Jungkook ⟡ Speak Yourself In Shizuoka Making Film

Today is Will Graham Wednesday, January 29th, 2025

Punish, off my new project Perverts, is out November 1st.

Perverts will release January 8th.

Single art by @silkenweinberg ♡

the most beautiful moment in life

the realest people ever

“He just loves music and has a lot of interest in culture. He just seemed like a bright boy”

Perverts feels like being in a nuclear reactor

☁️ ; 䭞 — ᭰͒̑͡✿ ུ⃨

〚❥ 𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 . 🌸  𝅄𓏵 𐔌

happy 11th anniversary of this scene to those who celebrate! 🥳🎉

— fatima aamer bilal, from being unwanted is a language

Apulian Red-figure skyphos depicting the myth of Actaeon, ca 400 - 350 BC

In which Will and Hannibal have a brief conversation about divine law and expectations.

“Are you familiar with the story of Actaeon, Will?”

A digression. Another digression. He’s used to these by now.

“I can tell you want to tell me whether I have or not.”

A tilt of the head, a not-quite smile. Hannibal is, in most things, the elegance of restraint.

“I do not mean to bore you with my recounting.”

“Tell me.”

“Actaeon is a great hunter. He stumbles upon the goddess Diana bathing in the woods.”

“And I assume a swift overreaction followed.”

“The punishment of gods can never be said to be an over, or indeed under, reaction. Divine law is always a matter of poetic justice.”

“What does she do to him?”

“His punishment for this transgression is to be transformed into a stag. Only to be torn apart by his own dogs, who no longer recognize him for who he was.”

He laughs. He can’t help it. This is on the nose, even for Hannibal.

Hannibal doesn’t even blink, watching him.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of warning?”

“Do you see a warning in it?”

“A hunter torn apart by his own dogs? Yeah, it’s hard not to.”

“You place yourself in the role of the transgressor, not the transgressed.” He notes mildly “Do you ever find yourself worrying that one day your fellow investigators might mistake you for quarry?”

Does he? Of course he does. Every day. Every time he steps onto another crime scene. Hannibal knows that.

“As long as there aren’t any skinny-dipping goddesses around, I think I should be fine.”

“Do you believe that Actaeon knew what he would find?” Hannibal asks, “Perhaps he did not expect to see her any more than you might.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? He was a hunter. Whatever he expected, the end result was always going to be the same, whether he saw a goddess or not.”

“What result?” Hannibal tilts his head again, a clock-work mimic of interest.

“Spilled blood and baying hounds.”