//moved to @muse-gathering
Note: dog posting will probably continue there.
i don't do bad sauce passes
No title available
Misplaced Lens Cap
occasionally subtle
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
One Nice Bug Per Day
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Monterey Bay Aquarium
cherry valley forever

No title available
YOU ARE THE REASON
Jules of Nature
Peter Solarz

ellievsbear
No title available
DEAR READER
trying on a metaphor
ojovivo

Kaledo Art
seen from Ukraine

seen from Sweden

seen from Algeria
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia

seen from Algeria

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@wllicm
//moved to @muse-gathering
Note: dog posting will probably continue there.
I drink wine and i don’t know things
hefzyisback:
“Yes m’Lord” She replied with the words still struggling to form on her tongue, but with a most obvious signal of obedience. A lady through and through; she even made a bow with her head, graciously making a reverence, even for a drunk person. The redhead blushed prettily. Apparently she did everything prettily.
The subtle shadow of fear didn’t really leave her eyes though. No one understood, no one could possibly put themselves on her shoes. No one could grant her the empathy she so desperately needed. Right?. She followed him silently, something odd given her previously eager attitude; overwhelmed by the flashbacks stubbornly creeping onto her mind whenever she lifted up her eyes to look at him. The pain, the exposure, the humiliation, the hands of her captain, the captain of her personal guard taking by force what he had sworn to protect with his life, the blood. The word was turning red around her.
And this man, his restless eyes, the small tremble of his hands, the wetness of his hair, the cold drawing a red tone on his cheeks. He was…him. Except it was not possible. Hundreds of years have passed since that. If it even happened in first place. And probably both men didn’t even look alike, and yet, they were twins in her mind.
All of the sudden, in the middle of their walk, she turned around to face him once more. “I apologize if I’ve wronged you with my touch, mi’Lord. It will not happen again if you don’t desire it”
The trembling of her voice was beyond just being drunk. It was almost like if despite the alcohol running though her veins, there was some sort of clearness on her mind, even if it made no sense for the rest of the universe.
It had been a mistake to risk eye contact with the woman, for though their eyes did not fully meet, a familiar and unnerving shadow of fear lingered in them obviously enough to come to his attention. His footfalls slowed a smidgen, uncomfortable with the mix of supposed illness, nagging violent thoughts, and what he could only interpret as assumed ill-intent. His intentions were only to help, not to strike fear in her heart. Will wouldn’t kidnap her. He’d not do what the murderer had, with her eyes--his hands attempted to press more deeply into his pockets, consciously attempting to shove away the images and vivid feelings of his hands carrying out the motions--
How could he help her when he could barely help himself?
His footsteps stopped altogether when she turned to face him, struggling to drag himself from the depths of his own mind. All he managed in response was a rather quiet, “Please--don’t touch me.” His eyes now purposely evaded hers, the avoidance obvious.
Part of him knew her fear didn’t stem from him, but he desperately didn’t want to understand the flashes of hurt, of pain, of humiliation, of fear. William needed to return to his hotel room and lie down, not stretch his mind ever further. He could feel the threads beginning to snap, his sanity peeling back and undoing itself no matter how desperately the man grasped at the pieces.
“I’m--I won’t hurt you.” This he said just as much to reassure himself as her. He hesitated for a long moment, but added a soft, “Call me Will.”
Photo by localpups
Photo by Peter & Michelle S
Dernier Repas || W&H
hcnnlbal:
Hannibal turns his cheek into the press of Will’s palm, relishes in the slight sheen of sweat he finds there, the way he’ll be able to feel the touch linger on his cheek because of it, long after Will has removed his hand. He’s shaking, too. Once, Hannibal might’ve believed it to be anxiety, or the encephalitis. Now though, he knows it is anticipation coursing through Will’s veins. He can smell it.
He hums, still pressing into Will’s touch, eyes closed and accepting of whatever it is that will come. “So it is.” He has shared his bed for months without ever approaching the closeness he feels here with Will, beneath his blade, at his mercy.
“Do you see it, Will?” He whispers, seeking out Will’s gaze with an almost urgent drive to the words. It’s never been more imperative that Will see him, than it is now. “Can you see how I would do it? What art will you make of me?” He is desperate to know, though even now, his words are delivered placidly. Only his eyes give him away, he can feel how they burn.
And he does burn. His blood is pumping through his veins at a distracting pace, coursing with adrenaline and perhaps a bit of oxytoxin as well. Will has moved him in a way he cannot remember feeling since Murasaki, perhaps even beyond that. His affections have had time to grow, billowed by Will’s sight, by his refusal to turn away from the things he sees in Hannibal. Perhaps Will will kill him, but Hannibal believes he’ll do it without looking away, without breaking eye-contact, and finds he almost looks forward to it.
“You’ve taken no measures to secure my neck or my head, I noticed. You’ve left me my teeth, Will. Do you intend for me to use them?” A compelling thought, and one he’s entertaining not for the first time. His teeth in Will’s throat, exposing the soft undercarriage of the jaw. He could reach in through the mandible and pharynx and wrap his fingers around Will’s spinal cord, perhaps even reach his brain with a little dexterity. He feels a pulse of desire, pure want. It’s not quite sexual, no it’s far beyond mere physical stimulation he feels, and all the more carnal for it. Desires of the flesh. He has many desires regarding Will Graham’s flesh.
Tension laced the thick silence, his grip on the knife more tight yet less steady with every inhalation. Though neither man spoke for several seconds, their closeness in such a confined space deafened Will. His own heart--or was that Hannibal’s?--drummed in his chest, loud in his ears. Their breath mingled between them, every inhale and exhale saturated with anticipation. He watched the hands--his hands--as if they were suddenly beyond his control, as if they may move and begin without his command. This may have perturbed him had the intention not been to do himself what they might by their own volition.
How fascinating it was, the reconciliation of his body and mind.
William might have continued to dwell on the notion had Hannibal’s voice not returned his consciousness to his body, suddenly granting him awareness of how the older man leaned into his touch. Graham felt himself standing on a ledge, looking down into the darkness clouding the depths of the chasm. The man toed at the void, determining whether or not to answer the call.
Everything felt damp as if waking from a nightmare, but the young man never fell asleep and remembered his last waking. His hair, clinging to his face, collected too much moisture from his skin, which his clothes clung to.
Hannibal whispered to him. Will nearly shuddered, reality bending into a dream yet dream dissolving into reality. This easily could be both, neither. Suddenly, he didn’t know. Did it matter? Would he wake up in his bed? Would he wake up elsewhere? Was he awake now? Do you see it, Will?
The answers pushed past his lips, “Yes.” Another breath or two passed them by before Will’s eyes move to directly meet Hannibal’s gaze. Can you see how I would do it? What art will you make of me? The blonde’s look burned into him, the intensity almost painful yet intolerably enticing.
“You would consume my brain--” His hand shifted from Hannibal’s neck down to rest on his chest, fingers pressing on the skin just over his heart, “--but--” His tongue whetted his lips, which tingled as he spoke, Will teetering ever closer to the void he had led himself to, “--I want your heart. But--not--not until the end.”
You’ve taken no measures to secure my neck or my head, I noticed. You’ve left me my teeth, Will. Do you intend for me to use them?
The muscles in his back relaxed, not in the least surprised Hannibal had noticed. This intentional oversight served a dual purpose, though Will himself had only had one in mind: a failsafe, “One of us has to die.” The words came from a place of acceptance, “If you don’t, I trust I will.” The world could not handle two, and after this evening, if one did not die, then everyone would burn.
Preferably, both would cease to exist after tonight.
Then, deeper down, a second purpose. One Will refused to speak, refused to acknowledge, refused to accept. Hannibal’s teeth embedded in his skin, in his throat, tearing at him--a pulse of pure want, pure need. How could this be his becoming without engagement, without participation?
Nothing could be more wrong than for the evening to proceed without conflict.
@hcnnlbal
Appears out of nowhere with two cups of coffee and a rather elaborated breakfast "Good morning sunshine!!!! I love spending this time with you. You're the best captain in the world and so i shall keep you well fed"
“How did you get in my house?” Not that Will found Hefzy’s company entirely unpleasant in small doses, but the sudden appearance caught him off guard. None of the dogs seemed perturbed by her presence, in contrast. In fact, they were extremely interested in the food-based offering that accompanied her.
I drink wine and i don’t know things
hefzyisback:
Quite obviously the redhead didn’t seem to understand the difference between being actually found and accidentally crashed against; and if she did, she didn’t seem to care at all, the mere fact of having someone to talk to was an utter bliss, and the prospect of protection, coming from whatever source it came from, was enough to allure her like a magnet would do to iron.
Before her drunken, rather naive, and achingly desperate eyes, the man before her, as reluctant as he was, was her savior, the one that would finally be able to give her answers, to grant her shelter; ah how wrong she was, how stupidly easy was she falling into a hole deeper than the one she had been digging herself, but hey, perhaps it was such fall what she really needed to find out that there was not going back, that she would never find her home again, unless she built a new one, on her own.
Hefzy blinked a few times before she could understand his request. And a few more seconds were taken because she simply enjoyed the contact way too much, and refused to let go, half afraid of not being able to receive it again. It probably didn’t have anything to do with him though, the same reaction would have occurred with someone else should other have found her. If the girl was very lucky, or very unlucky for the fact of being him the one she had her arms wrapped around, remained unknown. At last, very slowly, almost unwillingly, she took a step away from him, standing as straight as she could manage, in a clear attempt to please him.
“I am drunk, yes” She replied with a rather childish giggle, whilst her feet struggled to stay steady on the ground under her. “But i won’t be drunk forever” Well, at least she was aware of her own status.
So they were not going to sleep together. Understood. That wasn’t a problem for her. Not at all. However, it made her worry slightly, in first place it made her wonder where would she actually sleep; but even more than that, it made her lowkey being afraid of sleeping in general. Her rather violent past, consciously or not, made her overaware of restless sleepers as he just labeled himself. Her captain had been one of those, and things didn’t turn out quite well for her.
That was where the sudden realization hit her like a bucket of cold water. How mirror like reflection this man was to the memories she had of her attacker, her assailant was almost his twin, and there she was, desperately trying to trust the untrust-able…again.
Will kept his silence after voicing his request, hoping that the words would eventually process and be followed should he allow the pause after them to lengthen. His patience wore thinner with every passing second she remained in contact with his person, though the man found he could not uproot himself from the spot. His eyes still refused to meet the woman’s.
Only seconds passed before she slowly stepped away, but each one felt as if minutes. His shoulders and back refused to relax, tense and growing colder against the bunched up clothing beneath his coat. The dampness of his pajama shirt was slowly rendering his coat less than effective.
“Yes, you are.” The words were spoken softly, though impatience hid in his tone. If he hadn’t felt so ill and could remember walking here, he might have retained better control of his pattern of speech. William nodded once at her second statement, reasoning, “You’ll be sober sooner and less cold if we start walking...”
His suggestion trailed off as her expression appeared to fall, skin paling in the light reaching them through the city-night. For the first time his eyes truly fell upon her face, risking eye contact.
Her flurry of motion and words had seemed to suddenly cease.
Photo by jeans_Photos
Announcement
//I will be tagging all dog pictures under ‘better than people [dog posts]’ so that those who don’t wish to see them may blacklist the tag.
//Mirror image of each other [Koji and Kiko]
His Dying Wishes || W&B
Twenty months, thirteen days, sixteen hours, and roughly thirty-seven minutes spent together as partners in nearly every sense of the term. Alternatively, four days less if not including the time Will Graham remained unconscious after their self-induced tumble cliff-side. He could recall every second, every word, every touch, every blade, every body, every drop of blood. Their time together had been neither safe nor sane, but it had without a doubt been consensual.
The apathy and numbness dissipated with time, giving way to anticipation and willingness. All the while, nightmares of Molly and Walter plagued him. They were a past life and perhaps a façade, but in those dreams they his present. Most nights he killed them. When he discussed with Hannibal, the blonde had casually suggested actually killing them may give him closure.
Will found, when the moment came to pass, Hannibal had always thought it a possibility. He had taken a risk with William. The process was slow and intimate, but words could not adequately describe the experience of Hannibal Lecter’s life-force seeping through his fingers. Out of respect, Will had not wasted him.
No one would find what remained of the body. At least, not in his lifetime.
Despite his own hands cutting their time short, Will found he sorely missed him. His death had not been orchestrated or planned. William often contemplated whether this contributed to him successfully following through. One evening, not days later, Will began to wonder whether that made him the Chesapeake Ripper or if the alias and all others related ended with Hannibal.
‘Will you keep my promises? I ask that you do, Will. I always keep my promises.’
Will still didn’t truly know if he would keep Hannibal’s promises. This was one of two dying wishes, and Graham found himself conflicted. Would he carry out such promises? To Alana? To Bedelia? Did he come back to Maryland to do so? Had he come out of curiosity? Had he come for closure, to kill Molly and Walter? Did he have the capacity to make himself do so? Did he simply come to check on them? To see if they took care of his dogs?
‘Promise me, Will. Find closure. Keep my promises. Become yourself.’
Hannibal may have passed, but the man’s voice never seemed to leave him.
The uncertainty of his intentions kept him away from Molly, from Walter, from Alana. Bedelia, though? William thought she mightn’t receive him, but the news of Hannibal’s death may sway her. No one else in the entire world could help him process as she might, should she wish to. If his intentions turned negative, then he was never as emotionally invested in her anyways...
It had taken a couple days, but he had located her. He knocked. He waited.
@drdumaurier
//This one is from Halloween. She was more focused on food than the camera.
I drink wine and i don’t know things
hefzyisback:
“You’re getting me home?” A sudden spark of excitement appeared on her face, making them shine like a couple of blue stars in the darkest night. If it wasn’t because she had her arms tightly wrapped around his neck to avoid falling to the ground, she might have as well bursted out clapping like a child.
Taking her home was something not Will, nor any other man could ever do though. How could they? when home for the redhead was more a when than a where about. How did she get there in first place? There were more than a couple answers that she could never get; and deep inside she knew it all too well, being so utterly drunk nothing but a proof on how she couldn’t deal with the matter on her own.
More often than not, flashbacks of unknown lands invaded her mind. Fields free from buildings and city noises. Forests full of wolves instead of cars, houses build of stone instead of concrete, a different world all together, her accent and dress being a reflection of how, New York was in fact, not a place where she could fit in, not yet at least. The past haunted her in ways that no other person could ever understand or even imagine.
How sweet it was the idea of going home, of fooling herself into thinking that there was a place in this mad world where she could feel safe once more, where she wouldn’t feel as lonely as she actually was, Hefzy wanted to believe that such a place existed so hard, that at the end of it all, she told lies to herself.
“I am lost” She nodded in agreement, she had been lost so long. She was lost even when she was sober, she was lost even when she knew where she was. She was always lost “But you’ve found me” A bright hopeful smile appeared on her face. Poor child, being so stupidly trusting was going to get her killed one fine day, or would make her kill, that was yet unclear.
“We should sleep together on the bed” Hefzy proclaimed with a casual shrug. Sleep. As odd as it sounded, it was literally all she meant, the joys of not being of this era, “It would be a waste to own a bed and not being able to use it”
By the time Will heard and comprehended his own words, the offer could not be retracted. The woman’s touch burned against his neck, though whether it was because her skin felt intolerably cold or warm against his own remained indiscernible. No matter which, Will hoped she would release him and steady herself with some encouragement.
“See?” With the final word, the disembodied voice ceased to plague him.
The uncertainty surrounding his consciousness continued to fade, the corpse’s eyes and words now merely haunting his memory. The more firmly he rooted back within himself, the more unwell he felt. His body seemed too warm beneath his coat, head feverish despite the cold sweat. Damp hair, curls unfurling, clung to his forehead, his ears, his neck. His pajama top had bunched up under his coat, moist from sweat, shoes and socks soaked through. His skin crawled, asking for a shower and change of clothes at the very least. The Tylenol in his suitcase may help, should they ever make it there.
Worse than everything else, though, the stranger was touching him.
“I didn’t find you; I stumbled upon you.” This may have been too harshly spoken, but offering help had been a kindness and her behavior had flown out of control. Well, no. Peeling the skin--the eye without its lid endlessly staring-- No. His aid resulted from proper concern and unwarranted guilt. Would he have left her had she not matched the general parameters of numerous victims, had he not envisioned and felt himself torturing her?
Will liked to think he wouldn’t have passed the addled woman by.
His next words were not a request, “Stand up--” He added, “--please,” in an attempt to make his tone more palatable, reminding himself how obviously drunk she was. In the morning, this would sort itself out.
“You’re drunk and I’m a--” William didn’t want to mention his nightmares. They had escalated dramatically in recent weeks, “--restless sleeper. We’re not sharing the bed.” It occurred to him then that he should change the linens when they returned to avoid offering a likely sweat-soaked bed to a stranger.
His eyes managed to avoid contact even at their close range.