#(м) the devil is a gentleman

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✎

GRAHAM, W.

— @greyhoundgraham

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GRAHAM, W.  ― @greyhoundgraham​

            When you move― I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be. When you move― I could never define all that you are to me. So move me, baby, shake like the bough of a willow tree. You do it naturally― move me, baby. You are the rite of movement. Its reasonin' made lucid and cool.  know it's no improvement; when you move, I move.           MOVEMENT by Hozier

          There is the gentle CLATTER of china against the tabletop. It’s light scraping of forks and knives against the plates. Dinner COMES. Dinner goes. Hannibal pushes his sleeves up, then FOLDS the cuffs in quick motions before starting on the dishes themselves. Jack left after the FINALE― sanguinacco dolce. Though, truthfully, Hannibal prefers the comfortable QUIET that accompanies Will as he brings the last few dishes over to the sink. Maroon eyes lift from the scouring pad GRIPPED in lightly calloused fingers. ❝ I must admit, ❞ Hannibal’s gaze falls back to the sink and the task at hand, ❝ I have never been more thankful to have dessert interrupted by a call from the FBI. ❞

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GRAHAM, W.  ― @welcomeoblivicn​

          Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream― give her two lips like roses and clover and tell her that her lonely nights are over. Sandman!! I’m so alone, don’t have nobody to call my own― please, turn on your magic beam. Mr. Sandman...           BRING ME A DREAM. MR. SANDMAN by syml.

          Hannibal breathes. He focuses on the exchange of PRESSURE and VOLUME in his lungs― they are exchanged one after another. In each BREATH there is a careful BALANCE, one that life, the very essence of existence, depended on. A soft hum escaped Hannibal’s lips when he feels the gentle CARESS of fingers over his shoulder. The grip errs on too TIGHT, it’s unpracticed. It speaks VOLUMES. Yet, it isn’t pain that follows the insistence behind the touch. It is recognition, and, undoubtedly RELIEF. Hannibal’s fingers still over the keys of the harpsichord at the end of the movement.            HE WOULD KNOW THAT TOUCH IN DEATH. Eyes do not move from the sheet of music in front of him. Hannibal reaches one hand across him to GRIP the fingers that are curled into his suit jacket, and the other rises as well. He plucks up a pen, and inks a few NOTES onto the manuscript in front of him. ❝ Are you awake this time? ❞ He questioned, setting the pen back down. Again, his fingers HOVER over the keys just before he rolls out the first chord in the preceding MEASURE. ❝ Or are you still asleep, Will? ❞

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"I wish it could always be like this."

GRAHAM, W.  ― @welcomeoblivicn

          Hannibal PRESSES his fingers back through Will’s hair. Lips come to REST against his forehead as fingers trail along the processes of his spine where the BONE presses up from beneath his skin. ❝ We must work for all GOOD things, the satisfaction of the moment would be LOST if it were something we could have in excess. We must draw the line between GLUTTONY and OVER-INDULGENCE, and what is enough to leave us SATISFIED. ❞

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GRAHAM, W.  ― @intuitkiller​

          Come, if you're curious to see. Pull the tricks out of my sleeve― all you find is yours to keep. Brave? are you brave enough to meet the desires that you seek?            Hold my hand, I'll set you free. DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND by the rigs.

          Hannibal curled his fingers around the stem of the wine glass. The deep maroon liquid swirled slowly with the action. The movement was almost LAZY. He raises it to his lips, sips once, and then lets his hand fall. The bottom of the glass RESTS on the arm of his chair. Hannibal doesn’t shift his weight, but maroon eyes do ROAM Will’s expression. ❝ Tell me again― ❞ he started, twisting the glass by the stem. ❝ What was it about this case that bothered you so. With respect to some of the others, I found this one to be almost remarkably bland, and yet...            ❝ You seem... SHAKEN. ❞

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3. for your muse to join mine in the shower while getting ready for the day

DU MAURIER, B.  ― @shadowsxetxlies

          Waking to the sound of water RUNNING was not an uncommon occurrence. The metal tub seems to vibrate against the tiles with the intensity of the water pressure as it SPLASHED down against the basin. Hannibal rolled onto his side, looking down towards the bathroom where he catches a quick GLIMPSE of Bedelia as she crosses in front of the bathroom door. Pale skin, and light hair are cool-toned, making her look almost... ETHEREAL above the warm tones of the tiles beneath her feet, and against the rich colors of the wallpaper. 

          Sitting up, Hannibal PUSHES a hand back through sleep-matted hair. A moment passes before he rises. Crossing the short distance to the bathroom, he silently stepped into the space behind her. An arm comes around her waist. Fingers press into the soft skin of her stomach. Lips press into the curve where her shoulder meets her neck as he guides her back against his chest. REACHING forward with his free hand, Hannibal stopped the running water. ❝ Would you mind if I joined you this morning? ❞

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“ how long until you realize i’m here to stay? ”

STARLING, C.  ― @blessedxsilence

          Hannibal drags his pencil across the page without looking up at Clarice. ❝ Does that make you a fool for staying? Knowing what I am, and what I am LIKELY to do to you? Or perhaps you consider me to be the fool for allowing you the chance to leave at all. ❞

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GRAHAM, W.  ― @unstabledesign​

          Though he LOATHED to admit it, there was a small victory in hearing the floorboards creak behind him. The shuffle of feet over scuffed wood. The rattle of glass in faded cabinets. Hannibal doesn’t EXPECT any less than the witty remark. BUT― he couldn’t have hoped to experience the relief that FLOODED his chest. 

          Hannibal slipped the spatula beneath the pancake in the pan. There’s a faint SIZZLE the moment that it’s flipped, the sound growing LOUDER as he uses the back of the spatula to press down. It didn’t help the food cook faster, but it gave him something to do with his hands in the meantime. ❝ Are you sure such a CHALLENGE is wise to incite? ❞ He asked, but his tone is curious as opposed to being angry. When the pancake moves beneath the spatula, he turns off the burner and moves it to the small stack set off to the side. 

          ❝ I am not, but if you would prefer me to prove myself, I cannot fault you for it. ❞

SOURCE. 

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❝ i think i forgot what human contact felt like. ❞

GRAHAM, W. ― @intuitkiller

         There is a CAREFUL softness to Hannibal’s expression. It’s reserved, and still harsh around the edges. Much like paper, it’s easy enough to read, and safe enough to TOUCH and HOLD, with the inescapable ability to HURT with the right pressure in the right places, ❝ a tragedy, ❞ Hannibal breathes softly, forehead resting against Will’s shoulder. Steady hands move down the profiler’s arms where Hannibal can GRIP his wrists, GUIDE his hands, ❝ You will find yourself in no shortage of it now, Will. ❞

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“  stop trying to fix me.  ” from hayleigh

KESSLER, H. ― @carnagebled​

          Hannibal stopped writing. He sets his pen down in the center of his notebook and closed the pages. ❝ Ms. Kessler, ❞ he begins, voice clipped, ❝ to, as you said, fix you, would mean that I thought you were BROKEN. ❞ Looking up at her, a brow quirked and he tilted his head. ❝ You are not broken. You NEVER were. ❞

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12. on a scar

DU MAURIER, B.  ― @drdumaurier

          There are RARE moments in which Hannibal finds himself in situations where INTIMACY is encouraged. Let alone the FEW and far between where it is outright APPRECIATED. 

          It’s a sliver of SILVER. A memory carved into her skin. A STORY to be told. Hannibal has his hands THREADED and TANGLED into her hair. The tips of his fingers rub into he scalp, MASSAGING away any traces of hairspray or product that remain from the night before. Sudsy digits dip down the column of her throat, and he brushes them over that faded line on her shoulder. ❝ What is this from? ❞

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✎?

GRAHAM, W.

— @unstabledesign

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✎

GRAHAM, W.

— @welcomeoblivicn

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✎ , from mischa (afghgfds sorry i know this is random but i've loved your handwriting, it's so pretty)

LECTER, M.

— @hellspath

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"Stay here with me."

GRAHAM, W.  ― @welcomeoblivicn

          It’s easy to CHASE emotions that he cannot name― to grin and BEAR the vulnerability that comes, inevitably, with CHANGE. Certainly easier than to welcome the discomfort that comes in the shape of overwhelming COMPASSION. He swallows. Love and FEAR have no place in the world together; they cannot coexist. Given the CHOICE― compassion is inconvenient. FEAR WAS SAFER.

          And yet? Hannibal can hardly remember the last time he chose safety over Will. 

         ❝ Have I not overstayed my welcome then? ❞

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Du Maurier, B. 

― @drdumaurier​

          There is a comfort in mutual predictability. Their lives had taken on the same CADENCE as a pulse. They could, in an essence, breathe life into a stale MOMENT. Yet, even through his... curiosity, her reluctance to PARTICIPATE tested the very limits of his patience. The resultant and residual IRRITATION was palpable. 

          His lips twitched, and he raises a hand to wipe his brow clean. Eyes FALL on the smear of crimson over his wrist. ❝ I thought that was obvious― ❞ Hannibal allows her to see that CRACK in the facade. He gives her a glimpse of the monster that lurked just beneath the mask of a man when he smiles. 

          ❝ DINNER. ❞

SOURCE.