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@zmogedra
PRIVATE DOCTOR HANNIBAL LECTER, FROM HANNIBAL. SHOW AND HEADCANON BASED; SOME NOVEL / FILM INFLUENCES FOLDED IN. A STUDY IN [ . . . ] DEFYING CATEGORIZATION, THE DARKNESS OF THE HUMAN HEART AND MIND, PLAYING WITH YOUR FOOD, THE ART OF MANIPULATION, LOVE AND BEAUTY IN ALL OF IT'S TERRIFYING AND DANGEROUS FORMS, AND THE CONSUMPTION OF ANOTHER. 1. 2. 3. AFFILIATED WITH: @mpathesia & @cstarling.
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why do you think i’m allowing this?
TRULY BEGIN TO EXIST. — what constitutes that? the real meaning of being who we are. yes, hannibal is a psychiatrist, which comes with the jargon of one who studies minds. a boring habit, if you ask me. it's all a game of assuming. what was your childhood like? how is your relationship with your mother? it's the same thing over and over, each member of his profession creating a file of this is why... and other such questions that only linger due to the bitter taste they conjure when one swallows the truth. my eyes flick to his, and i fold my hands in my lap. he's a priest, isn't he? sitting there hearing my confessions and blessing me with absolution with phrases like: do you want to talk about it? that wasn't your fault. you had a hard life. what he really means is that i'm fucked up. he doesn't say it, but who would want to hear that from their psychiatrist? sorry, you're too fucked up for me to treat. i wonder what his limit is, and where he draws the line. that's an interesting notion that i've entertained, but not now.
❛❛ ... but what if the real me is more unpleasant than the one i've been showing you? ❜❜ i mean that honestly, the question jumping off of my tongue. from my mouth to god's ears. if you believe in that kind of thing. my mother does, she goes to church and prays to jesus christ for my return home. it sometimes makes me think what jesus would do with me, if we met each other. would he deny me as a judas? my silver was billions of won, converted to millions in the united states. i have money, too much of it. why i'm here is because i've cracked the code: in order to stop seeing seong gi-hun's face crying up at me, i have to talk to someone. at first, the numbness would swallow that image whole, tucking it under to be never seen again. however, as time has grown — two years — it pops up while i'm sleeping. nightmares rage through my mind, and they're so vivid that i can feel the rain on my skin, soaking through that sad excuse for a tuxedo.
❛❛ what if i'm worse? ❜❜ my voice is calm, albeit flat. monotone. bored. i tilt my head at dr. lecter and heave a sigh through my nose. ❛❛ some of us hide behind these masks because we have no choice. one's true nature has to be controlled, even if that control means sacrificing the human urges we have toward each other. ❜❜ i haven't told him that i killed, no. the united states would extradite me. instead, i cross one long leg over the other. ❛❛ that's the question, isn't it? how much we're willing to build a perfect version of ourselves in order to hide what a virus we've become. i am not a pleasant person, nor do i pretend to be. i am cordial, and that's my mask ... that's my perfected avatar of humanity, when in truth ... i don't have any left in me. ❜❜ it's slightly freeing, admitting my callousness, but where there's relief, there is also anger. so much anger. i blink away, glancing out at the rest of his office. ❛❛ i don't know if i'm willing to compromise. ❜❜ ... ever.
settled comfortable against the plush upholstery, he leans back fully into his chair; legs crossed, fingers laced together as they settle in his lap. at - ease, but giving little else away as dark eyes sweep across the man's features. any psychiatrist worth their salt endeavors to remain neutral, at any given name; no matter what words spill fourth from their patient's lips -- even those are drenched in blood. as one with a veil himself, hannibal can recognize the meticulous construction of another. a slightly different kind, perhaps, but one all the same. one that is ready confessed to, even; a few stitching, here and there, that further build the picture hannibal is beginning to weave.
❝ often our true selves are unpleasant, if not undeniably monstrous. the human heart, at it's core, was built on hunger. while this can be channeled into noble pursuits, the root of our drive cannot be changed. rarely still, quenched entirely. the definition of humanity is not pleasantness, or cordiality. those are adapted traits, and while they certainly have their uses . . . we are made in blood and violence. we conquer, and vy for dominance to establish where we fit in in this society made of constructs. ❞
beneath the veil, the beast mirrors sang-woo. his head tilts one way, and hannibal follows. for every patient he truly helps [ for he would not garner a stellar reputation otherwise ] there are those that slip through the cracks of polite society. deemed too dangerous, too unusual, or simply too difficult. some he steers to the darkness worse for wear; others he . . . cultivates. transforms. frees. he had wondered which category cho sang-woo would fall in : just another over worked professional, perhaps? crackling beneath the pressure to succeed from his company -- and his culture. to have a taste of the truth is addictive, and whets his appetite for more. just what is he holding back, beneath that mask of his? ❝ tell me : do you believe i will feel morally obligated to shackle you to a more socially appropriate version of yourself? ❞
1.04 | 1.09
“You were just curious what I would do.”
for my sanity, beyond what i've already promised i'm closing new starters / interactions unless you write the starter! i currently have about forty that i am whittling through now.
Freeze! ✧ ─=≡Σ((( つ•̀ω•́)つ You’re under arrest for being so lovely. Copy this message to 10 other blogs that you think are beautiful and deserve it. Keep the game going and make others feel beautiful! (no pressure tho!) 💙💜
thank you so much, nonnie!
Describe your muse on anon and my muse will say if they would date them or not.
Bonus: Include the basic details: gender, age, height, likes, dislikes, hair/eye color, race, and anything else my character should know.
like for a flash starter call. cap at 3.
piggy backing off off @mpathesia [ my beloved ] i think hannibal would be a wildfire. untamed; unpredictable. indiscriminating. all it takes is one spark for a forest to be consumed in flames, and by the time it's put out there are miles worth of damage. years worth of work to undo. fire destroys, just as much as it creates. in small quantities, fire can provide warmth. security. a light in the dark. but how quickly escalates when it touches a flammable component, into something terrible, and terrifying. it swallows everything in it's path whole, leaving charred remains in it's wake. death, rebirth.
hannibal doesn't get genuinely attached to people as a general unspoken rule and habit. it is incredibly difficult for things to go beyond the veil -- even if it is one sided. however, should he become attached to you, that is as dangerous [ if not more ] than him not considering you anything.
" no, you — " tone exasperated, though the syllables bled a bit of fondness that, despite the faint smile on his ruddy lips, has eyes carefully remaining on the floor and the bits of glass calloused fingers gather in a palm. " you can stay where you are. that's the point, doctor lecter. " a chuckle under his breath, muted. " the guy who has been stabbed in the leg keeps off of it while i pick things up that the guy with the stabbed leg has trouble doing. "
it's not where he thought this case would have ended up. tobias budge, in the psychiatrist's office, with the wire. it seemed more like the conclusion to a game of clue than much else. the design ... it's unfinished. it doesn't stop the pang in the pit of his stomach, prodding with an ugly intent. it could have ended a lot worse than this. it could have been more than glass from a table i was cleaning up. lean form, swathed in rumpled plaid, bent at the knees, picking distractedly up another fragment. he'd meant to stay the moment he'd strode in and seen the doctor sitting there like a mourner (you, mourner arriving, fearing to see him dead) . it's the least i can do. i shouldn't have let him get away. should've ...
" ... do you want to be alone tonight? " it's abrupt, how it comes out of his mouth, sight still uneasily on the floor, unmoving from it. teeth pinch his lower lip before, " it—it's worse sometimes, being alone ... " dark-head tilted, shoulders hunching. " ... after. " thumb picked at a shard of stuck glass. " winston likes you. not that he has good taste. you're only special if fields likes you, and he's a picky old bastard. " @zmogedra
it is hardly the first time a psychiatrist's office has become a battleground. unstable or unpredictable patients come with that risk -- and often, he is goading individuals into some manner of action. this is different : though he was no less at ease with what transpired [ contrary to the façade that is carefully crafted ], it was unexpected. he had not intended to kill franklyn here. had not intended to kill franklyn by his hand at all, though his death was certainly being spun into golden thread. tobias budge was unexpected. tobias budge was in his office, in his home. he saw him. sloppy, on his end. too complacent. too distracted. the distraction itself, taking charge. all but demanding hannibal allow himself to be cared for. does the blood on his skin disturb will? does the wound? or knowing how close he was to someone who's hands orchestrated death? dark eyes sweep across the man's visage. there's still blood on his mouth, that ignites copper on his tongue. still a sear on his leg from where he had been stabbed. and all the while he presents hunched over faintly, injured and supposedly winded [ afraid ] from this ordeal -- he is not. from beneath the veil, something akin to affection stirs. but more than that, the deeply rooted, long dormant desire to be known. see?
❝ thank you, will. ❞ there's gratitude in that tone, but not for what will is likely to believe it to be for. not entirely, at least. there's recognition in hannibal. for will graham is a man who surrounds himself with dogs, and has formed a pack. one he diligently cares for, well beyond how he cares for himself. is now hannibal apart of the pack, too? he looks, but does not see. not yet. hannibal gives something of a faint smile, despite his bruised, aching jaw and split lip; smears of paint against a canvas. far from the worse injuries he's ever sustained. ❝ you needn't offer because you feel responsible. you did not bring this upon me -- i got here on my own, i assure you. however . . . ❞ his voice trails faintly as his gaze follows the paths of destruction around his office. the shards of broken glass and cracked wood. blood soaking into the tapestry, and whispers of their altercation still lingering in the air. he does not need company. does not need time to understand, to accept, what occurred. there is no concern of monsters in the dark that his own cannot swallow whole. but this is the first time will has invited him into his home for a purpose beyond professional capabilities. this invitation . . . it is what a friend would do. the beast inside rattles against the confines of the veil, as if it scents blood in the water. will may not see, but hannibal does; and somewhere inside, there's lips curling over teeth.
❝ i believe i would greatly appreciate the company. as long it truly would not be an imposition? unto you, or fields, of course. ❞
she’s soaking wet when she knocks on his door, barefoot and freezing in the cold autumn night. the blackouts had returned a few months ago and by the state of her feet, the blood on her hands, the bruises and the deep scratches on her neck and arms — something serious had happened.
was she in danger from herself? from someone else? there’s no real way to tell without her memory, but he’s the only one around she knows that won’t flinch when he sees her. wrapping her arms around herself, lilly rings the doorbell and blinks the rain away from her eyes when he opens the door.
“ i’m so sorry, dr. lecter, i know it’s late but i — ” lilly looks down at her ripped jeans and then back at him, trying to squish down the fear in her voice. “ i didn’t know where else to go, i don’t have my phone, and i can’t find my car, and i don’t remember how i lost them, i don’t remember anything and — ” her voice sounds shaky and panicked even to her own ears, and it worries her. what the fuck had happened? the cold starts to get to her, she has no idea how long she’s been walking. or running.
“ if you could call the police, maybe they can help? at least help me find my car, i’ll try to figure out where to go from there. and i can stay outside if you want, i know i’m a mess. ” truthfully, involving the police is the last thing she wants, but asking him to take her in is out of the question. rubbing her hands up and down her arms to create some warmth, lilly curls her shoulders inwards, ignoring the way it hurts. the why it hurts, she’ll figure out later.
“ i’m so sorry to disturb you, i really am. ”
@zmogedra
certainly, there is something to be said in the way hannibal attracts specific types of individuals. the high - profile, certainly; ones who lavish themselves in extravagance. but beyond that, and perhaps more ardently, those with a suffocating smoke. their own, or another's, seeping between cracked ribs. ones who are not quite as they seem -- riddled with secrets, impulses, darkness. certain brain synapsis cannot be helped. they are drawn to him. occasionally, in some way, he may even be returned. lilly constantine is one of those few who pique his interest, beyond the outskirts of his human veil.
while he could not have anticipated seeing her at his door step this night -- panicked, soaked to the bone and with bare feet, he is equally surprised, and not. they worked well together, in the past; and it seemed as though they melded just as easily now, even if the context is not the same as it was.
❝ you will not wait outside, miss constantine. i could never allow such cruelty. ❞ he steps aside, allow her ample room to move into his home with an encouraging hand hovering at the small of her back. the door closes, sealing off the cold and once more securing the warmth radiating from the fireplace. the den is just a few paces away from the door, and it is there that he guides her -- and offers the chair that is typically his. ❝ please, sit. i will be back in a moment. ❞ under normal circumstances, he would worry over the dirt and debris being tracked into his home. but this is no such thing; and, beyond that, he has always enjoyed lilly's company -- even when they discussed more professional things. he leaves her only briefly to procure a thick, thermal blanket from his linen closest, and drabs it over her shoulders when he returns. it could not erase the panic, the uncertainly of whatever transpired, but she would no longer be at risk for freezing, if nothing else. sitting opposite her in another plush chair, he fixes her with an expression that clearly bears concern. beneath that, however, is something that threatens to burn even brighter : curiosity. there were so many questions -- things unanswered from years ago. and new queries to ask. ❝ i can alert the police to your missing car, but i must insist you stay here. when and where did you last recall having your car? earlier today, perhaps? ❞
remember that this is always a slow time for the rpc. as we get deeper into the holiday season, remember that people are finishing classes and taking big tests. they're slammed at work or taking on extra jobs to pay the bills. people are stressed about money or family, figuring out flights or trips, dreading the colder weather, struggling to put food on the table. some people are experiencing more dark outside than light, which might mess their schedule up a bit. some deal with seasonal depression during these months.
when your dash is slower and quieter this time of year, and when less people are liking your posts or sending memes, it doesn't mean the community is dying or we're all headed for the end times. i understand that less interactions or less support might be discouraging, especially when some of us are already dealing with the doom and gloom of darker, colder months and the stress of the holiday season... but please don't turn around and scold people for their inactivity or their lack of enthusiasm. don't get fatalistic about the fate of this community and declare it prematurely dead. this period of time always happens every year. now is not the time for unfair expectations. now is the time for kindness, generosity, understanding, encouragement, and love. now is the time for "take your time with replies," and "talk to me if you need anything. i'm here for you."
「 ASK MEME : HOW’S MY PORTRAYAL? 」 * send anonymously or not. feedback is appreciated!
i swear to God there's a full moon over my job or something because everyone is acting up over every little thing today
