Wound Man

indie will graham rp blog. mun and muse are over 18. semi-selective. please read pages before rping.

[marquiis]

Please Help

My name is McCall Madison and I’m a twenty year old transboy living in the greater Seattle area. As of right now, I am homeless and living with a friend and still in the process of finding employment after several months of applying to more places than I can possibly put a number to. Now, I’m desperate. A few days ago, my laptop broke. As is, I have no funds to repair it and no funds to replace it, and come January, I’ll be going back to college, where I will absolutely need my laptop on a daily basis for the sake of doing school work and being able to submit online coursework on time.

As it is, my life has recently given me some really shitty cards to play. My mother kicked me out of her house with no warning almost immediately after my release from the mental ward at the local hospital, and I was left to try to pick all the pieces of my life back up and try to find a direction for my future with no guidance or help to speak of.

So, here I am, appealing to the generosity of the people of Tumblr.

After taking my laptop back to the store to ask after repairs and if I had a warrantee that would cover the damage, I was told it would cost $800 to completely repair the machine. Presently, because I was forced to put my belongings into a storage unit for lack of space in the place I’m staying now, my bank account is overdrawn $196.88 because of the monthly fee.

I realize what I am asking is a lot, but just a little from a lot of people can make a huge difference. Anything that doesn’t amount to what I need will go towards settling my debt with the bank, and will hugely help me move forward with smoothing out my life. If enough is raised to level my bank account out but not enough to afford repairs, then it will go towards a fund for a replacement laptop that would cost less than repairs for what’s left of my old one.

So, please, if you’re able, donate a little bit of cash to [email protected] on PayPal, and be sure to click the bubble marked “sending to family or friends”, to keep the transaction free of fees.

If you’d like something in exchange for your donation, I would be glad to discuss writing drabbles, fanfics, and even essays. Hit me up via ask if you’re interested or if you have any questions/comments/concerns.

Thank you all so much for your time and generosity.

[teachustobestill-blog]

"It’s a pen and it’s a paper, Mr. Graham. Yellow pad and felt tip pen." The young Forensic Fellow demonstrates by drawing a stick figure dog on her legal pad. "No instruments, no tests, no recording. You get to speak your mind to an unbiased counselor."

Aggravation rolls off in waves. Different asshole, same song and dance.

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

Graham has no patience left in his body. He wasted it all on Hannibal Lecter and combating the disease growing in his brain. He looks exhausted; but not because of illness. Not anymore.

His anger keeps him awake at night now. A new monster living in his skull.

"Listen, ah. Miss. Doctor? Wh-whatever. Listen. I'm sure you're just here following orders or trying to do a paper or -- something. But I'm not interested. I'm sorry. I really, ah -- actually am. But I've had enough 'talks' with Chilton to last a lifetime."

Not that he's comparing her to Chilton. Or maybe he is.

[chalkdustprophets-archive]

I have been buying all the groceries while you have been busy!

We ran out of things like meat and, I am a bad cooker anyway so. I bought pudding and cereal and also lots of pizza bites because that does not go bad and is very. Very very very delicious!

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

        "If that's how you've been keeping yourself fed, then I'm glad the dogs all seem well taken-care-of. Miss me?"

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

       " -- Wanna explain why my fridge is full of butterscotch Jello and my cabinets are full of Honey Graham O's?"

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

//stalks u N E way.

// whispers lets rp seductively while doing interpretive dance

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

"More tests? Goodie."

[johnnystorm]

[chalkdustprophets-archive]

Oh! The teevee taught me what to do, in this situation.

When you ask an adult and they don’t know the answer the next step, is the library. To find out how pesticides work! It must kill them since, it has -cide right in the name. But how!

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

One-page double spaced essay, on my desk by the end of tonight.

Let's see how pesticides work. If you get a good grade, we'll go fishing tomorrow morning.

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

I don’t think angels breathe, kiddo. Sorry.

[chalkdustprophets-archive]

Oh is that how pesticides works. I didn’t know it was a breathing thing.

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

...You know, now that you bring it up. I don't know how it works, either.

[chalkdustprophets-archive]

Not them.

There’s an angel out there! Do the pesticides work on that too Papi.

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

I don't think angels breathe, kiddo. Sorry.

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

sighttouched replied to your post: ...

[ Despite Honey’s best efforts he can’t poke his head out of the same neck hole that Will is currently occupying, so he backs out of the t-shirt altogether, ending up in a heap on the floor near Will’s chair. ] Yes I am fine I was hiding!

Who from, huh? Freddie out there on the lawn?

Let me get the pesticide.

[prtypsn-blog]

literature meme. 9 poems. mutually assured destruction, sherman alexie. (x)

When I was nine, my father sliced his knee With a chainsaw. But he let himself bleed And finished cutting down one more tree Before his boss drove him to EMERGENCY. Late that night, stoned on morphine and beer, My father needed my help to steer His pickup into the woods. “Watch for deer,” My father said. “Those things just appear Like magic.” It was an Indian summer And we drove through warm rain and thunder, Until we found that chainsaw, lying under The fallen pine. Then I watched, with wonder, As my father, shotgun-rich and impulse-poor, Blasted that chainsaw dead. “What was that for?” I asked. “Son,” my father said. “Here’s the score. Once a thing tastes blood, it will come for more.”

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

[ I hope Will wasn't terribly busy, because I think that's Honey with his hands and his head and part of his torso insinuated under the back of Will's shirt-- stooped over with forehead pressed to shoulderblades and his arms around Will's warm midsection. It is a little bit really awkward. Jesus Honey, are you trying to wear Will's shirt at the same time as him? ]

[ Yeah consider that fly tie Will had been working on totally ruined. How it is that Honey’s managed himself into the back of his old tee is fucking remarkable, really, because there’s a chair in the way, too. But I guess things like that never stopped the kid before.

And in that moment, Will finally understands why he lets this kid get away with crazy shit like this.

He’s a goddamn dog. ]

You — pfft — uh, okay, there, sport?

[  No, Will. Don’t laugh. If you laugh, then he’ll think it’s okay. Where's a fucking spray bottle when you need it? ]

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

Sixes and Sevens

[thefreddylounds]

Freddy Lounds didn’t see himself as a bad man. An opportunist, yes, perhaps, but only because he was very passionate about his job. It was difficult being successful as a reporter without alienating a few people. But perhaps the word “alienate" wasn’t the correct one to describe his impact on the few FBI agents that had had the misfortune of being contacted by the redhead. All it took was one little slip and Freddy would make it into a five page article. Blowing things out of proportion was his speciality.

He watched as Will Graham and Jack Crawford made their way through the crowd. Hiding their faces and looking away, as if ignoring the cameras and microphones would make them cease existing. Alas, the reporters were real…And so was Freddy. But Lounds was more real than any of his busy colleagues. While they all crowded over the big boss, the redhead took his time, watching as Will Graham sped up the pace and avoided direct eye contact as expected.

"What a mess, eh Mr. Graham?"

Both of his feet tried to keep up with Will’s. It was as if the two of them were having a very discreet race to the car. Freddy quickly managing to step in front of the special agent, grinning widely when getting a good look of his face. “I must say though, it’s a real surprise to see you back on the field. I thought brutal murders’ glamour no longer had any effect on you." He took out a small recorder, a small red light indicating it was already taping.

"Do you mind telling me why Agent Jack Crawford requested your…Aid in this particular case?"

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

After the event of having his colostomy bag on the front page of Lounds' crap tabloid magazine and in essentially every grocery queue on the East coast, what little humor Graham might have had for the man prior to the incident with Lecter was absolutely evaporated. In fact, it took all the restraint the profiler had in him to keep from grabbing the man by the collar and throwing him int the windscreen of his car. But alas, the sounds of glass breaking and flesh bruising wouldn't bode well with that flashing red light that kept blinking at him as if to mock the fact he was already ensnared in the reporter's trap.

"You write lying shit and the Tattler is an asswipe," Graham snapped, trying to side-step around the journalist and ultimately failing due to the other male's overwhelming lack of regard for personal space or the appointments of those of whom he trapped into impromptu interviews. "Stay away from me. You know I'm not allowed to talk about it -- and even if I was, I wouldn't tell jack shit to you."

[yuuuta-deactivated20130204]

[damnyougraham]

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

Bread is the Body

[afteryourdeathormine]

Giving Will a concise time limit meant that Hannibal had relatively little time to squander, as well. He knew that Will would be forced to cut it close, but that was a gentle comfort: with no time to spare, Will could not waste time overthinking things he had already decided on.

Hannibal had little to do in terms of preparation. He did, of course, make sure that the basement was adequately prepared (it was, as he knew it’d be) and took a leisurely, cool-water shower before changing into one of his more casual, cream-colored suits. Will would undoubtedly be too nervous to have much of an appetite, but Hannibal still assembled a light supper.

When the clock struck 10, Will knocked on his door, clearly having opted to wait. Hannibal was pleased with his astuteness; appearing too eager and arriving too early would have been unseemly.

He waited to a count of forty before opening the door, motioning for Will to come inside.

"You may leave your bag by the door. I have supper on the table. Will you indulge in a half glass of wine or would you prefer to be completely unaffected by even a small amount of alcohol?"

[mirrortouchsynesthesia-blog]

Standing at the door and stewing in a mixture of anger at his own apprehension and dread at what his guilty conscience brought to the forefront of his mind's eye, Graham nearly turned and left in that brief forty-second window of time between knocking and being invited inside. It was almost just enough time to change his mind -- almost enough time to really reconsider what it was he was doing. And he was almost aware that such a thing was probably the intent behind making him wait. How many times had the Doctor caught him pulling out of the lot outside his office to miss an appointment due to the overwhelming discomfort of his own thoughts and vulnerability?

Swallowing hard and hot in the face, Graham nodded in silence as he put his bag down in the indicated spot and wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his trousers, looking around the place as if it were a brand new house rather than the one he'd been inside so many times before. Looking at it through another lens, perhaps. His mouth was dry. Alcohol sounded fantastic.

"Please. I, ah. Think I could use a little loosening up," he answered, voice relatively quiet out of resentment for his own desire and dread to be here under these circumstances. Lecter's opinion of him was liable to have shifted considerably, but... well, he couldn't read the man. Perhaps it hadn't. Wouldn't that be a blessing. "Thank you."