Hannibal looks like a really cute show ok I mean from what i’ve seen on my dash it’s basically a nice story about a single dad who happens to be a cannibal in is spare time and his daughter and his on-again-off-again boyfriend?? i think i’ll watch an episode
PEOPLES HEADS ARE ON FIRE AND PEOPLES FLESH IS PEELED OFF THEIR BACKS WHAT THE FUCK ABORT ABORT
will graham is babysitting
he walks into the living room and sees an enormous mess
how did the children do this
he retraces the childrens steps
i tie the scarf to the cats tail
the cat knocks over the lamp
the lamp spills the goldfish
this is my design
this looks like a weird CD cover for a boy band
I’M SO DONE
I lost it at the bonus track
136/∞ photos of Scarlett Johansson
the entire hannibal fandom whenever dr. lecter has his sleeves rolled up slightly or takes his suit jacket off or wears two layers instead of three
JUST IN CASE ANYONE THOUGHT “AZURE EYES” WAS A JOKE
Q and Bond are getting it on for the first time, but Q is really self-conscious about his body. Bond gently, kindly coaxes him out of his shell and tells him he’s got nothing to fear because he’s gorgeous and doesn’t need to hide. So much fluff and sweetness I’m getting a cavity just from writing this, psdfdh anyway, if you get round to doing this prompt, thank you <3 – anon
I think there was another first-time prompt that hit my inbox, it’s somewhere buried, so this is for you as well! Enjoy, guys. Jen.
There was a softness, a quietness to Q, a lyricism to his form that was entrancing to remain so close to, to touch freely, to brush the edges of. He was so beautiful, so utterly compelling.
And exceptionally uncomfortable, it would seem.
Bond kissed him gently, deepening, Q unconsciously doing everything he could to find more, seek deeper contact. “You gorgeous creature,” Bond purred, teeth grazing Q’s bottom lip, the younger man gasping slightly at the sting.
When his hands slid around Q’s back, gently skimming the bumps of his spine, the indents of ribs, the suggestion of muscle over his abdomen – and Q had fallen utterly, and entirely still.
“Are you alright?” Bond asked, voice gentle, a touch of understandable urgency; he began to flick through worries, if he’d taken it too far, if there was some reason Q wouldn’t want this. “Q?”
Q shook his head slightly, moving closer to Bond; they kissed again, and Q was perfectly fine, right until the moment Bond started to feel him again. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding very cross with himself, frustrated and quiet. “Fuck. I just, I hate this. It’s not you, sorry.”
Bond couldn’t help but feel immensely confused, and more than a little bit concerned. Q managed a slightly awkward smile that was supposed to be encouraging, and succeeded in failing to do anything but scale up the concern. “Do you not want…?”
“I do,” Q interjected, with such emphasis Bond couldn’t help but smirk. He raised an eyebrow slightly, hand closing over Q’s, watching his face fall a little again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, face slightly pink. “I just… look at you, James,” he said, waving slightly at Bond’s body.
Bond raised an eyebrow, smiling sideways. “Yes?” he said slowly, still not understanding.
“You’re an Adonis, and I’m…” Q trailed off, eyebrows contracting, looking caged, eyes black with an internalised anger that had been there a while, the type of pain that lingered, refusing to lift.
It made sudden, abrupt sense. Oh, Q.
Bond tugged him closer, wrapped strong arms around him. “You are perfect,” he said firmly, adamantly. “I don’t care what I am, how I look. I’m looking at you.”
Q’s skin flushed ever deeper, prepared to object, still very awkward-looking; it was very odd, for Bond. Q was so confident in work, in his specialist areas; this was outside of his range of experience, and everybody knew Bond was at ease with sex, with sexuality in the broadest sense. Bond could have anybody, and Q couldn’t begin to imagine why in the world Bond would honestly want him.
“Trust me,” Bond murmured, lips by Q’s ear, hands on Q’s sharp hips. “I want you, Q, if you’ll let me?”
A moment of stillness, Q’s lips slightly parted, breathing sporadically; Bond moved against him, mouth trailing over his throat, collarbones, hands exploring every inch of the younger man. “Trust me,” he murmured again, and Q let himself be taken apart.
Unused Iron Man 3 posters