schwarzerxhirsch - Tumblr blog

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{{outofstrays: I'm through my exam -- and it went well! Unfortunately, though, I'm stuck with a bad bronchitis. So yeah, not really feeling it right now. ;lies in bed with loads of tea

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     {{ Quick PSA that this weekend will be mostly dedicated to my exam on monday and getting rid of the cold I caught from my momma.

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stone in a pond ||

Will Graham set his bare feet on humid ground, toes curling when they met the grass. Step by step, he was confidently making his way through the mud. His mind was at ease. He was peaceful, eyes closed. He wasn't aware that his body moved, nor what time it was. There was serenity in the little death of sleep.

For what he knew, he was lying safe and sound in bed, ready to take any incoming calls from Jack.

But Graham's reality looked different. He was calf-deep in the ice cold water, but it only made his eyes move under his lids. It wasn't much different from the feeling of cold sweat. He subconsciously tugged his blanket closer when the water covered him up his chest, attempting to find warmth. It was when the water was streaming through his nostrils that his eyes flashed open. I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. He assured himself. I'll wake up at any moment.

But with another deep breath, relief wouldn't come. He choked, arms realizing that they had to move to keep him on the surface.

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Nothing really matters. Not when he’s lying in the arms of this angel of death, anyways. Will emptily stares up at him. It’s hard to read him. He’s hard to look into, but sometimes the Empath catches glimpses of how he’s like. His history goes far, far back. It’s impossible to comprehend it all and as bewitched and exhausted as Graham is, he doesn’t even try to.

He bares his neck thoughtlessly, still cushioned in the feeling of being close to the immortal being. That’s what he is, isn’t he?

He closes his eyes and doesn’t even flinch when he feels teeth against the skin of it. His grip around the boy tightens, though, as he dully muses about whether or not he wants to keep on living. His purpose has been smudged to a level that he can barely continue living the way that he’s used to. But there’s hope, there’s always hope. Maybe he can get a simple job, something to do with hands rather than his mind.

Maybe he can smell the ocean again. “I don’t want to die.” He rasps, voice low. All he seeks for is bliss.  

"Am I——..going to be killed here?"

His arms are around Will, holding him to him in an embrace that to an outsider’s view is full of love, desire, promises. But they both know it’s not, whatever dangerously mixes in Will’s senses, makes him want to believe it, Armand knows on a level he is aware this gesture is empty. 

Would David Talbot have been like this? He has to wonder. Someone with such keen abilities, would they have known of their own raping if seduced into it?

His small fingers caress his hair at the bottom of his scalp, pushes it away to reveal his neck bare and ripe for the taking. He opts to give him the choice for his life, he knows Will is not inherently a bad man. It’s a kindness he can’t afford. But what does Armand really have to lose anymore?

"If you want it..", He murmurs when his fangs come forward to scrape the skin of his neck. 

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He knew that conversation would follow after she wished him a good night – there was a little pause and shuffling, and he could feel her gathering words in her mouth even before she said them. But he cared for Abigail, so the thought of it made him will his consciousness into place and push the sleepiness aside. “No.”

She had moved in closer, so he supposed it was alright for him to touch her shoulder, fingers spreading over it before he gave it a little squeeze. “I'm glad.” A pause and the squeeze turned into a light massage of comfort. “That you'd come to me.” After everything they'd been through, it was all he could hope for.

 It took Abigail a long time to trust Will enough to sleep in his room. Every night she moved a little closer to him. He didn’t seem to notice, but she did. She laid close enough to him now that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body, and sometimes she would wake up i n the middle of the night and his arms

"Goodnight." She moved a little closer to him. "Will, are you afraid of me?" Abigail mumbled, not sure if he could hear her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but at the same time, wanted to respect his space.  

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{{ ;takes deep breath. I am usually the sort of person that gets scared away when drafts begin to pile up because I can't handle the feeling of being overwhelmed / overworked. But right now I realized that I wouldn't even want to drop any of my threads and that I want them all to happen and that I love them. So-- I do hope you're fine with me being slow. It's not because I don't appreciate the thread that we have together, but because I want to tend to them all. And also I have exams at the moment.

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Ey du Arsch, gib ma Führerschein und Fahrzeugpapiere!

"Was...?" ....

      "Fahrzeupapiere? Aber ich bin doch zu Fuß..."

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Eins, zwei, drei, Polizei, Sirene-Sirene!

                                 "Problem, Officer?"

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The grip of the other man is tight. It helps to wake him up a little more, though, so he doesn't mind and just squeezes back until he's let go off.

          Will's smile is sleepy and doesn't quite seem to match the rest of his face, but he grants Ash one, eyes only briefly flickering upwards to meet his. He watches him put his jacket on and realizes that he's not even sure if he brought one.

Ah, yes, yes he did, and he's wearing it. Olive fisher jacket, familiar. Good.

          “I don't mind.”

His brows knit when he's getting up. His body is still slightly numb from sleeping in an unusual position on a barstool. He can be glad he didn't just slide off it like an idiot, though. The bar is quiet now, and when he looks around he sees that the bartender is giving them grumpy glances already. He doesn't remember if he paid – no, no he didn't. He fumbles for a fiver and places it on the bar before moving towards the entrance, all sleepy, heavy limbs.

         The outside air is cool. It's refreshing, in this case, and Will inhales deeply before checking on the stranger. Ash. The name doesn't quite seem to fit. “I guess that's goodbye.” He glances upwards and at a street sign, looking out for his car. He can't see it anywhere.

He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, he's going to have to call a cab.  

          There’s a huge gap, between their statements — —— this conversation was definitely not leading them anywhere; if he had to describe this into a single and unique declaration, Dean would designate this being rather, unproductive. No, that wasn’t the right word. There was another of those locutions that could be more fit to that, he simply had to find it, question was; how.

           The train of thoughts had stopped in a station, waiting for new passengers to get aboard, but none came to it, and it waited and waited —- but was never filled again. Ghasts (a form of ghost, but usually worst than a traditional ghost that we all know, they are more sanguinary) and lost cases would easily find their way to the vehicle, but never more was there decent traveling souls. 

                    « Five past one o’clock. » 

          Dean muttered, finishing what was left of his beer. Muddy green hues glanced back at the other man, —- he seems still out, in his own world; his Wonderland. No wonders though, he had been sleeping like a log, or so had the hunter stated out after mere observation of this man. That was pretty intriguing to be honest, rare it was to apprehend with our hues a figure slumbering in a bar. And for most cases —- ——- - those usually were some drunk who passed out after a few glasses too much. 

          Slates then fell to the hand extended towards him. He nods, smiles and his right hand reaches for his to vigorously shake it. Then after a fraction of seconds passed, he let go of it. 

                    « Nice t’make your acquaintance, name’s Ash. » 

          Evidently, the first thing he does; it’s to slip out a white lie. Deepest apologizes to Ash who bravely fought against the demons — now it’s in his memories that he uses his name, for tonight, this daybreak, his name will be Ash. After this mere presentation of himself, the hunter stood up, putting back his leather jacket on and gazed at the other one.

                    « If ya’ don’t mind,                                    I’d suggest for us to get out,                                          b’fore the bartender really kicks us out from here. » 

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He still couldn't place her name. The haze of Will's mind slowly became clearer, feet heavy on the ground, his head pounding with something foreign. He told himself that if he could just have a glass of water, he'd be alright.

         “Thank you.” He murmured raspily as he found the sink, eyes confused as they searched for a glass he may use. He had rung her bell and asked for shelter without warning, but he was polite enough not to go through her cupboards on his own. “I-- Don't know where to get a glass, and I don't want to invade your home any further--” His eyes flickered towards the ground in shame.

She barely let strangers enter her house, but there was a kind of distress visible on his face. ”Come on in.” She said as she stepped on the side to free the way inside. 

She watched him as he walked inside. She wondered if she should call Hannibal to let him know his patient was here and not in a good shape, but she reconsidered it knowing it would bring too many questions. “The kitchen is over there.” 

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ᵒᶰᶜᵉ ᵘᵖᵒᶰ ᵃ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ ||

"You’re not my stag."

What does he mean? Armand thinks a deer is a peculiar thing to imagine, and he wonders if it is representative of this mad man’s inner demon. He knows the signs of a man out of his mind. This stranger is no different—and his mind, when Armand reaches out to it—is an open book. Dreams of killing, dreams of destroying something frail in his hands because he is so cleverly been manipulated to think he can. My stag.

Warily, Armand looks at him, but he does not repress his ability to charm a mortal. Another meal, another victim to love and hold into death. Another dead brother. Armand has never felt guilt in the killing, not in centuries.

The vein on his neck calls for him, his blood is heated and seducing Armand. He wants all over again.

He doesn’t say anything.

That is, he doesn’t get to when the woman, clinging to her last breath, realizes out of her dreamy stupor she is dying, and moans in her pain for help. Armand silences her. That is to be said, his foot crashes down upon her skull, breaking the skin and bone and puncturing the brain. He had hoped to not have to get his clothes dirty tonight, but he knows he has executed his point to this man as well despite the tissue on his shoes. 

Come near me if you dare.

In his dreamy state, Will had supposed the woman was already dead. There were a lot of corpses to decorate his imaginations – but a sound of pain rips him out of his trance, gaze being detached from the angel in front of him to find her.

He automatically stumbles forward, wanting to help. It's all he does, protecting people. Stripped down, it's what his profession is about. But another not very tasty imaginary follows and the noise of her breaking bones makes him feel sick to the stomach. Blood, brain tissue. His eyes are wide, heart pumping faster now.

He looks up at the beautiful boy. Will's expression is disbelieving. “You're not any better than him.” He murmurs, anger quietly swinging in his words, making his voice a low rumble. “Not better than me.” He's talking without having any control over his words.

He doesn't need to guard his mouth. He's just dreaming, isn't he?

“Down deep in our core, all of us are monsters.” Another two steps, and he's close to the youth, glowing with beauty. He wants to know how his skin would feel under his fingers. He might just as well be a porcelain doll. Will isn't precious china. He's just a mug. Instead of following the urge, he's kneeling down next to the woman, fingers entangling in her hair. At closer sight, she looks like a drug user, teeth ugly stumps in her mouth that still gapes open. “You took her because you didn't see any hope for her.” He looks up, his own teeth being bared as he speaks, the words requiring effort. “Do you think there's any hope for me?” He doesn't expect an answer this time.

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Will Graham fanart. Will loves dog.

Shamelessly referenced this picture.

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He chuckled at her question, but it sounded like a startled dog rather than someone who was actually amused. The problem was that she was right. He was hiding from Jack, if one might call it that. Classes were a routine he welcomed, the eyes looking at him had long ceased to make him uncomfortable.

“I finished class an hour ago. I thought about driving home, but I'd be called back in as soon as progress happens and I don't feel like wasting the time.” That was also true. He had found a nice way around admitting that he was going out of Crawford's way.

He peered over at her. Now that he stood next to her, the gleam was back to her eyes. As long as she still teased him she was probably alright. He used a short moment of eye contact to give her a tired half-smile before gesturing towards the file. “Which one is that?”

morgue chatter || schwarzerxhirsch

Beverly smiled at Wills greeting, her smile growing as he attempted to correct it. Smooth Will. she thought, shaking her head, the smile still there.It didn’t need correcting, she wondered if he realized that. The fact he was trying for her was appreciated though, and more than a little amusing.

"I think I would join them at this point" She responded, closing the file she had in front of her. She had every detail of it memorized by now, along with the other 5 that lay nearby. Something she had taken to doing on slow days ages ago.

"So what brings you down here?" she asked, a yawn escaping her. "Hiding from a class? or Jack? she teased, knowing it was probably the later.

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[ He removes his hands from where they were at work. ]

       "You sound more than willing to show me how to not set off an alarm, Mr Abernathy."

"Abernathy. And that might be how it works, but it also looks a lot to me like you’re about to set off an alarm by accident."

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Will can see that she's closing her eyes. Her lashes are thick and dark against her skin. He wonders whether she had always been this pale or she lost a tan while deciding to take care of him. She closed her eyes and he returns the favor when his face is cupped. His arms do not move.

He doesn't want to let go of her now that he crossed the border and got to feel her warmth for a moment.

Her words are well put. They touch something within him, something small and withered. Sliding his eyes open, he realizes that she's looking right at him as she continues. He wants to see into her while she does. He wants that moment of being connected. He wants it to be a moment of truth, so he's not hiding himself either, all though he twitches slightly when she actually speaks word of commitment. I might be bad for you. He thinks, his grip around her waist tightening. But you're good for me. Maybe you're good in a way that makes me good for you, too.

He shivers when she touches his throat.

Will wants more touch, wants to kiss her, but he's remaining still. He trained to stifle his urges for a while now. He doesn't want to think her he's taking advantage of her. “I'm scared because I don't want to let you go.” He admits, voice quiet and strained. “I want you. I'm afraid that if I give in-- This darkness will get a hold of you, too. It's like I move within it, it surrounds me.”

He swallows, thickly. “I don't want you to feel this way around me. I want to be a good thing in your life, just like you're a good thing for me.”  

There were times when Allison would look at Will and see someone else entirely; something else reflected in his eyes that she couldn’t quite grasp. She knew he still had problems; still was haunted by what had happened to him, what he had unknowingly been forced to endure and the tricks his mind had played on him.

She knows what it’s like to be betrayed by your own mind; to feel no sense of control and to be certain that you’re going crazy. Hearing noises that aren’t there, seeing gruesome scenes of macabre and horror that belonged only in the most twisted of nightmares. For that, she can’t possibly judge him; can’t even think about being scared of him, or see him in any other way than she already did.

The warmth of his strong arms around her waist and the gentle brush of stubble against her cheek stole the breath from her lungs, eyes widening in brief surprise at the instigated physical contact before they fall closed; enjoying the feel of his warmth, the whisper of his breath against her ear.

A moment later, she turned in his arms; looking up at him and taking his face gently in her hands. “I’m not scared of your demons, Will.” She murmured, thumb brushing gentle circles against his cheek as she looked directly into his eyes. Whether he wanted to look away was his choice, but she wanted him to know what she was saying was the absolute truth. “And I’m not scared of you, either. Whatever this is, no matter the outcome or how big this gets, I still want to be here with you. To show you that you are not alone, and that you don’t have to face your demons by yourself anymore. You have me, and now that I have you, I don’t plan on letting you go. I’m in this for the long haul.”

One hand dragged down, fingertips brushing down the strong column of his throat; relishing in the warmth of his skin before meeting its destination at the back of his neck, carefully rubbing at the tension that had formed there. “Are you scared?”

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     "As far as I know this is how this thing works, Mister...?"

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    {{ I know I said I wanted to do drafts but I just got home and my parents said come watch hannibal with us....