#₀₁. ㅤ` ㅤ🙴 ㅤ༉ㅤ𓄄ㅤ𝗛𝗘𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗘ㅤㅤ ‚ ❪ ᵖʳᵒˢᵉ ❫

[heuretourne]

𝒊.    𓄄༘   ⊳ @cstarling .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆   𝐈𝐒   𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐈𝐍   𝐀   𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋   𝐎𝐅   𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃   𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.   Twitching   as   the   last   drops   of   life   are   so   cruelly   bled   from   its   heart,   disrupting   the   otherwise   stilled   surface   that   surrounds   it ...   ⸺   a   ripple   effect   that   interrupts   every living and decaying thing   (   even   in   its   dying   moments.   )   The   teacup   has   shattered.   𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋   𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐌   𝐇𝐀𝐒   𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃.   As   he   sinks   below   with   the   raven   -   feathered   stag,   he   hears   it   calling   ⸺   telling   him   to   wade   into   the   quiet   of   the   stream.   Drift,   with   all   your   broken   pieces.   (   ᴺᴼ   ) His   eyes   flutter   open   ﹠   he   is   gasping ...   the   sudden   intake   of   air   sending   a   sting   into   his   ribcage.   𝙸𝚂   𝙷𝙴   𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻   𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶   ?      His   body   is   aching,   cradled   by   the   hospital   bed   beneath   him,   monitors   form   a   tower   -   like   structure   on   either   side   of   him,   ﹠   his   mind   …   slowly   but   surely,   his   mind   catches   up   with   the   present   moment.   The   hospital.   He’s   in   the   hospital.   Eyes   flitter   towards   a   wall   clock,   numbers   dripping   ﹠   sagging   as   his   vision   strained   to   adjust   to   the   harsh   fluorescents   above.   It   was   late.   The   man   glances   downwards   at   the   layers   of   gauze   protecting   his   abdomen   ﹠   the   memories   trickled   back   in   slowly   ⸺   feelings   of   betrayal   settled   in   his   stomach,   churning   itself   into   nausea   as   Will   scans   the   rest   of   the   room.   ❝   …   ᶜˡᵃʳᶦᶜᵉ   ?   ❞   he   whispers   out,   his   voice   is   hoarse   ⸺   rough.   Speaking   felt   like   swallowing   sandpaper.   She’s   nestled   in   the   corner   with   a   jacket   for   a   pillow,   dozing   like   she’d   been   there   for   hours.   (   …   𝑆𝐻𝐸   𝐻𝐴𝐷   𝐵𝐸𝐸𝑁   𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸   𝐹𝑂𝑅   𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑆.   )   

[heuretourne]

To   get   inside   the   mind   of   a   killer   often   required   retracing   their   steps.   Moulding   your   feet   to   fit   into   their   shoes   ﹠   accompany   them   every   step   of   the   way.   Breathe   the   stale   and   sullied   air   of   their   lungs   ⸺   live   their   life,   but   don’t   delve   any   deeper   than   necessary.   ㅤㅤ(   𝙼𝙰𝚈𝙱𝙴   𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙳𝙴𝙴𝙿𝙴𝚁   𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽   𝙽𝙴𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚁𝚈.   )   His   thoughts   read   like   a   𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆   𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆   𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕   as   he   mulled   over   the   facts   internally      …      Four   victims   in   the   last   month   with   matching   wounds   ﹠   lacerations,   bodies   dumped   in   a   close   enough   proximity   to   give   authorities   a   clear   idea   of   the   potential suspect’s   stomping   grounds   ⸺   no   traceable   motive,   but   there   rarely   ever   was, if the bureau was requesting Will's assistance.   Key   witnesses   from   the   nights   of   the   killings   had   placed   all   individuals   at   this   location   prior   to   disappearance.   Prior   to   their   bodies   turning   up   cold   the   next   morning.   That   was   about   where   the   similarities   between   them   stopped.   Whoever   Graham   was   looking   for   would   be   indiscriminate   in   their   brutalisations. He’d   been   sat   at   the   bar   by   himself   with   nothing   but   an   ᵉᵐᵖᵗʸ    ʷᵃᵗᵉ��   ᵍˡᵃˢˢ   in   front   of   him   for   the   last   half   hour.   The   man   had   exchanged   a   brief   line   of   dialogue   with   the   bartender,   yet   hadn’t   uttered   a   word   since.   Observing   the   patrons   with   a   keen   eye,   gathering   a   sense   of   𝑤ℎ𝑦.   Why   this   place,   𝒘𝒉𝒚   𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔   𝒃𝒂𝒓   ?   What   made   it   different   from   any   of   the   others   that   littered   nearby   blocks   ?   Ease   of   access   ?   Maybe   an   employee.   Maybe   a   regular.   His   thoughts   were   disrupted   suddenly   as   a   glass   of   whiskey   was   slid   in   front   of   him,   with   the   disgruntled   barkeep   giving   nothing   more   than   a   head   nod   in   the   direction   of   the   man   who   Will   had   assumed   paid   for   it.   The   profiler   cast   his   gaze   towards   a   much   younger   man   ⸺   late   twenties,   presumably,   with   thick   dark   curls   ﹠   piercing   eyes.   Like   something   out   of   an   Early   Renaissance   work,   features   delicately   crafted   out   of   oil   on   canvas   or   frescoes.   He   didn’t   dwell   on   the   thought   for   much   longer.   Fingers   then   curled   around   the   glass,   gesturing   in   salute   ﹠   thanks ;   a   silent   invitation   to   speak.   Have   a   conversation.   𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆   𝒉𝒆   𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘   𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.   

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  ...   @mortange : sender  buys  receiver  a  drink  at  a  bar .

[heuretourne]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐎𝐇   ,   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒   𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇   𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆   𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒   𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄   𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍.   Her trauma   -   weathered   face   blinks   expectantly   at   Will,   ﹠   he   knows   she   is   sure   of   her   demands,   regardless   of   how   simple   the   demand   itself   was.   (   𝑊𝐻𝑂   𝑊𝐴𝑆   𝐻𝐸   𝑇𝑂   𝐷𝐸𝑁𝑌   𝐻𝐸𝑅,   𝐴𝐹𝑇𝐸𝑅   𝐴𝐿𝐿   𝑇𝐻𝐸   𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆   𝐻𝐸   𝐻𝐴𝐷   𝑃𝑈𝑇   𝐻𝐸𝑅   𝑇𝐻𝑅𝑂𝑈𝐺𝐻   ?   )      He   found   that   there   was   very   little   in   his   life   nowadays   that   brought   him   untampered   joy.   Most   things   were   now   stained beyond repair ...   (   PEOPLE   WERE   STAINED  )   ﹠   he   was   sure   Abigail’s   own   sentiments   would   echo   this,   but   the   few   things   that   did   spark some form of   ᵉˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ  …   he   would   have   to   share.   𝐈𝐭   𝐰𝐚𝐬   𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲   𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫.   ❝   That   …   can   be   arranged.   ❞   he   gives   a   soft   nod,   hunched   over   in   a   chair   as   his   shoulders   roll   forward   in   a   shrug.   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝   ⸺   There’s   eight   other   dogs   that’ll   be   ᵛʸᶦⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵃᵗᵗᵉⁿᵗᶦᵒⁿ   the   entire   time, though. Don't say I didn't warn you.   ❞ His smile cuts through his face. It was rare ﹠   fleeting, but it was present.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  :   i wanna see winston .    :  @shrikebait .

[heuretourne]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝗛𝗘    𝗗𝗜𝗗𝗡’𝗧    𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪    𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧    𝗛𝗘    𝗪𝗔𝗦    𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚.    Collecting    another    stray    dog,    maybe.    This    little    habit    of    his    never    ceased,    not    even    on    the    road.    Despite    all    the    atrocities    he’d    witnessed    firsthand,    every     statistic    inlaid    in    the    back    of    his    brain    about    the    dangers    of    hitchhiking,    Will    Graham    could    not    resist    ˢᶜᵒᵒᵖᶦⁿᵍ    ᵘᵖ    such    innocent    creatures    ⸺    folding    his    wings    over    to    protect    them    from    harm in ways nobody had ever done for him.    (  𝙰𝚂    𝙱𝙴𝚂𝚃    𝙷𝙴    𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳,    𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚆𝙰𝚈.  )    ㅤㅤㅤㅤShe    seemed    nice    enough.    Maybe    a    little    too    nice,    if    not,    severely    sheltered.    She    was    a    child.    Untouched    by    the    𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒆    𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆    of    human    existence    in    a    way    he    had    not    been    in    a    very,    very    long    time.    He    wondered    if    she    was    better    off    for    it,    or    if    she’d    be    more    likely    to    put    herself    in    harm’s    way    …    hell,    she’d    gotten    in    the    car    with    him,    hadn’t    she  ?    Not    the    wisest    decision,    but    there    were    ᶠᵃʳ    ʷᵒʳˢᵉ    ᵒⁿᵉˢ    to    be    made.    ❝    Not    running    away    from    home,    ᵃʳᵉ    ʸᵒᵘ  ?    That    never    works.    ❞

₀₁. ㅤㅤ @amoresis : [  ROAD  TRIP  ] The sender and receiver embark on a road trip together; the purpose could be anything at all, but what’s important is that the journey lasts at least several hours. Additionally, the sender and receiver are the only people in the car!

[heuretourne]

Worn   digits   curl   tightly   around   her   own,   her   palm   only   half   the   size   of   his   ⸺   tender   ﹠   uncalloused.   Untouched   by   the   harshness   of   the   world   that   surrounded   them.   He   brings   their   conjoined   hands   up   to   his   lips,   pressing   a   kiss   to   her   knuckles   ﹠   luring   her   further   into   his   side   as   they   cuddled   up   in   her   𝑡𝑜𝑜   -   𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙   -   𝑓𝑜𝑟   -   ℎ𝑖𝑚   bed.   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝   …   The   thunder   will   pass    ˢᵒᵒᶰ  .   ❞   he   whispers.      (      𝙰   𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙴.   )

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  :   sender  twines  their  fingers  with  receiver’s . / stevie    :  @roseguided .

[heuretourne]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe    intimacy    was    striking.    𝗧𝗛𝗘    𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗖𝗬    𝗪𝗔𝗦    𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚.    It    was    with    unbridled    tenderness    that    He    touched    Him,    and    Will    could    only    recount    a    slim    handful    of    times    throughout    the    duration    of    his    life    that    he’d    been    caressed    with    such    intense    care.    (  𝙰𝙻𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃    𝙰𝙻𝙻    𝙾𝙵    𝚆𝙷𝙸𝙲𝙷    𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴    𝙱𝚈    𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙱𝙰𝙻’𝚂    𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳.  )  ㅤㅤㅤㅤHe    would    not    recoil    from    the    hand    that    fed    him,    not    this    time.    𝑁𝑜𝑡    𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟    𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛.    His    heart    paralleled    a    ʰᵘᵐᵐᶦⁿᵍᵇᶦʳᵈ’ˢ    ʷᶦⁿᵍˢ ,    though    he    held    no    fear    in    the    darkening    cavern    of    his    chest    (    𝐹𝑂𝑅    𝑂𝑁𝐶𝐸    )    …    it    was    bursting    with    pure    anticipation ;    the    thrill    of    being    close.    The    warmth    of    ᵇᵉᶦⁿᵍ    ʰᵉˡᵈ    had    caused    him    to    shiver.    A    contradiction    in    its    own    right,    but    he    welcomed    the    internal    dissent.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ❝    What’s    your    plan    now    that    you    have    me    ᵃˡˡ    ᵗᵒ    ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ    ?     ❞    Had    he    fallen    victim    to    Hannibal’s    stratagem    …    or    had    he    simply    allowed    himself    to    become    entangled    in    the    web    they’d    spun    into    their    home  ?    Will’s    intentions    were    clear    now    only    to    himself,    and    he’d    never    tell.    It    didn’t    matter    anymore.

₀₁. ㅤㅤ @plesytojas : Sender  cradles  receiver’s  face.

[heuretourne]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ❝    𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥    𝗜𝗦 ...    ❞        Battered    and    bruised,    an    appearance    that    was    nothing    more    than    a    product    of    excessive    violence ;    a    state    of    being    that    wrapped    his    shoulders    like    a    𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌    𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒕    meant    to    comfort    during    the    worst    moments    of    your    life.    It didn't ever seem to do much for him. He’d    be    fine.    He’d    survive.    (  𝙸𝙵    𝙷𝙴    𝚆𝙰𝚂    𝙻𝚄𝙲𝙺𝚈.  )    But    at    what    cost,    he    wasn’t    sure.    Will    shook,    anxious    ˡᶦᵏᵉ    ᵃ    ᵇᵃᵈ    ᵈᵒᵍ    snapping    and     biting    off    more    than    he    could    chew    at    the    command    of    his    owner    boss.    Never    mind    what    was    good    for    him,    they    needed    results.    He    laughed    but    there    was    little    amusement    or    life    behind    it,    bringing    a    straw    to    his    lips    as    he    sipped    water.   

❝    You know, this    is    starting    to    feel    like    a    bad    case    of    𝑑𝑒𝑗𝑎    𝑣𝑢    …    or    maybe    this    is    just    my    regular    Tuesday    now,    𝑎𝑛𝑑    𝐼’𝑑    𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟    𝑔𝑒𝑡    𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑    𝑡𝑜    𝑖𝑡.    ❞

₀₁. ㅤㅤ@susponte : ❛ Today isn’t your day, is it? ❜

[heuretourne]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ❝    𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧    ?    ❞            Returning    to    reality    wasn’t    unlike    breaking    the    surface    of    the    ocean    after    nearly    drowning    beneath    the    waves,    saltwater    ᶠˡᵒᵒᵈᶦⁿᵍ    ᵗʰᵉ    ˡᵘⁿᵍˢ    and    darkness    submerging    all    of    his    senses.    He    couldn’t    tell    you    what    he’d    been    doing,    he    just    knew    that    he    had    a    𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆-𝒌𝒏𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒅    𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒑    on    the    end    of    Winston’s    leash,    who’d    been    busy    sniffing    curiously    around    the    nearby    telephone    pole.    ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ❝    Oh    ⸺    sorry,    I    ⸺    zoned    out.     ❞    It    took    a    moment    for    his    mind    to    return    to    his    body,    readjusting    to    his    surroundings.    New    city,    new    house    …    𝑛𝑒𝑤    𝑛𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠.    Something    he    definitely    wasn’t    used    to,    and    wasn’t    sure    he    liked    all    that    much.    It    reminded    him    of    growing    up    near    New    Orleans ;    shotgun    houses    and    cramped    alleyways,    streets   ᵇᵘˢᵗˡᶦⁿᵍ    with    people    at    all    odd    hours    of    the    night.    ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝    ⸺    Is    that    a    Ducati    ?    ❞ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ(    𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝚂𝚄𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃.    )    Will    sounded    almost    perplexed    upon    asking,    adjusting    the    frames    of    his    glasses    as    his    gaze    flittered    downward    to    the    sleek    body    of    the    motorcycle    currently    getting    some    maintenance.    It    was    a    wonder    the    man    hadn’t    been    robbed    yet.

₀₁. @riselazarus : ❛ like what you see? ❜

[heuretourne]

ㅤㅤㅤ❝    Tyndale    was    …    𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒅.    ❞        The    word    is    ᶜᵃᵘᵍʰᵗ    in    the    air    between    them,    trapped    beneath    the    foot    of    the    elephant    in    the    room.    Thoughts    of    a    heretical    nature    and    sedition    fit    like    a    𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑛    𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒    wrapped    around    the    throat    of    a    friend.    ㅤㅤㅤ❝    If    rejecting    your    𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆    in    front    of    the    world,    or    a    …    room    full    of    people    who    would    blindly    follow    you    and    believe    everything    you    say    as    if    your    word    was    𝑮𝒐𝒅,    then    yes.    I    would    say    I    relate    to    thoughts    of    a    heretical    nature.    ❞ ㅤㅤㅤHis    tongue    was    like    a    𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑡    that    his    teeth    neglected    to    bite ;    a    bark    stemming    from    the    sternum    and    ᶜʳᵃʷˡᶦⁿᵍ    ᵘᵖ    his    throat    as    a    form    of    outcry.    Some    would    rather    𝑠𝑒𝑤    𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟    𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠    𝑠ℎ𝑢𝑡    than    gaze    behind    the    delicately    crafted    mask.    They    would    rather    sing    his    praises    and    wait    for    the    church    roof    to    fall.    (    𝐼𝐹    𝑂𝑁𝐿𝑌    𝐼𝑇    𝑊𝐸𝑅𝐸    𝑆𝑂    𝑆𝐼𝑀𝑃𝐿𝐸.    )    If    he    could    just    close    his    eyes    …    but    even    then,    all    that    he    had    seen    had    reached    the    farthest    corners    of    his    mind,    𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈    𝒊𝒏    𝒂𝒏𝒅    𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈    𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅.    Too    far    gone    to    ignore    the    truth.    ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(    Too    far    gone    to    mind    the    truth.    )   

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  ... @plesytojas : "There is a man of your name, a scholar sentenced to execution by asphyxiation before his body was burned for heresy. For William Tyndale it was of a religious kind, but I would guess that with all you've seen and learned that you may well relate to thoughts of a heretical nature."

[heuretourne]

ㅤㅤㅤ❝   …   ᶜˡᵃʳᶤᶜᵉ   ?   ❞   He   stood   there,   barely   put   together with   an open   robe   haphazardly   thrown   over   the   shirt   -   boxer   combination   to   try   and   compensate   for   the   lack   of   dress   and   the   cold.   His   pack   of   half   -   wild   dogs   stood   behind   him,   barking   their   heads   off   while   waiting   for   a   signal.   Any   signal.   As   he   squinted,   trying   to   see   her   through   the   blinding   reflection   of   headlights   against   the   snow,   she   drew   closer   and   became   clearer   to   him.   He   lowered   his   shotgun.   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(   𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙸𝙰,   𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙸𝙰.   ) ㅤㅤㅤ❝   What   are   you   doing   here   ?   ❞   he   says,   sounding   more   defensive   than   he   had   intended   to   at   that   moment, but   maybe   he   had   every   right   to   be.   In   Graham’s   experience,   if   someone   was   showing   up   to   his   house   (   𝑏𝑢𝑡   𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦   𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑   )   they   were usually   dragging   their   tail   between   their   legs,   ashamed   to   deliver   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐛𝐚𝐝   𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬.  

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  ... @roseguided : sender  shows  up  at  receiver’s  home  late  at  night . / clarice

[heuretourne]

ㅤㅤㅤ❝   I   think   if   you   were   curious   about   what   would   happen   …   or   if   it   𝒔𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅   your   narrative.   ❞      ㅤㅤㅤTo   most,   Hannibal   Lecter   was   an   unpredictable   monster.   A   faceless   entity   to   be   feared   by   most,   worshipped   by   some.   Obscured   by   anonymity,   but   distinct   enough   to   leave   little   room   for   misinterpretation   ⸺   you   would   know   it   was   him,   whether   or   not   you   knew   him. ㅤㅤㅤIn   these   quiet   moments,   protected   by   the   walls   of   his   office,   body   moulded   uncomfortably   into   the   chair   that   held   all   their   secrets,   Will   saw   Hannibal   clearly.   Peeled   back   layers   of   anonymity,   behind   the   person   suit.   Staring   directly   into   the   steady   eyes   of   a   raven-stag   that   ripped   through   Chesapeake   like   wildfire   ⸺   destroying   everything   in   its   path   to   make   room   for   his   blossoming   creations.   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ(   𝚃𝙾   𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆   𝙷𝙸𝙼   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝚃𝙾   …   )   ❝   …   What   𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆   are   you   pushing   now,   Dr.   Lecter ?   What,   that   you   can   …   ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗ   ᵐᵉ   ?   That   you   have   my   best   interests   at   heart  ?   ❞

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  ... @consumare : of course not . you think i'd let that happen ?

[heuretourne]

❝   …   Mr.   Watts,   an   acquaintance   of   yours   is   currently   under   investigation   for   murder   and   has   started   pointing   fingers   at   you   as   an   accomplice,   I   don’t   know   if   now   is   the   time   to   start   getting   hostile.   ❞      He   doesn’t   know   why   Crawford   has   him   conduct   these   questionings.   He’s   not   FBI.   He   left   the   homicide   division   years   ago.   Nothing   about   his   presence   really   says   cop   or   authority   figure,   just   as   nothing   in   the   way   he   spoke   indicated   that   he   was   truly   demanding   answers.   Donovan   Watts   was   not   an   accessory   to   murder,   but   the   higher   -   ups   were   nothing   if   not   meticulous   with   vetting   claims.   Still, he   prayed   Watts   knew   better   than   to   speak   without   a   lawyer   present.   The   profiler   sat   on   the   edge   of   the   table,   arms   folded   ...   almost   as   if   he   was   hugging   himself,   but   he   was   not   anxious   ⸺   eyes   trained   towards   the   one   -   way   mirror   before   returning   his   gaze   to   the   other   man.   

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝   …   If   you   can   tell   us   where   you   were   that   night,   and   there   are   people   who   can   corroborate   your   story,   you're fine.   It’s   simple.   I   know   none   of   this   is   convenient   with   your   busy   schedule,   but   we’re   just   …   𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈   𝒕𝒐   𝒃𝒆   𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉.   ❞         (   Somewhere   beyond   the   glass,   he   could   feel   the   burning   stare   of   disapproval   from   Jack   Crawford.   )

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  ...   @priestbit : i'm not givin' you shit 'til you give me some answers .

[heuretourne]

❝   Weird   as   in   what   the   average   reader   of   the   tabloids   might   find   weird,   or   weird   as   in   something   worth   looking   into,   Dr.   Watson,   ʷʰᶦᶜʰ   ᶦˢ   ᶦᵗ   ?   ❞      The   overall   disinterest   that   acted   as   a   varnish   for   his   words   didn’t   wane   or   wither.   He   was   tired ...   evident   from   the   ᵉᵛᵉʳ   ⁻   ᵈᵃʳᵏᵉⁿᶦⁿᵍ   ᵇᵃᵍˢ   beneath   his   eyes.   Evident   from   the   nearly   empty   bottle   of   headache   tablets   that   rattled   solemnly   as   he   dry   swallowed   another.   Swarming   in   paperwork,   up   to   his   eyes   in   imagery   of   the   dead   brutalised   by   monsters   …   he   wasn’t   sure   how   much   more   weird   he   could   take.   Part   of   him   hoped   it   wasn’t   anything   more   than   an   oversized   rat   carrying   half   a   bagel   at   the   train   station. ㅤ

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  ...   @dearwatsons : something really weird just happened at the train station .

[heuretourne]

❝   Is   that   what   you   think ?      …   That   I   don’t   𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒  ?   ❞      His   vocals   are   strained,   chords   hard  -  pressed   against   the   throat   with   jaw   clenched.   Clarice’s   anger   was   palpable,   threatening   to   crawl up   his   windpipe   like   bile.   Will   wasn’t   …   mad,   no.   That   much   he   could   decipher,   no   matter   how   much   her   emotions   clouded   his   own.   He   was   upset,   maybe   even   a   bit   hurt   by   the   notion   that   he   didn’t   𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆   𝒂   𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏,   as   she’d   so   eloquently   put   it.   ❝   I   can’t ...   𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑   caring,   Clarice.   Everything   I   see,   everything   I   do,   it   …   pollutes   every   other   part   of   my   mind   until   there’s   not   a   single   safe   place   left.   I’m   losing   sleep.     ❞

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  ... @cstarling :  when you don't give a damn , i get pissed .

[heuretourne]

❝   It’s   …   the   ᵛᵉʳˢᶤᵒᶰ   ᵒᶠ   ᵗʰᵉ    ˢᵗᵒʳʸ   that   I   believe   to   be   true.   I   just   can’t   prove   it.   ❞      ﹠   here   he   was.   Confessing   …   confessing   that   he’s   been   in   league   with   the   devil,   driven   to   the   bottom   of   a   barrel   of   𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠,   with   no   one   in   his   corner   compelled   to   regard   it   as   truth.   Will   couldn’t   remember   the   last   time   he’d   given   God   the   time   of   day,   certainly   couldn’t   remember   the   last   time   he’d   gone   to   church   …   (   𝙷𝙴   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙰   𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳   𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙵𝙾𝚁   𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁𝚂.   )      He   had   lost   time.   𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃   𝐎𝐔𝐓.   Wound   up   here   …   here,   of   all   places.   The   walls   of   the   cathedral   seemed   to   tower   over   him   ⸺   engulfing   his   mind,   body,   ﹠   soul   like   a   flame.   Stained   glass   depicting   saints   ﹠   saviours   were   supposed   to   provide   comfort,   but   all   Will   could   draw   from   the   experience   was   a   lingering   fear   of   God,   buried   deep   ﹠   dulled   with   time,   but   burrowed   like   a   seed   waiting   to   sprout   nonetheless.   Will   didn’t   know   where   he   stood   with   God   these   days   …   wherever   it   was,   𝑖𝑡   𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑙𝑦   𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛’𝑡   𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒. 

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  :   if there is another version of this story ...    : @fa1her .

[heuretourne]

❝   Well   …   you’re   either   nine   months   late   or   three   months   early   …   So   congratulations,   Dr.   Lecter,   you’re   either   a   horrible   friend,   or   a   𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦,   𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦   good   one.   ❞         the   response   lacks   any   care   for   the   subject   matter,   as   he’s   unable   to   recall   the   last   time   he’d   paid   any   mind   to   his   birthday. the   man   paces   aimlessly   around   the   office,   eyes   scanning   framed   paintings   that   decorated   the   wine   coloured   walls.   He’d   seen   them   a   thousand   times   before,   picking   out   each   ﹠   every   detail   like   a   vulture   plucking   out   bits   ﹠   pieces   of   its   prey.   His   eyes   fall   onto   the   image   of   the   three   figures   ⸺   dressed   in   colourful   kimonos,   Japanese   script   adorning   the   sides   ﹠   lower   corners.   They   linger   for   a   moment,   before   he   casts   his   gaze   towards   Hannibal.                 ❝   ᵂʰʸ   ?   ❞

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓  :   i didn't miss your birthday , did i ?    :  @zmogedra .