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        What you did to me is in my head, and I will find it.        I’m going to remember, Doctor Lecter, and when I do

                                    there will be a RECKONING.  

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I’ve been in the process of making a promo. I’m almost finished…so my plan is to finish it and then move things to my new account. :)

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I’m a bubbling emotional wreck. Depression has been hitting me…just constantly. I’ve been faking happiness just to get me by…I’m going to be lurking tonight. I don’t feel stable enough for drafts.

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                                —–  We fight every night for something                                  When the sun sets we’re both the same                                                  Half in the shadows                                                 Half burned in flames                                              This darkness is the light

               Highly Selective, Private, Independent Will Graham from NBC’s Hannibal.

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His heart would be forever familiar with the rapid pace of when adrenaline sought to take over his whole body and perform with a sickening quickness that could save his life. The sight of blood was something he recognized so easily now and he could identify what had caused the spray to splatter the nearby walls or furniture. Violence would be something that would follow him through the rest of his life and there was no sense in trying to avoid such a conflict that happened on daily basis. He had grown accustomed to it and there was no sense in denying it. Newcomers would flinch at the sight of crimson or...the vivid descriptions of corpses that on case files, yet he always the glint in their eyes as they glanced at him, wondering how he was so calm. Some of the reports even made his supervisor wince in discomfort. People had difference tolerances towards this kind of chaotic conflict and maybe his was just higher than others. 

He supposed he could call his occupation one that simply addressed his normality, but occasionally, it itched as if he was bred to do something more this. His connection the minds of deranged people could only be labeled as disturbing and there times, when he believed to be more of a sociopath than he actually thought he was. He wanted to distance himself from the brains of others to avoid impacting himself. His personality could be easily altered if he wasn’t careful enough. He was too easily adaptable. He was still young and could even choose to pick a different job if he so wished, but repairing boat motors seemed way too simple and he would never feel satisfied.

The night was humid (as always) as he stalked carefully in Nigel’s footsteps. He remained nearby, but not too close to give the man some space. His nerves were growing more anxious by the minute as time ticked by and the voices in his head kept bringing up thoughts that made his mind spin. With his firearm held at his side, Will’s fingers tightened and he kept his pace quiet and brisk across the pavement. The abandoned shipping container could not be...as empty as they both think, but he believed that he was ready for anything. He wasn’t a newbie and he probably enough experience to handle this case on his own without the assistance of a fellow officer. He swallowed, with his eyes narrowed and alert, scanning for any sign of possible hostile movement. 

This Is Not Silence

Will Graham

nigellecter

Bloody lips, pale-inhale of smoke through embedded riding glocks, worn and smooth as he’d gasp for breath that does not exist; for another chance to not let greed and addiction drive him towards such ruinous and destructive path. That had been the essentiality of Nigel Lecter’s path since escaping from the orphanage. And he supposes, dreams can change and as long as they do not die, become lost with one foot on the path of greatness and the other foot going nowhere fast, the zugzwang before taking such a fucking leap through the hustle of erupting gunshots would be his evolving and becoming, an epiphany and a celebration. His own ‘what if’s’ lurking in the back of his skull somewhere with the skeletons in his closet. While it sounds all too heroic to say that when a dream changes, he should make a 180, try something entirely new, beyond what his imagination and perception can stretch. And as his head coalesces with his best daydreams and worst nightmares, he percolates such an option; what if he could make a fucking difference, as he had cracked open the case given in front of him? Despite all the ingloriousness of what he had endured and put up a valiant, yet futile fight all these years, he’s still a cub among all the predators in their prime. 

He still finds comfort in the silence; for he had been the most profound resident there. Most exquisite and memorable memories still remained to be the nights, when he would drown all the cacophonous chaos of the interior, even when it meant shivering in the frigid air as he huddled closer to his knees to preserve body heat, and to access any retained damage from the day. As if the white flakes softly blanketing the ground are actively working to bring a hush to the otherwise disquieted and mayhem of both his subconscious and Hannibal and his former room. How he revels in the rare quiet of the world around him, as the thrumming beat of his steady heart reverberates against his cranium, signifying the ferver and the daggers of his will for vengeance. 

Instead of him being a tragically beautiful paradox that is always attempting to rip himself apart by pouring and investing himself to something with miniscule or no gain, The steady ongoing stream of his firing mind could utilized elsewhere, for the greater good. They better get ready, because he can scream from the bellows of his core like a fucking tornado siren. No people would mistake him for a fool nor a naive young man with deceptively soft hazel eyes. He may have been once entrapped beneath something beyond his strength and capabilities, but he could paint himself in an overwhelmingly tipped glory if he wished to. “Don’t make a fucking promise that you can’t keep.” There is a firm click, then a spark breaking the silence and locking into the pensieve of his mind as the cigarette lights. Such mellifluousness of an exhale offsetting the gentle bitterness he had been so accustomed to. “I fucking assure you, violence is addictive. I may have been scalded and bruised beneath it, but that means I also can, and will exact tenfold of physical and emotional scarring towards those who deem sacrilegious to exist on the face of the earth.” 

His mind was still weary from the countless nights of sifting through previous case files that had come to rest in his care.  Rest had normally failed to call him in the direction of home and part of it was that he did not want to return back to his condo until he absolutely had to. There was much work to be done and he at least wanted to see how much he could finish until sleep finally tugged at his attention. He was always the last officer to leave the building. There never be a chance when he would be able to regain those lost hours of shut-eye for he never could think of sleeping for that long. Like clockwork, he would repeat his 4-6 hours of slumber a night before waking up to head to work. It was an ongoing cycle with no end, and a part of him believed that he was meant for something much more. He could never understand what it was and never wished to dwell on the possibility of it. He had simply set his mind on the path of his life had been already laid out for him.

His heart was pure and he had never given it to anyone and he did not think too highly of it. He never lingered on the topic of love and wanted to stray from it. He has the terrible things that could occur from wanting pleasure, with the outcomes being something out of a nightmare. The world was dark and cruel, depending on how one looked at it, but there seemed to be more evil than good on the face of this Earth.  

Promises were just words, but they were not meaningless to him by any means. He was…sometimes one to keep his promises and he stuck closely to the ones that he did make. Perhaps, he was all too loyal or maybe it was the fact that he wanted some part of him to be known as good. “I can keep that promise. I know I’m able to.” He was grey, a blend of white and black, yet failing to fall on a single shade of those two that would have defined him. He was a mixture of both, but he rested more towards the lighter tone and he had no idea if it would change as he matured. Only time would truly tell. He had a touch of the brutality of violence, but it had only been as if a single drop of liquid had fallen onto his tongue. “Clashes can drive a man crazy and I do not want to reach that limit of when I know I cannot turn back, even if I tried.”

The blood in its essentiality is a riddle; he does not have a full answer, sitting partially naked and imprisoned in its full bloom as he sits motionlessly beneath the stain of darkness, which he has come to known intimately. No, he does not want nor ache to be lapped up in inklings of honey or by the loving hand, despite him having a fucking knack for solving puzzles in his quite jumbled mind. Yes, he’d been fleshed out and cleaved whole beneath the shattering lights of the dayglow, as his conscious dangled from what used to his bedroom window. As the night painted a ominously long, along a plain, unassuming wall that used to contain all of his precious, treasured memories, the darkness itself wants him like a river; his body spilling all sweet and heavy into it. And he finds it to be perfectly acceptable; lucky even if he could let himself dissipate and fade away, melting into its embrace. And without all the versatility and rotted beauty of death itself, all the damage and pain he sustained beneath the fallacy of his gaze nad imbued him with greater yearn, all the lust for blood. 

How his intensity traverses the universe and binds it, as cold wiind sends chills up and down his spine. His own fucking world sucks into a gaping hole in the fabric of reality as the ripped fiber of his skin drums beneath the layers of rawhide. And like the crackling laughter of thunder clapping through the immesurable horizon, his own pulsating heartbeat turns like lightning like whips, reinvigorating the faces of his intent. Absent of all the shadows he once held like shackles, now he becomes them themselves; the windows of his soul is only the pathway to his fate as such vacuous gaze hones with diabolical glint in his eyes. While his life may be full of unknown, will he chase it through these windows or stay within the enclosure? 

“It exists to be broken,” the finality of his voice signifies the end of the argument and he believes life can be killed by its absolute. Perhaps his own life had been already murdered and he had been gone to the other side, beyond life and death. The azure blue and the depth of pit black would carry him evermore closer to death, as it keeps everything else closer. He plays along, after all, since he has never learned to do anything else. “I’d rather become a fucking maniac, even when my lungs are on fire and my muscles are tensed up and sore. I’d never stop moving away from all the fucking red.” Of rage and loss of control. 

He has endured because of sole reason; to laugh despite the pain, because all the anger, the fear and the sadness built up inside his chest will become a whirlwiind that would demand him to strick back. Yearning to be free as he unleashes the power that has slept inside his bones all this time. And how that revenge became sweeter as he let it simmer in the pit of his stomach as his descending gaze lingers in mesmerization, against the blasted skull of the fallen through the decisive twitch of his fingers. He has concocted it once, so it’s rather effortless to be swallowed by the evil inside him, as his tiger from its cage leaps out to conquer and defeat. The slight tapping of his foot anchoring him in the fading reality as he sharply pivots as flurry of bullets flare with such intensity despite the blackness of the deepening night. And such distinctive scent of sex, the familiarity becoming barbed wire against his heart intensifies as he takes a step forward into the abandoned shipping container. 

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I am honestly not feeling all too good today. There was a point when I had to leave class and head to the bathroom. I had dry gagged once on my way there and once I was in the stall, I had to sit down for a while as I just suddenly started sweating and dealing with abdominal pains. I’ve been feeling light headed and nauseous all day. I’m skipping riding…and I most certainly will not be unable to write drafts.

I’ll probably draw or…do some nonograms after I finish homework.

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..............

I NEED MY ARM. GET.OFF. YOU HAVE A SERIOUS BITING KINK THAT NEEDS TO BE ADDRESSED

STAP! STAPPP IT. YOU ARE NOT A SHARK. NO. STOP. NOT FUNNY. NO. *gently slaps* GET OFF! @cannibaletit

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That was true love.

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ooc: hello beautiful mun :3

Greet Me! || ALWAYS ACCEPTING

I have no idea who you are calling beautiful, but hello there! 

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STAP! STAPPP IT. YOU ARE NOT A SHARK. NO. STOP. NOT FUNNY. NO. *gently slaps* GET OFF! @cannibaletit

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The definition of a monster ranged on people’s opinions but mostly the meaning stayed constant. Horrible acts of violence and brutality had the ability to transform someone into a beast and it could simply changed the way they were viewed. Fear would strike in the hearts of men and women, forcing them to flee in terror. The creation of a psychopath normally started with rage.

Abigail was a wandering doe now, without a place to truly call her home. It was devastating not to know where you belong after such a traumatic experience. Everything felt extremely out of place and the pieces of life didn’t fit together like they used to. 

Her words were full of truth and there was not an ounce of a life that could have been detected. His heart nearly sunk at the tone of her sentences and he exhaled deeply. “You are not a freak,” Will was careful, yet truthful about how he chose to respond. He wanted his honestly to be reflected in the way he answered her. “If anything Abigail, you are no monster. Your father might have been at that instant when he chose to attack you and your mother, but you don’t have to be freak. You are not one.” He stayed close to her, wanting to shelter her the best he could and provide comfort with his words until she felt comfortable enough to venture out on her own without a powerful sense of worry.

unstableempathy:

His own childhood experience had been a rather rocky one and it wasn’t something anyone would have called proper. As a matter of fact, it lacked all of the ground bases of what it was supposed to be. His father was a lousy drunk and was never too interested in helping his son with anything. Will had only stayed with him because he, as a young boy, had no other but to. Living on the street seemed like a very terrible idea, and at least, he would be able to provide for him and his father to keep some sort of roof over their heads. They had been poor and nearly homeless a few times, but he would say that he has come a long way since then. He was no longer a little boy, who was frightened of the kids at school who used to bully him. 

Before Abigail, Will has never been Minnesota, so he assumed the curiosity he had about the state was all but normal. However, he wasn’t going to push her to do something that she wasn’t willing to do. He gave a soft nod at her response and lightly smiled as she mentioned her mother. This place was absolutely breathtaking and it was the perfect setting for someone to finally lay at rest. Three could keep a secret if two were dead, but what Garett Jacob Hobbs did was not a secret anymore, now was it? No, everyone knew. 

“I don’t know, that was why I was asking you, but since you don’t seem to have any interest in staying, we can return to Maryland as early as the flight schedules will allow us,” he exhaled with a soft breath. This view that they had off of the mountain would surely be imprinted in his mind for the rest of his life. It had found a room within his mental palace and was going to stay there, even if he tried to push it out.  

“I don’t belong here,” Abigail agreed. “Well…not anymore, I don’t. And with the exception of Dolly, I very much doubt that any of my old acquaintances want me here. There are still plenty of people who think I’m a monster.”

And they wouldn’t be wrong.

Embittered, Abigail bowed her head and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Truth be told, I’m not so sure Maryland is the place for me, either… I feel uncomfortable there. Living at that hospital is like living in a tomb.”

Tucking her hand into the crook of Will’s arm, Abigail kept her gaze on the ground as she exhaled. “It’s weird being alone now,” she admitted. “All my life, I’ve had someone there…or more specifically, someone who would tell me what to do and how to act. And as much as I want my freedom, I’m also a little scared now that I have it. Maybe I really am a freak.”

Grudgingly, she began their descent.

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The swirling mass of darkness within him was occasionally disturbed by whatever light still existed within him. The resilient brightness failed to be fully extinguished and there were times when his morals were conflicted by the battle that was raging within him. The balance was absent and this created a rather interesting ground that he rested upon now. No matter what occurred, he would always contain the sliver of light, and there had been a time when the situation had been reversed. His soul had once been full of luminosity with only a small piece of darkness that threatened to corrupt the dominant force. There were certain characteristics that would never decompose from his personality and his mellow generosity was only one of those many traits that still lingered. His tolerance for obnoxious events hadn’t changed either and he was still the man who had a surprising amount of patience when it came to certain happenings. 

The essence of death was attached to his very living being as if it was a scent that refused to leave him. The oddest of situations always found their way to him and he had absolutely no control over their appearances in his life. They were shoved into his less than capable hands and he was forced to deal with them in whatever manner he could. The outcomes were normally staggering, depending on how he handled them, but usually, there was only one way to accomplish such a collection of tasks while minimizing the room for errors. The world he had come to know was never going to be a place that could be called flawless. The Earth had been damned since the Day of Creation and perhaps, the crafting of the human race would truly prove to be the planet’s downfall. There was no God in the land of sinners and they answered to no one. Like wild animals, the law saw it right to euthanize them if those mindless creatures could not be repaired. There was no cure for madness.

Humans were the world’s cancer. That was a statement was one that he could possibly believe. In truth, evolution was also a curse and it may prove to be the leading factor in the demise that was yet to come. Will could sit back and watch the world crumble and wait for his own end, or participate in it. The options of what he could do now were endless, but he lacked the proper groundwork to start anywhere. Instead, he had settled for waiting. His fate would arrive eventually and until that day, he might as well make himself as comfortable as he could. He practically had all the time in the world, but that was of course before Nigel had come wandering into his life. It was funny how fate forced Will to cross paths with the Lecter bloodline and it appeared as if he was just bound to continue bumping into the very people that he had wanted to avoid. His curiosity had done enough damage already and he had no way of completely controlling the force that wanted him to investigate further. 

He was not self-destructive, yet his actions may have said otherwise. He had no need to be his own ending unless there was no other option in the matter. Life had not been kind to him and it had shown its cruelty to him since his childhood. He had been slightly malnourished, but he had never been given a reason to fear death until his last day as a police officer. His memories scarred his life and only forced his fear to grow over time until he had lacked the proper tools to deal with the powerful fear that resided inside of him. Presently, he was able to channel whatever sense of terror that he felt and use it to his own advantage. He refused to be overcome by the one personal foe that once ruled his very actions in the past. 

To love was to destroy. It was a simple phrase, yet it meant so much. To hold a strong dedication towards another was to break down the barriers that were meant to protect them from the outside world. The departure left wounds on both and while some were physical, there were those that were mental. Will’s own presence had only gifted Molly and Walter with three years of peace before it was shattered into thousands of pieces. He was only a magnet for chaos and anyone who dared to get too close to him would suffer greatly. He could not protect everyone from what rested within him and the world would continue to plague those who came in close contact with him.

The threat of a gun failed to instill any sense of horror within him. No, he has seen such a weapon before and has even utilized it. He knew what power it held and yet he was not going to flinch, nor start to believe he was in jeopardy, unless if that trigger was pulled. His speed would suffer due to the wound he had come to sustain, but if he remained careful enough, he just might be able to avoid being shot again. The chances of that were low, but he wasn’t all too concerned...yet. “I wish I could say that I don’t find you all that interesting, but sadly I would only be lying to myself,” his posture had straightened and his steps had ceased, but his posture wasn’t one that showcased an ounce of panic. There was one part of his mind that wanted to flee and disappear from this conflict, but he knew better than to simply give in. “I cannot simply bring myself to fathom how far you ventured into the dark with someone who, in the end, only left you in the pitch blackness with nowhere to turn.”

Whatever Is Left of Me (cont.)

Will Graham

nigellecter

“If you had any sort of fucking second thought, a distracting stimuli and measure, you wouldn’t be standing here,” his sharp retort doesn’t have to map out all the complexities (or simplified puzzle pieces in his mind coming apart in the recess of his brain) in order to find exact translations. Yet, no panic should shackle his tongue as it once had as all the translations got caught in his throat. How his residual light shines on his soul, the fluorescence through his translucency. There is a truth and it burns his throat when he lies; while he may come off as duplicitous, all the emotions trailing and scattering over his eyes would give everything away. How it reaches out to him, grabbing his throat like claws, digging nails where the truth forms an adam’s apple and he’s gasping for breath. He likes darkness better; he likes the way it makes him comfortable; even in his youth, when so many youth around his age feared the absence of anything with tightly clenched fists and trembling arms, no waves of tremor would pass through as his eyes shone like a wolf’s penetrating gaze. 

The way it didn’t form tendrils falling across his face every time he looked onto the very trees that seemed unconquerable. The very unknown that remained beneath the seemingly impervious veil as his heart became a neon sign that screams. And since he had found himself a decisive footing, he’d always be on the hunt and he’d be the one to choose who he should devour. And the same darkness that forms the midnight in the world embeds in his eyes. He owns the night in the midst of the stretching day and his eyes are laden with dark rosebuds, giving away brilliant iridescence. Sharpness flashing instantaneously, as polluted gaze sharply pivots. “It does not roll of like a fucking mother tongue, it’s the adaptation through process; more like a second language, in lieu of a nebulous realization that drives the fucking metallic blood to become solidified, to press against my chest in order to embrace it.” Even when his heart created paths he couldn’t take, even when his heart wanted stories he couldn’t write, the love he never owned had exacerbated his need to create a red collage of blood, fire and ash. 

As if his life had been painted very clearly in front of him; with his body a purple and black night sky with roses blossoming on his head and neck. With his lips ever so slightly ajar, catching the ash and smoke in his lungs, despite wanting to scream into this red, red world. And he’s much more capable of drawing the night’s curtains, like the endless sea, as he’d surreptitiously remain behind the penumbra of diminishing darkness, like smoke, like fading color of crimson against an approaching dawn. And the battle is just beginning with every muscle of him being consumed by the dusk tide, his moment as he armors himself up. 

His memories become landmines; unexpected and expected, blindsiding him when he knows it was coming anyways. How they leave him in pieces, a fractured whole of a self that hadn’t been still put back together, one cracked and brittle piece at a time, stronger when put back together. And his mouth seems to flow in turbulence as a heart like his eclipses every damn crumbling cathedral, of its emptiness as the expanse stretches for miles. And such frozen gravity pulls him, as moments become snapshots of the path the water was taking, but the unmoving stillness of them is only thing that’s preventing him from such alertness, such fastidious transcription of his own volcanic fury biting his skin, then pierce it and slowly nibble its way to his core. Lingering on his bones as it’d caress them and perhaps break them as well. 

So long the violence has festered in him, feeding on his insecurities, mistakes and missed opportunities. It has woven a web all around his muscles. All he needs is one fucking shot and from that onward, such life extended beneath the uncharacteristical mercy will become a harbinger to his almost-destruction. It had achieved its goal and wasn’t the world orbiting around, to let all the fucking cycle repeat over and over again? Unfortunately, it may be right around the corner. And all the untold and repressed stories become such a grippingly colorful and bursting with frantic energy as they burst further into the hollow column of his brain matter. He does not have to claw through the compacted earth to excavate Mischa’s remains or follow Gabi’s trails back to America or Romania. His body may be stiff and reserved, but how his blood sings, frantically dancing to the rhythm of his heart. 

Such familiar, yet unfamiliar surge of emotions become steeled edge against his heart, as softness interwoven with shards of glass meet Will’s with hardening intensity. An equal parts of blushing from the exposure and blood colors him whole as he takes a deep inhalation. “The fucking universe holds its propensity to expand into its own edges, we can fight about the roles of nature and nurture, but in my fucking descension and slipping touch of reality, I let torturous darkness grapple me with its eroding force.” And in hindsight, it’s all vacuous emptiness. Without reincarnation and the salvation of his philosophy, as he yearned to thrive in sustenance. 

The deadly chess game was finished. It was only a shame that it had ended in a stalemate. He had been expecting a righteous victory that would make his chest swell with a powerful sense of pride. He wanted the glory that would have painted his nerves in gold and injected a stream of fire into his very veins. His essence would have been aloft, flying high on the sensation that had grasped him. He had reassured himself that such triumph wouldn’t have felt as beautiful if the ending had been what he had pleased. In the end, the Red Dragon had only been yet another pawn in fate’s twisted agenda and it was quite possible that Dolarhyde had been the final key to unlocking Graham’s potential. The empath was thrust into this world of deranged minds and bloodstained walls without first being prepped about he might experience. The world took advantage of that and sought to break him down in every possible way, only to rebuild him…a better version of him.

There were times when he felt like a ticking time bomb and this statement would have only been more relevant when Jack had begged asked for his assistance. Will was aware of the side-effects that his empathy had cursed him with, yet he allowed himself to be dragged into the dark mists and bloodcurdling screams. Ignoring the voice of wisdom within himself, he subjected himself to the torment of nightmares and visions, that all worsened as time passed. He had been too stubborn to ask for support and reveal his deteriorating mental state to Crawford. Graham’s WANT to protect the innocent had pushed him towards the edge. If it wasn’t for the acceptance of the invitation that had started it all, where in the world would he be now? He might be fixing boat motors on Lake Eerie, creating different callouses on the palms of his hands with each passing day. Maybe he would have been able to find everlasting peace there, but there would have always been a voice that called to him to return to the field…and embellish in the horrors that were reflected in his mind. 

His skin has felt the blossoming of black and blue bruises and the snapping of bones. He’s been torn open by a brutal near-disembowelment and trauma has grasped his senses so firmly that he felt as if he was walking through another dream. Everything had seemed dulled and spaced in a way that he could not explain. Beyond all of the torments that the world had thrown at him in the past, he was still alive. Amazing, huh?  He’s pretty sure that he’s accepted the fact that he was broken past the point of repairment, but he didn’t desire death that he was ready to jump at the first opportunity that presented itself.

There was a warning in Nigel’s tone, like a foreboding growl from an irritated wolf that could lunge at any instant. It might have been foolish that he was not ready to flee, but fear simply remained dormant. It was like it never existed at all. And surely, he, of all people, knew just how much fear he carried within himself. So where had it all gone? There was no way it could have evaporated from his form like water that transformed into steam. The strangeness of it might have astonished himself enough to make him question his sanity, yet he wasn’t drawn to the absence of the trait. Perhaps, his curiosity was overpowering any trace of terror that he should have been feeling. But he’s never been this intrigued by anyone…not since Hannibal. 

Nigel was haunted. Well, all men were disturbed by something, but there was a particular nature that drew his interest. Will wanted to explore what had created such a man as this one, however, the note of cautiousness was ever present. Rushing into an investigation into someone that could easily snap his spine in half wasn’t going to be a wise decision. Graham may be intelligent, but he wasn’t someone to make too many reckless choices. His plans were normally thought out as long as they were made in advance, but like in all strategies, there were always holes and miscalculations. Now, one mistake would certainly cost him his life.

“Speaking of roles,” Will carried on, listening for a moment as the snow crunched beneath the weight of his shoes. There was a slight limp in his walk and it highly agitated him in a sense of pride and his swiftness. If he had to quickly maneuver out of the path of a bullet or an oncoming attack, he would be slowed. A prime example of a handicapped target. “Is yours to wander the Earth without a sense of direction? Without a goal, you’ll surely never feel satisfied in your life ever again, unless…if that’s what you want to accomplish.” Oh hell, he was sure one to talk when he truly had no idea of what he wanted to do with his life now. 

The air keeps pumping, and he breathes. If he could just keep moving, the world will be swell as he’d live moment to moment, instead of rotting in the seconds spent wishing on the past and fretting away the future as he’d certainly lose momentum. But he slows down beneath the growing vastness of the world and his thriving pendulum of palpitating energy loses speed and its rudimentary force as his mind begins to churn and the air starts to burn. With breaths like brewed hurricane and his heart as ravenous and voracious, he permeates the earth with his undying fervent radiance, despite his form superseded by such splintering effervescence of northern light. Such a blessing and curse to own the midnight sky as the cataclysmic anger refuses to tone down; it’s already imprinted on his brain as his unevaporating anger simmers with such inherent power. A memory of disjointed scenes shock together, as he falls into the submission of splashes of burning colors, multiplying and rising to the surface. 

How his gaze reeks of death and decay, glass shards pricking and bleeding, as if he had a wicked vine twisted around his throat. Such infestation would leave no life as black surrounds the icicles, clinging to every inch of the ambiance. With scar tissues too deep to be erased, despite being able to still heal and fade. These lie, easy in the darkness and thick as molasses, pour out in tune with a heavily beating heart, rejoicing in their sick symbiosis. Where his heart treads, that’s he will end up in an endless and inevitable codependence, until neither could go on. The spectacle odyssey of his life had been already achingly long and frighteningly short at the same time; with more than half of his life hurtling by as the rest of the world existed behind a pane of glass covered in fingerprints and smudges of his struggle, watching him, sometimes wavering in mocking salute. He may as well have been on another planet, tripping and flailing, falling over his own fucking feet, even when the isolation had been underwhelming. 

The saying was supposed to come true, a carnivorous smile is a curve that sets everything straight. When he finally was able to infiltrate through the vehement grounds of the estate in his mind, the confines reeked of stale blood and a cacophonous remix of boars and pigs scattering about; despicable grunts of their insatiable viciousness and voraciousness towards the human flesh and blood and sights of ravaged limbs and viscera become an embodiment of the gates of hell. The impenetrable adamantite bars inflaming with inextinguishable translucent whirling dance of incinerating fire. Perhaps it had been the metaphorical landscape of his mind, continuing to trudging onwats, hoping against hope, pleading with the fucking God he cannot believe in. And that very smile does not reach his eyes nor it exudes softened growl of the unleashed energy firing within his eyes. They may have shared the world, shrieking, then rendered into deafening silence around them as they were threatened, bled, maddened and bellowed through their near-fatality, yet Nigel’s eyes of an animal continue to grope the world with its resilient intention, without ever bypassing the subtle slant of the other side as he begins another war, the fucking war to end all wars. 

And within their imperceptible embrace that will speak for his unspoken words and an embrace to decrypt his unsaid thoughts, the presumptions of his severed life will continue to surge and brim forth beneath her unending patience and genuine love. And such consumption that used to paint intricate swirls of incomprehensible desire, the epitome of silent wonder and mervelous dance across his senses turn wicked, obsidian black of dried blood as darkened void of his eyes burns with a fire that could set the entire town ablaze as he suffocates into the malignancy of his threat. Beneath his world, which has already gone mad, the only sensible option would be to feed his delusions and live for himself; he does not need another intruder who would ingest and make an attempt to discern him. He will let the blood drain him from the other as he’d complete what Hannibal had failed and let the chariots of his mind run rampant as he’d finally cleave the shut gates and return home. 

Within that sempiternal wall full of wicked souls and damned demons, he could already feel his own strands of soul plucked out; as pleasant memories become nonexistent. Those preexisting ones marred by unanswered questions. He stinks of sweat and newly spillage of blood; his own, along with wretched scent of brain matter and fluids. Excretion and piss. He would’ve have accepted it greedily, plummet further into the absence of humanity and human condition. Wild beastly savagery upon the land of composed. As if he couldn’t ever fucking register the dualism of his own existence as he loses his sight and his touch as the sprouted gold mine of his temporary solace shatters instantaneously. “Even the vagabond wanderer knows one’s fucking set destination if the north star of one’s mind guides so,” and such blinking lights stare at him from the sky, unmoving from their spots. Perhaps matching his own eyes of dying stars, but even the dying ones become brighter than the candlelight already extinguished. 

What does the other know about love? He’d slipped into a fucking coma and perpetually orbited the undiminishing world for the fuck’s sake as his desire still floods within him, so thick he chokes and hackles. His chest feels heavy as the tales of the sunflower lives on. Starved of memories as he waits everything to surge back, a tide to which he’d rush forward and fling himself too the waves as his weathered spirit by storm and drought gets thrown into the depths; of love and his soul. His thinning benevolence severs by nanoseconds and he finds his blackened silhouette lean ever so slightly towards Will as his form becomes twisting shadows against the sky. Limbs that reach are as precise and efficient as winds brushing against the leaves, as the abysmal tunnel salutes the inevitably familiar, eternal night. 

“The most fucking interesting thing about you is how uninteresting you are,” retracted gaze adheres towards his pale brows, as scattered locks fuel what little thinning barrier there is; an impulse to destroy is and always has been a self-destructive one and his power remains still hidden, hiding, lost and in secrecy. “Not a fucking thing will serve as a cleaving agent to surrender my passage, the passage I earned much rightfully so.” Will hasn’t seen nothing yet, for he’d rip the fucking canopy out of night from the sky, so all that remains could be the glory and light of a billion naked stars, without all the hemorrhaging desolation of hatred, perhaps misdirected, most likely meant to become a homing missile. 

[unstableempathy-a-blog]

How many more times must the past continue to catch up with him? Why can’t he just sit in his cell without the interruptions of curious agents and...people who wanted answers? He thought that if he deserved one thing, it would be silence when he was alone. Typically, sitting in a cell by himself would have felt like a massive timeout, but he was no child anymore (nor did he ever receive such a treatment when he was a child). The ghosts that stalked his mind palace were still unrelenting and were determined to drive him to the brink. They assumed that he would still be plagued with guilt about his previous actions and, there was apart of him that was. The little ounce of resistance within him still remained and as a matter of fact, it had always been alive, unblemished by the merciless darkness that had consumed most of his soul. Then again, he was still very much human. 

Oh, how many times has the word ‘case’ destroyed his life? Way too damn many. In the past, it had seemed that every file that was forced upon him chipped away at who he once had been, destroying the groundwork of an identity that he once knew to be his own. He had been shaken to the chore and his beliefs in himself soon crumbled to the ground, with the classic cloud of dust following behind it. A part of him supposed that he could blame Jack’s constant persistence towards the fact that he should be doing his duties as a special agent to continue catching those with a twisted mindset to help keep peace in the communities. Maybe Crawford was one of the many people he could blame, but the main someone was certainly himself. However, he failed to feel any sort of remorse. 

Normally, the thoughts in his mind were impossible for him to keep quiet, but he’s mastered the skill through the use of time and patience. He was a wounded man, who had adapted to the multiple sights of violence that he has seen over the passing years. He was no stranger to the concept of pain and the testimony could easily be revealed on the patches of his skin that was littered with marks that told a grizzly tale. His becoming would make a dangerous autobiography for whoever chose to read it at their own discretion. His soft and seemingly innocent features were not something that a killer like him should have bore. He looked too pure, but like everything in life, appearances could be easily deceiving. 

Has he been broken yet by the staff that wanted to continue their prodding at him? No. He would remain resilient and rebellious against what they tried to accomplish. Turning into a broken horse was not on his agenda. A part of him was slightly curious as to how she had simply explained her reasoning as to why she was here, lacking any sense of a possible lie. Of course, Jack Crawford had set her up to this. The man should have just fully retired; it would have spared him the trouble of possibly losing yet another agent. “A case, you say?” He exhaled deeply before rising to his feet in one swift motion. The elegance of Hannibal Lecter had rubbed off on him and someone could easily through the way he moved and sat with such grace. “Now, if this involves cannibals...or anything along those lines, I am not interested. You’re going to have give me something more than just mentioning a possible predicament at hand that you like me to assist you with.” 

[unstableempathy-a-blog]

There was no point in going back to sleep. There would be no comfort if he attempted to shut his eyes and succumb to the call of restfulness. He lacked the determination to experience anything like that again. The halls in his mind were forever haunted by the aspects that he has seen. They were embedded into the very membranes and every particle, making up who he was. He would forever remain this shattered being, carrying around the relentless demons that clawed at the barriers that held them back from escaping their containers. They wanted to terrorize him until he eventually gave into their madness. However, his tolerance was like a dense wall of steel and he had adapted to their presence, but not enough to push them back. 

Pushing himself off the couch, he craned his neck to the side for a moment to get rid of a small cramp that had settled itself into the muscle. Will then strode towards the door and stepped outside onto the porch. The door shut behind him and he exhaled as he watched the world outside of his house. The peacefulness that surrounded the area could never be matched to anything else that he’s seen. The calls of the birds and the soft chirps of the crickets all indicated the familiar signs of nature. Dawn was fast approaching and another day would soon begin. Jack would be calling him at noon to check in, but Will wasn’t sure he was ready to chat with his supervisor yet. He wasn’t in the right mind frame to hear the demands for answers. 

Breathing in the fresh air, he watched as the rain fell. There was something about this weather that he felt strangely connected to. Perhaps, the depression precipitation matched him as a person. He’s always enjoyed the little water droplets as they fell from the sky. The noise that they created had a way of forming a state of calmness within his mind. He seated himself in the chair that had been left out in the safety of the porch area and proceeded to stare out onto the landscape that presented itself. 

unstableempathy:

The soft sound of branches that swayed in the breeze was all but a familiar soundtrack to his nights. The darkness that engulfed him now matched the setting of his mind. He listened to the tiny clicks of his eyelids as he laid there on the couch. Soon, rest claimed him and his eyes surrendered to the heaviness that had summoned them. He slipped into the corridors of his mental state and it wasn’t long until he was welcomed by the nightmares. 

His thoughts soon went on a rampage. He suddenly saw blood on his hands. The was kneeling over a corpse that was laying in a puddle of crimson that had soaked into his clothing. In his hands, he held a small scalpel with a blade that was tainted with the liquid that surrounded him. The word ‘SEE?’ was engraved into the flesh of the man with jagged ends that reminded him of ends of shredded paper. His breathing became hagged. Panic seized him as he turned the blade over in his hands. As he eyed the object, the printed letters that spelled out: ‘You did this’ had been inscribed into the surface of the slick hilt. Slowly, everything within him seemed to strangely calm and he steadily raised himself to his feet. There were coffins that were suddenly visible to him now.

In a nearly-empty shed, he stood alone and the blood had been washed from his clothes and weapon had vanished from his grasp. The lid to one of the caskets was open and he found his feet moving without a command. He felt a bubble of satisfaction as he peered down into the container to see a body that was tightly constrained in white wrappings. The victim was female and his lips curved up into a sinister grin that hadn’t even demanded of his body. She was going to be buried alive as she was thrown into the ocean, along with the rest of the failures that he had to dispose of. Another ploy to help keep the police off his scent. 

His eyes fluttered open with a sharp gasp escaping his lips. In one rapid movement, he found himself sitting up, cloaked in sweat with his breathing labored. Will leaned forward and placed his hand against his forehead, tucking his head a little as he attempted to steady breaths once again. 

Eventually there would be dead rest, mind suddenly completely faded off into a pure settled darkness, the activity of her mind settling. There was something magical in that when she first awoke slightly only to curl up under the blanket and hold the small friend next to her and drift off again. All that was missing… well everything. That was the state of her life, she’d pushed everything away for the sake she did not have to risk any of it should a storm come. There was no family or love to comfort her, no familiarity of her home country, nothing was normal anymore. Being middle of nowhere, alone, with a stranger, it was a clear display of her state of life even though for once she had been granted with the gift of security. Will was not a fighter but in him Laura saw a man capable of doing anything to protect those he loved. A man did not need a weapon to fight, what he needed was courage and a reason to fight. Nothing more.

With a heavy and tired groan Laura woke, eyes aching, and body unwilling to move. It rained outside and it made Laura want to curl up and just sleep more but something told her to get up. Looking around everything looked still new, unfamiliar and weird. 

Why am I here…

Buster and Daisy seemed more than happy to get up, Buster sniffing around Laura and giving her cheek a few licks as he looked cheery and excited with his soft whines. With a sigh Laura got up and followed the dogs down stairs, the two going to greet rest of the pack as Laura wandered into the kitchen, looking for means to make tea. She didn’t know what Will drank in the mornings and she didn’t want to wake him just yet so she looked through the cabinets after putting some water to boil.

[unstableempathy-a-blog]

She resembled a leopard; a creature that contained a massive amount of grace and elegance, yet...appeared to be extremely mysterious and even unpredictable. She was beautiful, but he wasn’t one to announce such opinions out loud. She was studying him like how the cat analyzed the idea of a possible prey. He wasn’t too concerned and knew he was always agile enough to avoid backing himself up into a corner. Some would say that he liked to tempt the idea of possible demise, by waiting until the last minute, but this woman did not seem to pose a threat (yet).

A car pulled into the parking lot, and to be even more accurate, it was a 2012 black Infinity with a neon bumper sticker that read: ‘Do not tailgate’ in all capital letters. Clearly, the driver was one to speak their mind about such a topic. The images of the small event occurring inside the diner were reflected off the window he was staring out of. He didn’t a thing and that was the curse of being overly observant, but there was no way he was able to switch the ability off. Observing was what he did. 

He listened to her, tuning in as if her voice had just been a radio signal. Anyone could bite and it was just a matter of time before they did. The request of her wanting to spend some time at his own little house seemed to be jarring, but he wasn’t overcome with the need to be defensive about it. Graham figured that all he would need to do was wait until Jack presented himself to be available and then got this woman off of his tail. Until then, the empath just needed to suffer.  “Possibly,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear, but there was an affirmation in the single statement he had said. He did have the case files at home...and the space would provide them more privacy than at the offices of the FBI or police department. 

though   her   composure   seemed   relaxed,   her   mind   grew   frustrated  as   time   passed.   not   over   will’s   forced   nature   to   withdraw   any   casual   contact,   but   the   fact   that   her   SPASTIC   victim   could   never   sit   still,   which   caused   her   attention   to   shift   towards   both   him   and   will;   while   also   slimming   down   her   time   to   appreciate   and   really   observe   will’s   mind.   

yet   again   the   target   moved   elsewhere,   deciding   his   sorry   excuse   for   charm   be   projected   on   an   innocent   waitress   a   few   feet   from   where   she   and   will   sat.   a   leather   casing   that   visualized   a   wallet   stuck   out   perfectly   for   steal,   but   how   could   she   manage   so?

hearing   words   of   the   previous   killing   cut   her   concentration   quickly   as   will’s   opinions   of   them   seemed   to   interest   her   deeply.   slowly,   every   statement   sunk   in,   her   mind   DISSECTING   every    term.    ‘   proper tools?   ‘    she   questioned   before   continuing,    ‘   if you and i don’t have the proper tools alone… this means your forced attempt to push me away will have to subside momentarily.   ‘    once   ended,   a   smirk   lingered   before   blossoming   into   a   smile.    ‘   i promise i won’t bite.. but the only way we could possibly catch this killer is if we agreed on overtime at each other’s homes. will you be able to handle that, mr. graham?   ‘         

[unstableempathy-a-blog]

Will Graham | Hannibal

[unstableempathy-a-blog]

FIVE SIX SIMILARITIES BETWEEN THE MUN AND MUSE (Will)

Both empaths (of course, Will is on a completely different standard than I am

Have the tendencies to be extremely poetic when speaking 

Abhor eye contact in general and hate social situations with people who they are not comfortable with 

Unyielding love for dogs 

Wear glasses to assist in avoiding contact (but I also wear mine because I need them if I don’t have contacts in)

Extremely reserved and major introverts 

FIVE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE MUN AND MUSE (Will)

I’ve never been imprisoned in a mental institute 

I’ve never actually have owned a dog (yes, I know its terrible)

I’ve never seen a dead body (YET!)

I’ve never eaten human meat (I don’t EVER WANT TO)

I’ve never been shot or stabbed 

Tagged by: @nigellecter

Tagging: @shcsallrightnow @cannibaletit