gothiethefairy:

kingsman 3 opens up with harry waking up from his coma that he’s been in since the first film and going on about the weird reality his damaged brain created, while eggsy holds his hand, roxy leaning on the doorway and merlin shaking his head with an amused smile on his face.

“you married a princess.”

“that’s bonkers, harry.”

“and you blew up while singing some american song…”

“as if i’d really do something that stupid, harry. honestly.”

“what about me, galahad?”

“oh, you blew up too. along with j.b.  and the rest of kingsman.”

“yeah, that all sounds really ridiculous.”

“am i still missing an eye?”

“that, my dear friend, is the only thing real from your strange fantasy.”

6 Steps in Learning to Love Yourself

onlinecounsellingcollege:

1. See the good in your past. There will always be things that we wish had never happened; there will always be bad memories and things that we regret. But they are part of who you are – so accept that they have happened and celebrate the person they’ve allowed you to become.

2. Invest time in the things that bring you happiness. It’s important to identify the things that you enjoy, and that make you come alive, and are all a part of “you”. Spending time on those things will help to raise your self-esteem, as you’re valuing yourself when you pursue happiness.

3. Forgive yourself for your mistakes. We all make mistakes – and when we think of them we cringe. But that doesn’t make you any worse than other people. Just try and learn what you can, and then move on with your life.

4. Stop criticising yourself. So often we’re really our own worst enemy. We look for our flaws, and we put ourselves down – instead of being understanding of our own limitations. It’s time to change that behaviour – so start loving yourself.

5. Listen to your instincts and intuitions. If you want to love yourself, you must listen to yourself. Pay attention to those instincts and your instant gut reaction – and trust that you are right when you hear that inner voice.

6. Appreciate your life. Of course there are things that you wish that you could change. But some things are good, and are worth appreciating. So, focus on, appreciate, and make lots of your strengths.

Retrograde

thenecronon:

Will shuts the
door behind him and stands in a bathroom he doesn’t recognize. A
mason jar of sea glass squats on the counter by a chipped enamel
sink where there should be a double vanity with vessel sinks, and a
photo hangs on the wall behind it of Will and Walter smiling over a
large gar. When he looks in the mirror, it’s to find a beard grown
in overnight, hair shaggy and two inches longer than explicable.

Several hours
later, Molly stands on the veranda of their shared cottage. Ivy
crowds the gable. A wooden placard that reads GRAHAM, hand-carved,
hangs beneath by one of its rusted chains. Molly’s hair, still
mussed from sleep, sweeps across her forehead and shoulders.

She watches him
back the Tahoe (You sold the car, honey. Don’t you remember?)
out of the drive, pulling her robe against the autumn air and
crossing her arms. Quietly angry like he remembers her at the end. Remembered.

She hadn’t
believed him when he’d said he didn’t remember. Any of it. Not
retirement, not the foreclosed cottage in Sugarloaf, its slate roof
missing shingles like teeth where straight-line winds off the
Atlantic had stolen them.

No.

He’d snaked an
arm around a waist, pressed a kiss to a neck.

He’d mistaken
her for Hannibal. Hannibal, in their villa on the Argentine coast.
Not the continental US. Not Molly. Not Sugarloaf Key.

Will’s hands
shake on the wheel. The camouflage seat covers smell like menthol,
and he’s craving the cigarette he missed with coffee; he hasn’t
smoked since his early 20s, but his fingers are yellowed, hands dry
from drink. On one, there’s a wedding ring. He touches his face and
feels the scar–completely healed–through his beard. Same wallet.
Different phone. He picks it up and flips it open. He knows the
number by heart and hopes to God it connects.

“Will?”

“Jack. Where’s
Hannibal.”

“What’re you
talking about, Will?”

“Hannibal.
Where is he?”

“Where you put
him.” Silence. “Where he’s been for three years.”

“Baltimore?”
Will gambles.

“Will, is
everything okay? Did something happen?”

“I need to talk
to him.”

“It’s been
years. You can’t just call out of the blue and ask for favors like
that. There’s no reason–”

“Jack, please.”

There’s a
pause. Will hears Jack sigh. A glass clinks and something rattles.
“I’ll tell them you remembered something. Something about–”
Paper now. Pages. “We got this new guy–tentatively calling him
‘Buffalo Bill.’ I had a trainee lined up for an interview, real
hotshot, but I’ll tell her we got someone else. Just this once,
because I made a promise.” Jack’s voice drops, more weary than
Will remembers it. “And if anyone can get Lecter to talk, it’s
you. I thought you weren’t coming back. We thought you were
done. After…”

“I’ll be
there. How soon?”

“Three days.”

“Okay, yeah.
Thanks, Jack.”

“Don’t mess
this up, Will. I don’t understand it, but I need all the help I can
get on this one. Three days.”

Jack hangs up.

Will drives.

***

Will puts his
room on the one of the cards he finds in his wallet. He drops his bag
on the floor by the bed, sits, and calls Jack to touch base.
Everything is still go.

***

“The FBI must
be gagging for it if they’re sending you in. What I can’t
figure out,” Lecter continues, turning. His profile is creased with
age, hair striped by silver. “Is why you’ve come. Polite life in
Sugarloaf not all it’s cracked up to be? Did you tire of looking in
the mirror every morning and seeing a man whose–” Hannibal’s
face slackens. He sucks in a sharp breath and steps, curiously,
closer. “No, there is something different about you.” Lecter’s
eyes widen into flat, black discs, amber bands reignited as he moves
beneath the overhead light. “Your eyes. So very…” An
anticipatory tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Alive.”

“Tell me. About
that night. On the cliff.”

“You were
there, Will.”

“You don’t
remember?”

“I’ve aged
but not atrophied. I remember.” Almost singsong, but Will can parse
the mild offense. And an uptick that sounds distinctly dangerous.
Hannibal’s interest is always dangerous. “What is it, Will? Come
for the old scent again, or… something else.”

Will balks.
Hannibal smiles.

“Something
else, then. Do they know?”

“How do you?”

“Do you
remember, Will? About time and teacups?”


Or, that time I said I was thirsty for some Show!Will/Novel!Hannibal and, upon not finding any, wrote an intro for some. Sharing now for no particular reason.

every episode of Hannibal

lotorhasabuttcape:

pretty much anyone: (looking at a dead body) his tongue’s been cut out, almost surgically, like they were planning on using the organ for something else

hannibal: everyone come over to my house and eat this freshly prepared tongue i made

literally everyone: how delightful and unrelated to everything else going on

hannibal: I think you’ll find everything is related

straight up everyone, who have at least a graduate degree and are qualified to work for the FBI: (while eating tongue) haha, oh hannibal