#works well!

[il-mostrc]

The setting was undeniably macabre, yet one would not expect any semblance of surprise from Hannibal Lecter upon being introduced to it. In fact, the gruesome tableau unfolding before him elicited barely a flicker of emotion. As evidence accumulated in stark piles around the room, Lecter discerned a fundamental misdirection in the investigation—a certainty that the true culprit, Barton's hands, were irrevocably stained with guilt. To an inexperienced agent, this situation might have seemed perplexing; however, it was abundantly clear to Lecter that the FBI's current ranks lacked the requisite acumen to see through the fog of deception.

Across the room, the interviewer regarded Barton with a nod of acknowledgment, the expression in his eyes reflecting an empathy that was utterly misplaced given the circumstances. Enter Hannibal, embodying the epitome of curiosity—his insatiable intellect fizzling just beneath his composed exterior, devoid of any compassion. Months of psychological sessions with Barton (@mad-hunts) had unveiled a darker undercurrent within the young man, a burgeoning impulse towards violence that had been subtly nurtured by Lecter's insidious influence.

Curiosity for its own sake had become a double-edged sword, and Lecter observed with satisfaction the fruits of his meticulous orchestration. “Mr. Mathis,” he began, allowing a slight smile to form at the corner of his mouth, a thin veneer of charm overlaying a chilling detachment, “I will serve as your advisor. Typically, I would counsel that you attend to your appearance; however, it is imperative that we press on while your memories remain vivid. The mind often has an unfortunate tendency to obstruct recollections of traumatic events. We must untangle this enigma before your thoughts are fully seized by the weight of denial.”

With a calculated shift of his gaze towards the other individual in the room, Lecter offered a solemn nod, his demeanor punctuating his respect for the investigative proceedings before he made a deliberate exit. Alone with Barton, he allowed himself a discreet wink, cleverly concealed from the cameras that observed their every move.

barton remembered hearing once about the japanese art of kintsugi; they'd paint areas of breakage with liquid gold, his friend had told him, in order to highlight the imperfections of an object rather than hide them. and with that, it was almost like they were trying to say that each crack the object had shouldn't be hidden... because it actually made it more beautiful. but what about if you actually had the opposite opinion and you were searching for some way to perfect things? that was the position that barton found himself in today because he believed in a very specific, as well as twisted ideology. and one that had been passed down onto him from his own biological father. people were born wrong was what wesley had told him. they weren't right for their imperfections, but barton could help them achieve something next to flawlessness. though this was through killing them, and that's exactly why the doctor had to keep this as his own absolutely deplorable 'little secret.' especially considering that, today, he was trying to kill two birds with one stone. which included getting rid of someone by framing them for the murder and finally having the chance to collect more materials for his 'dolls.' barton had already done a sweep of the place, making sure not even one little detail was out of place that wouldn't fit the narrative he was going to try to set here. that the man who killed the woman near him had invaded her home, and she'd called barton (the dutiful albeit new boyfriend) for help. they had been on a few dates, so that did make this lie just a bit more convincing since it could be corroborated by other people. and barton had made sure all the neighbors were away when he killed her. now, feigning being emotional over it and calling the police was the next course of action. he thought he sounded distraught while on the phone. barton had sobbed into the speaker, explaining to the 911 operator that his girlfriend had been killed in a confrontation with a home invader. with the addition that they must've slipped out the back door when they heard his car pull in. barton was soaked in her blood, but not in splash patterns. it was all over his jacket and his sleeves like he'd hugged her while she'd been on the floor, obviously because he was distraught. the 911 operator told barton before long to stay where he is and that they'd be sending police to his location. what he didn't expect was that, after the first responders came onto the scene, the police connected the dots that they'd seen this kind of 'kill' before. so this fell under the jurisdiction of the FBI due to there suddenly being a strong possibility there was a serial killer in town. barton could hardly believe his luck (sarcasm). this case was now getting eye-balled by a lot of authorities, and somehow, the worst part hadn't even come yet. barton overheard that they had brought in a consultant for the FBI: a dr. hannibal lecter, which made him space out almost completely while the interviewer in front of him continued talking. barton had just begun to think about how, yes, HIPAA restricted hannibal from acknowledging he was 'under his care' but — ❝ mister mathis? hey, you know, we could always do the rest of this interview later if you need time. lord knows i understand that. ❞ barton snapped out of his trance-like state at that moment with a soft 'hmm?' only for him to take a second or two to process what the other was saying. this was the first time he looked at his hands since killing tala, and even as a serial killer, he had to admit there was a lot of blood there. barton wiped it further on his jacket before clearing his throat, ❝ uhh, no. that's okay. i was just thinking about tala, you know? she was... really good to me. ❞ liar, was all he could think at that moment. he barely knew her. but maybe that's part of how he could do this all in cold blood.

[twinliches]

my family is fucking addicted to macgyvering and it's becoming a problem. every time something in this house breaks, instead of doing the sensible thing of replacing it or calling someone qualified to fix it, we all group around the offending object with a manic look in our eyes and everyone gets a try at fixing it while being cheered on or ridiculed by the rest.

it's a beautiful bonding activity, but the "creative" fixes have turned our house into a quasihaunted escape room like contraption where everything works, but only in the wonkiest of ways. you need a huge block of iron to turn on the stove. the oven only works if a specific clock is plugged in. the bread machine has a huge wood block just stapled to it that has become foundational to its function. sometimes when you use the toaster the doorbell rings. and that's just the kitchen.

it's all fun and games until you have guests over and you have to lay out the rules of the house like it's a fucking board game. welcome to the beautiful guest room. don't pull out the couch yourself you need a screwdriver for that, and that metal rod makes the lamp work so don't move it. it also made me a terrifying roommate in college, because it makes me think i can fix anything with enough hubris and a drill. you want to call the landlord about a leaky faucet? as if. one time my dad made me install a new power socket because we ran our of extension cords

[bonesandthebees]

one of the most infuriating things about becoming an adult is when you realize that it actually is 10x easier to solve problems by making a phone call vs literally any other communication method

[diabloku]

Lucifer: *enters the hotel*

Alastor: I cast vicious mockery 😈

An animation my sis and I made for fun

Music is Perception Check by Tom Cardy.

[itsajollyjester]

“Would fall in love with me again if you knew all I’ve done?”

[valtsv]

being someone who's passionate about their interests when you're a horror fan really is a special layer of hell because every interaction you have with another person where the conversation turns to your hobbies and personal entertainments is a trial where if you show too much unrepentant glee at getting an opportunity to talk about your preferred subject you get to watch them mentally move you onto their list of untrustworthy individuals to avoid in the future in real time

[noodles-and-tea]

Arcane: become human

[tapiocats]

Decay exists as an extant form of life

[callmesel]

This is how I imagine Telemachus in the Penelope warrior au

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

Observing

[lonelyzarquon]

# taking “undressing her with my eyes” to a whole other level

[eydilily]

break like an artist.

--

a collab between me and @slashmagpie for hermitadaymay's Solstice Social Collaborative Event! make sure to check out magpie's amazing fic for this too :D

(alternate ver under the cut)

[a0vy]

more designs yayy

[egophiliac]

bring back zooterkins, the best 17th-century swear word

I don't normally do Just Characters Swearing, but. ...this kind of wrote itself and then wouldn't leave my head. it comes from both a piece of character-writing advice that has always stuck with me, and also my conviction that Leona is 1000% funnier as a character if his dialogue has to stay G-rated. let Kalim say fuck, but don't let Leona say bastard.

(I'm sorry)

[ruporas]

dragon meat, you, and me