godandhiscreation-blog

[godandhiscreation-blog]

i will help you because you asked me to.

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[godandhiscreation-blog]

persuadedparticipant:

                     “ – Yes, thank you.”           The phrase was stilted and breathy, and as he began to guide her          out of the predatory circle, she cast a single glance back towards          the body on the floor and offered a comprehensive, rehearsed          shudder for the benefit of anyone whose eyes might happen across           her.           As her gaze journeyed back to the front, however, she caught          the eye of one of the victim’s friends, who then frowned and looked          away. It was a small action, but she read into it out of necessity, see-          ing it as a brief, mutual exchange of grief made through the barrier          of societal taboos that denied them of an outright admittance. They          both knew that he would not be sorely missed, and that there would          be little love lost once the initial shock subsided.                                          Or perhaps she was simply self-projecting.            A moment later, her attention was drawn back to Hannibal by the            insistent hand on her back and his quick, practical question.                           “Thankfully, I neglected to bring one.”             Neglected was not the right word. She had deliberately left her coat             at home so that she would only have to burn one item of clothing after             this. Well, one item of her own clothing. The unprecedented allure that             had manifested in her interactions with Hannibal had not factored into             that equation. She would have to add his suit to the inferno, because it             would be most unfortunate if she claimed a second life tonight. He was              too fascinating to bury yet.             Bedelia could breathe easier when she was free of the obsessive weight             of the bustling crowd. Even when she wasn’t committing first-degree             murder, she was introverted, far too likely to find herself drained of             energy and panicking. Indeed, she only came to these events for the             dancing, the social status, and the introductions. Were it not for such             obligations, she wouldn’t leave her house.              It was so freeing that it managed to loosed some of the stiffness in              her tongue, allowing her to regain a touch of dark humor.                                     “You could have, perhaps, offered a less                                     ominous consolation.”              When viewed through her current, warped state of mind, his phrase              was comparable to something offered by a serial murderer in the first              act. Statistically, it was unlikely that they were both guilty of such acts              so she discounted the possibility out-of-hand, but that did not change              the fact that she had expected something marginally more sympathe-              tic from a doctor. Unless, of course, underneath the charisma and the              determined stoicism, he was secretly shaken by the sudden turn of              events.                                  She would not judge him for that.

        He smiled, lips tugging slightly at the corners as he removed his hand         from her person and shrugged out of his jacket.

                 “ A quicker escape for us, ”  he said merrily,  “ but the night air                  might be cooler than you anticipated. I must insist you take my                  jacket; I couldn’t in good conscience take a lady home without                  one. ”

        Not waiting for a reply and forestalling any arguments he thought un-         likely to come, he placed his jacket on her shoulders, hands lingering         just a hinted moment too long to remain purely practical. Still in con-         tact, he smirked past her ear, saying simply,

                 “ Perhaps. Would you rather I had? ”

        After all an odd and almost laughable request coming from a recent         murderer, surely, but he supposed that was the point that got to her.         Made her suspicious of even the most innocent of statements and in-         tentions. Suspicious, yet not cautious, or at least not cautious enough         to recognise the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Not yet.

        This must be new to her too, he realised with sudden clarity, the mee-         ting of another mind like hers. Being in the same room, breathing the         same air as someone who understood what she did, saw what she         saw. It was… exhilarating, the thought. He could barely contain him-         self long enough to trap her in his web before he revealed himself to         be the spider that had caught her.

                 “ My car is just outside. I assume you came here with the recently                  deceased? ”

        He had released her shoulders, offering her an arm to lead her outside.

                 “ Did you also neglect to bring a car? ”

        A small joke hanging in the air between them to be appreciated by those         who possessed the knowledge of a carefully planned murder. He was         curious what she would have done if it hadn’t been for him. Perhaps she         would have followed someone else, perhaps she would have gone alone.         The variables were endless, an ever-growing list of possibilities and po-         tential pitfalls racing through his mind as he considered how her plan         could have failed tonight.

        It took courage, he could not deny it. Courage and a certain…         appreciation for excitement and the dangers and promises of         the great unknown.

                          He found he was enthralled by both.

[godandhiscreation-blog]

dysfunctional relationship goals

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Professor Sogliato doesn’t know what he’s missing.

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persuadedparticipant:

             There was, admittedly, some comfort to be found in the security              of her newfound human shield, in the complete lack of hesitance              before his effortless response to her momentary distress. It was              such a tiny thing to fixate on, but - given that they now existed in              a world that she has thrown into chaos - she would willingly cling              to any and all life rafts tossed in her direction. Such reliance, how-              ever, bore no reflection of the act itself.              Despite all of the circumstances that she had turned over in her              mind during the hours of planning, she had never factored in the              effect of death’s presence on the atmosphere of the party. The              sudden silence of the band, sepulchral whispers at the fringes              of the walls - all sound carried a newfound weight. His was not              the first life that she had taken, but it certainly felt like the first              time. Virgin jitters should no longer have a place in her conduct,              but perhaps there was a meaningful difference between private              murder and public execution.              Her introspection was enough to lend her a moment of hesita-              tion - spent standing in confusion in the middle of the emptying              dance floor - before she fell into the exodus, trailing several              yards behind Hannibal. The shock had only dulled the edge              of her curiosity, not negated it, and she found herself wonder-              ing what ego leant Hannibal the assumption that he could              help.              Numbness trickled down her spine as she stood slightly aloof              from the panicking crowd, seeping into tense muscles and              leeching the tension from them until the only lingering sense              was that of sick satisfaction. With every compression, her              victory was increasingly secure. He was dead, and none of              these people had cast so much as a suspicious glance in her              direction. For all intents and purposes, this outing had been              successful.               Her gaze remained fixed on the the body even as Hannibal               turned concerned eyes to her, feigning denial and an ill-               founded insistence that none of this was real. She moved               closer, stepping through the crowd proper until she reached               the life and death pair in its center. A delicate hand still clad               in the remnants of poison trailed over Hannibal’s cited shoulder               in clear search of support.                              “ – I would very much like to go home,”                 She stated in a morose murmur directed vaguely downwards,                 though it was better interpreted as,                                                           I would like you to take me home.                 There was a distinct need for her to make a hasty exit from the                 scene, but her curiosity about this new stranger wasn’t yet sated,                 and she didn’t dare make that sort of personal request under the                 circumstances. Scandalous to come with a dead man and ask a                 living one to accompany you home? Such behavior was far too                 black widow for her tastes. It would be infinitely preferable if she                  could manage frame the action as being borne from his offer.

         His eyes followed her when the crowd bent in her presence and remained          curiously fixed when she approached him rather than her unfortunate com-          panion. It was likely someone would remember that they had arrived together;          she had the excuse of the shaken mistress, even though perhaps she did not          look the part. Leaving so early after witnessing the tragedy might not cause          suspicion if she appeared appropriately shaken.

         Rationalising the heat in his stomach and the urge to be alone with her through          simple facts. It was made easy, he found, by her hand on his shoulder and the          invitation on her lips. A simple consideration wrapped in promises that could          not be refused.

                     “ Of course. ”

         He straightened, leaving the freshly deceased to the vultures who would          doubtlessly relish the chance to present the case to the arriving medical team          as if they had any kind of relevancy.

                     “ You must be shaken, ” he said in the tone of a psychiatrist who was                      already two steps ahead of his patient’s working mind and put his hand                      at the small of her back as he gently stirred her towards the exit.                      “ You shouldn’t be alone right now; I must insist I take you home. ”

         Not unlike her own insistence that he did, although not verbally transmitted          clearly written in her demeanour and how she remained drawn to him when          she could easily have disappeared in the commotion. Perhaps the intrigue          was not one-sided; they shared a centre of gravity like only two minds as          alike as theirs could do, even if it was unbeknownst to her at the moment.

                     “ Did you have a coat? I’ll get it for you; then we can leave. ”

         The little things, small details he wasn’t certain she considered in her current          state of mind. She had appeared less confident and ruthless than anticipated;          an error by inference. He had measured her against his own procedures and          emotions rather than consider the individual at hand. The excitement had          momentarily blinded him; he could only see what he wanted or expected to          see.

         No matter. His mind was clear now, approaching the kill as if it had been his          own and employing the same meticulous care not to leave any trace of his          presence behind as he always would       only this time there was someone          else to consider, and erasing every trace of her was his first and foremost          priority at the moment.

                     “ It will soon be over, ” he promised, looking down at her as his fingers                      grazed over her back, saying I’ll watch out for you.

[godandhiscreation-blog]

Hannibal Problems:

is turned on by strong-willed independent women who resist him and temporarily force him into a submissive position

really wants to cuddle and be clingy af as he takes over their entire life to be the only thing that matters to them ever

[godandhiscreation-blog]

      “ I am           but I’m always glad to hear you say it.”

                           An almost sheepish admission framed by a smile,                            betraying the ego she knew him to have. 

      “ Has your cooking improved since I last had the pleasure? I’m       curious to know how you’ve fared since that last... unusual dish       you served us. ”

          ‘ A brave man indeed, it would take to imply             that I can’t look after  myself.  Or,  just  one             with a death wish. ‘ 

                              A joke of black humour, her bark                               was far worse than her bite.

          ‘ I’m sure you’re already aware of how much             I appreciate your hospitality. ‘

[godandhiscreation-blog]

“I have always characterized him as a fallen angel. An angel, but reversed. He has the same empathy as other people, or even more so, but he’s in charge of them, he can control them completely, so we want him to be honest with everything he does. If he’s happy, he’s honestly happy, if he’s sad, he’s honestly sad. It is a choice. For that reason I thought to go back and say that he is what he is because of what was happening to him in his childhood was too banal. We could put him in a box and call him a psychopath, but I don’t think we can, as we have no idea who this person is or if he is a person.”   – Mads Mikkelsen about Dr. Hannibal Lecter

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persuadedparticipant:

        Even the most confident people were not immune to flattery, and         Bedelia was no exception. Well-timed and well-phrased compli-         ments had every place in her world, and she was inclined to pre-         serve both the source and the words themselves. It is enough to         dissipate and distract from the nerves that he had sparked several         minutes ago.         The strong yet gentle hand pressing into the small of her back         and the heat of is breath as it breezed past her ear - though they         still elicit an unusual brand of shivers - seemed to have morphed         into a comforting force.                 “There are still many evenings left to brighten.” 

        A degree of confidence that was, perhaps, unwarranted lurked         beneath the surface of her words and within the small smile that         curled the corners of her lips. It would have been an innocuous         enough statement were they merely two innocent souls circling         the dance floor, but at least one of them was tainted, and she         could not live in an illusion that her continued freedom was         guaranteed.          True - she had a plan, and she was markedly more intelligent          than whatever law enforcement might happen upon the body,          but to so blatantly poison someone was to accept the asso-          ciated risks.           A shout shook her from her moment of bliss, sending her stum-           bling into her newfound partner with uncharacteristic ineptitude.           It took her a moment to straighten herself and regain her former           composure, eyes sweeping the room as she sought to both re-           orient herself and search for the source.            The poison had done its job, and a gaggle of tipsy men were con-            gregating in the general area of the victim as each and every one            of them tried to force his way into the center, each claiming a pre-            tentious (and likely false) expertise that made him the most quali-            fied to handle the emergency.             It seemed that everyone wanted to be a HERO.             Her gaze flicked back to Hannibal for a moment, curious as to              how he might respond. After all, it was his moment to reveal -             consciously or unconsciously - whether or not her paranoia had             been valid.

          He was about to retort when he caught movement out of the corner of           his eye and heard the scream like everyone else. He’d been prepared           for this, quickly falling into a surprised persona whose first and fore-           most concern was to steady his partner, who had appeared convin-           cingly shaken at the commotion. Shielding her for a moment from the           inevitable stampede of a curious crowd, he drew her to his chest and           held her close until she’d found her footing again and it was safe to let           go.

          Surveying the area, he noticed that the music had stopped and most           guests around them had interrupted their previous activities to murmur           and gossip with great frowns in the direction of the thickening cluster of           people who aimed to supposedly ‘help.’

                      “ It seems the evening has taken a turn, ” he said calmly, mild                       curiosity lacing his words as he let his gaze trail over the crowd.                       “ You should stay here. I’ll see what I can do. ”

          His hand brushed over the small of her back as he released her, moving           past her with no illusions of her obedience. She would not have chosen           such a public place if she didn’t relish the atmosphere, the buzz the kill           created. It was highly doubtful she would stay away. Additionally, she           would want to make sure her plan had succeeded, surely, and he was           looking forward to tantalising her just a little bit more himself.

          Stepping through the throng of people with the ease of a man who comm-           anded a presence almost as fearsome as his reputation, he spotted the           victim in question with ease, surrounded by men aimlessly fumbling for           the right way to proceed. If the man hadn’t been dead already, he would           be now, Hannibal thought.

                      Barely faltering in his steps, he approached them, saying calmly                       but with force, “ Step away, please. I’m a doctor. ”

          The would-be saviours hesitated for just a moment but at the look in his           face quickly scrambled away, realising they were faced with someone who           had actual credentials. Credentials beyond the realm of medicine, which           had told him everything he needed to know before he’d even seen the body.

          Making a half-hearted effort to confirm the undeniable, he checked the           man’s pulse and breathing, attempting to resuscitate him with regular and           firm pushes against his ribcage, which he was careful not to lend any succ-           ess to. After about five minutes of fruitless work that would ensure nobody           asked questions, he looked up at the faces in the crowd with a palpable           gravity but not seeing any of them but hers.

                      “ He’s dead, ” he said in a way that almost sounded sorry to the                       untrained ear. “ He’s suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. There’s                       nothing anyone could have done. ” 

         He looked at the woman shrouded in blond curls and the heavy scent of death. 

                      “ I’m sorry. ”

[godandhiscreation-blog]

She belongs to me. It might not be obvious, but she is mine. Touch her again and die.

Paradise Lost: Damon about Bonnie (via bookbamonbookclub)

[godandhiscreation-blog]

#SEXY TIME POST COITAL

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Chatelaine Magazine, August 2015

[godandhiscreation-blog]

hannibal “fake hoe” lecter

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Better to live true to yourself for an instant than never know it.

[godandhiscreation-blog]

He observed the mess on the floor with an almost bored look of calculation, predicting how long it would take to clean up and reliving the act itself for a second before Alana broke the heavy silence with a question.

This was new to her, he reminded himself. Every step that she had taken tonight and would take subsequently was a novel experience, a daunting yet mesmerising unknown that beckoned her with the promise of thrills she had only ever dreamed of until today.

He sighed, plucking the handkerchief from his breast pocket, and took her hand in his, carefully uncurling the fingers that threatened to draw her own blood. Wiping off the foreign one with meticulous swipes, he said softly, “Now we take care of the body.”

He made sure to clean her of the red adding colour to her countenance, curiously observing her face when she did not seem quite ready to look at him. “Are you alright, Alana? How do you feel? We can take all the time you need.”

▲

For our muses to kill someone together, send ‘▲’, for our muses to get caught, send ‘△’. For my muse to try to kill yours, send ‘◆’ or for vice versa ‘◇’. 

[ godandhiscreation ]

It was over sooner than she’d had liked. Adrenaline pumped in her veins, jacking up her pulse and blood pounded in her ears. For a moment, Alana reminded still, her hands clenched into fists, and blunt nails dig into the skin of her own palms.

Her eyes were fixed on the ground, scarlet stains adorning the floor, and she said nothing. The only audible noise was her heavy breathing and Hannibal’s movements behind her. She could feel a bead of sweat roll down from her temple. She wiped it with the back of her hand, and with a last, long sigh, Alana turned to look at Hannibal, or better said, at his shadows, not daring to look up at his eyes yet.

“What should we do now?”

[godandhiscreation-blog]

           He doesn’t know which to find more curious: the proposal or her            apparent dislike of it. Perhaps not displeasure at the notion itself            but rather the circumstances of how it is broached, he thinks, but            the way she seems to withdraw from him and into herself is surely            noteworthy. 

           Is it so bad? He can’t tell. Scenarios like this have only ever been            stories to him, some good, some bad. He has no personal experience            to draw from, so he chooses to focus on her more than what she’s            asking of him in not so many words.

           “ I feel like I’m at a disadvantage, ” he says with a good-natured            vibration in his voice that almost amounts to a smile. “ You never            speak about her, yet she knows everything about me—I presume,            if you’ve inherited your curiosity and… strong will from her. ”

           Carefully skirting around the issue of ‘us’ which still feels as foreign            to him as he imagines it does to her. Neither of them walked into this            looking for anything remotely like what they found, and now that they            have… it’s difficult to put words to this, describe an arrangement that            evokes feelings which are so novel to him, he hesitates to force them            into adjectives.

           “ In any case, ” he says, leaning across the table to look at her even if            she won’t look at him, “ I would love to meet her. IF you promise to            stop torturing the food. ”

          ‘ Yes—briefly. Or, I mean, I tried to be brief, but it’s difficult             when she plays twenty  questions. ‘  There’s  a  painfully             timid smile to follow  her  rambling  &  avoidance  of  his,             albeit patient, stare. ‘ The bottom line being is that she’s             aware that there’s an us. ‘

            A concept of which Alana was still getting her  head  around.             Dating never was prioritized in her life, nor was  the  idea  of             marriage and  a  family  of  her  own  (which  her  mother  so             helpfully continued to push on her).  Marrying  Hannibal  had             never seemed like a viable option, either. Not one that she’d             deeply considered, anyway. 

            Her focus now seems  to  be  more  on  the  plate  before  her,             though she’s  more  so  idly  pushing  the  food  with  her  fork             than she is eating it. She’s  thinking;  carefully  contemplating             the right words to go about this. Trying to broach  an  invitation             such as the one she was to propose without prior discussion             wasn’t the easiest.

          ‘ And she, ah.. may have asked me to bring you over  sometime? ‘             Another  dreadful  understatement.  It’d  been,  minimum,   three             times she’d asked,  with Alana  carefully  postponing  each  time             with excuses. There remains tentativeness in her words despite             knowing it’s unlikely that Hannibal will say no (it’d be rude to turn             down an amiable invitation, so to speak).