open post | 2 | kink

[meerkats]

O P E N   S M U T   P O S T

◉ Drop a comment with one or more of your muses.
◉ Give me a prompt
◉ you can specify any of my muses whom you might like to play with, or I can pick.
◉ Everything goes, even the retired ones, but I can't guarantee good tags from them.
◉ sex!

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[avoirfaim]

[ his words are careful, precise, but honest. Honesty is key when the web is not yet taut and tight around her to its fullest. She could always slip away, and then he would have to kill her. That...would be messy, metaphorically. ]

Will Graham says a lot of things in order to convince himself that the world order as it stands is right and his own nature is wrong. Who would you say has the final word, Abigail? Nature or Society? There is nothing wrong with your nature, nor his, only with the way society constrains you.

[relatable]

[She isn't sure how much of that she actually believes or can believe in. But she doesn't want to debate. She wants Hannibal to have all the answers to just make this easier. Her eyes look back up at him, trying to reconcile this within herself.]

It's still killing though. It's what my dad did. [And she'll give anything to not be like him. She wants Hannibal to tell her that there's no way she's like him, but she feels too much like she is. Like there's this darkness in her that thrives off the same things.]

[avoirfaim]

[ Eye contact never wavering he continues, bringing a hand up to brush her hair. The action is fatherly, affectionate, contrived in ways only he could know. ]

You are nothing like your father, Abigail. What your father did was an extension of his psychosis. The positive rush of killing another is entirely natural for the dominant of our species. The need to project fear onto another and consume them for it is not.

[relatable]

[His words are smooth, and they sweeten such bitter acts that she cannot help but agree with him, simply because he doesn't want to excuse that languid delight one feels with taking a life like the way a sharpened knife slices through skin. It's one motion, quick, and trailing, and Abigail has been harboring it since she first felt it. First she felt shame, because it was wrong and she would be judged for it, but not with Hannibal. He has always accepted the monster he made.]

Then what do you do when you feel it again? Or want to feel it? [She's asking to be crafted in whatever way he wished. She is his to be molded.]

[avoirfaim]

You think, consider all of the possibilities carefully, and act on whichever seems most sustainable.

[ His hand curls around her neck and he brings her face forward ever so slightly, so that their foreheads rest together and in intimacy he can dominate her entirely. ]

Never be rash, or the world will decide for you what manner of monster you are. Is that understood?

[relatable]

[She listens carefully, hinging on every word he says. She's taken by it, but it scars her. He scares her to some degree, too. It may be all the conditioning society says about taking lives, about this fascination with killers and everything said about them.]

Aren't I though? If you're telling me to do... this? [Take a life? She leans in closer, curled in closer to him.]

[avoirfaim]

[ He breaths in the smell of her hair as she comes closer, and it smells like camomile and shampoo. It smells like abigail underneath.

Was he sexually attracted to Mischa's new vessel, new form on this earth? Hardly. It was merely the moment from which she had woken him, stirring, the beast of human nature.

He smiles, amused. ]

Are you asking if I'm instructing you to be rash or to be a monster?

[relatable]

I'm asking you what to do. [Because while she knew exactly what they were talking about and the million ramifications that could happen, it still felt comfortable to have someone to talk to about this, a mentor.]

[avoirfaim]

[ Being asked what to do, in any situation, lights a fire in his belly that warms him where he is hollow and often so cold. It is pride and ego swelling and confirming what he already knows: that his advice is worth the weight of the world in gold. ]

Do whatever you like, if you believe that you can get away with it.

[relatable]

[She shakes her head at that, avoiding his gaze again.]

My father thought he could get away with what he did. [And that hadn't turned out well for anyone. Except Hannibal.]