#cordiallycarnivorous

[malignantnarcissist]

[ The night is her favorite time, especially when she can see the stars. She's always felt more at home there, staring into the vast void, imagining the dark matter in the spaces in between. ]

"You know, our entire galaxy circles around a supermassive black hole. So much life, spiraling into... nothingness."

[youneverlookdeeper-archive]

dear dr lecter ;DDD

Dear Doctor Lecter

It’s been a while. I haven’t seen you since I broke out of Arkham. Gotta say I’m not sure if I miss our sessions. Enlightening as they are, you seem like a giant spider in wait most of the time, and I’m not used to being seen as a prey animal.

Regardless, I think about our sessions every now and again. It’d be nice to have a chat one day. Catch up. Possibly without shatter-proof glass between us this time. Please try not to ask probing questions in public, though. My psyche hardly makes for good dinner conversation, as much as I love talking about myself.

Signed

S

P.S. I found a nice little Renaissance painting in a private collection I turned over a week or so ago. It’s priced at about half a million minimum, but I got offers up to six million for it. I figured you might want it. It’ll be arriving in the next few days. 

[youneverlookdeeper-archive]

Flashback - Cats and Mice

“Wake up!”

Selina jerked awake, groaning, when the lights in her cell winked on, burning her retinas briefly as she turned away. But in doing so she jarred her broken ribs and gasped, biting down on her lower lip.

“Get up, Kyle.”

Selina pushed herself to sit on the bed, rubbing her eye. She didn’t care that the ugly drab tan jumpsuit she was wearing sagged off of one shoulder and showed the swell of her breast and the boring white of the Arkham-issue bra. This guy had interrupted her sleep, and he could damn well endure boob-exposure for that.

“Dr Marcus,” she murmured with a yawn. “I thought our meeting wasn’t until Tuesday. Or is it Tuesday. It’s so hard to tell. All the days blurring together. Maybe I’m going crazy?”

Selina had been in Arkham for almost a month. A month of power washes and invasive physicals and blood tests and all sorts of humiliating procedures that were designed to rob her of her dignity. Something that hadn’t failed to amuse Selina endlessly. After how easily she slipped out of Blackgate last time, they decided instead to incarcerate her in Arkham, thinking the security would better hold her. It wouldn’t, of course. Selina had already planned her escape. But since she had two broken ribs, a bruised lung, and what seemed like a small chest infection, she would endure the humiliation for a free meal and some medical care.

Oh, and the free entertainment in the form of the man on the other side of the shatter-proof glass.

Dr Marcus, one of those big-city psychiatrists from Oxford or Harvard of whatever big-money colleges, seemed determined to prove that Selina was, in fact, insane. Like she was his pet project. He kept trying to peel back layers of Selina’s psyche and was constantly confounded by the way she obligingly let him in, deeper and deeper.

But, oh. Dr Marcus was a man. And Selina knew how to play men.

“What was the angle this time?” she asked. “My daddy touched me in the bad place, thus driving me toward a perpetual cycle of a lack of self-worth that allowed me to become a teenaged prostitute?” She braced her elbows on her knees and leant forward, grinning.

“Honestly, doc. Don’t you get bored with this mundane crap? Isn’t the Joker far more interesting?”

“Not today,” he snapped. His accent was supposed to be sophisticated. He just sounded like an American trying to sound English without sounding English, to her. “I have a… friend coming to talk to you.”

She clapped her hands sarcastically. “I do so love socialising.”

Dr Marcus - Timothy Marcus, she knew, and he loathed his first name so he went by ‘Henry’. Maybe it was his first name – glowered at her as two orderlies set down two chairs outside her cell. “Dr Lector,” he introduced her new guest. “Patient one oh seven one five. Selina Kyle.”

[thislittlefinch]

cordiallycarnivorous replied to your post: tmi things i dont want to hear after...

courtesy*

does it look like i care about spelling right now? i have been up since 7:40 am. to get to organic chemistry at 8 am. i had to deal with fucking fruit flies for an hour, and then study an hour because i have a test tomorrow in world lit and another in genetics on friday, before going to genetics class at 11 , followed by communications at 12, and work from 1-4 right after that where i have to teach college students how to convert basic units of measurement. then i had another class from 4:30 to 6 and from 6 until 1:30 AM i was studying.

so no. i don't think i care about one word. 

thank you.

[thislittlefinch]

I don't need psychological help! I help people with their problems, not the other way around!

[flightsofcuriosity]

Would You Look At that? || Hannibal and Luna

The Rook was a cosy little place— even if, among other things, its image seemed superimposed upon the perpetually dreary horizon, gazing forbiddingly over the pitifully small river meandering along the base of the hill and under its dull brown bridge. Like its namesake, it resembled a chess rook (if you tilted your head ever-so-slightly to the left and squinted) and exuded an almost tangible feeling of oddness.

Which, of course, it was.

If you ever ventured past the little broken gate and its assortment of fading nonsensical notices, the bushes bearing fruits that might or might not be toxic, the symmetrically twisted crabapple trees looming over the wandering path, and the strange white owl with a flattened head studying you with a curious eye, you might find yourself at an imposing black door and its eagle knocker.

That is, if you weren’t first deterred by an exponentially growing sense of unease.

Through the front door and into the kitchen normally produced headaches in the skulls of any visitor stubborn or strange enough to venture into the Lovegood residence, on account of the severe contrast of the outside to the inside. Amid the painful clash of red and green, blue and orange, and purple and yellow, you might glimpse the disheveled white hair of a certain Xenophilius Lovegood, or the strangely coloured sleeve of his daughter, Luna.

Who, strangely enough, was only there on roughly half the occasions an unlucky visitor decided to stumble through the strange garden and the black door and its eagle knocker.

The other half of her time was spent wandering. It wasn’t merely her mind wandering— as it seemed to do so on a regular basis, and not of her own volition— but physical wandering. 

Step by step, lost in a reverie that usually involved flowers and friends, Luna would find herself in abandoned fields, empty gardens, and quiet little villages that baked wonderful pies. In other words, she lost herself quite often— usually gaining her bearings through a combination of magic and sheer luck. 

Now, Luna was not so absentminded as to be completely oblivious when something isn’t quite right, nor is she so careless as to do nothing when something is quite wrong. The last few days of wandering had landed her in a roomy barn, its adjoining farmhouse, and in the path of a serene cow. But, along with those fascinating discoveries, there also came a sense of concern.

Uncomfortable concern. Something— someone— always seemed to be right behind, where she couldn’t see. Always there, always watching. Studying. Thinking. Calculating.

She knew what it— he— was when she saw him. 

Her graceful steps and deep dreams led her to a jarring impact with a broad chest, fabric that looked and probably was quite costly, a man that was completely and utterly startling, and a pair of deep dark peacefully endless eyes. 

For the first time in a very long time, Luna found herself fearful and apprehensive, her gaze riveted to the ground-- dirt road in the middle of nowhere with scarcely a footprint to break the continuity.

"Excuse me. Apologies."