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@konzipieren
honestly chill

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This building was not just any building—- as it boasted one of the largest collections of silence in the world. Empty of nearly all furniture, one could freely encounter, perhaps, the desperate silence of one forced into quiet or, possibly, the hopeful peace of morning. But—- to the matter at hand. “Allow me to repeat myself. Do you think that travel into the fourth dimension is ————-possible?”
to most, dead silence is pure torture. to will graham, silence is pure serenity. perhaps instinct led him here, where he could find peace, where he could breath. a soft exhale, and will is shaking his head slowly in res- ponse. not really his answer, but more of a sign of con- fusion.
' i don't really know what you're talking about. '
‘ they’re all magnificent babes, i can feel my heart soaring in their presence. ‘ ( it might seem like he’s coming on a bit strong, but his heart is pure on this matter! he truly does adore dogs with all of his heart, perhaps it’s simply due to a more canine portion of his mind views them as kin, it could be due to the fact that he had a close familial bond with a dog for years. but it could also be due to the fact that dogs simply are the superior race. who knows. crouching down, he makes sure to greet each and every one of these marvelous dogs with loving pats, keeping his attention fair, even to the straggler coming to join in one the fun, his own tail swaying happily. (it’s the wind, clearly.) his attention to them grows more idle when he looks up at their owner, feeling the love in the air between owner and dogs. they have a good home, he can tell. ) ‘ you’re such a lucky man ! i can tell they love you a lot. do you work for an animal shelter or are you just a dog enthusiast too ? ‘
' i pick strays up off of the street. i guess you could call me a dog enthusiast. '
and the faintest trace of a smile flickers over william's lips. while the other's words are silly, they are awfully kind and sweet. it's always nice to find someone else who appreciates the man's love for dogs and seems to love them just as much as he did. soft blue eyes flicker down to the squirmy pups who are all pushing their way towards the stranger, whining happily and practically begging for attention!
will walks forward through the wave of his canine compadres to kneel down, letting them lick his arms and push up against him. a little laugh falls from him when one of them knocks him down onto his rear. will is used to this, he's happy to be in this situation, there's no awkward air that's usually there when he talks to strangers.
stroking buster's short fur, he turns his eyes back to the stranger. canting his head to the side, he takes in how well the ears are tucked into the air and how the tail seems to be slightly moving... but brushes it off as his imagination.
' i'm will, ' he introduces himself, voice low.
When Hannibal isn’t home feat. Will and Beverly
‘ are those all your dogs ??? they’re so adorable !!! ‘ ( said the boy with canine attachments above his head and on his lower back area. and if they’re not all his dogs, then john may have just mentally adopted all of them in a split, yet executive decision. )
' yes, they're all my dogs. and they are cute, huh? '
lazily, he strokes the top of winston's head as the dog hangs back, always cautious when it comes to meeting new people while the rest of the pack goes tumbling towards the boy. as far as will is concerned, those ears and that tail are fake. so he doesn't think much of them. a slight smile flick- ers across his lips when winston finally, finally bounds over to join the others.

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the constant trickle of water does well to her nerves. the flames in her eyes are doused out with each inhale she takes, and she tucks long hair behind both ears to get a better look at the clear water. when she looks up, alana catches the mischievous twinkle in will’s eyes— and squints accusingly. but when he laughs, the doctor decides to look it over with a shake of her head. ”i can tell— you look like you’re having fun.” watching will do what he loves is more fascinating than alana had thought it would be. there’s a difference between doing what you’re good at versus doing what makes you happy— and maybe saving lives was something worth sacrificing happiness for, but alana felt as though will was the one person in this world who really deserved happiness. she doesn’t mind the silence. it’s comforting, to know you’re safe with someone you can trust with your life with, to know that you care for each other. when she’s back to dry land, she helps with carrying the rod while will takes care of the fish and gear. she falls into step with him so naturally, it scares her a little— how perfect it all seems. the dogs are anxious to greet them when they return to will’s house: they’re practically climbing over each other at the door to bark at the two, and alana lets out a little laugh. “thank goodness you don’t owe a collection of cats,” she jokes, reaching up to take the hat off her head to loosen her ponytail into her signature mess of curls before heading inside.
' i already have enough difficulty trying to keep fur off of my clothes. ' the comment is followed by a low chuckle, will shrugging loosely and heading into the kitchen where he wraps up the dead fish and slips them into the freezer. he reeks of fish. he honestly needs a shower, but he doesn't want to leave alana without lunch.
glancing her way, he states, ' you can take whatever you want out of the fridge for lunch. i... need a shower. '
with a faint smile will steps out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom. once he has a change of clothes and towels he steps into the shower. the warm water relaxes his usually high-strung nerves and tense muscles, causing him to loosen up and sigh heavily and happily. tilting his head back, his wet curls plaster to his forehead and his cheeks.
winston paws at the closed door until it budges open, and forces himself inside. will doesn't notice until the dog attempts to leap in with him, only to be stopped by his owner's leg. ' winston! ' and a smile blooms across his face, one reserved only for his canines.
' out, boy, c'mon. '
and he shuts the shower off, grabbing a towel from the rack and wrapping it around his waist before he steps out.
konzipieren
He glances up and over— something?— someone. Glazed eyes finally refocus after a l o n g rest, finally seeing humanity after visions of the stars.
“Ah. Company— do tell. Is travel into the fourth dimension possible?”
will doesn't know what exactly brought him here, but the door was open and he was walking aim- lessly, so he figured it wouldn't hurt to see what this building held.
' ... what? '
that's certainly that last thing he expected to be greeted with.
I HIT 100 FOLLOWERS EVEN THOUGH I HAVENT BEEN ON IN A FEW DAYS I CANT BELIEVE IT!!! BUT IM BACK HELLO
I crave touch, yet I flinch every time someone is close enough.
I have become rather fearful I suppose. (via unseenmockingjay)

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if i’m a danger to myself just t h i n k what i would do to y o u
don't listen to a word i say, the screams all sound the same.
Will Graham & Alana Bloom | 1x11 (Rôti)
Watching Will eat is something of a spiritual experience. No, not because of the way that he eats — there’s no formula of beauty behind the parabola of motion of fork-to-mouth and no poetry in the way that he inhales what is on his plate as if he’s never eaten before in his life. That, Hannibal finds somewhat unsightly, but altogether forgivable, given circumstance. Rather, the thrill lies in the way that Will, blindly and with perfect trust, takes into himself the flesh and blood of a creature made in his image. Something that looks like him, sounds like him, even, perhaps, thinks like him to a degree — but is not, ultimately, him. There is kinship in this; in sharing forbidden foods with a predator of comparable caliber and composition, and it borders on the erotic at times when the thought is dwelled upon.
Sitting across from Graham at the table with a glass of wine, reclined, Dr. Lecter smiles at the final step of basic hospitality that has been taken, paving the way for things less like pleasantries — his nurturing touch given just enough to warrant a bit of play on his behalf.
"You know my kitchen is always open to you, Will," he replies around the rim of his glass before inhaling through the nose. On the hinge of floral aftertaste, he nods his head and resumes, "Though I feel I must ask, as your psychiatrist and your friend, do you recall what you were dreaming?"
' no. '
will answers so quickly without missing a beat that it's obviously a lie. cursing himself, he glares down at his hands which curl up against his legs. then, with a heavy sigh and closed eyes, he mutters a low, ' yes, ' as if doctor lecter didn't know already. will doesn't know what drove him to initially lie to the doctor, whether it be distrust or pure instinct. yet he has no reason to not trust doctor lecter when he's been nothing but good to will. swallowing, he looks away.
' i was walking through dark rooms. each one--each one had one of garret jacob hobbs' victims inside it, displayed on stag's antlers. when i looked at them, i felt... pleased. but guilty. like i'd killed them. like it was my doing. then i woke up. '
a chiseled jaw sets, will turning his eyes back up to the doctor briefly and staring. eyes search doctor lecter's face for the next few moments before tearing themselves away to look at the wall just over lecter's shoulder. clearly, talking about his dreams makes him uncomfortable.

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oh my god i just combined the Regenerator theme with the sounds they make + clickers + TLOU ambience + banshees from Mass Effect and i don’t ever wanna sleep ever again
THERE WILL BE NO CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR
It was in that silence that Abigail realized just how horrible she sounded. Will was only looking out for her.
She could only muster a breathy whispered reply, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
as angry as he initially is, he can't bring himself to be further mad at her. she hadn't meant want she said, he knows that, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. yet he finds himself forgiving her all the same, his hands finding hers and giving them a tight squeeze.
' don't-- don't worry about it. '