#𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒 : FATHER RODRICK IGNATIUS PAGE. AN INDIE ORIGINAL CHARACTER. EST. SEPT. 2021 / RE - EST. JUNE 2022. author is mr. moon. HE/THEY. 25+ OCCULTIST & PLANT DAD. GOOGLE DOC.
𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧 : late onset 𝖲𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖹𝖮𝖯𝖧𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖨𝖠. faith as a 𝖶𝖤𝖠𝖯𝖮𝖭. devotion turned 𝖵𝖨𝖮𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖳. good ol’ southern 𝖧𝖮𝖲𝖯𝖨𝖳𝖠𝖫𝖨𝖳𝖸. religious &. generational 𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖴𝖬𝖠 . martyrization for 𝖦𝖮𝖣. coming back 𝖶𝖱𝖮𝖭𝖦.
❝ 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙈𝘼𝙉'𝙎 𝙇𝙀𝙎𝙎𝙊𝙉'𝙎 𝙃𝘼𝘿 𝘼 𝙋𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙀 . ❞
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Ah man I wanted to go out and bite people but the chain on my collar doesn’t reach out to the sidewalk so I can only go in a circle around the lawn
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Listen: They prefer eating in company.
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for once, harleen stays put. even the thought of lowering herself to the ground overwhelms her, her body begging for just a few minutes of rest. her mind, too, is desperate for rest —- the adrenaline that carried her all the way here is finally starting to taper, and harley is glad to give the burden of decision wholly to hannibal. if she does as he says, the outcome becomes his responsibility.
trauma. the word burns through her skin, drips into her bloodstream, starts to erode away her soul. she wants to reject his assessment. if being locked in a bathroom for three days at seven didn’t traumatize her —- if letting thugs beat her father to death at sixteen didn’t —- then how could this? how could she have escaped the consequences of her upbringing for twenty-seven years only to be damaged now?
( she didn’t escape. she was never going to escape. )
when hannibal returns, harleen’s staring at his knife block. she keeps staring until he’s right in front of her, and it’s only reluctantly that she turns back to him. harleen quinzel is tired of being afraid. she shakes her head, lips pressing tightly together. “ do you have any ibuprofen? ” she wants to feel it. as long as her body hurts, her heart won’t.
harleen wants to look away, wants to let her admission slip out of her as a whisper and float away somewhere they’ll both forget about it. we don’t have to talk about it, she wants to plead. instead, she stares hannibal straight in the eyes and tells him what she should have told him weeks ago. “ it will when they find out i covered the cameras and let him out of his straitjacket. i told the guards not to interrupt our sessions, hannibal. i’m responsible for this. ”
an unspeakable look fights it’s way onto hannibal’s stoic face, the corner’s of his mouth pulled taut. harley covered the camera’s. she let him out of the strait jacket. the absolute foolishness of it all draws him back, turning his head towards the clock on the wall. the sound of ticking accompanies the disappointment he feels, a divine hold on his high expectations. what is done out of love is beyond good & evil, yet it was the stupidity that he cannot abide by -
❝ i . . . i can’t be connected to this. ❞ the hand with the pills closes, pocketing them. he uses this feigned indifference to grab the bag, snapping it closed.
❝ tell me you didn’t drive your car here, harley. ❞
self preservation pulls the threading of his mask back together, cleanly cleaving himself a foot of room from the woman. a moment later he picks the bag up, only to place it back onto the counter with a dull thud, the white - knuckled grip becoming tighter. hannibal hangs his head, sighing.
❝ i thought you were smarter than this - i never would have supported this if you hadn’t withheld vital information. every house on this block has a ring camera, your car - if they prosecute you, they’ll take the footage of our sessions. i can’t even begin to explain to you the position you’ve put me in. ❞
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The Thing Itself (2017-11-19)
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ˢᵉᵉ ᵗʰᶤˢ ˀ this here is a starter call ! like this thing if you want a pre - established thing thrown your way ❤️️️
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Leda (Detail), 2015 - Gail Potocki
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𝒀𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑺 : ❛❛ i no longer know where i end and you begin. you’ve wound yourself around my soul so tightly, you’re all i feel anymore. ❜❜
@desanguined
❛❛ it feels that way , ❜❜ hannibal sways through his garden, arms held out at his side, faintly touching the tops of the plant life that lined the path. around his head, a black cloth, obscuring his vision. ❛❛ doesn’t it ? ❜❜
❛❛ when your world is no longer your body, your mind cannot help but to expand into the corner’s like water. without one sense, all the others are heightened. touch, smell, taste. ❜❜
a gentle hand caresses a lock of lucien’s pale hair, swiftly moving past him with but a whisper on his heels to show that he was there at all. hannibal moves like silk, stepping past the fountain, just barely skimming his toes along the marble.
❛❛ what do you smell, luke? what can you hear? nature is a mother: if you let her, she’ll teach you everything you need to know. can you hear the way the wind moves around solid objects? even the slightest of breezes on one’s ankle can be quite telling. ❜❜
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Gustave Courtois (French, 1852-1923), "Dante and Virgil in Hell ('Ninth Circle for the Traitors to the Country')" 1879, detail.
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hannibal’s awfully handsy for a man who doesn’t let people touch him
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it’s normal to avoid physical contact after enduring an attack. harley would reassure any of her patients of that. she isn’t sure what it says about herself that she feels more unease from hannibal’s hands leaving her waist than from the lift itself.
“ you don’t know him like i do, ” she shakes her head, excuse like lead on her tongue, heavy and poisonous. her split lip throbs, and it is enough to shake her from the justifications that will soon kill harleen quinzel. “ i can hear myself saying that, but i can’t stop myself. it’s textbook. i know he’s in my head, but i can’t get him out. ”
it’s the steadiness, she realizes. there is something purposeful in the way he touches her, so different from the frenzied chaos that directs joker’s every move. hannibal’s hands foreshadow his intentions in a way joker’s never have – the latter is just as likely to attempt to lobotomize her with the tip of her heel than to set it aside.
most men who find themselves between her thighs are there to take something. hannibal, she knows, is there only to give her back herself. she wouldn’t look away if she could, holding his gaze, letting what she finds there anchor her. with joker, her world has fallen off its axis. with hannibal, earth finds a way to spin on. her lips forms a silent ‘oh,’ which morphs into the smallest hint of a smile. is there anything more human than these brief moments of delight in the midst of life-altering tragedy? harleen lifts her left hand to hannibal’s face, thumb brushing his cheek in an equally silent ‘thank you’ before she drops it back into her lap. “ harley quinn, force of nature. i’ll add that to my business card. ”
harley only feels whole for a few seconds before her aching body reminds her of what she’s lost, of what she’s going to lose. still, it is enough to remind her that hope is something to be chased. “ hannibal? ” harley asks, voice soft again. “ i think i dislocated my shoulder. and i think they’re going to take my medical license away. ”
hannibal does not touch harley like a doctor would, but with the hands of a father, guiding; first he turns her head to the left, scouring her face for anything further than bruising, making note of the supplies he would be needing; blood flakes off as he turns her jaw to the right, extending his touch to her neck. the bruises are worse here, almost black, large, gripping finger indents along her trachea. his own pointer finger brushes the splash of morbid color, pleased to find that even the man’s grip on her here had no been to kill - she could still speak.
❝ harleen . . . i’m not here to cast judgement on what’s been done. but what i am here for is to reassure you that what you’re thinking right now . . . what you’re feeling, it’s entirely in the realm of normality. trauma will change you, this will change you: how can i possibly be upset with you, right now? ❞ when harley reaches to return the touch, hannibal steps back, her soft, pale fingers just barely caressing his cheek as he recollects himself.
❝ stay right there. i’m going to get my supplies. ❞
he’s only been gone a few minutes before he returns with an antique leather doctor’s bag in hand. it’s set on the counter beside the woman, snapping open with a small flick to the latch. hannibal holds out his hand palm up, three white pills sitting side by side.
❝ oxycodone. if they try to take your license away, i’ll set you up with my lawyer. being attacked by a patient is more of a facility concern than a provost concern. it won’t hold up in court. ❞
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“What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.”
— Franz Kafka
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“ i thought we were under agreement not to lead each other astray. ” there’s that smile again, smug satisfaction winning out over mischief. ms. quinzel is getting used to getting what she wants. “ anyways, doctor, i spent three hours in a room with victor zsasz today. threats don’t work on me anymore.”
there’s something familiar in the way he looks at her, and it sends a chill down her spine. she used to be able to tell between the good kind and the bad kind, but they’re pretty much the same, now. harleen leans forward in her chair, an eager audience. she takes a sip of her own drink in encouragement.
she watches, patiently, until he takes that single, dreadful sip – the smile on her face is one he’ll recognize, that of a kind therapist, guiding her patient through one of heir fears. once the ordeal is over, she hops up, striding across the room and settling in the chair behind his desk. this indicates that there will be a lot less talking and a lot more spinning. she’s already starting to twist back and forth a little bit, her forearms planted on his desk keeping her from making a full circle.
“ okay, what do you think? want to try another flavor next week? ”
hannibal’s first impression comes with a sharp, cloying feeling at the back of his throat; the sensation curls up into his head and for a moment he simply swallows it back, wincing when the taste dissolves but the cold stays. as expected, it was all syrup and sugar. he didn’t taste the coke nor did it have any resembling taste to cherry, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. hannibal still curls his top lip,
❝ if i decline your offer for a new flavor would you truly cease with these valiant efforts or should i expect something worse next week? ❞ there’s something akin to amusement in the inflection of his voice, not so aloof as he’d just been. as hannibal takes another sip he also turns his body to follow the woman, quick to keep her in his line of vision.
❝ it isn’t the worst thing i’ve had in my mouth, but it certainly is up there. perhaps just cherry next time, yes? ❞
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Do you honestly believe that Persephone was tricked into eating the pomegranate?
That Apollo didn’t adore Icarus to the point of sunburn?
That there was no Helen before there was a Helen of Troy?
You fools - there is always cacophony before the fall.
LEGENDS ARE PLAGUED WITH TRUTHS // sophie green
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hannibal 🤝 @crimeloyalty
being killers but with “”””standards”””
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