutting and preparing for lunch, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Are you?”

He put his blade down and wiped his hands on the nearest tea towel, his eyes glinting with something hidden.

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, tears in your eyes. “I have to do something, Hannibal. I can’t just do nothing while my friend’s dad could die!” You spoke your words with such conviction that Hannibal knew you couldn’t be swayed.

“Do you think it will help?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

A pause, a nod. “Very well.” 

He turned back to his fish, then, and his indifference would have stung had you not been distracted by how graceful his hands looked, his grip on the blade expert and sure. He had already known of your intentions, but he wouldn’t stop you. He was curious what would happen, and what you would do when it did.

It’s been a while since you sent this in, I hope everything turned out okay!!!

Hannibal: @missingaim @ninja-scenarios @murielthemagicalgirl @rafaelina-casillas @bingewatchingmylifegoby @maelikimichaelis @hannibalsslut @lolacolaempath @thotsaucebitch

[flatfootmonster]

First Dates

Hannibal

I dealt with the interview as politely as I could muster. The director’s IQ  was dusted much too lightly for him to detect any of the slights I had laced through my responses. But then, my ambiguous words and actions are only to amuse my own self in a world full of the maddeningly mundane. He was both of those things.

The building that I was filmed in is across the street from the restaurant. The set that I was in was, what I can only presume, their idea of a romantic setting; a red backdrop with the shape of a heart centered on it and vases overfilled with red roses. There is no depth of thought evident, but then what did I expect? This is a show for the general population; they enjoy the easy and the obvious.

I make my way across the cobbled street and towards the clear glass door of the restaurant because this is what I have been instructed to do. I am nothing if I am not courteous. That is what I want them to see so naturally they will.

Easy and obvious.

My date waits within, and I start to wonder whether this person will have anything of interest about themselves. Most people do not. They display the same behaviors I can analyse with no difficulty; I can predict their next move or what their next choice of subject will be and usually with a high level of accuracy.

There is a silver lining in every conundrum, however, and in this—whatever this being presents—I could choose to have this individual over for dinner at mine after tonight. I can feel myself smiling at my own pun—that's a bad habit, I’m aware; it is not generally accepted to laugh at one's own jokes. But when there is no one else to share your cannibalistic tendencies, there’s no harm in appreciating your own wit.

The surface of the door is cold against my palm as I push into the restaurant and the host greets me with a very wide, white, smile that is meant to be as warm as the air that hits me. He is bald and bearded and I suppose he imagines he is currently in trend. I smirk as I consider how he undoubtedly perceives himself as exceedingly edgy. I imagine he received a beard home-care kit for Christmas from an overbearing mother or girlfriend—both serving the same purpose in this scenario, and probably many others—and decided to make it his hobby. My expression is considered positive, it would seems, as the man ducks his head in welcome.

“Good Evening, Doctor Lecter.”

No, I decide that this one I like. He at least has the decency to get my title correct, unlike the director. Reminding myself of that small, oily man almost returns me to the recipe I was considering might accompany part of his anatomy on a latter date. Instead, I put that particular thought on hold and extend my hand out to the man I have decided won’t go on my naughty list.

“Good Evening,” I announce.

Interestingly, my eyes seem to be tracing the silhouettes of diners, trying to discern which one I will be paired with. Noticing their peculiar and spontaneous activity, I train them on the hosts jovial features. “Unfortunately I do not yet know your name.” His grip in mine is relaxed, but not like a dead fish. There really is nothing worse than a weak handshake.

“Oh, I'm not your date,” I resist the urge to narrow my eyes. Of course I don't think he is my date. Absurd notion when he is clearly standing behind the host stand, menus displayed before him. Does he believe I gave myself the title of Doctor?

He is quickly slipping out of my favor but I don’t correct him on his misstep; my person suit is firmly secured. I raise my eyebrows and cock my head, patiently waiting for him to elaborate. He looks flustered now, an awkward half smile on his face. “He's at the bar.”

The smile I return is thin but easily bought; easy and obvious. “Many thanks, Monsieur Anonymous.”

The smells of the restaurant surround me; it is neither outstanding nor offensive. The bar area is particularly strong in scent—to me at least—of the various alcoholic cocktails that have been spilled over the years. I can smell him before I really see him: woodsy, unique and completely out of place. There is most definitely a hint of dog. Despite the latter, I smile. He may be the only thing I have found interesting during this whole experience so far.

As I draw near to the form that is quite literally propping up the bar, I pause to admire his backside. It would be delightful in a manner of circumstances, and not simply for carving. But I frown as I absorb his dress sense, although it completely corroborates with his out of place scent. His shirt is plaid, rolled to his sleeves and wrinkled from slouching at some point in a chair. He is nervous and warm, I can see it from the way his finger is dragging around his collar, loosening it from around his neck, and the ruddy color of the skin at his nape. His trousers are olive in color and, if I'm not mistaken, they are a smart variation of cargo pants— if that isn’t an oxymoron in itself. Either he has dressed like this to convey a message purposefully, or he is completely out of his depth in a whole number of categories. Overall, it's quite an endearing first impression.

A deer caught in the headlights.

“I believe that you might be waiting for me.” I have to strain against the will of my cheek muscles that desire to pull my smile wider. I am not sure of the result, although I realize he is none the wiser. My arrival made the man jump so forcefully that half of his whisky is trickling down his forearm and spattered on the bar surface. One more scent for that distressing bouquet. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” he mutters absentmindedly. I’m wholly convinced that he is unaware of the lie that just came out of his mouth.

“I'm Hannibal.” I manage to hide my mirth and decide not to hold my hand out; he is quite preoccupied with a napkin and his damp wrist. He doesn’t seem to want to release his drink anymore than he wants to meet my eyes.

“Hi,” he mumbles into his chest, “I was waiting… but that's the point—the deal.” he elaborates those last two words as though I am thanking him for waiting and he is letting me know there is no need. It is not meant rudely, he is self denigrating. “I'm Will.”

His eyes are safely secured behind lenses that look too thin to have any function. The dark frame slips down his nose due to a light sheen of perspiration on his marble-like skin. He doesn't seem to notice their descent, blue orbs frantically bouncing around the room before they settle on me for a brief moment. That's when he realizes he's looking at me over the top of his glasses and uses a finger to push them up his nose as his eyes drop to the knot in my tie. Then he mumbles an apology, his hand desperately scrambling across the bar for support. The glass is still clutched his hand. The sudden flummoxed motion all took perhaps five seconds but, for that brief electrifying moment that he allowed his pupils to meet my own, I feel a firmness; a hidden strength buried beneath isolation and frustration.

Will is altogether peculiar and I find I like him.

“There’s no need to apologize. Should we find a table? The floor might be a little firmer when seated.” I add a smile as well as a soft lilt to my voice so he knows the jest is not meaning to harm, but all he does is repeat my name as though it's a memory. I surprise myself by the small twist of something deep within me; a spark somewhere in dark depths that has never seen a visitor. There’s an echo, an answer, a hunger clawing itself through the bleakness.

I push the urge to dissect myself away because I have a strong feeling that trying to discern the sensation would be like throwing a pebble into that immeasurable cavern and holding my breath, waiting to hear the noise of its fall being broken. By water, rock, foliage, bone, soft tissue…

And for a moment I am uncharacteristically caught off balance and my forehead tightens in a frown. Two of my fingertips push against the tacky wooden bar-top; a fortitude I never need. The sound of Will clearing his throat brings me back together as he realizes I asked a question. He is too lost in his own castaway nature to consciously notice the falter in my posture for that moment. Or so I assume. Maybe he is aware of the glitch in time and space that seemed to affect the both of us in this moment of collision.

I may have to eat him yet.

“Sure… you decide.” His arm made a wide gesture to the room, that I might not know where the tables were. But I know that’s not his intentions, his movements are sprung by tightly coiled nerves. “There are some booths in the corner.” His fingers finally leave the glass and he wipes his palms down over his stomach. I wonder how much damper they have become since I introduced myself?

“Would you like to sit at a booth, Will?” He blinks at the question, trying to unravel how his gesture backfired so quickly.

“Oh, no, I didn't mean that's where I wanted to sit. I was just pointing it out; I noticed while I was waiting.” He looks around the room almost in surprise of his surroundings. As if he can’t quite figure out how he got here, or this was not what he had expected happen . Truth be told, I can relate; this was not at all what I expected to find.

“If you were going to pick where to sit, would you choose a booth?” The man fingers his jaw, tips pass over his stubble making a sound that sends static electricity skating over my skin. The collar on my own shirt seems tighter now.

“Yes.” Will makes the admission and he sounds defeated in being given what he wants. That is intriguing. I begin to ponder what other things and experiences he denies himself…  

“A booth it is.”

[red-earth-rising]

Hannibal S4, relative time & relations

It just occurred to me that by the time they (hopefully!) film season 4, Hugh and Mads will be maybe/probably/definitely 7 years older than they were in TWOTL.

Sure, the show could could ignore that and be like “a year later” but OMG they won’t, will they. It will be a massive, gorgeous, glorious time-skip of up to 7 years.

Think about this: By the end of season 3 Will and Hannibal had spent together, what? Maybe half year, 10 months? And that is mostly before Will found out. Since Will found out they have mostly been apart, with only brief, intense and often violent moments of contact. And it has been lavish.

But now - think about it. We are currently living through the 5-7 years (I would say most likely 4, since they could use the earlier 3-year time-skip to split the difference) of Will and Hannibal possibly co-existing in continuum for the very first time. Whether it is a sustainable interaction, whether Will slams the door of their darling white fence once every few months to go fishing in the mountains and try to get Hannibal out of his system, or whether they are constantly in the run, they are most likely spending this time together.

Now, imagine the first scene of Season 4. Could be a cold open, a room with 3 men, and only two walking out. Or maybe a dinner table under the warm Cuban twilight. Or even better, a gorgeous Clarice walking up to a figure with their back turned to the camera.

In any scenario, we will be head-slammed into a new world, a fresh build, tera nova. In whichever case, we will be dealing with an entirely new Hannibal and Will who had years and years and years to marinade in each other’s brain juices. Who has come out on top? What is their dynamic like at the exact point in which Fuller has opted to open a door to their world once more? Do we eventually get to see flashbacks of all their firsts (please Lord, please)?

I cannot convey how mouth-watering I find the idea of re-discovering these two beloved characters in their entirety, bite-by-bite. Oh, in how many ways Bryan could use our assumed knowledge of their personality to flip the script and make us scream and cry and squeee!

Yes, the wait sounds long, but just think that right at this very moment, Will and Hannibal are somewhere in Cuba inside Bryan’s head, building each other up and tearing each other down in all sorts of way, getting ready and flavourful for the moment we meet them once more. Clarice is in for a hell of a ride <3

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Gotham 4x03: A Liveblog

It’s that time of the week again. Hoo boy. I have a sneaking suspicion my son gets thawed this episode and... PHEW, body is not ready. But, here we sure go.

TL;DR - Why.

Question: why does Arabia 125 A.D. look like an edgy production of Les Miz? Just saying

Into the Resurrection Pond! Because... y’know... that’s a thing. That is... Clearly how resurrecting is done. It all totally makes sense now

What is this, divine amniotic fluid? Also why are his clothes gone? He definitely had clothes when he went in. Why did the pond dissolve his clothes but heal his body? ...wut?

I... I don’t... old guy, you’ve explained officially nothing. Nothing here makes sense. What the fuck.

We have a fancy sword now, that’s ALL I’m taking away from this.

BTW, this is a show about Batman

I wonder what the mysterious crates Penguin’s shipping contain

Meanwhile in... Spain? Mexico? Is this what Falcone meant when he said “a place down South”? I thought he meant like... fucking Jersey, not south of the border XDDD

Anyway, meanwhile Jim is here in this tonal departure of a location to get his head shot off

Oh jesus fuck and there’s ALREADY ANOTHER LOVE INTEREST? FUCK EVERYTHING. WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS, ALWAYS STUBBORNLY, OBSESSIVELY SHUNTING JIM INTO EVERY HETERO SHIP THAT COMES ALONG? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO SHE IS, SHE’S JUST SOME CHICK RIDING A HORSE, BUT GIVEN THE WAY THIS SHOW RUNS, SHE’S PROBABLY FALCONE’S DAUGHTER OR GRAND NIECE OR SOME BULLSHIT AND JIM WILL HAVE YET ANOTHER DOOMED ROMANCE WITH HER IN THE EYES OF PAPA FALCONE WHO IS COMPLETELY HIS DAD SUBSTITUTE. JESUS.

Please get a NEW FUCKING PLOT Gotham

Unrelated: Margot Verger flashbacks, but this show 1) would never and 2) Does Not Deserve Margot. They Could Never.

STOP LOOKING AT HORSE GIRL OH MY GOD, Why is my life suffering.

YUP. CALLED IT. FUCKING CALLED IT. HIS DAUGHTER. GUESS WHO JIM’S NEXT RELATIONSHIP IS WITH GUYS? I hate myself, I hate this show. Fuck you all.

Godddddd and she’s the heir to the throne, wants to take over the family business... Fuck. This. Fuck This. Fuck everything. I hate this show.

I’ll miss you Papa Falcone, I’m so sorry you couldn’t help us this time and instead enabled a TERRIBLE subplot that I already fucking HATE. HATE SO MUCH.

“A real crime”? because muggings aren’t real crimes? Great, I’ll inform the government of that shall I? Tell them to stop breathing down my neck when I pirate music. Just because Selina was there Bruce doesn’t make it a better crime than any other. If you go after only big fish, buddy, you’ll become like Jim. Don’t do that shit Bruce. Don’t do that.

Alfred on point today, at least

Zsasz you beautiful angel, you vinyl wearing freak, I love you so much, you’re the only one I love, all the rest of them are trash. I only love you.

Talking to the ice block,mmmhmmm, mmmmmmhmmm, called it. Things going swimmingly for Nygmobblepot, as per usual

That’s uh... this is uh... uhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmm, Who The Fuck?

Also you’re... you’re fucking kidding me. You’re fucking kidding me. A blowtorch. You’re going to melt him with A blowtorch. I... I’m. You’re SURE there isn’t a master power switch that would defrost him WAY faster than this? Because... y’know, if he’s STAYING in the ice at room temperature I uh... I’m PRETTY sure he’s hooked up to some cooling vents to... y’know. Keep him in the ice. So... this whole SINGLE blow torch rescue is... I want to say futile but it’s actually WAY more idiotic than that.

Holy fuck.

Also also WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU. You’re looking at Ed like you want to sit on his face and I HAVE NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE IN MY LIFE WHICH MEANS ED HASN’T EITHER. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU HAVE THIS TERRIBLE, ILL-ADVISED, SUICIDAL CRUSH ON HIM? IF OSWALD DOESN’T MURDER YOU, ED WILL, TRUST ME, THERE IS NO SCENARIO HERE WHERE YOU GET OUT ALIVE. HOLY FUCK YOU WERE NOT AROUND FOR SEASON 3. HOLY FUCK WOMAN WHY DID YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH AN ICEBERG, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?

...Zsasz do you know something about this my sweet cream puff? Or are you just amused by Oswald ‘I’m Totally Over Ed Nygma’ Cobblepot screaming at you? I mean, both are fair, both are completely fair.

And I REALLY FEEL I MUST POINT OUT THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY SHE MELTED ED THAT FAST UNLESS SHE TURNED OFF THE FREEZER THAT WAS KEEPING HIM THERE. NO FUCKING WAY. Because, my dear friends, if she didn’t, then the water would have refrozen into harder ice before she could even make a dent. That’s literally how ice sculpture works, to get that nice, smooth, hard finish, you melt the ice and refreeze it and you do it over and over again to get the shape you want. UNLESS she turned off the frost on him, with ONE blowtorch there’s NO FUCKING WAY she got him melted in the SCANT HOURS Oswald was gone. FUCK THIS SHOW. WHY DID I HAVE A BETTER PLAN TO GET HIM OUT OF THE ICE THAN YOU DID?

Ohhhhh god you’re... a fucking psycho. oh god. Just what this needed.

I... I guess you’re the Harley Quin of this show... I... Mmm. mmm. this. this sure is happening. this sure is a thing.

I see we quick taught Bruce how to talk like a dock worker

Everyone needs an accent coach, I guess

Fancy knife makes a reappearance! The plot-relevant fancy knife!

Oswald’s coping with Ed being missing pretty well, all things considering. Also, interesting... belt arm bands. We’re kicking the kink back up in this show I see.

Ah Yes. This Millennia Old Illuminated Manuscript Proves Ra’s Al Ghul Is Immortal. Drawings In Books Are Irrefutable Proof Of Identity. 

Uggggggghhhhhhhh... back to Jim Het Subplot Gordon, ugh I feel like throwing up. All of my tears Harvey. I hope you’re pissed as hell with him.

I hope you kill him, sweetie. I hope you’re only here to murder him. I’d be proud of you.

asfghjshadgksahjfwkhfkjshfdksja <--- rage typing @ Jim’s everything

*siiiiiigh* Well, at least Ed isn’t attracted to her at all. Although... that’s just feeding me ALL of the Harley vibes and MMMM. MMMMMM. You know what we DIDN’T need?

Hmmmmm, Ed doesn’t... Ed seems to be processing some shit. Interestinggggg. There’s hope for this show yet.

Ummm... weird cut away shot. I think that was an homage to Hannibal, the extreme #aesthetic close up, but I’m afraid y’all don’t have the camera crew to carry that off as it took me 8 million years to understand what I was looking at

Hey! Acupuncture is a legit thing Ed, fuck you

Your body is just all fucked up man, this’ll take time

Ed’s uh... having some bad times. Huh. Didn’t think freezing him would fuck up his brain, but uh... let’s see. That would certainly be a departure from the icy convenience.

Ewwwwwwwww @ Jim’s romantic subplot. Ugh. Why.

HE KILLED YOUR BROTHER. GOD I HOPE YOU MURDER HIM.

*rolls around in despair*

Oswald likes Bruce at least, there’s like... one whole thing

Hmmmm, it was the old switcheroo. I mean... frankly I buy the muscle atrophy thing, that totally makes sense, and... I guess his body being fine but his brain being mush, even if it doesn’t make sense, it’s satisfying? Ehhh, we’ll see

Godddd *siiiiigh*

I see that Sofia has a thing against shirts so... I mean that’s a thing

*siiiiiiigh* I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.

Zsasz, my sweet, my angel, I love you, you are my everything

Ed’s uh... he’s fine. He’s fine.

“The Lazarus Pit” ...really? That’s what we’re calling it? I think divine amniotic sack is more appropriate but... whatever man. Call your creepy green goo whatever you want.

Babs and... Ra’s Al Ghul that’s... that’s a new one

Also, how did a quality actor like Alexander Siddig end up in a trash show like this?

[equinoxrox]

Some shit I’m writing. (Yes, it’s been a while.)

Tuesday, 11:06 P.M.

           The city is always relatively dead around this time. Each night I find myself creeping up to my third story apartment, I can never tell whether I’d rather it be exciting or dead. I couldn’t take part even if it were, but I guess it gives me an idea to entertain for a little while. The wind is quiet, as it always is this time of year. Dead center of June. Fucking hate it. By the time I’m at the door to my place, I’m drenched in sweat, well, more sweat, and that much more frustrated when I have to fumble around in my bag for my keys in the hallway of the apartment building; a tasteless combination (clearly designed by someone who’s never seen a fucking color wheel) of olive green walls, crème colored lights, and a carpet that was the most uncomfortable shade of orange. Granted, it’s a cheap place, and somehow, I managed to avoid having neighbors that make living there worse, but, one has to occasionally wonder who gave the green light on that design scheme.

Sweating, irritated, and simply done with my day, I finally manage to grasp the keyring buried in my bag, due to its definitive amethyst crystal keycharm, slide the key in the lock, turn, and hear the oh-so-sweet sound of the tumblers clicking out of place to let me into my home. Apartment 310. Not much light being shed in, with the exception of slits of light peeking through the blinds that cover up my arcadia doors, and the tiny red and green lights of technology left on stand by that composed my entertainment center. Looking in that direction, toward the small, dark brown coffee table placed in the center of the living room, separating the entertainment center from my lovely, cobalt, sectional (one I managed to swipe from a Savers), I noticed a tall bottle sitting in the center, with no lid.

“Shit,” I maneuvered to the table, grabbing and lightly shaking the bottle, “can’t believe I left this out all night.” Without a second thought, aware there wasn’t more than a nice half glass, I tipped the bottle to my lips, and polished off whatever wine I had been drinking the night before. Dry, bitter, and warm. I really should have put that away yesterday. Though, I admit, I did already feel somewhat better. Less frustrated anyway. I headed toward the back of my apartment, dropping my bag on the countertop that led into the kitchen as I did so. Shifting to the door at the very end of the hall, I passed by a room I wasn’t particularly fond of seeing these days. I could just close the door. But I never do. I guess it’s my own brand of masochism. In a relatively small, dark room, with thin, white curtains that covered the window in the back, sat a canvas perched on an easel. It’s been there at least a few months. Next to it, sat a grocery bag with freshly bought acrylic paint poking out, the store receipt crumpled on the ground next to it. Near the window, sat a desk, filled with artistic clutter; paintbrushes, pens without ink, scratch paper, magazines torn to shit, you name it. As I’d realized myself caught up in thought, simply standing in the doorway and degrading myself, I continued to walk to the end of the hallway, and into my bedroom.

           At least here, there was evidence of life, be it an unorganized and arbitrary one. In the center, sat a queen-size that was very evidently a gift; the mattress was thick, with a decent firmness, sitting atop a smooth, wooden bedframe that was colored a beautiful pastel blue. On top of the mattress, thick comforters were tossed aside, hanging graciously over the edge, while my pillows were flat, and definitely well used. My floor was a dim shade of brown, wood, slightly glazed over with a gloss, that probably looked really nice ten years ago. Thankfully, it was hardly visible, courtesy of the gratuitous amounts of clothing scattered about. The room itself wasn’t particularly large, with the bed taking up a good 40 percent of the space, but that didn’t stop me from neglecting the upkeep of my sleeping space. To the far right of the bed, was a small closet with a two sliding, wooden doors, decently full of clothes and old school stuff; to the far left, against the wall, was a tall, canary yellow bookshelf, adorned in various stickers and nicks it acquired over the numerous years. As I lazily maneuvered my way over to the bed, I slipped out of my shoes, unclipped and slid the bra from underneath my shirt, tossing it on the floor, and flopped into the comfortable embrace of my bed. On a heavy exhale, I rolled over, and reached out to the night stand to my right, fishing for the USB cord to charge my phone, unintentionally noticing the time on the alarm clock that rested there as well.

“ Goddamn it,” I muttered, realizing it was already nearing 11:30, meaning I needed to get to the kitchen and open a bottle of wine before I had to get to sleep. I grabbed my phone from my pocket, and quickly checked the interface; one missed call and two text messages, both from Anya. Without realizing it, I had been nervously gnawing on my lip. Plugging my phone in, I placed my phone face down in the comforters, stood up and proceeded to the bathroom, grabbing a nearby t-shirt as I left the room. I removed my disgusting work shirt, and slipped into the shirt I just grabbed; a large, purple tank top, and undid the messy bun my hair had shaped itself into over the course of my 9 hour shift. I unraveled my hair, shook it out, before wrapping it back up into a semi-messy bun. As usual, I stuck a pair of heavy, black chopsticks into the bun, and sauntered into the kitchen, where my wine rack sat. I flicked the light switch and to my displeasure, I noticed that I only had one bottle of wine left, and that in two weeks, all of my bills for the current month were due. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem, if I hadn’t already been behind on just about everything I had to pay at the moment.

Stress began to encroach, and I felt the rise in my heart rate as my breath intensified. “What better a time to drink?” I said to myself, grabbing a corkscrew from a nearby drawer. I grabbed the virtually black bottle of wine, a delicious, $7, 2015, Argentinian Cabernet Sauvignon, and popped the cork out, catching a whiff of a bittersweet wine that I was about to guzzle. Without the need for a glass, I grabbed the bottle by the neck, and a water bottle from the refrigerator, as I made my way over to the couch in my living room. I placed the bottles on the coffee table in the center of the room, while I reached my hands into the couch creases for the television remote. Feeling an solid object with buttons, that wasn’t a self pleasure device, I pulled the remote from the couch and turned on the TV, and the sound bar that was also, most definitely a gift. The 20-something inch Vizio made a tiny jingle as the white light illuminated the lettering beneath the screen, and the screen itself flickered on. Shifting through the television apps, I made my way to Netflix, and waited as the red loading screen cast a crimson light throughout the otherwise darkened living room. Three profiles popped up; Anya, Familia, and Nia Who Really Needs to Pay For Her Own Account – that last one is me. A small chuckle escaped my lips as I began scrolling through shows, coming to my personal favorite; Hannibal. I’d seen it thousands of times, but ask any girl my age in this generation, nothing was better after a 12 hour shift than watching a man cook and murder, while you competitively drink alone to each time a cooking sequence takes place. Not to mention the artistry of the show itself, sweet Christ, the way its handled is simply perfect. From the individual shots, to the color palette, and even the costume design; its truly amazing. Time passed, and casual sipping, in addition to three separate cooking scenes, had brought me to nearly less than half a bottle of wine. In watching Hannibal in some scenario involving pigs and a pedophile, my mind began to drift, or rather, as I shifted attention away from the television and looked around my apartment, my mind came back to the same place it always does when I find myself knocking back a bottle after work.

Down by the table in the center of the living room sat a small garbage can, packed to the brim with take-out boxes and various alcoholic beverages, with an empty bottle of cheap champagne sitting on the floor right next to it. Taking note of the fact that I should probably take all of that trash out, the realization that the wine was finally working its magic dawned on me when an all-too familiar feeling began to encroach.

“Another day, another bottle.” I muttered as I stared at the empty champagne bottle and all of the bottles peeking from the top of the trash can. A few moments passed as I sat in silence, the television awaiting my next Netflix choice, looping the advertisement of whatever was selected at the moment, and the only other audible sound was the quiet hum of an air conditioning unit.

(That in itself is a miracle; the air conditioning here is just under livable, on a good day.)

However, in these moments of silence, the few I allow myself during the day, also being the ones I spend a good portion of my day avoiding, my thoughts drifted into an objective observation of my life thus far. Starting with the garbage can filled with booze, I stared, and I felt my stomach contort briefly, with the feeling of shame, and disappointment. Not only was it gross, and unappealing to have a full garbage can in plain sight at all times, but I was also aware that that alcohol was all from this week. Every night after work, and after class, I stopped by the liquor store that was across the street from where I got off of the train each night, and grabbed a bottle of wine. At one point, I would have told you that I strictly only drank red wine, and only when I was planning on working on, or had just finished a project. Now, the clerk who’s usually there, a super laid back guy named Adem, knows me by name, and always saves one bottle of the cheapest wine he has for me at the end of every night, typically alternating between a terrible Pinot Noir that’s only a step above Arbor Mist, or a Cabernet that is worth the $5.75 I pay for it. 7 days a week, roughly $42 a week. Initially, it began as a way to enjoy the end of a week, or the extra kick I needed to push me through a piece, but now, it’s all I look forward to after work and class.

And for what? I knew, that once I went to bed, I was waking up to go and repeat this seemingly endless cycle over, and over again, with no real chance at achieving all that I had sought to become for so many years.

Reflexively, I grab the bottle resting on the table, as if I had been stirred into action to take this swig, and take a drink. The bitter, and subtly sweet wine glide smoothly behind my tongue, and hopefully, given I don’t exactly remember eating today, straight to my liver, keeping my depression at bay. At least for the moment. Smacking my lips, I scratch the itch on the back of my head, while I raise the bottle to see what I had left to finish off before I passed out. Understanding this was gonna hit me like a house of well-made bricks once I stood up, I decided the best plan of action, based on the fact about only a half a glass of wine was left, coaxing me to just finish it already, was to down the rest in one go. I rubbed my stomach, and began to knock back the remaining wine, officially ending my night. My mouth tasted of fermented grapes, and my eyes felt heavy. Dropping the bottle on the floor, next to the living room trash can, I had looked down to notice that I had spilled some of the wine on my shirt; the deep maroon liquid morphing the purple top into a deeper, indigo color upon where the droplets had hit.

Or maybe it was just dark and I couldn’t necessarily see.

Regardless of the reason, I had decided the night was officially at a close, and if I had any intention of waking up for class on time, I would have to go to bed right now. I rose to my feet at a gradual rate, and almost instantly, a wave of dizziness and slight nausea welcomed me into the world of the Lush.