Mads Mikkelsen – ART

Mads Mikkelsen by Dori Hartley

Mads Mikkelsen by Dori Hartley

Digital Illustration.

I am in love with Mads Mikkelsen. I guess I have Alexander Skarsgard to blame for this. Thanks, Al. ;)



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Filed under Hannibal, Inspiration-Entertainment, Men

Hannibal fic – “An Unfortunate Cologne” (Slash, Adult 18+)

unfortunate cologne

“I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again, Will,” Lecter said, as he allowed his favorite patient to enter his office.

Will glared at the room, avoiding eye contact with the psychiatrist – not because of the holocaust of lies he’d recognize in the doctor’s serpentine eyes, but because surveying rooms filled with nicknacks soothed his psyche. Books, brass objets d’art, neatly stacked papers – these were the easygoing distractions that Will needed in order to reacquaint himself with the room in which unorthodox psychiatric treatment might yet again take place.

He spoke to the room, “Of course you can, Dr. Lecter. All you have to do is admit it.” He turned to face Hannibal. “In fact, it would be my guess that it is quite a pleasure for you to see me again. Am I wrong in making this assumption? Doctor?”

Hannibal lowered his head and looked up. “I have to know that you will not be making any further attempts to end my life, Will.”

Will walked over to the soft leather armchair reserved for patients, and as he bent to sit, he said, “Well, Dr. Lecter, in all honesty, sparing your life may prove to be as satisfying as ending it. I’m not a killer, after all. You’re the one who kills, Dr. Lecter.” He sat back comfortably, eyeballing Lecter, who stood by the door.

Lecter approached Will’s chair and hovered over the seated man, speaking softly in his ear. “Let the games begin then, shall we?”

Seeing Lecter poised so closely in front of him made Will want to thrust his leg up forcefully, kicking the man square in the testicles. Withholding this impulse, he smiled nervously and folded his arms behind his head.

Lecter slipped back a few steps and took his seat. He folded his leg over the other, smoothed his jacket, straightened his paisley-patterned tie, and pursed his lips into a smile.

“Well then. Perhaps we should talk about your feelings, Will.”

Will perked up, smirking as if he’d just been reminded that he was still in the room with Hannibal Lecter. He spoke.

“I am angry with you, Hannibal.”

“Because you still think I am the Ripper. I am sorry for this. Unfortunately I can no longer cater to this fantasy of yours, as it no longer serves anyone.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Cater. Serves. Interesting choice of words, doctor. I think you forget the words, “I eat people,” or are we still pretending to be everyone’s favorite meat-adoring freak who tends to coincidentally throw dinner parties within hours after the Chesapeake Ripper, ‘designs’ one of his pathetic, ‘art-house’ theatrical murder shows?”

Lecter frowned. “Are you calling me pathetic, Will?” His long-lipped expression lengthening into a pitying smile. “I am just kidding, of course.”

“In all this time, Dr. Lecter, you’ve never been able to see the obvious. You’ve got this attachment to me being, in some way, like you…as if my profiling makes me on some level akin to your sense of beauty, your fanatical sense of importance when life is displayed as death – you think I’m this great land, just waiting to be conquered. And why? Because you believe I have the potential to grant you your greatest desire.”

“And what is that, Will?”

“To not be so alone. It’s why you want to be my friend so urgently. You’re under some impression that I want you to be my mentor, that on some deep level, I want to be discovered…by you, of all people. You’re only happy when I’m tormented, as if anguish somehow seasons the meat…”

“A meal you assume I wish to prepare and eat. Is this correct, Will? You believe that after I’ve brainwashed and tortured you, framed, imprisoned and,” Lecter reflects on his statement, taking a moment to stroke his bottom lip with his ring finger, “forced you back to my office for more psychoanalysis – after you’ve attempted to murder me – that all I want is to make a meal out of you, as if I were some kind of zombie. Is that it, Will?”

“Not a zombie, Dr. Lecter. A cannibal.”

“I can assure you, Will, I am not a reflection of your inner desires.”

Will looked directly in Hannibal’s eyes, as he rose off his leather armchair.

“Oh yes, Dr. Lecter. You are exactly a reflection of my inner desires. Because the one thing you seemed to miss in all of your psychobabble crap is the clear and cut fact that, no, I am not a cannibal like you…”

Will approached Lecter’s chair; he stood in front of him, his legs almost touching the fabric of Hannibal’s immaculate tailored suit.

Catching Hannibal off guard, he noticed the man swallow deeply, adjusting his tie, once again. Hannibal, trying to appear unperturbed, said, “What do you want from me, Will? If you are so sure that I’ve missed the mark utterly with my diagnoses, then what is it that I’ve missed? Tell me, Will. Let me be your friend again.”

Will removed his glasses and put them in the pocket of his flannel shirt. He then unbuttoned the flannel, tossed the shirt on to Hannibal’s desk, and lifted the black t-shirt that he had on beneath it over his head. Standing there, shirtless, inches away from Hannibal, he ran his fingers through his curly dark hair and said, “You know what I want…Doctor…Lecter?” He slipped a knee into the cushioned area by Hannibal’s thigh, and leveraged himself into slipping the other knee in, by the other thigh. He sat on Dr. Lecter’s lap, extending his arms over the other man’s shoulders. Will’s stomach was a hair’s length away from Lecter’s lips.

“Hard to not smell me now, Dr. Lecter. Hard to not envision what I would taste like, isn’t that right, Dr. Lecter?”

Lecter’s mouth went slack as he allowed himself a deep, secretive sniff of Will’s abdomen. He did not smell like fear; he smelled like musk and semen. He also smelled like that unfortunate cologne, a fragrance that Hannibal detested in theory, but adored when associated with Will. Hannibal’s cheap thrill, if such a thing could even exist.

Hannibal looked up past Will’s chest and into his eyes. With a slight gasp in his breath he said, “I am not a homosexual, Will. Your sexual advances are inappropriate. I must ask you to remove yourself before I am provoked to use force.”

Will laughed. He looked down on Hannibal, grabbed the doctor’s hands and placed them on his pectoral muscles. He maneuvered Lecter’s hands up and down, smoothing over every contour of his torso. Then, he yelled.

“You think this is about sex? Wake up, Hannibal! It’s time to smell the coffee!”

Hannibal, feeling more homosexual at that moment than he cared to admit, knew he had to throw Will off his lap, lest his patient feel the hardness between his legs. Seizing Will by the wrists, he shouted, “What do you want of me? What do you want me to do, Will?”

Will, curling his body towards Lector’s face, calmly said, “I thought you’d never ask, Doc.”

“What, Will? How can I help you?” Lecter was conflicted; he didn’t want to let Will go. He wanted him to stay, to rip his pants off and turn around…he wanted to fuck Will as hard as Will seemed to want him to. And yet, that was not quite what Will had in mind. He said he wasn’t here for sex. Whatever then was he here for?

“I want you to eat me, Dr. Lecter.” Half lidded, Will was no longer afraid… of anything.

In that instant, Hannibal knew that, not only was he going to fuck the living shit out of Will’s unfortunately perfumed ass, but that he was going to allow himself the fantasy – if not the reality – of digging his fingers deeply into the flesh that demanded so much more than torture.

He was going to devour Will Graham.

ca. August 2005 --- Hugh Dancy --- Image by © Lee Broomfield/Corbis Outline

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Filed under Dark Fiction, Erotica, Hannibal, Horror, Men

Ben Raven – ART

Ben Raven by Dori Hartley

Ben Raven by Dori Hartley

Ben Raven

16″ x 36″ Acrylic on 1″ thick wood panel

@2014 Dori Hartley


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Filed under Art, corvid, crow, Dori Hartley Art, Men, raven, Spirituality

A Great Review of Angels and Echoes

If, for whatever reasons you still haven’t read my book, I suggest you read this incredible review by Kristi Anderson. It may inspire you to read it. Thanks, as always, to Kristi.

She writes:
Though the book title and cover suggest an epic other-world fantasy, the storyline of this novel by first-time author Dori Hartley is rooted in something far more sinister – the horrors too often inflicted by humans on each other. Who needs vampires and demons when cheating husbands, abusive mothers, and murdering sons are all too happy to step out of the understudy’s shadow?

And so the story goes in Hartley’s gripping page-turner, “Angels and Echoes,” a character study in how far one can be stretched in the directions of selfless love and pure evil before the deeds themselves catapult us into either angelic or demonic status.

From the first page, the reader is immediately thrust into the parallel storylines of New Yorker Olivia Lang and Kentucky-based Evan McQuayle, two protagonists each fighting their own demons that unfortunately know no cultural or geographic boundaries – breast cancer and child abuse.

I offer no spoilers on how their two very different worlds collide, but when they do, it is with a force so powerful that the reader truly won’t see it coming. And once you see it, you won’t want to look away even for a moment, no matter how difficult some passages are to read. It is as if the author grabs you by the nape of the neck and forces you to stare into the sun, never allowing you to break your gaze. Hartley is not afraid to display in grotesque, almost eye-blinding, color what many of us would prefer remain greyed out in the darkness.

But here’s the thing – and this is a spoiler I don’t mind sharing – goodness always wins in the end. It may not seemingly be in equal proportion to the horrors experienced, and it may not wrap up in complete storybook fashion, but this reader does believe that good always prevails. Through each of their own tragedies, Olivia and Evan offer each other – and their growing and strangely intertwining tribe of family and friends – unconditional love and redeeming hope in proportions that are truly life-saving. And let me be clear: this is not the blind, sugar-coated love of fairytales. This love is real, raw, flawed, gritty, sweaty. In a word, human.

Truthfully? I thank the author for displaying the violence and vulgarity in such epic, heart-breaking fashion, because it only heightens my awe of the perfect power of good to conquer evil in our lives – if we allow it to. And that is the key: whatever dungeon of misery we are plummeted into, whatever grave of despair we’ve dug for ourselves, most of us are not so far down that we can’t help another up — especially those who have absolutely no capacity for helping themselves. The power of good, though immense, needs our seemingly puny human actions and humble missteps to animate and propel it into action. As the pace picks up – and as this book so beautifully exemplifies – a force that great can only multiply and grow to outshine any shadow.

With such a richly painted canvas to feast our eyes upon, it’s hard to believe that this is the author’s first novel. It reads with the pace, thrill and intrigue reminiscent of Stephen King or Dan Brown. Lofty comparisons, but well earned. In fact, this reader put the book down only once, and I will tell you that the ending left me begging for more.

With all of its twists and turns, this universal story of good and evil – rendered anew in this author’s deft hands – transforms rejection into redemption; betrayal into loyalty; manipulation into pure intention and grace. And, abuse into love.

Redemption. Loyalty. Pure intention. Grace. Love.

What a beautiful ending, yet these possibilities are always with us from the beginning.

In the end, Dori Hartley is a first-rate story teller, dare I say a literary angel, who delivers an important message about rejection and redemption. And I, for one, hope that her compelling plots and unforgettable characters continue to echo and resonate with all of us for many more books to come.

Angels and Echoes – on sale at – click here

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Filed under Angels and Echoes, Authors, Dark Fiction, Dori Hartley, Fiction

Save the Artist! Need your help now!

I need your support. Please help by donating to my artist’s fund.

lakshmi puja




Thank you.

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Filed under Art