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]

[There is a child, far back in his memory behind the blood, the violence, that lust for control and human flesh, that Abigail's presence brings to mind. It's an echo of that child, that little girl who needed him, who had everything in her to become him, who made him what he was, who needed her vengeance in blood and a pound of flesh. That was so very long ago, and he's poked and prodded at his own psychology for years upon years that it was now nothing but a textbook of defects gone very right. Mischa doesn't haunt him, he lacks the emotional capacity for that as he is all too aware, but in Abigail's eyes there is something. He won't eat her, not unless his hand is forced, but he can groom her. She can be his darling little sister's angel of vengeance, and he can get that rush of power that comes from creating a monster all his own.

But the rush itself isn't innately sexual. It hasn't been for a long time, the drive sexually possess another having not satiated his needs enough. Still, the moment is oddly opportune, with her hand on his side in such an intimate way and his body responding to prior stimuli. He doesn't nudge her away, instead he brushes hair back out of her face, tilting her chin up to look at him. Eye contact is key for keeping control, and he never does break it when he has the option.]

Again, more people than you would think.

[relatable]

[She lets him move her, simply out being thrown into this new world and not knowing how to swim. And that's what this is. She knows Jack is watching her carefully, that he wants to hang her for what her father did. She still feels the guilt of those girls, and the way killing Nick Boyle felt, that sudden rush and elation, the drive to keep wanting to plunge that hunting knife into him, and the shock that she actually killed someone.

Her chin lifts and she looks him in the eye. His words are soothing when they shouldn't be, but she doesn't shy away from him. He touches her, she accepts it, and responds back.]

Shouldn't it feel wrong? Will said it's the ugliest thing in the world.

[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.]