#nigel (very sharp)

[thisbluespirit]

Films watched (1990s): THE WINSLOW BOY (1999); dir. & screenplay David Mamet (adapted from the play by Terence Rattigan). Starring Nigel Hawthorne, Jeremy Northam, Rebecca Pidgeon & Gemma Jones.

"No, not justice. Right. Easy to do justice. Very hard to do right."

[safetypin-non]

Thanks for the support, we’ll see whatever fucking happens. Glad I could help you out too somehow, darling. It’s only fair. Might take you up on “helping” in other ways. There’s nothing like a blowjob between bros. ;))

I’ll be honest with Abby if she asks, but I doubt the girl would want to know details about what kind of shit we get into lol.

— Nigel

[If you did not receive a message, I will promptly explode Tumblr.]

Yeahhh for sure. And I might take you up on the bro stuff...

One of us is gonna have an easier time with blowjobs, and it's not gonna be me.

Not a lot to work with down there. But quite sensitive. (Very sensitive)

I'll take my time with it. Drool and tongue and patience. If you get me high it'll be easier. Not sure what it is.

[dolicekiss]

Hey,

could you please write a yandere Hannibal one-shot, where the reader is one of Bedelia‘s ex patients/friends and Will‘s best friend. Will soon knows Hannibal is interested in her,( after she met him,while dropping of Will for therapy) and tries to ^save^ her from him. However Hannibal again has his way and maybe it ebds with smut?

♡: ohmygod i was literally about to write a yandere nigel but this is even better, especially knowing how manipulative hannibal can be !! also, i hope i do this justice, thanks :D

Famished

PAIRING: Yandere!Hannibal x Gullible, mentally disturbed female reader.

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+ only, minors dni) unprotected sex, manipulative hannibal, oral (female receiving) fingering, yandere hannibal, mention of drugging, mentally disturbed reader and traumatized, taking advantage (hannibal is cooking up plans) slight breeding kink, reader is very gullible <3 that's all

SYNOPSIS: After dropping Will Graham to his therapy session and having a run in with his prominent, renowned psychiatrist — Dr. Hannibal Lecter, you become the object of his infatuation and obsession. It is in his best interests to make you fall for him, make you his. Whether it is by his cunning manipulation tactics or his alluring charms.

For the first time ever, Hannibal Lecter found himself lost and in a puzzled position.

He was at a loss of words for the immense amount of adoration and awe swelling in his chest whenever he laid his eyes on you — which was rare. As you only came by when you had to drop your best friend, Will Graham to his office. It wasn't in your daily routine, as you had other things in life that required your attention but whenever you were available and whenever Will needed your help, you were there.

Because he was there when you needed someone.

Hannibal’s brain was quick to recognize you though, after seeing an old file of yours in Bedelia’s office, with your picture inside. It had all your details and Hannibal felt as if it was meant to be. He'd read your file, in the absence of Bedelia. Completely out of character for even someone like him but he knew you.

He knew all of you.

The exchange of pearly smiles between you and Will when he first introduced you to Hannibal was not very pleasing to the eye for the blonde male. Aggravated but hiding behind the mask of politeness, he only returned those smiles and then watched you leave his office.

That same night, both Hannibal and Will were restless. Will because he had noticed the curiosity awakening in Hannibal’s impassive gaze when he took note of you and Hannibal laid restless because of the uneasiness felt ever since you had left his office. He had this, insatiable urge, he felt —famished.

And only you could satiate that hunger of his.

“Hannibal, you appear lost.” Bedelia commented, the dullness of her office somehow matching his own. The two shared similar tastes, no wonder he was associated with her.

He lifted his gaze up from the red carpet covering the entirety of her floor, fingers tucked understand his chin. He was indeed lost, lost in you. Like an alligator, you had consumed him whole and he slightly twitched in the seat.

Hannibal had a plan.

This was the plan.

“I had a run in with one of Will’s associates, who also used to be your patient.” He responded, bitterly referring to you as his associate instead of his friend because even the idea of that burned him with such envy and jealousy.

Will didn't deserve you.

Not as his friend, not as something else.

Bedelia crossed her leg, staring at him with certain curiosity. “I do not break doctor patient confidentiality.”

“I'm aware.” Hannibal responded as quickly as he could, eyeing the woman. His presence was heavy and his gaze was sharp as an eagle's. Nothing missed him, not even the subtle details and minorities of life.

He noticed everything.

Hannibal laid his hands on his lap, mimicking Bedelia as he crossed his leg over the other but with much more authority. “Why did you stop seeing her?”

Bedilia scoffed. “I didn't stop seeing her, she told me her mind had healed. That she didn't need me anymore, that she was fine.” Her voice was laced with subtle bitterness at how you interrupted their sessions. Bedelia felt like she was being called incompetent indirectly by you.

That was all Hannibal needed.

This time you dropped Will off again but this time, he seemed evidently upset with the idea of you running in with Hannibal Lecter again. It was weird to you, how he acted when it came to you crossing paths with his psychiatrist. Hell, you'd even made a joke about not snatching the handsome doctor away from Will.

But he only responded with a sour face, definitely not impressed with your horrible attempt at a joke.

As he exited the car and headed for his office, you watched him but then your eyes captured a wallet and a phone right where Will was sitting. He'd left his belongings behind. You let out a sigh, contemplating whether to give them to him now or later. You didn't care that your bestfriend acted all sour at the mention of crossing paths with Hannibal.

He was uncomfortable with the idea of you meeting his own psychiatrist, now that was weird. You left the car too, with the items in your hand and headed inside. Air chilly against your skin, you smiled at how its soft hands caressed your skin, prickling it slightly but you basked in the feeling.

As you reached the door, you knocked on it and waited for someone to open it. It was peeled open and there stood Hannibal, and a smile broke when he caught you standing there. Cladded in a long coat, which concealed a casual dress behind it. His gaze took you in, drank you like the most finest wine and then he captured the familiar wallet and phone in your hand.

He'd seen it one too many times in the hand of his patient.

“Here to return his belongings, I assume?”

You nodded your head. “He forgot these.”

Extending out your hand with Will’s things in your hand, the door was pulled open more revealing another figure. Will stared at you, a look of annoyance on his face when he found you standing there. He'd told you, even subtly warned you to not ever come to Hannibal’s office but here you were. Breaking the only rule that he presented before you.

You rolled your eyes at Will, his behavior abnormal and different than usual was something you didn't appreciate at all.

Hannibal took the things from you and then handed them over to Will. “I'll take my leave then, goodbye.”

Just like that, you were out of the towering presence of those two. God, was it only your imagination or did it actually feel suffocating being in their presence together — especially after Will had warned you off basically to not come in front of Hannibal Lecter ever. The way he smiled at you, it was sweet but for some reason, goosebumps woke up on your skin.

You shook your head, went home and after a warm shower, curled up in your bed. An attempt to sleep, for the umpteenth time but everytime you rested your eyes, that same nightmare haunted you once more. Adding a new digit to the list as it did. Reminding you of the darkness that would always stay within you. Rooted inside you.

The blood soaked hands, the screams, the shattering of glass — it replayed over and over again. Like a film that was lagging a lot, hesitating to go forward, so all you could do was rewind and watch that same scene over and over.

You woke up, drenched in sweat. Chest heavy and lungs desperate to drag in as much air as they could. It was all too vivid, like it had happened today and not years before when you were only a little girl.

It wasn't easy living with the fact that you had been spared by your kidnapper while he slaughtered your friend, right before your very gaze. You didn't deem it worth it, didn't find yourself worthy enough to be alive, instead of her.

If he'd only killed you too.

— ♡ —

The next day Will had told you he'd pick you up from your house and take you somewhere, somewhere where he could discuss something important with you. It baffled you when the man pulled up to his own house, the irony of it leaving you with certain uneasiness.

“Will, just tell me. Are you jealous?”

That could be the only reason.

He stayed silent, not answering your question before letting out a sigh of what you assumed to be frustration. He shook his head, fingers scurrying to fix his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Eyebrows furrowed and curls resting against his forehead.

“You need to stay away from Hannibal Lecter. He is a dangerous man, a sadist, a cunning bastard.” You blinked at all the profanities Will Graham was suddenly using to describe his own psychiatrist.

You had no idea of his little plan to play along with Hannibal to catch him so this whole situation was extremely uncomfortable for you.

“You're making that up.” You accused him, with a shake of your hand to dimiss his accusations. “If he was such a cunning bastard, he wouldn't be your psychiatrist.”

“Listen to me.” Will’s voice was dangerously low, frustration obvious in it. “Just do what I'm saying. Don't linger around him, don't even drop me off anymore.”

The water was slowly boiling over your heads and it could spill at any moment. Tension rose in the room and you, with your adamant personality, didn't give in. You wanted— no, you needed to know this. Just what the fuck was going on and why were you being kept in the dark?

It made you feel hopeless and almost sad, because to you it seemed as the only paddle in your life didn't really trust you.

“First, stop hiding shit from me. I'm your fucking bestfriend, Will. Just tell me—”

The loud noise of his palms slamming down on the wooden table in his living room made you flinch. Your body jumping as you let out a shriek at the loud noise, not very fond of them ever since the traumatizing event from your childhood. You hadn't expected him to react like this, especially with such aggression.

“Just stay the fuck away from Hannibal Lecter. That's all I'm asking you to do, you can't even do that?” Eyebrows scrunched and disappointment swirling behind those specs of his, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach at his tone, words and his unexplainable behavior.

It all overwhelmed you to the core.

Then a knock interrupted you both.

Will and you turned around and found Hannibal standing behind the net door, his aura slicing through the heavy tension that hung like a knife on your heads. You composed yourself, hands with a tremor reaching out to fix the few loose strands of your messy bun.

You swallowed thickly — once more put in a situation where you had to pretend to be fine for someone else. All because of your own bestfriend.

The fact made you vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. To the point Hannibal would smell it off you and it gave him the perfect opportunity, laid out on a damn silver platter. Awaiting to be devoured.

“What're you doing here, Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s gaze exchanged between the two of you, pretending as if he wasn't just standing outside eavesdropping on your conversation. It was evident on your face that you wanted to leave, as soon as you could but without Will’s help, you couldn't actually leave. His fucking house was in the middle of nowhere and he was your only ride.

You wrapped an arm around yourself instinctively, a habit you'd adapted to when you were little. In a silly little attempt to protect yourself from the harm you faced as a child.

“Had to discuss something about a case but I guess I chose the wrong timing?” His gaze trailed over you and he took notice of the way your chest fell and rose, how you stood there as if you were cornered and scared, your own arm wrapped around you in a sense to provide the comfort you ached for.

You seemed so perfect like this.

On the verge of breaking.

“I'll be outside.” You didn't even bother grabbing your coat, only reached for the door and left without sparing them both a glance.

The cold hit you like a damn truck, shivers dancing across your spine. Regret consumed you about not grabbing your coat from Will’s hanger but you were too stubborn to go back inside and take it. So you chose to suffer in the cold, sitting by the stairs, staring ahead into the darkness the forest and the night had to offer you.

You thought about Will. His behavior, how he'd spoken to you despite knowing your history and it pained you but as usual, you suppressed it. Your pain didn't matter, how could it matter when you were lucky enough to be left alive while your own friend was slaughtered like some fucking animal?

Knees glued to your chest, you didn't know for how long you stayed there but you felt someone put a coat on you. Your body was quick to absorb the warmth it had to offer and you lifted your head up, hoping you'd find Will but instead Hannibal had shown you more decency than your own friend.

‘Cunning bastard, this?’ You thought.

“Thank you.” You held the coat tightly around your shoulder and noticed it wasn't yours, it was his own. Hannibal had given you his own coat and the bare minimum action, the simple act of kindness, it all was enough to worsen the situation for you right now.

For Hannibal, this was perfect.

You were the perfect prey.

He knew Will would react the way he had — his emotional outbursts were bound to get aggressive and he wanted Will to be on thin ice around you. To make you cautious of him, so that your lonely heart will begin searching for another companion.

Him.

“Your car isn't in the driveway, which means Will is going to drop you off.” He said and stared ahead at the empty space next to Will’s car. “But I suppose you don't really wish to be in his presence right now.”

You slowly nodded.

He was a psychiatrist, a witty one at that. There was no point in lying to the man as you tightened the coat around you. His scent bringing along a sense of comfort. It was warm, a little like nature itself.

“If you allow me, I can drop you off.”

Hannibal extended his hand out, staring down at you and you looked at his hand, then him. It was a moment of silence but help was offered and you slowly slipped your hand into his, as he raised you up from the ground. The touch of your hand, being this fucking fortunate enough to be able to feel you flesh to flesh, Hannibal was over the moon. An itch growing in his thumb to run it lightly over the skin of your knuckles but he somehow with the power of a celestial being restrained himself.

Your perfume had branded his skin.

You had branded his skin.

He lead you to his car and you sat inside, all the while Will watched from his window. There was only so much he could do but he knew that Hannibal’s charm was difficult, nearly impossible to resist. Whether he visited in the form of archangel azrael, a companion or a foe.

He was still going to be in control.

The car ride was silent when it began. Your gaze lingering over the passing street lamps, blurring in your vision as a lone tear slid down your cheek. Akin to the person you were, lonely and isolated.

“I could sense the tension in the air.” Hannibal’s soft voice sliced through the silence. “Are you alright?”

You turned to him and nodded. “Just a small misunderstanding, that is all.”

It was, infact, not a misunderstanding. Hannibal knew why you seemed this heartbroken, about the incident that occurred to you as a child, about Will’s outburst and how it terrified you.

Like a ripe fruit, you were all raw and vulnerable. Ready to be consumed by him, to be savored by him, to get rid of his insatiable hunger.

Hannibal believed he could fix you — by not fixing you at all. A broken masterpiece you were and he'd be damned if he tried to put back the pieces together. He preferred the picture he saw right now more.

“He should not have raised his voice at you.”

Your gaze lifted up. “You heard it?”

He nodded, while swiftly taking a turn into a street. “I did not mean to pry, my deepest apologies. I managed to arrive exactly at the time when he was having his outburst.”

“It's fine.” Your head hung low as you played with your fingers in your lap. Hannibal noticed, writing it down in his little mental diary he'd kept in his head. “I don't understand why he behaved the way he did. It was, upsetting.”

You mumbled the last word, shaking your head. Hannibal glanced your way. “You were under Bedelia's care, no?”

By now, you'd come to know that the two were friends and knew each other. But deep down you hoped that they hadn't discussed you like some curse, like some ugly freak who magically survived a cruel man while her friend got swallowed.

“Yes.” You whispered. “Her ways to heal the human mind are, peculiar.”

To be honest, Bedelia seemed like a woman who cared more about the influence and power she had on you than your well-being and that feeling of forced incompetence along with other things became the reason of your end with her.

Hannibal chuckled, barely.

It was just there and you heard it for a single moment. “Did you not find her treatment appropriate?”

“I didn't deem her fit to be my doctor,” you picked at the skin around your nails out of habit. “honestly, I don't find anyone fit to be my doctor.”

There was silence.

But Hannibal soon spoke. “Could the feeling that only you're capable of understanding your mind because of you going through what you did be the cause of this?”

Jesus, the man was spot on.

It slightly unnerved you.

“Are you analyzing me, Dr. Lecter?” There was soft sarcasm your voice was laced with as you smiled.

The man stared straight ahead. “Maybe, would you mind allowing me to analyze you at my office over a glass of wine?”

You knew you couldn't go back to your lonely house, especially after the remnants of Will’s behavior affecting you the way they did. The sound of his palms slamming down on the wood echoed in the back of your mind and you had no other option than to agree to Hannibal’s offer.

But poor you, it was all part of his plan.

He'd read your file, thoroughly, well aware of your triggers and your mind. How it worked, processed things, he knew it all and the wicked man used it to his advantage. To lure you in like a prince charming only to shift into a hideous beast.

When you made it to his office, the man had offered you the finest of wine. The most expensive one, all the way from Florence and you could practically taste italy in the bottle — delicious, warm and fruity. You reveled in each sip as you sat across the man on his table, flipping through a book about the human mind.

You enjoyed reading books, found solace in them and Hannibal had all the more to offer.

“I can't believe you've got these many books.” You pointed out, lifting your eyes up at the man who was now coming down from the ladder with multiple books in his arms. It was sweet how he was offering you his book, his wine, his company because somewhere he knew you needed it.

Loneliness was a slow death.

Poison so bitter but painful, it tore you apart piece by piece.

He ambled his way towards you, taking a seat on the chair and placing the books right in front of you on the table. “These are nothing. I own a library too.”

Your eyes widened. “You're kidding.”

Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat at how your eyes expanded in sheer shock, his lips expressing a small smile. You seemed akin to a child in that moment, innocent and appalled by the idea.

“No, dear. I'm fortunately not.” He replied, hands settled on the table. “I could take you there.”

“I'd love to go.” You were quick to reply back but then composed yourself a little, not wanting to come across as desperate. You began coursing through the book, reading the contents of it simultaneously sipping your wine.

Then Hannibal spoke. “You seem disturbed, dear.”

You stopped reading and looked at him, with a confused expression before realizing what he meant. Will’s behavior had left you in a great deal of confusion as well as underlined fear. It was stomach churning, when you remembered how dark his eyes were or how angry he appeared. All too similar to the fragments of the man that had abducted you during you childhood.

“He reminded me of him.” You blunted out, not really caring anymore to conceal your emotions and fears. It had to be how vulnerable you were seeming, craving human companionship and attention. To be comforted and reassured that nothing was wrong with you.

Hannibal leaned forward. “Of who?”

“The man who took me.” Your fingertip danced over the stamped ink on the beige piece of paper, gaze following along the letters and lines. “Every aggressive man reminds me of him.”

“Your fear of aggressive men stems from your childhood, as one had taken you. It is no surprise you'd feel uneasiness in Will’s presence now.” Hannibal was right. These heightened emotions of fear and discomfort would only consume you if you continued seeing Will in the light that he had presented himself in.

He was your friend. Your best friend, the man who was always there — to be your paddle and to be your pillar but now you were scared of him. Of everything, the whole situation to stay away from Hannibal. You were right in his office and so far, he had brought you no harm at all.

Only provided you with company.

“He told me to stay away from you.” The lump in your throat began to grow. If you had a gut feeling, it had definitely melted in the presence of Hannibal. Blinded by his charm and his long blonde strands hovering over his forehead. “It was confusing, Dr. Lecter. It was— too much. He repeated it like a broken record, over and over again. Ordered me even and I don't understand why he was telling me to be this cautious when you're his psychiatrist.”

Hannibal and you made eye contact, for a brief moment before you averted your gaze from him, lacking the courage to look straight into his penetrating eyes.

“Will is unstable.” Hannibal stated, as he caressed his own hand with the fingers of the other. “I have no intention to ruin the camaraderie you both have but his attempt to kill me tells me enough about his mind.”

Your eyes expanded.

Will tried to do what?

And the fact that Hannibal seemed so unbothered about it and continued seeking him as a patient. It was like Bedelia’s case all over again, except hers actually ended meanwhile Hannibal continued giving Will his time and effort.

“But why? I don't get it and you're still seeing him—just, what is going on?” Stressed and frustrated, feeling like you were being kept in the dark, you brought your fingers upto your forehead and began massaging it. It was too much for you, especially when you had your own battles to fight.

Hannibal reached for you, his own hand placed above yours. In silent comfort. “Will is my friend, or so I see him as one. He's unstable and his acts of impulsivity are my responsibility to fix although—”

He stopped and tilted his head. “I can see it is beginning to affect you too.”

You sighed, as you didn't remove your hand from underneath his. Only watching him with a gaze clouded in confusion. This was all like plates shattering over and over on the top of your head and still there is no bleeding, only the throbbing pain that increased with time.

Maybe Hannibal was right.

He was his doctor after all. Will appeared unstable, especially after his behavior tonight and the complexity of the situation terrified you.

“It is humiliating to be flesh.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you finished all your wine. The sound of Hannibal’s chair scraping against the floor caught your attention and you watched as he rose up from his seat and walked towards you. In his hand was a sketchbook that he'd retrieved from his table.

He stood next to you, placing the sketchbook over your book and then leaning down. The close proximity should've made you uncomfortable, should've sent you scurrying out of his office but because of how gentle he was, you didn't budge. “Open it.”

Your fingers with a subtle tremor in them reached for the crisp edge of the sketchbook and you flipped it open revealing the art of pencils. Humans, bodies, organs, they were all presented to beautifully and you looked up at Hannibal.

Face a few inches apart.

“You made this?”

He nodded.

You flipped through a few more and resisted the urge to caress the face of the greek personalities he'd drawn. They were so beautiful, as beautiful as him and you didn't find yourself uncomfortable like how you expected you would when laying eyes upon the more —gruesome part of his art.

It was beautiful.

“This is truly spectacular.” You commented in a whisper as you raised your stare from the sketches and looked up at him. Your lips were only a few inches apart and Hannibal found himself completely captivated by you. The sheer vulnerability and raw pain in your gaze was tugging him towards his arousal, undeniable and strong for you.

He swallowed as his dark eyes took in the sight of your lips.

And you repeated his actions, staring at his lips in return.

It all happened too fast. He'd kissed you, hand reaching to brush the hair behind your shoulder, then moving to grasp your face in it as he delved deeper. Hannibal was holding back so much, concealing the animal that he was from you, hiding beneath the cloak of a gentle demeanor and a beautiful face. His thumbs swiped over your cheek in gentle brush strokes as he pried your lips open, inserting his tongue.

Draping it around your own, the kiss grew intense and this was the first time you'd ever gotten involved with a man like this. It was too inundating but it also felt extremely good as you had denied yourself this pleasure for so long.

Hannibal’s hands slithered down to your waist, to circle around it curve of it as he raised you from the chair, lifting you up to place you down on the table. Still your height couldn't accommodate with his, neck craned up to kiss him. He soon broke the kiss, forehead pressed against yours as his warm breath mingled with yours.

“It is not humiliating to be flesh, rather special and profound.” He whispered, in response to your sentence from earlier as you gazed up at him. Eyes clouded by desire as your heart swelled with finally feeling like you were being understood. Hannibal understood you.

The connection you felt with him was intense.

The man leaned, and you expected him to kiss you again but this time he chose to attack your neck, peppering kisses all over the unmarked skin. His hands rested by your side, fingers digging into the wooden desk to keep the monster inside him at bay. He was too overwhelmed by his wanton for you but you were a fragile little thing.

He couldn't scare you, not yet.

His teeth dug into your skin, biting and tugging like some beast and you winced in response. It felt good but it was something you hadn't tried with anyone before. You've had sex before— one boy and he was nowhere near the same level as Hannibal. Just by biting on your skin, the man had you squirming.

“If Will finds out—”

He silenced you by pressing a finger on your lips. “Will shouldn't care. You're a mature, independent, grown woman. You know what you want, don't you?”

You nodded.

He was treating you like an adult, rather than some broken little doll. But that was Hannibal’s play, he knew that you craved the validation, you wanted to get treated like an adult and not some damaged person. After being in therapy, people almost treated you as you were some mentally unstable person who didn't know what she wanted. A broken, deranged person that didn't know better.

Hannibal made you feel differently, in such a short amount of time.

“So beautiful.” He whispered, as his fingers moved to the buttons of your dress. He unbuttoned each, swiftly proving that he was an experienced man and then his hands rose up to your shoulders, slipping the dress off and exposing the bare skin.

Your breath hitched and in a couple of minutes, Hannibal had completely rid you of any clothes. His own blazer soon came off, followed by his tie and then his shirt. Before you could reach for the buckle of his dress pants, he scoped you up in his arms and took you over to the couch. Lips pressed against yours, he bit harshly on your lower lip, enough to draw blood and somehow you enjoyed this aggressive manner of his kissing.

He laid you down on the couch and crawled on top of you, his knee settled between your thighs. You whimpered upon contact with his clothed knee as he traveled down, while leaving kissing against your skin, face buried between your thighs. The man held you open to his lascivious gaze, pressing a soft kiss against your clit causing you to shudder. Your thighs twitched in response and he loved how your body responded to his touch.

You were a delicious fucking sight.

He licked a long stripe across your cunt and your back lifted off the couch in anticipation. Hannibal pushed you back down, both his hands holding you firmly down on the couch, his arm prying your thighs further open. Closing his lips around your clit, he sucked feverishly and you cried out. It felt too fucking good.

One hand released you, dropping between your legs. His fingers ran up and down your cunt, coating themselves in the slick of your arousal and then slowly, he added a finger into you. He was gentle with it and stared up at you, mouth still continuing its assault on your clit while holding eye contact. Tears danced on your waterline, waiting for that one single push to slide down in rivulets on your face.

His finger picked up its pace then he added another. Your wet walls clung tightly onto his fingers, pulling them in and he reveled in all the little sounds you and your body kade. The whimpers you released, the wet sounds of your greedy pussy and the ragged breathing escaping you.

“How do you feel, Darling? How good am I making you feel with just my mere fingers?”

Hannibal’s voice had fallen a few octaves lower, deep and rough. You parted your lips open to speak but the wicked man curved his finger and your lips only let out a gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling. He grinned at your reaction. “Answer me.”

You swallowed down another whine threatening to run out of your throat. “It feels amazing, Hannibal. Just —so good.”

He added a third finger and curved them altogether, hitting them against the little sponge of pleasure inside you, rapidly and with increasing speed. Your hands traveled down to grip on his golden strands, fisting them as he continued licking across your cunt and fucking you with his fingers.

Then he stopped.

Dropping all his movement.

His tongue replaced his fingers causing you to buck your hips in anticipation and need, aching for more. Hannibal was feasting on you and he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He was beyond it. Not possessing any sort of self control anymore.

Fingernails digging into the side of your hips, he dragged them down into your skin as he hungrily ate you out. Tongue plunging in and out of your tiny hole, licking and savoring the taste of you. You were fucking sweet, heavenly and delicious. Hannibal’s mind was clouded by his lust, his ache for you. How he wished he could trap you inside thess walls of his office, of his home and never let you out ever again.

Even the sun and moon didn't deserve to capture the sight of you.

“Hannibal, I'm close.” You whined, thighs shaking as your stomach churned with a foreign feeling. It was going to be fucking intense, you knew it because of how much you were shaking.

He looked up at you. “Come for me, Darling. Make a mess.”

Your stomach clenched and twisted at his words and you soon unfurled underneath him. Thighs suffering from perpetual convulsions and eyes seeing white, rolling to the back of your head. Blood pumping in your chest, spreading like wildfire in your veins as your forehead perspired. The searing pain from your tight grip on his hair only hardened his cock, as it stirred against his thighs. Hannibal reveled in the pain you inflicted upon him.

He rose up from between your legs and your overstimulated pussy throbbed at the sight of him. Your orgasm dripped down his chin, plump lips glossy and covered in the juices you'd produced. Face messy and flushed, he stared back at you with a hazy look in his darkened eyes.

When you came down from your high, you found Hannibal completely naked. Long gone were his dress pants and underwear and your were taken aback at the length of his cock as well as the girth. The first and last time you slept with someone, their size was nowhere the same as Hannibal. The drastic change was slightly overwhelming for you, it even terrified you a little.

He took a seat on the couch, at the end of your feet and then pulled you up, settling you on top of his thighs. Holding you in his muscular arms, the man held the tip of his cock against your hole and then slowly sat you down.

You head fell against his shoulder, face buried in his neck. Being able to feel him like this, sinking all the way down to the hilt, you could only whimper. Hannibal made you feel so full and it was only the beginning.

You felt his fingers trapping your cheeks between them, as he pulled your face out of its hiding spot. Four fingers resting on one side while his thumb squeezed the other. Tears sprung out, sliding across your cheeks and crashing into his digits. You sniffled as he stared at you. Eyes lacking emotions and face still. Hannibal was a man who possessed immense control over himself, he couldn't give away his obsession for you.

“You will look at me.” He commanded, voice thick with need. “As I fuck your little cunt and make you unravel on my cock, you will not move your gaze away from me. Understood?”

You could only nod.

His grip tightened on your cheeks and you winced, lips forming a forced pout. You knew what that little act meant and you parted your lips, managing to mumble out, “Yes, I understand.”

Hannibal nodded, satisfaction glimmering in his dark eyes as he released your face. Both hands now settled on your hips, he began to move you up and down with your help. You gasped every time you felt his cock graze against your wet wells, the feeling consuming your ability to think. Your nails managed to draw blood from his skin but Hannibal didn't care. He wanted you to leave more marks, brand him as his, make him yours.

Oh he was already yours.

“Move, Darling.” You started to move too, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down on him. Over and over again, it was repetitive and Hannibal’s face was full of pleasure. His grip tight and firm on your hips, almost as if he were trying to seperate the flesh from the bone.

But you liked it.

He held you like he didn't want you to disappear.

You fucking loved that.

You both stared into each other's eyes, Hannibal’s domineering stare overpowering yours an you nearly made the grave mistake of shutting your eyes but the little pinch on your waist made you peel them back open as fast as you closed them.

“Don't be disobedient now. I expected better from you.” You could sense the disappointment in his voice and you shook your head, still riding his cock and clenching around him everytime you felt his tip bruise your sensitive spot.

You stared at him, through a blurred vision. “You're intimidating—” You sputtered, the sentence breaking. “when you stare at me like this, its intimidating.”

“Do I scare you?”

You shook your head. “No, you're beautiful.”

That was enough to cause Hannibal to become a mess. Fuck, he was all over the place and unfortunate enough for you, you couldn't see it but the man was a mess on the inside. The skipped beating of his heart, the way his eyes were almost turned into little crescents, the smile lines appearing for a split moment before vanishing.

You felt him press his lips against yours, this time in a rough kiss. Arms circled tightly around you. He kissed you like a wild beast having its feast, enjoying its food. His teeth grazed against yours when you opened your mouth, lips against lips, tongue dancing with tongue. Salivas mixing together, it was too messy and you felt the mixed saliva dripping down your chin. He lapped at your wet muscle, sucking on it.

All the while he slammed you down on his hard cock and you let out a high pitched whine into his mouth. That action alone was enough for his cock to harden even more inside you, his hands now unwrapping from your waist and toying with your bare breasts.

“Such a tight little pussy—” He grunted, head thrown back. “so fucking tight.”

Fingers rolling your nipples between them, tugging and massaging the soft flesh. The searing kiss, the sensitive touch of his fingers against your breasts, the slow and rough thrusts of his cock — all of it combined pulled you near another orgasm.

Your toes curled at each thrust and then Hannibal switched the position, laying you down on the couch and getting on top of you with his cock still inside you. Grabbing you by your ankles, he placed them on his shoulders and began to fuck you at an animalistic pace.

“Hanni—" You cried out, lips agape and tears continuously falling down.

He didn't stop. His bangs were sticking to his forehead, a snarl making its way to his face and that was the hottest thing you'd ever seen. To the point it made you tighten around him. “You're mine. You're mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to own and possess.”

You took those words as something said in the heat of the moment but Hannibal? Oh he was serious. He meant each and every word, every syllable came straight from the darkness in his heart.

His hips snapped and your stomach went crazy into knots. “Please, please. Harder, please Hannibal.”

You were crying out for him at this point. Your hand reaching out to touch his chest but he didn't allow you, grabbing both of your hands and pinning them above your head on the couch. Bending your knees to the point they were pushed against your chest, his face grew closer to yours. Staring deeply into your soul and that moment felt intimate more than anything you'd ever experienced in the world.

“My pretty Darling.”

You swallowed.

Just his dark gaze. You could live your whole life while being captured in those obsidian eyes.

Snaps growing relentless, he kept fucking you till you came all over his cock. Your orgasm slipping out in the form of liquid, making a mess everywhere. Staining his couch, his chest, his cock. Leaving evidence of the sexual encounter between the two of you in a moment. Hannibal let out a chuckle — deep and soft. Music from heaven to your ears.

You almost ascended to heaven from how good it felt. His cock still thrusting up against your cervix, bruising your spot and continuing its assault. Your sensitive body hadn't even calmed down, still twitching and shivering but Hannibal didn't seem it fit to stop.

A low growl rumbled from his chest as the sound of skin against skin grew, reverberating against the walls of his office. With a loud groan, he also spilled inside you. Coating your walls white, throbbing and pulsating inside you. Filling you up to the brim and he didn't care if you were to get pregnant.

Hannibal was a father once.

To his little sister Mischa.

He wouldn't mind having a child of his own, especially with you.

He fucking loved filling you up and he'd make sure to do it again. After all, you were his now.

The man slowly adjusted himself underneath you on the couch, making you lay on top of his to the side. Arms wrapping tightly around you, he held you pressed against his chest as you came down from your high. His hand brushing your hair gently, caressing your forehead.

Only the fire crackling in the fireplace could be heard, mixed with the soft uneven rhythms of your breathing. You couldn't believe you'd slept with Hannibal, right after your best friend had a literal outburst about it. Guilt took over and you slowly sat up, grabbing Hannibal’s shirt from the floor to cover yourself up with it.

“You're thinking.” He commented.

You looked at him and sighed. “I have this guilt consuming me.”

Hannibal reached over, brushing your hair behind. Playing with the strands. “Why's that?”

“Will is unstable, and I have been there too. I should have heard him out instead of running away from him.” You sighed, shoulders slumped. Hannibal didn't like that, he didn't like that you were feeling bad now. After all he'd done, he couldn't have you feeling bad for Will.

“You reacted according to your trauma, it is completely valid. You were in a situation where you didn't feel safe, so you removed yourself from it.” Thumb caressing against your cheek, he smiled. It was subtle. “You should prioritize yourself more often.”

Somewhere Hannibal was right too.

You leaned against his chest, closing your eyes. Then you felt a stinging sensation in the back of your nape. It hurt but it wasn't extreme, like something had pierced you. Just then you looked up and saw Hannibal already staring at you.

Your vision became distorted.

“Hannibal..?” You called out, confused and in a daze. “What's happening?”

“Go to sleep, Darling. You'll be alright soon enough.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and fear filled you up. Just what was happening? The man held you in his embrace, caressing your cheek as you slowly lost all control of your limbs and fell against his chest.

Darkness dragged you in, from your feet and the last thing you remembered was seeing Hannibal with a syringe in his hand.

[bosbas]

Chapter 6: you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, angst, miscommunication (ish), lots of feelings in this one, benedict actually being the biggest idiot known to man, slow burn continues to slowly burn

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: kind of a Benedict heavy chapter oops

May 29, 1814 - The Featherington Ball two nights prior proved quite the romantic affair, prompting not one, not two, but three proposals in its aftermath. The inquisitive minds among you may inquire, 'To whom were these proposals directed?' But the more important question, dearest reader, is of the identity of the proposer. The answer is quite simple: it was Mr Nigel Berbrooke on all three occasions. And so, the members of the ton may be unsurprised to find that Mr Berbrooke was met with three swift rejections. One hopes that Mr Berbrooke will have a shift in fortune at the Smythe-Smith musicale tomorrow night. 

Among other news, our esteemed diamond has fled the spotlight. Miss Y/N Beaumont has not been spotted in the ton since the night of the Featherington ball. While Mr. Alexander Beaumont, her brother, cited an awful headache as the reason for her early departure from the ball, this author wonders whether Miss Beaumont was simply through with the social scene. One could certainly not blame her if Nigel Berbrooke is the only man of the ton who has taken romantic action this season. Hopefully, the Smythe-Smith abode will provide a better stage for young love, and if not, then at least the musicale will undoubtedly prove very entertaining. 

As Francesca finished her dramatic reading of the Whistledown column, she was met with resounding laughter from her siblings. Although Nigel Berbrooke's lackluster success in his romantic pursuits was amusing in itself, Lady Whistledown's sharp wit and Francesca's theatrical flare only added to the absurdity of his situation. 

Even Benedict, who was in a disagreeable mood because he hadn't spoken to you since the ball, couldn't help but chuckle. Eloise, breathless from laughter, extended her heartfelt condolences to the three unfortunate ladies who had fallen victim to the decidedly disagreeable Mr. Berbrooke. 

"Three proposals in two days, all met with rejection? Positively ghastly," remarked Anthony, shaking his head in amusement. 

Hyacinth was quick with a playful dig at her older brother. "Bold of you to assume you would be more successful than him, brother," came her retort, met with more giggles from her sisters and a feigned gasp of offense from Anthony.

"I assure you I absolutely would, dear Hyacinth. To start, I would refrain from pursuing three women at once. But you can rest peacefully knowing that whenever I choose to propose, my future wife will say yes in an instant," he drawled, a playful arrogance underscoring his words.

"I'd certainly like to see you try," Ben spoke, a slight edge to his voice. "Proposing to someone, I mean." Anthony turned to face his brother on the couch and raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. 

He retorted with an equally cutting edge to his voice, "In reality, Benedict, it seems that you are in a better position to propose than I am, don't you think?"

As the thick tension in the room became palpable, Francesca, Eloise, and Hyacinth held their breath in anxious anticipation. Though neither brother displayed outward aggression, their words carried an unmistakable undercurrent of intensity.

Benedict's breathing grew heavier, his eyes narrowing. Keeping his temper in check, he shot back sarcastically, "And what, pray tell, gives you that impression, dear brother?" Silent ripples of anger emanated from him, and the Bridgerton sisters felt a rising unease as the dispute seemed on the verge of eruption.

Sharp and deadly, Anthony's voice cut through the charged silence of the sitting room, "The fact that you already have someone to propose to, perhaps."

Anthony had barely finished speaking when Benedict rose abruptly, hands formed into tight fists at his sides. With a murderous look on his face, he ground out, "Actually, I don't believe I do." 

Seeing Anthony open his mouth to respond, Ben cut in quickly, pure poison dripping from his voice, "You are mistaken, Anthony. I have absolutely no one to propose to. There is simply nothing there. Nothing that a marriage can be built on, at least. I am aware that Y/N is looking for a husband, but it will most certainly not be me."

Hyacinth let out a quiet gasp of disbelief, quickly covering her mouth. Benedict swiftly stormed out of the room, leaving his siblings in dumbfounded silence. After a brief pause, Anthony shook his head, cursing under his breath and running after Benedict.

Benedict could barely feel his legs, white-hot anger flooding through him as he made his way to his bedroom. Typically, in such intense moments, he sought solace outdoors or channeled his frustrations into his art. But he had spent too many afternoons watching your nose scrunch as you laughed on the swings with him in the garden, and the walls of his studio were entirely filled with endless incomplete sketches of you, so he found the prospect rather unbearable at the moment. 

But he felt Anthony's firm hand on his shoulder before he could reach the staircase. Rolling his eyes and turning around, Ben spat a callous, "What?"

"Benedict, you are being ridiculous," came Anthony's response, in a tone of voice that was not unkind. "I cannot pretend to understand the inner workings of your friendship with Y/N, but I do know that you are inadvertently distracting her from finding a husband."

Entirely disarmed by his brother's change in tone, Benedict let out a long breath, defeated. He ran his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated by his impossible situation.

"Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to let her go," pressed Anthony carefully, aware of the sensitivity of the topic. "I doubt she is aware of it herself, but the girl clearly has some sort of feelings for you, and you are only leading her on, so to speak."

Benedict could only nod, anxiously chewing at his lower lip. He knew his actions at the Featherington ball were not helping in your search for a husband, but it hurt just as much to stay away. Either way, Ben was desperate to speak with you. He knew he had to give you space, but it had been two days of complete silence from both of you, and he was itching to apologize properly.

---

As you waited outside of the Bridgerton residence, you shifted on your feet. Usually, you were happy to walk in unannounced, the closeness between your family and the Bridgertons removing the need for formalities. But you were nervous to see Ben. You hadn't seen him in a few days, let alone spoken to him, and you really would rather not have the conversation you were about to have with him. Cass suggested sending him a letter, but you couldn't imagine him opening it alone, reading that you wanted distance from him. It was much better to do this in person, and hopefully, he would understand your situation. He would have to, as the Smythe-Smith musicale was tonight, and both of you would be in attendance. 

Steeling yourself, you opened the front door and walked in, greeting the butler with a smile and a short wave, as you usually did. You practically skipped to the back door, eager to see Benedict despite dreading the difficult conversation ahead. You found him on the swings, staring off into the vast expanse of the Bridgerton garden. As you reached him, you tapped his shoulder three times and uttered a soft "Hi, Ben."

Immediately turning toward you, his face lit up in joy, and he stood up to hug you tight, spinning you around. "Well, hello! It's been far too long. How have you been?" 

As you both settled into the swings, you cleared your throat uncomfortably. "I've been alright. How about you?" 

"I've been alright. Anthony has been as irritating as ever, but unfortunately, there's no cure for that at the minute," he answered, earning a soft laugh from you. 

But your face dropped quickly, and you found yourself anxiously chewing your lip and staring into his perceptive eyes. Wordlessly, he asked you what was wrong with a slight tilt of his head and furrow of his brow. 

You cleared your throat again and spoke, "I apologize for running off the other night. I feel like I should explain myself. I've had some time to think in the past few days, and I do realize that I overreacted a bit, and for that, I am sorry." 

He reached over to grab your hand, rubbing his thumb in a comforting manner. Although it pained you, and you wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch, you carefully took your hand out of his grasp and set it in your own lap. A look of hurt flashed briefly across his eyes, and you felt your throat tighten and your stomach ache. But you had to continue. You had to get it all out now while you still had momentum.

"I just-" you paused. "Um, it might... benefit me... if we took some time apart," you said. You knew Benedict was trying to hide how crestfallen he truly was, but you knew him too well to be oblivious to his pain. 

You quickly jumped into your loosely prepared speech, "I don't mean away completely! And I don't mean forever, of course. I just think I could benefit from us... not acting how we usually do while I am trying to attract suitors."

He let your words hang in the air, fully processing what you were saying. "Of course, whatever you need. I'm sorry if I was distracting you from-"

"No!" you cut in. "Not at all! I think I was more distracting myself. This is not your fault in the least, Ben, and I'm sorry it's affecting you."

With a small smile, he shook his head, "It's quite alright, darling. I understand completely."

Except you really didn't think he understood. At all. 

"Maybe... maybe we could refrain from dancing at future balls? And perhaps it is not the best idea for you to call me darling. Or kiss me on the forehead. And I know I get anxious sometimes, and you really do help me when you hold my hand, but maybe we could refrain from that as well? And I still want to see you loads, obviously, but maybe I won't ignore any potential suitors who come calling in the mornings in favor of coming to see you here."

Benedict was staring at you dumbly. Hearing you say, out loud, everything that needed to change, it was astounding to him how close of a friendship the two of you had. But he understood. Oh, did he understand. And he would do anything for you, even if anything involved giving up ballroom dances, because, let's be honest, who else would he dance with if not you. He realized you were staring at him expectantly, and he nodded quickly.

"Yes, yes, of course, dar-" He cringed internally. Perhaps this would be more challenging than expected. "Yes, of course, Y/N," he finished. 

You smiled back gratefully, responding, "Well, that's settled then."

---

Benedict's earlier confidence in his ability to refrain from touching you was proving to be completely misguided. He had been at the musicale for barely an hour before he felt himself nearly vibrating with the need to be close to you. He had watched as you talked with suitor after suitor, patiently waiting for you to come over when you had a spare moment. But the spare moment never came. You were utterly enthralled in your conversations, not even sparing him a glance. The only time you had spoken to him was a small "Hello!" in passing as you walked across the ballroom holding Lord Egerton's forearm. At least you were not ignoring him purposefully, but he was still moping dejectedly about the ballroom, unable to join in the lively banter his siblings and yours always provided.

His night had not improved much by the time the musicale was over. His mother had pleaded with him to dance with Penelope Featherington, and he had begrudgingly complied. Of course, he usually enjoyed the girl's company, but tonight, he would have preferred to sulk in a corner of the ballroom by himself. Ben had also gone to the terrace with Colin and Alex but quickly opted to go back inside and torture himself by keeping an eye on you. The whole time he observed you, he could feel an unpleasant feeling deep in his stomach that traveled up his torso until it settled uncomfortably in his chest. It was an exercise in masochism, watching you flirt and smile and even giggle with other men. But Ben knew he could do nothing about it, aside from stewing in his own despair, of course. You had explicitly asked him for a chance to properly be courted without his interference, and it would be cruel to disallow you that. 

While Benedict had a relatively uneventful but painful evening, you barely had a moment to yourself. Gentleman after gentleman, followed by mama after mama, came to ask you to dance or talk to you. You smiled through it all, of course, but as the night wore on, you became more and more irritable, finding that you simply wanted to go and chat to Benedict for a few minutes, to take a break from social niceties and have a laugh or two with him, at least. But you needed to stay focused, or your talk with Ben would have been for nothing.

After hours of listening to the grueling sounds of the Smythe-Smiths playing various instruments, you rejoiced when your mother interrupted your conversation with some earl or viscount and his mother. Their names escaped you, but at this point in the night, you were proud of yourself for even giving them more than one-word answers. Politely excusing yourself from the pair, you smiled gratefully at your mother, who only laughed good-naturedly at your distress. 

"I didn't see you talking to Ben much tonight. Is everything alright with the two of you?" 

You looked at your mother, cringing. "That obvious, was it?"

She gave you a questioning look and smiled, answering, "Given that the two of you usually are attached at the hip at every event you attend, yes, it was quite obvious."

You rolled your eyes at her, hiding how truly upset you were that you and Ben had taken some time apart. "We were not that attached! Besides, it's only one ball where I was more focused on finding a husband than my best friend. You should be happy!"

---

It had not, in fact, been only one ball. You had now gone five consecutive balls without dancing with Benedict. Opportunities to talk with you at these events were scarce, and he was lucky if he managed to secure a mere five minutes alone. Colin had noticed him looking dejected and morose at every social event, not that Ben was trying particularly hard to hide it, and asked about you. Benedict's response to his brother's concern was curt and evasive, a gruff "everything is fine." 

Despite the distance, Ben found solace in your afternoons together after you had finished seeing callers. The moment you saw him, you would relax and launch into a lengthy explanation of the latest exciting information you had acquired from the vast library in the Beaumont home since none of the "so-called gentlemen" bothered to listen to you, as you put it. 

He did enjoy your ramblings and appreciated the opportunity to ramble himself, launching into detailed studies of his favorite artists of the time. However, he was finding himself less able to put on a happy front when he barely talked to you for days at a time. At this point, he was not even harboring any negative feelings toward any of your suitors; he just missed you. His days felt empty and long, not having been apart from you for this long since before you could speak, probably. His family had noticed, and he was growing sick of their soft voices and careful treatment of him. He just wanted you back. He wanted to feel your head on his lap again and spend hours by your side in his art studio, painting on a canvas as you sat near him and read. Most of all, he missed the comfortable intimacy that came with your friendship, the quiet understanding that had been feeling out of sorts since you asked him for some space. 

So, when you had bounded into the Bridgerton home this afternoon, carrying a new book in tow, he knew he couldn't go on the way the two of you were right now. You immediately noticed Benedict's tense mood, even more so than usual, and did not relent until he spoke to you about what was bothering him. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to say, having also felt his absence to the point of distraction, and had prepared to have a talk with Ben whenever he was ready. You would usually give in to anything he asked of you, having little to no self-control when it came to Benedict Bridgerton, but you knew you had to be strong today. 

Seeing his bloodshot eyes, you placed a comforting hand on Ben's shoulder, breaking one of your rules but not finding it in you to care. He put his hand over yours, instantly feeling better than he had in over a week.

"It's just hard, isn't it? Have you felt it, too?" he looked at you, feeling a tad vulnerable.

You looked away, unable to meet his eyes for fear that you would start crying. You took a breath before answering, steeling yourself. "I have. It is proving to be quite difficult. But I need to find a husband, Ben," you said, your voice firm. "So, unless you're willing to marry me, it does have to be like this," you tried to make a lighthearted comment, but the crack in your voice gave you away too easily. 

Your words left him speechless, and if he was completely candid, he could have cried right then and there. Benedict understood what you were saying. What you were implying, rather. And he shook his head, voice soft, "I can't do that, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

Of course, you had expected this answer, but it didn't make it any less difficult to know that Ben was still opposed to the idea of marrying you after having experienced the last week or so. So you nodded, finally looking at him, a sad smile gracing your lips. 

"I guess that's our answer, then," you spoke. 

Your words were a complete blow to his chest. He felt like he was going to be sick. Because, of course, this didn't only mean that the two of you would not be married, something Benedict already knew. This meant that your friendship could truly never be the same. The search for a husband you didn't even want was simply an insurmountable obstacle. 

At least for today, he could still pretend things were normal. Your hand was still enclosed in his, and for a moment, he could forget all that had transpired and just enjoy the feel of your skin against his and the promise of an afternoon full of your entertaining and lighthearted literary commentary. 

---

Violet was at her wit's end. She could recognize that her son was being a complete idiot, said with affection, of course. However, Violet would not stand for you, Benedict's best friend, her own best friend's daughter, looking absolutely heartbroken night after night, talking to men who would never understand you in the way that Ben did, and who did not even want to try. She knocked on his studio door and, upon entering, let out a deep sigh at the sheer volume of sketches of your face, your hands, your eyes, and just you in general that adorned her son's art studio. 

The dowager viscountess cleared her throat with an air of authority, ready to give Benedict some much-needed tough love. Once she had made herself comfortable, sitting on the couch facing Ben, Violet clasped her hands in front of her. She could tell Ben was already dreading what she was going to say.

"Benedict, my sweet. You know, when I married your father, I was over the moon to be marrying someone I was not only in love with but also someone I could call my dear friend. In my experience, friendship as the foundation of a marriage creates the best kind of partnership."

Ignoring Benedict's increasingly tense energy, she continued, "I know you have an extraordinary friendship with Y/N. Everyone knows, actually. One can very clearly see that the two of you care for one another, and a friendship as special as that is not easy to come by." 

Seeing her son open his mouth to interject, Violet silenced him with a stern look, not in the mood to be interrupted. "I fear that if you do not take advantage of this wonderful gift you have been given, your best friend will end up married to another man, and your friendship will be lucky to survive."

Benedict had had quite enough already. Anthony, then you, his mother, and even Hyacinth and Colin were all telling him the same thing, clearly not understanding that he simply did. Not. Want. To. Marry. You. 

He was through feeling wounded; his hurt had transformed into full-blown anger. Being mindful to keep his voice in check, he spoke with as loud of a voice as was appropriate, desperate for anyone to actually listen to what he was saying. 

"Mother, I appreciate your concern. But as I have told Anthony, Y/N, Hyacinth, and Colin, I do not wish to marry Y/N. I did not want to marry her two months ago, before her debut, and I do not want to marry her now. I am sick of everyone telling me what I want or what they think I should do. I know that I do not want her, and that will be the end of the discussion, thank you very much."

Benedict barely processed his mother's sympathetic look in response to his declaration, ignoring the hand he felt on his shoulder. Disappointed and a bit sad for your future, Violet walked out of his studio, knowing Ben wouldn't continue the conversation further. 

Of course, what Benedict had told his mother was a lie. A lie so often repeated in his head he had been inclined to believe it for the better part of the last decade of your friendship. But deep down, Benedict knew it wasn't the truth. 

The truth was that marriage was your worst nightmare. He was all too familiar with your grievances toward the institution, having heard you talk about your distaste for having to find a husband since childhood. Ben had spent years by your side, listening to you express your aversion to marriage over and over again. You were convinced you would be miserable after being wed, endlessly searching for something more: a freedom you thought you could never achieve once you were married. 

And so, he could not marry you. It was selfish, to be sure, but he did not want your distaste and displeasure with marriage directed at him. He would give you anything else, but not this. In Benedict's opinion, if he married you, you would grow to dislike him, feeling trapped within the confines of your relationship. 

Throughout your shared childhood, Ben watched you grow into an incredibly smart woman, and your growth inevitably brought about a growing hostility toward your future as a wife. He was intimately familiar with the fear that brought about this hostility, and he couldn't bring himself to be the person who made these fears come true.

Benedict knew that the two of you could learn to love each other if you were married. This was, of course, assuming that he wasn't already in love with you, which he could not bear to think about properly. He just didn't think he could survive it. Having a front-row seat to the unhappiness you would feel after being married and watching you fall out of love with him because of it. He simply couldn't be the cause of that. He cared about you too much to take that risk. So he chose to stay away instead, even if it meant the end of years of close friendship and love and intimacy. 

—

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Tag List (lmk if you want to be added!): @bellahadidnt16

[straydogcollector]

Darling, I actually tried to write you poetry. It fucking rhymes and everything.

Roses are red

Hannibal is shit

I think you are gorgeous

Can you lemme hit?

I’m just fucking with you, here’s the actual one. The rhythm’s a little off, but I hope you don’t hate it. I don’t bust out my shitty writing skills for just anyone, you know.

You smile like sunlight, soft and bright,

A fleeting spark—uncommon sight.

It dances warm, yet sharp and keen,

A quiet glow in depths unseen.

Your smile speaks in subtle art—

And steals its way into my heart.

It’s only gay if you make it gay and shit. Which you said you weren’t, so this just one guy showing off his writing to another guy very casual-like.

— Nigel

That was funny, Nigel. I do like the actual poem, as well.

[parallaxshift-raki]

If you could assign constellations to your associates/friends what would they be and why?

I don't know much about constellations but I'd love to hear you talk about it :)

- 🧷

I actually spent some time thinking about this. It’s a interesting question, astronomy as a mirror for people. It’s not the first time I’ve made that comparison in my head.

So Nigel would probably be Andromeda. There’s something about Andromedas story that reminds me of him , chained and waiting, not exactly helpless, but holding back. Andromeda’s one of those constellations that’s easy to overlook unless you know where to look. But once you do, you stay looking. He’s like that. Quiet and beautiful, and much more capable than most realize. There’s distance there too. Something unspoken and mysterious. And maybe that’s part of it.

Abby is Lyra. Steady, constant sound in the background that makes everything else feel less chaotic. She’s the kind of friend that doesn’t try to change the rhythm, she plays along, and somehow makes the melody make sense. She won’t try to change but instead accept the people around her. I trust her more than I trust most people. Probably more than I know to articulate.

Duncan is definitely Ursa Major. He’s calm and grounded. One of those people you automatically listen to when they speak. Like the Big Dipper, It’s just always been there. Reliable. Big presence. Never unpleasantly overwhelming.

I see Tonny as Gemini. There is some sort of double-sided energy to him. Always talking, always bouncing between ten things at once. Sometimes it’s annoying. But he makes things feel alive. That counts for something. Very unapologetically himself.

Beth… She’d be Scorpius..I think. There was beauty, but also something sharp underneath. I thought I understood her. Maybe I didn’t. It’s hard not to associate that constellation with betrayal once you’ve been stung by someone you trusted. But I also think Scorpius is about change. You don’t walk away from it unchanged.

Lastly Hannibal , Aquarius. There’s a logic to him that i understand. The kind of person who thinks about everything three steps ahead. Our conversations are always sharp. Always interesting. We don’t need to be close emotionally to have a kind of mutual respect, and I appreciate that.

That’s how I see it right now.

That could change, maybe it won’t.

[nightfurylover31]

I’ve seen a few recent posts about Amy’s character recently. Saying “she’s not allowed to chase Sonic is bad” or “they took her perkiness,” etc. Now, if you guys think how she’s being written is bad, then you guys should see Amy in the Fleetway comics. I read them, and much as I enjoyed her, there is very little “Amy about her.

While Amy did start off as the lovestruck girl, she would go through a lot of changes. Even though she was the newest member of the Freedom Fighters, yes Fleetway used the same name, she quickly rose to being the brains, as well as second-in-command. Whenever Sonic got pulled away on solo missions or incapacitated, which happened a lot, Amy was the one who took the lead. I do like how this Amy uses a crossbow instead of a hammer, this was before Sonic the Fighters.

And if people think Amy in IDW is bland, boy do they need a double check! While Amy did seem to have feelings for Sonic in the beginning, it would eventually dwindle completely out of existence. Nigel Kitching would later go on to say that crush might have been just to annoy Sonic. And while a lot of the characters have their own flaws, Amy pretty much has none. She’s always right, comes up with the winning strategies, sharp-witted, and hardly ever loses her cool. And all the cheerfulness and compassion Amy is usually known for is not there. Let me put it another way. You know how Amy was able to talk down Gamma and Shadow? This Amy would more than likely just shoot them with her crossbow.

I really, REALLY hate to say this, but Fleetway Amy is the one that really comes off as a Sally knock off. I like both characters, and it feels insulting to both of them to say that, but it’s true. Especially with how Deborah Tate and Lew Stringer took over for writing. Tate wanted a more level headed version for girls, but this took away anything lot that could lead to character development. Heck, even Amy’s backstory was changed. Even though she was easily captured in her first appearance, in issue #127, the origins of her pink coloring, she took down a base all by herself. This happened before she met Sonic.

While I agree Amy has been very toned down from what she was in the 2000s, some of her old habits are still there. She hugs Sonic, she gets lovestruck eyes, and throws out the occasional flirt. And she still has her moments of comfort and encouragement. Like reassuring Jewel during the forest fire, She also didn’t fully trust Surge and Kit, but still wanted to give them a chance to change. Amy can even lose her temper at times, she just doesn’t direct to towards her friends.

As for her leading, she was operations commander in Sonic Forces, and she has led her own teams in various other games. But leading an entire organization, one where Knuckles was no longer co-leader, that was too much. And we didn’t have an extended enough cast established yet for someone else to take over. If you look deeper into Amy’s character of how she is portrayed now, you still see some of her old self.

[thetreehousechronicles]

Operation F.A.L.L.E.N Semi Lore Drop

For the incredible Kenny, that made me that amazing Wally artwork! Here some Wally lore!

Tw: Heavy Angst! This will be very hard to read and very sad, please read with your caution. Also, on a side note, he is not a kid in this au and he wasn't when he was writing this. He's aged up in this au.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

Journal Entry

I don’t know the date. Days don’t matter here anymore.

My hands won’t stop shaking.

I don’t even know why I bother writing this. No one’s gonna find it. No one’s coming. But if I don’t get this out of my head, it’s gonna eat me alive. Maybe it already has.

I don’t remember how long I’ve been in this place. A few weeks? Months? I’ve lost count. The clocks don’t work here. The sun doesn’t shine. Time’s just a smear of blood, screams, and cold concrete walls. This whole tower’s a tomb.

They call it the “Tower of Hell.” Honestly? That’s putting it nicely.

Cree’s gang — the raiders — they said they were rescuing us. Said they were building something new, something better. That we’d be part of it. I believed her. That’s the worst part. I actually believed her.

They didn’t save us. They caged us.

Every day they toss us into this death pit and make us fight like animals. You fall from the top, land hard, then it starts. Blades, fists, rusted metal — whatever you can grab. It’s kill or be killed. And I’ve killed.

Too many times.

I remember every face. Not their names, just their eyes. Scared. Begging. Some of them didn’t even want to fight. But it doesn’t matter what they want. They scream, and I silence them. And then I win. And then I do it again.

Over.

And over.

And over.

I keep thinking — what’s left of me after all this? Am I even still Wally?

They’ve done things to me. I’m not right anymore.

The Veloura spores… they’re inside me now. They use ‘em like weapons, make us breathe ‘em in, inject ‘em straight into our systems. I don’t even know what they’ve done to me. I can feel it under my skin, crawling, pulsing. I don’t sleep anymore. I barely eat. But somehow, I’m stronger. Faster. My reflexes are too sharp. I don’t miss anymore.

My eyes… they glow now. Bright. I can see in the dark. I don’t need light. I am light in this black pit. But it’s not a gift. It’s a target. A beacon for their freak experiments. I’m their glowing little monster. Their success story.

They cheer when I fight. They bet on me. Laugh when I fall. Patch me up just enough to throw me back in.

I hate them.

I hate what they turned me into.

I hate that I let them.

And what scares me most? I’m starting to hate myself.

I remember things. Flashes. Kuki laughing. Hoagie yelling something dumb. Abby rolling her eyes. Even Nigel — serious as always, trying to keep us all alive.

And now?

Now I don’t even know if any of them made it.

Except Nigel. I saw him. He came with his group he was going to save some of the prisoners. Just for a second. He looked right at me. I remember his face, covered in dirt and blood, eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost.

He told me he’d come back. Swore it.

He promised.

I held onto that like it was the only thing left keeping me from breaking.

But he’s not here.

And I’m still breaking.

I don’t know if he couldn’t come back, or just didn’t. Doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters now is the pain. The silence. The way my heart doesn’t even jump when the alarms blare anymore. I just… exist here. Breathe. Bleed. Kill. Sleep — if I’m lucky.

But I want more.

I want to remember what sunlight feels like. What clean air smells like. What it feels like to laugh without it being followed by a punch in the face or a scream echoing through the vents.

I want to stop being scared of mirrors. Scared of what I’ve become.

I want out.

Even if I have to claw through every level of this hellhole. Even if I have to become something worse than what they already made me.

Just… to feel like a person again.

Just to be free.

Please...

Please...

Just let me be free.

Someone...

Anyone...

Please...

Save me.

[lorifragolina]

The Devil Wears Metal

Finally my last entry for Metalsandwich Movie Mania! @now-showing-at-the-hawk-events!

It was originally thought for the Iconic Movie prompt out yesterday but I just missed the day, so, I post it today!

I really venerate The Devil wears Prada and it's so iconic to me that started thinking and preparing this entry the last year when I first knew about the event, and even so I was able to miss the date!! I couldn't stop me making our Metalsandwich version, although I cheated a little but a prequel and a sequel are possible!

Read it in AO3

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove/Eddie Munson Cast: Eddie Munson as Miranda Priestly Billy Hargrove as Emily Charlton Steve Harrington as Andrea Sachs With the special appearance of: Dustin Henderson as Nigel Kipling Robin Buckley as Lily Heather Holloway as Serena

Rating: Mature Word count:9390

One of my favourite dialogues above the line, I had really so much fun writing it!

“Come on, we have the cover briefing in 5 minutes, that means we are 10 minutes late” smiled Dustin, dusting the crumbs from Steve’s shirt.

Eddie was already there with Heather and another girl, and Gareth took inside two guitar amps almost identical.

“Stand here, watch and listen,” said Dustin, reaching Eddie’s side. Gareth plugs a guitar in one of the amps.

“Where’s my pick?” asking Eddie, and the girl runned searching in a box. “Why is no one ready?” Eddie grunted and raised a brow.

He wore the guitar’s strap and played a chord, then tested a string, adjusting the keys. Then they plugged the guitar in the other amp and played again.

“No,” he said, doing it another couple of times. “Listen? That little sting in the high”.

The sound seemed absolutely the same to Steve, and he was a little bored. 

Gareth nodded. “It seems completely different”.

Steve chuckled, snorting behind his notebook. “Something funny?” Eddie raised a brow. A stone cold silence fell on the room, and Billy came out from his desk and got close to listen. “No… no, no, I’m sorry, nothing” Eddie’s glance was so sharp that he just couldn’t stop himself. “This is… those sounded exactly the same to me… but, don’t mind me, I’m still learning about this stuff”. “This… Stuff?” Eddie growled slowly, in a low voice that was able to turn off all the sounds around him. “Oh, I see… You think this has nothing to do with you. You turn on your radio, your MTV, and think that you can listen to your easy pop just to fill the silence just while you do your laundry. You think that you should play a whatever instrument and mix it with a computer and dance it at a club when you’re drunk. But this is not just playing. This is not just pop music. This is technique. But you don’t bother to think that those tragic pop albums you listen to when cleaning are the job of a lot of musicians that spend a lot of their time searching for the right sound for you to bounce your little head. And it was in 1990 that U2 decided to explore new sounds and tried a lot of different equipment to release that album that you are wearing right now and probably you found at a tragic gas station, in the casual corner. You think this all is not about you, but in fact you’re listening to something that had been selected and produced in this very room, by those very people, playing with this stuff ”.

[dirtfullofwork]

call of duty oc: sal "ruz" le ciel ( reboot ! Sal)

As of 2024 ruz is associated members of the task force and was called in by laswell to assist the task force with a mission in Las almas with the help of Ghost, Alejandro and soap to capture Hassan.

General:

Name: Salamanca (sal) le Ciel

Age: 24 (as of 2022 where mw2 reboot takes place)

Alies: ruz , coperal, sal, ruzzy

Gender: female

Birthday: October 31, 1998

Nationality: British (UK)

Languages: English, Spanish, some Russian (for educational purposes) and some asain languages

Occupation/ rank: corporal, British SAS (special air services), Associated member of 141- Ghost team and medic

Sexuality: bisexual

Appearance:

Hair color: dark brown

Eye color: cocoa brown

Scars: a few some her childhood and during her time in the militarily (minor ones)

Face claim: Aimee Garcia (?)

Height: 5,6 (166 cm)

Build: lean muscular

Blood type: o+

She had glasses but she can see fairly she mostly uses glasses to read

Family:

Mother: freya (unknown last name) status: Deceased , deceased unnamed father, Martinez le Ciel

Siblings: none.

Personality:

●Looks like a cinnamon bun could kill you.

●confident

●kind

●funny

●loyal

Favorites:

color: green

Season: winter

Food: popcorn shrimp, (she really likes Asian food)

Drink: green tea

Desert: matcha ice cream with rice crisp and also soft cookies (hand baked)

Hobbies: wrestling, running, yard work, gardening, reading, sleep

Task force 141:

John price

Soap mactavish

Ghost Riley

Gaz Garrick

Ruz

Cat @cyberghostdraws

Warriors task force: @islandtarochips ocs!

Tiala shark

Captian kanoa tka

Nigel Harrison

Agnes blast

Dr kalani

Alana Kalani

Fighting style:

Fighting skills: she relys of stealth, she also use her wresting skills she learned. She also uses toture methods like nail pulling, fire, water log

Weapons: she is proficient with in field crafts and knifes. Especially her black talon knife. Its a blade with a slight curve and needle sharp tip

Weaknesses:

•she dosent open to her emotions

•she is a people pleaser, she never knows how to say no

●she can be dishonest

●she can be reluctant

Trivia:

●she is afraid of dogs, she thinks hairy ,messy and sloppy and they are just scary in general, she loves cats

●she loves reading Greek mythology

●she is a Virgin, she thinks love will get in the way of her life and job, and she's just serious about love as she never dated anyone.

•she likes tying her hair up, but always gets messy after missions

•she has glasses but only for reading she can see afar

•she likes girls and boys romantically

Backstory:

At a very young age her mother died from an accidental overdose and her never meeting her father due to him being locked up for murder. She was raised by her aunt, Martinez le Ceil. She lived a decent life, she was fed well raised well to her. And she also heard storys of her late mother being a retired solider and she use to be so inspired by her story and wanted to be her mother one day, but it was hard. Later she decided she should change her life because she didint have no clue what to do with his life and pay off her aunts (Martinez) depts. And thought it be fun.. oh she be so wrong..

so after some years later sal learned tons of stuff, and over time she joined the British sas at the age 19 where she got her code name “ruz”, later she was later called for a mission in El Salvador to kill a group of terrorist and to get info on a report of a drug stash with a few co workers , and after a fail she had to watch her only friend co worker get killed in front of her in a brutal way while she was held hostage then got tortured for 4 days until she escaped but not without a mark, months after that things were normal until she got called by laswell to help them with a mission to las Almas.

[ao3feed-kathony]

One Wild Night

read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/65737612 by benophiefan On the night of Mayfair High School’s senior prom, everything begins as expected—but quickly unravels into a series of unexpected turns, reunions, revelations, and one too many fast-food runs. As the Bridgerton family juggles personal chaos, emotional entanglements, and one very stubborn corgi, their lives shift in subtle but permanent ways. Words: 8416, Chapters: 2/8, Language: English Fandoms: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen, F/F Characters: Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett | Sophie Baek, Penelope Featherington, Simon Basset, Phillip Crane, Michaela Stirling, Gareth St. Clair, Lucy Abernathy (Bridgerton), Felicity Featherington, Cressida Cowper, Theo Sharpe, Nicky Mondrich, Newton (Bridgerton), Nigel Berbrooke Relationships: Anthony & Benedict & Colin & Daphne & Eloise & Francesca & Gregory & Hyacinth Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett | Sophie Baek/Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Simon Basset/Daphne Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton/Phillip Crane, Francesca Bridgerton/Michaela Stirling Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, set in New York, Prom, Car Accidents, Blind Date, Bridgertons Being Bridgertons, Bridgerton Family Feels read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/65737612

[safetypin-non]

Noted. You can’t be considered a homewrecker if there isn’t anything there with Will or Adam to begin with, sadly…

Huh. I don’t know much about that terminology, but a friend’s a friend. God knows I don’t have many of those. You’re a darling guy and sweet as hell, Ursuleț. Fun to fuck around and talk dirty with. I’m not in love with you romantically speaking, but I wanna keep an eye on you. Take care of you or something, I don’t know. I care, is what I’m trying to fucking say. Not in the same familial way as I care about Abby—wouldn’t dream of saying half the nasty shit I say to you to my goddamn niece—despite the two of you not being that different in age (Jesus fucking Christ…). But I don’t think it’ll make things weirder than it already is.

— Nigel

[Would you prefer a more private form of communication? Communicating through asks would be rather public.]

[12.5 hour shifts sound exhausting. And I hope you are able to move out soon. I’m glad the previous message helped in a way.]

I would be most honored to be one of your closest friends, Domnule.

And hey, I don't care who your heart's set on, I'll gladly wingman you every step of the way. Cross my heart.

This is gonna sound corny as shit but you do help me feel more like a guy. Like one of the guys. I mean I still hate beer and tobacco but.....there's other ways two guys can have fun ;)

(P.S. we will not speak a word of this to Abby.)

(P.P.S. Abby if you're reading this- no you're not!)

// Yes I'd be open to that! DM's are open for you!

[penguinotaku]

Vampire Cars at a Private Pub

*Takes places after the events of the Vampire Cars 2 AU*

Pub song has my most favorite verse lyrics in Neath! a Fallen London Song by The Stupdendium. At about 7:48.

Every now and then, the vampiric WGP racers and C.H.R.O.M.E spy often find themselves in a pub that is set deep underground, far from the scorching sunlight (as if London could get sunny but no one wants to risk that after the Buckingham Palace incident). Mostly to commiserate on their unrunning state.

Leland Turbo starts off the song after a sip of both Rod and Finn's donor fuel. The bluish gray eyes wavering in melancholic determination as the spy car set his glass down with a sigh.

"Every worried soul in this sorry hole. Lost, forgotten and with all tomorrows stole."

Raoul Caroule then picks up the song, Shu's donor fuel now with the hint of the sweet blossoms of his home country. Hints of resentment and vengeance flicker blood red flecks in the icy blue.

"Dead and buried but the dead are very much aware of it and hell, they've paid a horrid toll."

Max his best friend rubs a tire on his elongated wing mirrors. His own raspberry hued eyes shifting slowly to his once previous indigo as he nursed a pint of Nigel's fuel.

"How'd we'd come to be? Down here underneath? Doubt we'll ever feel the sun upon our cheeks."

Carla scoffs as she downs Miguel's fuel in one fell swoop, her blue green paint job creating frost in proximity on her glass.

"Never see another summer but we've one another lust or comfort, love or some relief."

Lewis grumbles under his breath as he tried to focus on the bright sunny smile of Jeff (not just when the engine hitched and sent that mouthwatering aroma into his vents), toying with his own glass of donor fuel.

"Someone to hold me tightly. Someone to treat me rightly. Someone to come down to shun the ennui and boredom."

Long Ge helpfully added his own commentary, sharp electric blue eyes and slitted pupils as he swiped a streak of Vitaly's fuel with a forked tongue off his bumper.

"With one to hold me closely nights mightn't be so lonely. Stranded helpless in the dark and reaching for them."

Francesco's vulnerability was seen in just a millisecond but soon his typical Italian bravado was drawn over his face like a sheet over a cadaver. Although none of the other patrons in the pub bought that for even an instant as he sipped delicately at Sally and Lightning's fuel.

"London town laid to rest underground, but still yet deeper down are we falling, falling, falling, falling."

All of the vampiric cars join in as one at the conclusion of the song, clinking their drinks together to toast their unrunning lives.

[kndrules]

What fashion types would Sector V have? Going beyond "core" type stuff. What would they feel most comfortable wearing? Bonus if it's for both causal and "going out"/fancy.

I definitely have thought about this a lot let's see

Nigel- Well, Nigel is weird because his canon clothing choices are baffling. But you gotta respect it. Shorts in the winter?? Sure. I think Nigel always leans towards looking "put together". Even his most casual outfits will have a clean, sharp quality to them. I definitely subscribe to the idea that he wears leather jackets as a teenager, but as he gets older his style becomes more like "library employee". Sweater vests and always an ironed pair of slacks. Cozy but classy sweaters.

Here's some examples from raverly cuz this is how my brain works now I guess

Another important point about what Nigel wears is that he converts to Judaism as an adult when he marries Lizzie. So throw in some cute fair-isle kippahs.

I always imagined Nigel prefers muted colors, of course leaning towards warmer palettes.

Nigel's formal and casual outfits definitely overlap, but we see in the show that he enjoys dressing black tie given the opportunity (though, notably with a bowtie, not a necktie haha). So in a very formal setting, he's breaking out the James Bond style suits.

Hoagie- I had to rethink the way I make Hoagie dress after my gender headcanons changed for her rather dramatically. But in high school, it's the same because she's not fully out yet. She relies on button down shirts with fun patterns and ironic graphic tees so that she doesn't have to spend much time thinking about what she's wearing, and during this time in particular, I imagine she had a somewhat emo-lite style going on (a lot of black in that waredrobe).

After she starts dressing in a way that's more comfortable for her, I like to draw her in loose, comfortable blouses. I think she still prefers pants over skirts so that she can move freely. And a comfortable pair of sneakers or loafers with added support is important.

This is again a circumstance where casual and formal outfits can overlap. I could see Hoagie not being very good with dressing very formal, preferring to be comfortable. I need to play around with all these ideas for her though.

Kuki- Big, oversized, comfy!!!!!! and CUTE!!!! She loves skirts and tights, not a huge fan of pants but will wear shorts if she has to (shorts with thick leggings underneath if it's cold out). She likes her clothes to be roomy for sensory reasons, and she loves to flap her long sleeves. Another sensory thing is texture- the clothes that touch her skin gotta be soft. I project a lot of my sensory particularities onto her, so she hates denim and any thin, plasticy feeling material. She won't wear something if it's not cute. Bright colors are preferred.

She loves dressing up as a teenager. Knee-length prom-style dresses with frills and glitter are fun!

As she grows up, she has to dress more refined. She still doesn't wear pants, preferring dress suits instead. She doesn't actually like wearing dress suits, but she has to for work. The second she gets home, the comfy clothes come on. There's always a little trace of her personality still on her work and formal clothes as an adult- a little hint of color or something.

Wally- This kid barely gets any new clothes through his adolescence. His sweatshirts and pants are all old, worn out, dirty and gross. This is partially because his parents can't afford much, but he's also resistant to change like that. He likes the clothes he has, they're comfortable and worn-in. He doesn't like the idea of new stuff. Wally likes oversized clothes, too. Baggy sweatshirts and baggy blue jeans. His jeans either have to be hemmed shorter by his mom or they get all muddy and ripped up at the bottom, because they're too long for him. He doesn't care about looking "good", he only cares about looking "like a boy" (based on his own definition of what that means).

Don't bother asking him to dress nice for a formal event. He's just gonna show up in one of these:

In med school and as a doctor, he has to conform to some degree. I've always had this ridiculous headcanon that in med school he starts wearing polo shirts with popped collars, like a classic douchebag. He starts caring about his clothes getting ruined, because clothes have become a status symbol thing to him, and also because he's not used to the idea of "just buying new ones". His clothes still stay comfortable as much as possible, though. He will wear jeans and a t-shirt any time he can. And of course, scrubs are a must. As an adult, he can get through a formal event, but only just barely. He will never know what he's doing in that regard.

Abby- She's a stud, this is so important to my version of her. Her style is kind of "butch-athletic", with relaxed jeans, big t-shirts, jerseys and jackets. And nice sneakers.

(images from pintrest)

(Note that unlike these images, Abby doesn't wear makeup)

A good real life style reference for Abby is the musician Syd

Abby also prefers to keep her hair in protective styles as much as possible, for ease. Since she can't keep her hair like that all the time, in-between styles she still keeps it gently out of the way.

Her style is always pretty casual, but it's easy to dress it up with smart blazers! As an adult, she leans towards casual-ish pants suits. Blazers with regular undershirts and relaxed slacks.

[claire-starsword]

Landstalkers JP manual - Characters, Monsters and Items

Prologue here

Nigel - Protagonist Being a treasure hunter, a sort of thief aiming for treasures and gold, he is burning with enthusiasm when it comes to the treasures of King Nole. He is skilled with the sword and light on his feet. Nigel was born in a small elf village in the mainland, and has dreamed of adventure since he was a child. He's a forest elf, and 88 years old. Friday A kinda mean succubus (little devil) girl. She's 120 years old, and born in Mercator. She can heal others upon eating her favorite food, the EkeEke. Stays on Nigel's bag.

Kayla The boss lady of the trio of stooges who bother Nigel and Friday through their adventure. She has a harsh personality, and punishes Ink and Wally with her whip. No one knows what they want. Duke Mercator The lord dispatched to this island by the emperor of Gamul in the mainland. He lives at Mercator Palace. Being a pleasant guy, he is respected by the islanders, but due to his noble origins, he's not satisfied with life in the island, and holds greater ambitions. Something seems fishy about him.

Princess Lara Princess of the region of Shurel in the country of Maple. She was raised in a strict manner due to being of the royal family, and is thus not used to being in the real world. She speaks nonsense at times. It seems she came to Mercator to study music, but… Wizard Mir A great wizard said to have great magic power. He creeps around the underground of Mercator Palace. Zak A mysterious man who calls himself a bounty hunter, despite being of the noble race of dragonewts. The handsome and playful type. King Nole The tyrant who ruled the continent many centuries ago. Did he hide his vast treasures in this island?

Notes for characters:

Mir isn't underground in game, he lives in a tower away from the actual town.

Let's talk names. Nigel's original name can be read as Ryle or Lyle. I do'nt know why they changed it but I appreciate not having a repeat name with the Shining Force guy, so I stick to it.

Kayla and Lara are Kara and Loria in the original, this is a very meaningless change just to make the names flow better I suppose.

Kayla's goons are not important enough to even have their own profiles here, but I wanna talk about them anyway. Their original names are Goose and Zuwham. Goose is a pretty on the nose name for a bird guy. Zuwham on the other hand is a weird one but after cracking my head about for a while I think it might come from some japanese onomatopoeia for sliding or thumping, and "wham". That because this guy is heavily based on the bouncing ball enemies from Shining in the Darkness, while Goose is based on a treasure chest enemy from there as well.

[Edit: I've since realized that Kayla herself is based on the item shopkeeper of SitD as well. Gang's all here.]

Zak is Zed in the original version.

Monsters Mercator Island is home to people of many different species, but once you take a step out of towns and villages, you find lots of monsters crawling around. Slime An organism born spontaneously due to magical elements drifting in the atmosphere. Its body is mostly liquid, and it envelops opponents with it. It can also move by jumping. Orc Soldier A kind of monster race found anywhere in the world. They movements look sloppy, but they have strong muscles, and crush enemies swinging their axes from above their own head. They fight in groups. Rough Lips A giant carnivorous plant more than one meter tall. They're shaped like mushrooms, and the caps release strange spores. They usually hide underground, and pop up suddenly when an enemy approaches. They're slow, but relentless in their chase, frightening adventurers.

Skeleton Immortal monsters summoned from the world of the dead. Being dead spirits, they don't know fatigue and don't fear death, attacking with sharp sword skills. It might be impossible to dodge they swift stabbing? They can also avoid attacks, blocking the enemy's blade with their shield. Larva An earthworm monster with a human face. They can be larger than two meters, and move underground looking for corpse flesh. Monoeye The strongest hunter race who lives in Mercator since ancient times. Their culture is not very developed. They attack with no mercy those who come into the island. Being more than three meters tall, a swing of their clubs has massive power. They're more violent than other races.

Lizardmen A humanoid race close to reptiles, who live in marshlands and such. They look like dragonewts, but are not a dragon race. They are not very smart, but their skin is incredibly thick so their defense is high. Guard Knight Sword wielding soldiers who are the main force of the personal troops commanded by the lord of Mercator. It's unknown what species is within the armor. The thick armor gives them high defense, but their movement is slow. Unicorn Trooper A humanoid race with unicorn heads, who can be found in big amounts on the Mountain Region. They're known as a warrior race, and many work as mercenaries. They're prodigious fighters, quick and skilled at melee combat. Growl Ghost A by-product of King Nole's evil magic experiments. Swarms endlessly on enemies due to their deep grudges.

Silent Commando The most different monster race out of all summoned by King Nole. They're the dead spirits of those killed in combat during wars with the eastern countries, called by King Nole's strong magical powers. They terrify opponents attacking with absurd jumps and teleportation.

Chaos Visitor As their name says, they're visitors from Chaos, the land of the dead. These monsters too were created by King Nole's magic experiments. Besides gathering treasures, King Nole is said to have also devoted himself to arts such as alchemy and raising the dead. Maneater Monsters that look just like the chests within dungeons. They bite on people who happily approach to grab treasure. Most believe they come from the grudges of old treasures hunters lost during their hunts. Hangman Immortal monsters said to bring others to their death. To protect King Nole's throne, they were turned into their current evil forms. Many monsters were born due to King Nole in this way.

Notes on monsters: I used the japanese names here since the english one are barely used anyway, and these are more interesting. Not totally sure about the ghost one, but others should be okay.

Equipment and Items for Nigel Swords Broad Sword A regular sword made of reinforced iron. Not easy for regular humans or elves to use, though. Nigel's standard equipment. Ifrit Sword A sword engraved with enchantments of fire spirits. Incredibly rare in Mercator, only a single one is recorded to have been imported to the island. Sword of Ice A sword filled with the condensed energy of ice spirits said to reside in the northernmost point of the continent. Anything cut by this sword becomes completely frozen. Armor Leather Breast Armor made of flexible leather. Since it's light it makes movement easy, but it's not made for battle. Nigel's standard equipment. Steel Breast Chest armor made of steel treated to still have flexibility. It's strong, but its height still slows the user down. Chrome Breast Armor made with chrome, an alloy of steel and other metals. The sturdiness of the materials weakens enemy attacks pretty well.

Boots Leather Boots Like the Leather Breast, these too are made of leather. Light and easy to move in, but not trustworthy for battle. Nigel's standard equipment. Aqua Guard One size fits all boots made of a semi transparent and heat insulating gelatinous material. They're nice and cold and soft, and protect your feet.

Rings Mars Stone A ring made with polished minerals that some wizard acquired from another planet with magic. Wearing it protects your body from blood and paralyzing poisons.

EkeEke Fruit A perennial plant that looks a lot like mulberries. It is the specialty of Mercator Island and known as a energetic. They can be eaten raw, but are far more delicious when put on alcohol. Super high valued, only nobles can get their hands on them in the mainland. They're the favorite food of Friday, inhabitant of this island, and eating them gives her a boost on magic power, making her capable of healing Nigel. He hates this fruit. Antidote A weed used since ancient times as antidote to poisons. Poison from the monsters of Mercator Island can be nullified with it. Mind Repair There are monsters whose attacks cause hallucinations as well. When stricken by those, you won't be able to move in the direction you think you are. But using this medicine, you'll be free of the hallucinations and return to normal. Anti-Paralyze When struck by monsters, you may suffer strong muscular paralysis, and become unable to move for some time. This medicine restores you back to normal. It is a precious item extracted from the liver of deep-sea fish, so its price is high.

Ticket Entry ticket for the amusement center in the town of Mercator. It's not sold anywhere so it's hard to get your hands in one, but lots of people say the casino sounds super fun, so you definitely want one. Golden Goddess Statue In Mercator Island, there are many mysterious goddess statues, and the villagers make copies of them to sell as souvenirs. They boost the power used by Nigel's magic swords for a certain amount of time. They disappear after a single use. Gaia Statue A wooden statue made in the image of Gaia, guardian goddess of the earth. It is said that by holding it up you can borrow the power of earth spirits, causing a massive earthquake, but the details are unknown. They disappear after a single use. Jewels Five jewels said to be in somewhere in the island since ancient times. But no one knows their significance. Perhaps they have some relation to the treasures of King Nole…???

Notes on items: again just used the japanese names as there isn't much difference and also as someone who likes special weapon names, changing Ifrit Sword to Magic Sword is some sort of war crime. Also, the "Aqua Guard" is a peculiar name in the manual only, they're called Flame Boots in game.

[dr-lizortecho]

Hi! I searched (stalked?!) your blog for Simon/Daphne content since I love that you ship them too but couldn't find any posts on their mbti types, so I'd love to hear how you would type them and your general thoughts on how Simon and Daphne's similarities and differences. Only if you want to, of course :)

Ohhh!! I’m always up to type and discuss characters I love <3

So Daphne screams ESFJ to me, because she leads into almost every social interaction with very strong Fe and with a fallback of Ne (this is more so used as caterer to her Fe since it’s tertiary function). This can be observed through just the way she tries to connect to her suitors, through trying to forge an emotional connection and when it fails switching tactics quickly and with ease, to how she interacts with her family (Elouise in particular!). Leaving her Secondary function as Si and her inferior as Ti. Her Si is strong and one of the first traits/qualities the show depicts, which is her clinging to knowns and her striving for a “traditional” looking lifestyle. While she fails to understand the allure of something non-traditional (or queer) it takes her kicking back against this secondary function with her tertiary (Ne) paired with her desire to connect and love (Fe) to combat its more set in stone nature. And her inferior function is Ti, which we don’t get to see too much of since it’s her weakest function (and she lives in a society that doesn’t necessarily encourage women with sharp minds or for them to orchestrate anything), but it does appear in how she handles Nigel Berbrooke, because she handles it with nuance and an understanding of her place in society, watching all the internal mechanisms and understanding how they will play out. Because Ti is so difficult for me to explain- we’ll just say it’s a logical system that views all new information as part of a larger whole, a piece to be added to the algorithm vs an individual thing to be deconstructed and reconstructed.

As for Simon I have been known to bounce back and forth between ISTJ and INTJ and ISFP, because I feel like my take on his functions change with each watch of the show. Primarily it’s currently a battle of whether certain choices and actions are by products of Fi and a stronger presenting Te, or high Ti and a lack of Fe development…

But one thing that is for certain is he contrasts and compliments Daphne in position (that being a man- but also being a man of color, because they both of station in life but different societal threats to that station) and in how the process and view societal obligations. Because Daphne sees their falsities and complexities, but she sees those through the lense of them being constructed for proprietary and with good intent. While Simon sees them as a hoax, something to be ignored or a game to be won. Both as by products of the positions they were raised in- and reflective of their familial contrasts. Also! I could go insane talking about how though vastly different in love and raising they are both shackled by expectation for their stations in life. Because Simon was viewed as not worthy of his title and Daphne as a pawn to marry up (however lovingly and blinded by society as it was). But that’s for another day.