#you'd think that nigel would know enough

[extraterrestrialechos]

I have watched Episode 8 possibly more than any other episode and it's so vital what Jack's saying and what he thinks he's doing, which is completely centered around pointing out Stede's from outside their world and pointing out Ed he's wallowing in unsustainable excess.

Jack: Just for the two of you, huh? Hornigold'd shit himself.

Jack: That's a real pirate! Not like one of these store-bought types.

We're soon provided the information Jack genuinely believes he's been acting with Ed's full support and consent since back at the dramatics on deck.

Jack fully believes he shook Ed out of whatever weird, seemingly uncharacteristic funk Ed has gotten into.

Jack: Best thing that could've happened to you, if you ask me. Like when I heard that you'd shacked up with him, I said... Ed: Where'd you hear that? You didn't just happen upon us, did you, Jack? Jack: Took you long enough. The old Blackbeard woulda seen me comin' a mile away.

Jack: I figured you were on to me when I lured you to Blind Man's Cove, seeing as its distinguishing feature is that... Ed: It's impossible to make an escape.

Ed, otoh, had a good reason to want to show Jack, who he cared about, they could both be a part of Stede’s love in — he wanted to believe that there was room for Jack in muppet land, and a different future for both of them than they’d ever imagined.

That was so far from Jack’s reality he never conceived it was happening and believed they were co-conspirators in a completely different series of events from the one Ed was living.

Chauncey makes a similar point to Jack's in the next episode:

Chauncey: I'm afraid the offer doesn't extend to you, Bonnet. After all, the King was only referring to real pirates. He's from my world, not yours.

That Stede isn't part of the fabric of that world is pivotal to the thrust of the thing, because it's not just about Ed and Stede. The crew, who Oluwande assured in the first episode would come to kill Stede next if he didn't say he killed Nigel on purpose, and who'd all just reassured Jack would probably still mutiny on Stede in the future, decide at this moment that Stede, admittedly a work in progress, is worth standing up for.

And shortly after, Ed chooses to give up everything he's worked so hard his whole life for, a career and huge prestige and "more riches than you can shake a fucking stick at," to go into an unknown, barefaced future with Stede.

Despite Jack not believing Ed would throw away what he built from nothing, what they were stabbed and ground down to nothing and treated like dogs for a chance to aspire to, despite that Episode 8 exists to let Ed see the risk he's taking.

Throughout, Izzy builds up reminders of the bonds he forged with crewmen who believe in the him he chose to show them that he has to choose to separate from:

Ed: No, Izzy, we're not doing this. Izzy: No, you're not doin' this, so I must.

Izzy: Remember though, you said when you made me first mate, "Above all else is loyalty to your Captain." You're my captain, and I was never gonna stand by and let you destroy yourself for that... twat.

Izzy fully believes throughout he is doing what Ed (who at the start of this had repeatedly, disturbingly expressed suicidal ideation in Episode 4 leaving us with two long shots of Izzy standing stunned and shaken after he walks out) pledged him to do. To hold the outfit together and keep Ed's reputation secure.

There's nothing nefarious about the sad henchman sitting in prolonged denial.

Izzy: The plan is very much alive. He promised me.

But Fang and Ivan have now seen through the thing, too, and so they remind Ed of the sacrifices they've made to be a part of this outfit the three together. And still Izzy is careful not to speak in front of them when he offers to help secure their normal,

Izzy: I'll happily end it.

We can assume here, and when Ed couldn't do it and Izzy steps in, that what Izzy knows after all these years is Ed doesn't kill people face to face. How many other people has he dispatched to shore up the occasional slack for the continued honor of sailing with the most brilliant sailor he's ever met?

It is my strong opinion that diminishing these character’s belief in the Ed they’ve known for years and the loyalty they display diminishes the enormity of the choices we see Ed make and risks he taking putting his life and heart in Stede’s hands.

These are men he chose to forge bonds with through his own actions, and the resistance to change they put up comes out of having traveled well worn paths with the Ed who made himself king of the ocean who is suddenly exhibiting erratic and, to them, totally unprecedented behavior.

Ed returns to an Izzy whose faith is at last broken, and swiftly and expertly resecures his place of power. Even devastated himself that his start at a different life a part of him privately yearned for left him so completely bereft.

#ofmd meta #ed teach #izzy hands #calico jack #extechos

[ask-impatient-samurott]

Marigold cuts herself off. They did not have the energy to think about his girlfriend's possible death right now.

[Nema]

"...Marig-"

[Marigold]

"Nigel at the house cared about you enough to try and stop you! Doesn't that mean anything? Is your stupid amnesia really a good enough reason to get yourself and your friend fucking killed!?"

Kappa punctuates her sentence with a bout of painful-sounding coughs. Marigold stares at Kappa. They didn't expect her to react so violently. Kappa visibly deflates with embarassment and turns away.

[Marigold]

"I'm... sorry. I shouldn't have said..."

Everyone stands in stiff silence for what feels like an age before Nema steps forward.

[Nema]

"Morelet, hold me up."

[Morelet]

"Oh! Okay."

Morelet gingerly picks up Nema and holds her up to Marigold's eye level. Nema grabs onto Marigold's snout and presses her face into theirs.

[Nema]

"I love you a lot, you know that? And I am, like... super mega quadruple flattered that you'd fight for my safety like that."

"But, it'll be okay. I'm not going to die, alright?"

"I'm just gonna walk Kappa to a hole in the ground, and we will be back before tomorrow morning, okay? I wanna be there for her, y'know? I know you don't like her much, but best friends gotta stick by each other."

"Absolutely nothing will happen to me, I promise."

Marigold took in a shuddering breath. She leaned into Nema's comforting embrace, trying desperately to accept that Nema would be okay without her.

[Marigold]

"...Sorry. I didn't mean to doubt you." He said finally.

Nema gave Marigold a quick peck on the nose and wiggled out of Morelet's grasp. She walked over to Jean, who handed her the rolled up map with a concerned expression aimed at Kappa. Before anyone else could say anything, she blurted-

[Nema]

"Remember! If we aren't back before uhhhh... 5am! Then! You can call us, or come find us!"

Nema turns around and begins hastily herding Kappa and Jean toward Route 13. Jean giggles while encouraging Kappa to move. Kappa leans over to her and mumbles something. Jean whips around and shouts:

[Jean]

"She says sorry for yelling!"

[Kappa]

"No- you weren't supposed to tell them that!"

Nema and Jean laugh as they pass through the gate. Morelet stands on the balls of his feet and waves vigorously at his friends.

[Morelet]

"Byeee! Be safeeee!"

Marigold, after a moment, wiggles one claw in goodbye.

[Marigold]

"Bye..."

[2/3]

<PREV - NEXT>

#ask-impatient-samurott #kappa samurott #pokeask #pokeask blog #morelet krookodile #arc3 #jean sealeo #nema pikachu #marigold scolipede

[abominable-space-they]

You're My Moonage Daydream

SpaceDogs

When Nigel got home from work, he found Adam laying on the livingroom floor with all the lights off. He was an uncomfortable mixture of tense angles and loose distracted limbs, watching his home planetarium stars slowly spin, drumming his sternum with his fingertips, and chewing distractedly on the inside of his cheek.

Nigel checked the time. Adam got off work forty-five minutes ago. He'd usually be mostly decompressed by now. He knew that if Adam was still stressed, it was a a rough day, and asking what's wrong, the pressure of answering the question correctly would stress Adam out more. It was better for both of them if Nigel gave him space. So he put on Music. Sun Ra was one of Adams current space band favorites, experimental space jazz wasn't anything he'd ever even thought to listen to before Adam, but he was glad for knowing things like that existed.

When Nigel was n the right mood Sun Ra's mystical cosmic loopy jazz slid over his skin like warm water, soothing, almost hypnotic. He could see why Adam liked it so much.

Once the music was on, Nigel rolled a joint. That was one of his own soothing rituals. Grabbing an ashtray, he laid down beside Adam, setting the ashtray on his chest like he did in highschool, when everyone was laying around drinking cheap beer and listening to Pink Floyd or Portishead.

He passed Adam the joint without complicating things with words. Nigel listened to the way the little quiet popping hissing sound of Adam hitting the joint complimented the music. It was familiar, nice. They sat like that for a awhile, just existing together peacefully.

Eventually Adam rolled onto his side and pressed his palm over Nigel's heart, wiggling his fingers imploringly until Nigel scooped his hand up kissing his palm with reverence while Adam pressed his face into Nigel's shoulder.

"Thank you. I love you, you know"

"Nothin to thank me for beautiful I was just gonna be sittin around bitchin at Darko about numbers n shit. This is better"

"Yes, I think so too...Nigel... I'm so hungry. I didn't eat lunch today. The whole building was way to loud, everything felt like knives in my bones, and I know I should have eaten when I got home but my skin hurt to much to eat after all that"

"you're hungry huh?"

"And now I'm high and I'm starving, probably. But also I cann't possibly move Nigel. It's a fucking problem."

Nigel laughed fondly at Adam's post meltdown silliness, he treasured these little vulnerable moments, when Adam wasn't balancing on the razor edge of the whole world's expectations. When he was allowing himself to just be. It was gorgeous, Adam was always beautiful, but especially so when he was just being.

"Whatcha thinkin bout havin for dinner gorgeous?"

"Jack Kerouac swore that apple pie, ice cream, and coffee Was a complete meal."

"So you want apple pie and ice cream for dinner?"

"Yeah?"

Sometimes Adam felt guilty for wanting things still, even if they were small and easy to fulfill. Nigel would like to kill every single person who ever made Adam doubt the value & merit of his own wants, his own needs. You couldn't barbecue the whole world though. Nigel kissed Adam's finger tips.

"And you want me to order?"

"yes! The screen is so bright, it's so cluttered. That user interface was not designed with autistic people in mind"

"Fair enough babe, you roll us another a joint and I'll get on that damn dumblehopper doofenshmirty delivery app, whatever the fuck it's called and get us pie. Carmel?

Adam eyes went wide, obviously having kind of forgotten Carmel was a thing

"yes!"

Nigel scrolled through their delivery app, mindlessly, he only had eyes for Adam.

"Hey beautiful, I love you"

"I know... that's why you're ordering the pie for me. Otherwise you'd be at some dive bar arguing with Darko about numbers or something"

"I did say that didn't I? "

"You did"

"Hey babe, tell me about Alpha Centauri again while I do this, that's the close one right?"

Adam beamed at him, always delighted when Nigel wanted to hear about the stars, when he remembered little bits about them, because of Adam.

"Ok, Alpha Centauri is a star system in the southern end of Centaurus, there are 3 stars in it: Rigil Kentaurus, Toliman and Proxima Centauri. Proxima Centauri is the one you're thinking of, it's closest, at a little over 4 light years away, but close is subjective. That's not close by any standard except stars."

Nigel, found carmel apple pie, and ice cream, ordered an indulgently obscene amount of both. If Adam wanted pie he'd have so much damn pie. He hoped Adam could feel how happy Nigel was with him. This was better than anything else he could be doing right now. The best possible thing

Maybe wishes do come true, all he'd ever wanted really was this, a love like this, full, reciprocated, reverential.

He just didn't know that he could have anything this precious before Adam, his luckiest star.

Nigel sat back down beside Adam, kissing his ear lobe, just because it was right there and so perfectly Adam

"If I was an astronomer... or whatever the fuck they're called. I'd name every star after you babe"

Adam passed him the joint, kissing him back, face intentionally jokingly serious

"But would you bring me pie and ice cream still?"

Nigel laughed, both surprised and utterly unsurprised and endeared.

"yeah babe"

"oh well then, that's ok... As long as you don't forget the important stuff"

"I would never"

Never not ever, he'd buy Adam apple pie and ice cream every day for forever if that's what he wanted. He'd give him anything really, because Adam deserved everything.

And if Nigel had a single damn thing to say about it, he'd be the one to give it to him, for the rest of their lives

#spacedogs #spacedogs fanfiction #adam raki #nigel x adam #autistic love #autistic nigel #SpaceDogs fluff #slice of life #established spacedogs #hannibal #hannibal fandom #heu #hannibal extended universe

[ask-shu-todoroki]

Oooh, now I’m curious. What kind of ship dynamics do all your ships have?

Not entirely sure about what to say for ship dynamics, but I'll try to explain what I can for all of my ships!

Avgustin/Boris - Two DILFs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, kind of a forbidden love trope going on, hero x criminal

Siddeley/Conan - Friends to Lovers, definitely angst thrown in when Conan almost died

Dusty/Ripslinger - Daddy x twink, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Dusty kind of helps Ripslinger redeem himself, then oops they're both in love XD There's definitely gay married couple stuff going on

Blade/Nick - Love at first sight, definitely daddy x twink vibes. Blade is initially romantically confused while Nick is romantically confident XD Power bottom play?

Bravo/Echo - Military kink stuff, forbidden love due to fraternization rules, Flysenhower allows it though in exchange for things we don't talk about it

Lightning/Francesco - Friends with benefits, their initial dynamic was definitely sexual tension and mutual pining galore until one fateful night XD

Jeff/Lewis - Himbos in love. Jeff confessed only after debating against himself for hours the night before :P

Raoul/Max - Friends to lovers who took too long to finally realize they loved each other. Mutual pining and it only came to fruition after they've known each other for several years

Shu/Miguel - Literally love at first sight and it's long distance relationship goals. Shu's not confrontational but that goes out the window if Miguel is threatened in any way

Rod/Nigel - Two people who you'd never think would work together until they meet and immediately fall in love. Strangers to lovers??? Also definite forbidden love stuff

Finn/Leland - King of mutual pining in that it took them decades to finally get together after being roommates at the academy

Harvey/Tim - They confessed after awkward moments during playfighting. Uhhh...not even sure what to say for the ship dynamic here XD

Bobby/Cal - Kinky as hell with all of the ass slapping going on. Weirdly enough that's how Bobby ended up confessing...

Rich/Cam - Wholesome Friends to Lovers where Cam wants nothing but Rich. And then they were both bottoms

Bob/Darrell - Coworkers falling in love, lovable himbo with intelligent academic

Acer/Grem - Friends with benefits, criminal couple, making the most out of being in jail

Ronald/Kurt - Both honestly himbos who know nothing about love but they get together anyway after Ronald gets constantly teased by Kurt

#pixar cars #disney cars #ask me anything #q&a #headcanons

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

OFMD Arranged Marriage AU, Moonlit Romance

"Baby Bonnet, it's been years." The man that approached them was dressed in a British Royal Navy uniform. Edward felt Stede's grip on his arm tighten as they turned to fully face him.

"Nigel. I didn't know you were invited." The man, Nigel, laughed. Not so playfully punching Stede in his free arm. The blonde man visibly winced.

"Look at you. Same always. Although a little more...." The man stared at Stede's stomach for a long moment. "...healthy than most I see." He laughed at his own comment before seeming to notice Edward. "Ah and you must be the Blackbeard. Sans a beard it would seem." Edward had been keenly aware of all the side eyes he got when he'd entered with Stede. But it was even worse up close. The man eyeing him like a hungry wolf looking for something to criticize.

"How do you know Stede?" Edward asked and with the face Stede made he knew he said the wrong thing. Nigel on the other hand looked giddy.

"We went to boarding school together! I'm surprised he didn't mention it, all the crying he did there. Never really managed to keep up with us." Stede's was deathly quiet as his fingers continued to bury themselves into Edward's arm. "He just read and picked flowers. I suppose this little engagement of yours isn't surprising all things considered -"

"Shut up." Stede finally snapped. Not loud enough for everyone around them to hear but it certainly caught the man off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, shut. Up." Stede spoke again, slightly louder this time. Letting go of Edward's jacket sleeve and quickly walking away. Disappearing into the small crowd of people and leaving both he and Nigel behind.

"Seems baby Bonnet's still the same. Can't handle anything like a real man."

"Hey Nick or whatever it is, how about you go fuck yourself?" Edward spoke. Nigel was taken aback but he didn't care. Shoving past people as he tried to follow after Stede.

~~

"Stede? Hey man where are you?" Edward had followed the man out the back door. It led to the gardens. Trimmed hedges and bushes lining the way down a path the former pirate found himself trying to navigate. Squinting against the darkness he saw the vague shape of someone crouched under a man made alcove in one of the bushes. Edward could hear the man heavily breathing as he leaned down to face the blonde. "Stede?"

"Go away." The man sniffed. Had he been crying? Edward ignored what the man said. Instead he fought with the bushes, pushing enough aside as to take a seat next to his fiance.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay to you?" Stede snapped at the man. Despite the darkness, Edward could very clearly see Stede's face was a mess. "Sorry, I...didn't mean to yell. It's just that, that...."

"Bastard?"

"Yes that. He really knows how to get under my skin. His stupid passive aggressive comments....I'm not even fat!"

"He called you fat?"

"Not directly. You probably never had to deal with it before. You're so lucky to have been a pirate. Free to do whatever you want to whoever you want. In high society we can't physically hurt each other so we just use cutting words."

"That's fucking diabolical." Some things rich people did, Edward was beginning to realize he'd never understand. This was probably one of them. "If you want I could go back and punch him in the face." Stede snorted.

"No it's fine. Then you'd just get in trouble. Besides, all that stuff he said was true. Him, my father and everyone else think I'm just another rich boy who can't do anything."

"I don't think you're any of that." Edward quickly spoke.

"You've known me for two...three days now? Trust me, the more you get to know me, the worse I get." The moonlight peered through the bushes now. It illuminated Stede's face as Edward leaned forward. Raising his hand to cup Stede's face, Edward leaned in and placed his lips on the other man's. The kiss lasting only a moment before Edward quickly pulled away. Stede stared at him with wide eyes. The former pirate wondering if he fucked up for a moment when Stede returned the gesture. Quickly pulling Edward back into the intimate gesture. Stede's hands trailing back where they entangled in his long gray hair.

The moment seemed to last an eternity before they pulled away from each other. Edward and Stede were both flushed as they moved away. Stede quickly standing up.

"I, ugh....we better get back to the dinner."

"Right." Edward agreed. "We probably shouldn't go back at the same time. Who knows what those fuck faces would say."

"See you in a bit then?"

"Of course." Edward didn't realize how wide the grin on his face was until Stede disappeared from his line of view. The man going to follow when he heard the bushes behind him rustle. Instinctively he went into defense mode and backed away when a familiar voice spoke.

"Fuck I thought he'd never leave."

"...Izzy?"

#ofmd au #our flag meets death #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbonnet #stedebeard #gentlebeard #fanfiction #arranged marriage au #izzy hands

[5-puthyyy]

Besides Nigel Warburton's A Little History of Philosophy, what philosophy book would you also recommend?

well, that book’s more of a summary than anything, just to ease you into it i suppose. if you don't know much about philosophy, i'd say don't just jump into the deep end because it can be quite difficult to understand. stick to summaries like a little history of philosophy, and:

'a very short introduction' series does great summaries for philosophy and most subjects to be honest, they're great if you'd just like to know a bit of everything about the world lol

the philosophy book by will buckingham explains the big concepts and figures in philosophy, so if you give that a read and think one concept or person is particularly interesting, you can seek out their works

and, of course, bertrand russell who you should know from the rushmans lol. his books history of western philosophy and the problems of philosophy, and the conquest of happiness are absolutely brilliant. however, i’d suggest waiting until you’ve read enough of the primary texts before reading those first two books of his

if you want to go straight for primary texts, start with:

plato's the last day of socrates, or plato's meno which i think is easier to read

aristotle's the nicomachean ethics

nietzsche's on the genealogy of morals

i feel like those three cover a good amount for the beginnings and developments of philosophy. but i’d just like to note that these are western philosophy suggestions. im still new to philosophy and i’d like to get more into other regions and cultures too. there’s a lot of wisdom out there to learn :)

and would also like to note i haven't studied this in school or anything, it’s just a hobby of mine i suppose lol. thanks for the ask!

#asks #philosophy

[maxwell-grant]

Having been extremely excited by THE DINOSAURIA trailer, might I please ask if you've ever seen WALKING WITH DINOSAURS? (The BBC series from 1999, rather than the later animated film); if you haven't seen it yet, then please be assured that you've missed a Treat!

Anon, I definitely appreciate the recommendation, don't get me wrong, but -

Not only is Walking With Dinosaurs my actual favorite piece of media ever, the thing you'd find the closest to my heart if you cut it open, but I literally would not be able to talk to you right now if it wasn't for it. Allow me to explain:

To say that dinosaurs were one of my very first obsessions (or hyperfixations) is to understate the hell out of just how utterly strongly I loved dinosaurs and acted on it, and I don't state more because I don't quite feel like revealing the face and name of who's writing this just yet. I grew up watching dinosaur documentaries (and documentaries in general) more so than even cartoons, and I was definitely extremely obsessed with dinosaurs before WWD arrived in my life.

But all of the documentaries I had watched to that point, whether I caught them on tv or DVD or casette, had all been dubbed in Portuguese (since, y'know, I live in Brazil and all). But when my mom brought over Walking With Dinosaurs, there was no Portuguese dub option, so I had to watch it with subs on.

And I watched this series so, so many times, that I picked up the basics of English from it. I started watching other documentaries I had with English subs, and then movies, and then I started taking English classes and the works to tune it, and I was speaking English at an adult level at age 12 (likely earlier, but my memories are spotty and the oldest email I have from a conversation overseas dates from that age) and I kinda just never stopped writing and thinking and talking to myself in English since then.

I never really had an easy time picking up other languages when I tried them, but it was specifically because of Walking With Dinosaurs that I picked up enough English to become proficient at it early on, and that's informed a lot, pretty much everything, of my life ever since. To be honest I still speak with a slight British inflection, because Kenneth Branagh was my frame of reference for the English language. So trust me, I have absolutely seen Walking With Dinosaurs, maybe as much as anyone can possibly see it short of gluing it to the eyeballs 24/7. I've also watched all of the other Walking With series and spin-offs (and yes, even that horrid film, I refuse to discuss it further) like The Ballad of Big Al and Walking With Monsters and Walking With Beasts and of course all of the Nigel Marvin spin-offs, including Prehistoric Park. I've been wanting to give the extended Walking With universe a rewatch recently.

But every year, without fail, I make it a point to rewatch Walking With Dinosaurs. Doesn't matter when or how, my DVDs of it don't really work anymore, but I find a way to rewatch it. I know exactly what's gonna happen every year and it's impact has never been diminished. Every year, I get chills when Brachiosaurus shows up looming over the teenage Diplodocus pack and the music just SWELLS in dread and awe alike. I dread the scene of the Cynodonts eating their baby to spare it from the Coelophysis pack. I eagerly await the nefarious joy of just waiting for Liopleurodon to pounce out of the water to eat the theropod, because fuck off if that's physically impossible, that scene absolutely still kicks ass. I'm writing this post while listening to Islands of Green because you bet the soundtrack to this series lives rent free in my head as well. I can immediately hear the specific sounds and roars of each animal in it just by thinking of them.

I cry every year when Ornithocheirus dies alone after such a grueling journey just to fulfill a biological drive he cannot resist, and I still cry when the baby T-Rexes try to get their dead mom to wake up just as the meteor strikes and swipes them all away to nothingness, not even joking I'm actually getting chills right now just describing that scene and the "This is the end, of the age of the dinosaurs" line, God. Every year I find some new moment in the series that makes me incredibly emotional in a way it hadn't before, whether it's the Postosuchus getting eaten from the inside out after being toppled by a minor injury, or the forest fire that tears through the jungle and leaves charred dinosaurs behind. I'm getting chills just listening to the end credits theme right now.

Even today, there has never been anything in media that's ever made dinosaurs feel more real than Walking With Dinosaurs did, and that was the trick that all of it's imitators failed to understand: Even through it's dramatic soap opera lenses, it depicted dinosaurs not as great and glamorous movie monsters, but as real animals, no more or lesser than the ones living on the planet now. It doesn't make dinosaurs exciting by showing them as some mythical fantasy cooler than our current reality, it made dinosaurs exciting by showing they WERE reality, and reality can be just as cool and exciting and mythical as anything fantasy can give you, if not more so, if you stop to look at it with the same unclouded fascination and curiosity you'd reserve for something not real.

There was a time where I distanced myself from my love of dinosaurs for, a lot of reasons really, but I'm thankful that I never succeeded in making it go away, that I got to watch Jurassic Park at a movie theater a couple years recently and cry at the reveal of the Brachiosaurus in a way I never did in the over three dozen times I watched the movie at home, that I got to finally read Raptor Red, that I still get all these feelings over just thinking about Walking With and it's spin-offs.

More than maybe anything else, I think this series is what informs my storytelling and my sense of adventure. Everyone has that story, that adventure, either one or several, that's imprinted on them from an early age and subsequently defines everything they do or undertake as storytellers no matter how distanced from it. And I think if I was to point at anything from my childhood, I would point to Walking With Dinosaurs and the lives it depicted, regardless of how real or accurate they were.

Even right now, the fact that I'm typing this out to talk to you, that I'm confident enough in my English skills to even record audio in English for coming projects, that I made this entire blog full of essays in English about things I find creatively inspiring, is owed in no small part to my childhood adoration for Walking With Dinosaurs, the bedrock of what I am as a creator, and even if the show didn't have that particular impact on me, I'd still carry it to the rest of my life.

Everything about this show is ingrained into my bones and soul, maybe as deeply as anything is ever going to be.

Hmm. Who did I find it most difficult to work with?

Animators! Definitely animators!

You know? “Chase this dinosaur”, “Chase that dinosaur!” You’d swear we couldn’t act!

It’s sooo degrading

#replies tag #dinosaurs #dinosaur tag #walking with dinosaurs #walking with #sadly I have never been able to watch the arena show #bbc

[silverspectre]

en garde, pret, aimer! || lockwood & co.

pairing: light florence bonnard x anthony lockwood

genre: fencing(?)ish!au and also maybe straying away from canon bc what iS canon at this point, fluff, platonic main relationship, eventual angst, pre-canon??? aka beFore the series takes place

words: 3.8k

tags: fluffy!!, young lockwood nd flo, fencing stuff, apologies for the french (literally lol), i wrote this like half a year ago i’M SORRY-

what to expect: “’Why else would I be here? Tea time?’”

a/n: so this was beta-read and edited by two lovely people! i appreciate their help so much, as they’ve made this story what it is now. thank you so much @piratekingimogen​ and @willowwisk​ for your help! is this canon-compliant? someone ask jonathan stroud. this will be my last fic for a while, unless i have a spontaneous bout (pun intended) of inspiration. thank you all for your support!

translation: en garde, prets, allez = on guard, ready, go (used to start a fencing bout) / en garde, prets, aimer = on guard, ready, love (used to start this story)

The train ride from London to Paris is a particularly long, arduous journey. There's not much to see; reading a book 50 times or twiddling your thumbs is perhaps the most productive thing one can do. However, though a subjective opinion, it's a great deal less dull when in the company of a pretty girl whose name you learn through one piece of black licorice.

Florence Bonnard. It was elegant and flowed off the tip of your tongue. She was pretty; her teeth shining white and her long, blonde hair practically another shade of gold, shimmering in the sunlight. Anthony Lockwood could only stare at her.

To Anthony, Paris was a dream of any fencer. It was hailed as the fencing capital of the world, home to countless famed swordsmen and agents. He could merely wish to be like them. He was sure he was on his way, however. He'd been invited to a DEPRAC-sponsored competition in France, and of course, he absolutely had to go. His supervisor, Nigel 'Gravedigger' Sykes, forced him anyways.

He made the acquaintance of Florence Bonnard only a few minutes ago, when she huffed into the train compartment that was otherwise empty except for Anthony's doe-eyed presence. Looking upset, she plopped herself down diagonal from him. She didn't even acknowledge his existence.

"Hi?" he squeaked out. His voice was a little scratchy. He coughed, then repeated the word in a much more confident tone.

"Well? What are you?" This was the first he'd heard the girl speak.

She spared a glance at Anthony.

"I'm, uh..." He thought fast. She didn't

know him; no one on the train, as far as he knew, knew his name. He could reinvent himself, banish the name used so fondly by his parents and sister. He could be...

"I'm, uh... Lockwood. Just Lockwood. Yes. That's me."

"Lockwood... classy," she commented. She paused, in thought. "Though... I think I'll call you Locky."

"L-Locky?" Lockwood stuttered. This was not how she was supposed to react to his name.

"Locky. It practically rolls off the tongue, don't you think?" She smiled, slightly exposing her white teeth. It was a pretty sight. He could've stared at her for a second or an hour before he registered her answer.

Lockwood was caught off guard. "W-well, what's your name, then?"

She smiled a pearly white smile. "Wouldn't you like to find out," she said slyly.

A sweets trolley rolled down the aisle, pushed by a plump old woman. "Anything you'd like to buy?" She popped her head in the compartment.

The girl scanned the trolley, then made up her mind. She turned to Lockwood. "You'll have to buy me a liquorice to find out my name."

"I'll have a bag of liquorice, please," Lockwood immediately said to the lady, pulling out two pounds and exchanging it for a bag. He didn't know why he complied so easily - maybe he'd fallen under a trance for her. 

He handed one to the girl, who looked momentarily startled before recomposing herself. "So, what's your name?" Lockwood asked.

"Florence Bonnard," she simply replied. It matched her, Lockwood thought. Prim and proper, it matched her perfect posture and neatly combed hair.

"You fence?"

"Why else would I be here? Tea time?" 

"O-of course not, but you're just so pretty-"

Oh no. He'd let it slip.

Florence Bonnard's lips curled upward. "Thanks, Locky. I'll remember that on the piste."

He was suddenly scared to imagine Florence Bonnard on the piste, with her blonde hair tied up and her body in first position, sword ready to attack. With her confidence, double of his, how good could she be? Lockwood felt his stomach turn queasy. How good were the others on the train?

She poked Lockwood lightly. "Worried?" she teased. "En-garde," she mimicked a referee, "prets-" she made a face, "allez!" She pretended to poke Lockwood with her rapier, then laughed.

Lockwood couldn't help but laugh with her at her imitation.

"What's your agency?" Lockwood asked.

"That'll cost you a liquorice," she stated.

He handed her one.

"Sinclair & Saones. 'm an apprentice for 'em. You?"

"Nigel Sykes."

"Really?" she drawled. "You seem like the Rotwell type - well, then again, you weren't sitting with the lot in the first place."

"Rotwell and Fittes agents always win, don't they?"

"I'll give 'em a run for their money. How old are you?"

"Ten."

She looked up and down. "Alright then."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She smirked. "Nothing... When's your birthday, then?"

He told her.

"I'm older than you."

"So what? That doesn't mean you'll be better!"

Florence Bonnard smiled. "We'll see about that."

Nigel 'Gravedigger' Sykes, or just Sykes, was Lockwood's mentor. He was a bit scraggly, but not enough to make him incompetent with a sword. He was on the slightly mad side, yes, but was an extremely skilled swordsman. Lockwood was constantly amazed by his ability.

"You rely on remises too much. Practice on your footwork, you're doubting yourself too much.”

They'd been practicing for two hours - maybe more. Lockwood didn't even bother trying to count the bouts. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his breaths hot in the mask. Lockwood's legs were sore and his arms hurt from all the attack, parry, and riposting he'd done.

The competition started in three days - Sykes had decided Lockwood needed to cram in as much practice as he could. On and off the piste, Lockwood could hear Sykes' voice in his head, telling him to Parry quarte or Eat your breakfast, it's free food! Food was accommodated at the hotel which sponsored DEPRAC for the competition. The rooming was nice as well, Lockwood being lucky enough to get a room to himself rather than most participants in the tournament who had to share a room.

When the competition finally rolled around, he'd won the first bout easily - almost too easily. Regardless, a win was a win, even against some Bunchurch agent with half a brain.

The real competition - or so he'd heard from rumours - was Quill Kipps of Fittes. He was apparently a prodigy fencing-god in his mid-teens, favoured by the majority of the crowd. He was tall and ginger, from what people had been telling him. Easy to spot in crowds. Lockwood was curious to see the famous Kipps in practice - rather, he was curious to see what any Fittes or Rotwell agent could bring to the table.

Lockwood had yet to see the mysterious Florence Bonnard do her bout. He was eager to do so after showering and slipping into the stands to watch the next bouts. After a win from Alexander Fawley, and another from Emily Schreiber, Quill Kipps was up. The teen was fast, and his every move was clearly calculated. It was everything Lockwood could aspire to be.

Florence Bonnard was fast as well, to Lockwood's surprise. She was extremely quick on her feet and could get a touch faster than the referee could blink after saying allez. It was impressive, being younger than a lot of contestants- and she wasn't even a Fittes or Rotwell agent.

Lockwood considered what he'd do if he was ever tasked with being her opponent, but only for a split second. It was too unrealistic he'd make it that far. But still, he had a vivid image of her lunging, ponytail swaying and rapier thrust as the tip of her blade touched his side. Now was not the time to daydream.

The second bout passed, 14-15. Lockwood had won in a landslide, attacking the split second his opponent hesitated.

After, as Lockwood chugged a bottle of water on the side, still sweaty and clad in his fencing gear, Florence Bonnard approached him. "Good bout, Locky," she said in her sly way. "Although, your footwork could be better." His gaze was stuck on her, even as she stalked off in true Florence fashion. 

"Th-thanks?" It was already too late; Lockwood just watched her straw-colored hair swish away. She was one interesting girl. He sighed, staring at her back.

Lockwood's days consisted of eating, practicing, and sleeping. He would occasionally watch other agents practice, to pick up on faults and techniques they used. That's, at least, what Sykes had told him to do. Half the time Lockwood just drifted off, staring at a wall corner or, as a current example, a blonde ponytail. ...Blonde ponytail...? It was Florence Bonnard in the flesh, practicing. Of course, Lockwood just assumed this fact, judging by the fencer's posture and hair. It was unmistakably her.

Lockwood hadn't seen her much, either because their schedules didn't match up or she barely practiced. She was very good, sharp on her feet and maneuvering like she was on ice. It was scary the way she got a touch so fast. He assumed she'd practiced a great deal privately; at least, that's how he comforted himself at the sight of her skillful rapier patterns.

Lockwood's eyes jumped to a tall ginger-haired fencer - no doubt Quill Kipps, practicing a couple metres away. He, too, was skilled. Close to Florence's level, but not quite. This could be the year someone from a small agency won - though, Lockwood couldn't keep his hopes up. Being the crowd favourite, who was to say he didn't have a couple tricks up his sleeve?

Bouts three and four passed, and just somehow, Lockwood had survived into the quarterfinals. The numbers were dwindling down; Florence Bonnard, not much to his surprise, was in strong.

The quarterfinals passed, but now that he'd won, more pressure had been draped on him. Practices stretched late into the night, leaving his muscles incredibly sore and eyelids drooping on their own accord. He almost forgot to shower one day, planning to sleep in his fencing gear. Sykes had been drilling into him much more. The lineup for the semifinals was posted; Lockwood would be fencing against Quill Kipps.

To say he was nervous was an understatement. He sweated at the thought of fencing the teen. No matter how much he analyzed Kipps' fencing, he never felt ready. Sure, he wasn't as good at Florence, but she was substantially better than Lockwood - as was Kipps. The day of the bout, Lockwood almost froze before walking in, trying not to look at the crowd. It was bigger than any he had fenced for before. He sucked in two deep breaths then pulled the mask over his face. Sykes patted him, whispered quick advice in his ear. Lockwood wasn't paying attention, more focused on the judges, rhe referee, and the feeling of his feet on the ground. He and Kipps did the salute, like any other bout.

The referee started to speak, also like any other bout. The words were muffled in Lockwood's jumbled mind. His thoughts were racing at 100 kilometers per second, tumbling around each other, unlike any other bout - but he didn't need to hear the words regardless. He knew what they were.

"En-garde."

Lockwood stared at Kipps.

"Prets."

He took a deep breath, readying himself.

"Allez!"

The bout began.

Immediately, swords clinked and clashed against each other as the agents attempted to protect themselves. Lockwood's mind went pure blank, and his body went into autopilot.

1-0. Sure, a rough start, but he could catch up.

1-1. Tied, that was okay.

2-3. Lockwood was in the lead-

5-7. Halfway there!

11-10. No, losing wasn't an option-

13-14. His sword was a blur in front of him, basically acting of its own accord. Parry, riposte, attack-! It was all too quick. Kipps had lost his balance, and Lockwood took the opportunity. He lunged, slashed with his blade just to earn a point. His blade felt something soft - he got a touch! - but then Lockwood actually looked at the tip of his blade.

Quill Kipps was stunned entirely. He'd fallen on the piste and stared up at the younger agent. The moment was silent; practically in slow motion. The crowd held their breath in disbelief.

Lockwood had struck Quill Kipps with his rapier on the bum. The judges were in shock. It was a touch, though, right? It... counted? The referee gestured, and Lockwood pulled his raper away.

The bout ended.

Lockwood won. Lockwood won, against the star of Fittes agency. Quill Kipps, meanwhile, fumed. His cheeks were redder than his hair, which was matted with sweat.

"I'll beat you next time, Anthony Lockwood..." he murmured.

The crowd was having its fun; booing in disappointment or cheering in amusement, Lockwood couldn't tell. He convinced himself it was the latter. He didn't mean to stab Kipps in the bum. It just happened. It's not like anyone ever goes into a bout thinking, "Oh, yeah, I'm going to riposte a clean one up his bum."

Sykes was impressed, though he seemed more pleased by the last touch Lockwood earned.

"You'll be going up against that Bonnard girl, so you better clean up that footwork of yours. Her bladework is quite fine, too, I'd say. Sharpen yourself up, Anthony - no pun intended."

Practice, as always, lasted to the evening - Lockwood had just gotten out of the locker room, hair wet from his shower when he heard a familiar rasping tone.

"Locky~" Florence Bonnard sing-songed, conveniently leaning on a pillar outside.

He approached her.

"Finals are tomorrow," she said, smiling. Her teeth glinted - it was charming. Her eyes shimmered a bright blue - when had he missed this feature of hers? She was breathtaking. He didn't react, dumbly nodding as he stared at her.

"Oh, and by the way? Stop staring at me sometimes, it's creepy, Locky. I know you like me, but you're too... you." She tapped his nose, ignited a blush across Lockwood's cheeks.

"Cute," she commented. "See you on the piste." She walked away in her typical manner.

Florence Bonnard beat him the next day, 13-15. It was completely fair. Her attacks were clean and precise, and she hesitated not a second. It was a blur in Lockwood's head; one second her blade was against his torso; the next, her blade had touched him 14 other times and the referee proclaimed her the winner. He wasn't disappointed, however - she, from a small agency, had won, not a Fittes or a Rotwell agent. He decided it was well-earned on her part, completely ignoring the way she had so softly put him down the day previous. She was just so attractive.

She gave him a toothy smile after the bout and patted his shoulder. "Don't be too upset, Locky." It was safe to say he wasn't.

2 years later.

It was terrible. It was one of those moments in your life where you can recount every detail of where you were and what you were doing exactly when it happened; heck, you could even recite the exact seconds.

Lockwood was reading the morning newspaper, sipping his pulp orange juice (the joys of being a blue whale!) when he read the news.

Both Sinclair and Saones (of the Sinclair & Saones agency) had died on a case, with poor Florence Bonnard being the only survivor. Florence Bonnard - the name reminded Lockwood of so much; mainly, his puppy crush on her when he was younger. He failed to see the appeal now, but platonically, she was wonderful, despite how much she demanded liquorice.

He visited her on the shorelines of the River Thames; it was mainly where she resided, to the most of Lockwood's knowledge. He slipped a bag of liquorice hidden under his coat for her.

Her appearance was slightly disheveled and a straw hat covered the half of her face. 

"Locky!" she croaked, but her voice lacked its usual mirth. In fact, it was incredibly fragile; to put an exclamation mark after it would never properly do it justice. She looked cold, shivering in what appeared to be her agent clothing. Her rapier was still attached to her side.

"You're shaking." Lockwood sat beside her.

"A-am I, Locky?" she hiccupped. She took a deep, shaky breath, then laughed, an echo of bitterness and a sore throat.

"I heard what happened," he said softly. "How?"

"How else, Locky?" she said, less of a question than a horrible revelation. Her voice was terribly sad, full of pain and memories. "It was ghost-touch. I protected myself with an iron cross 'til dawn against the Limbless." Her fists clenched in her skirt. A tear dropped down her cheek - which Lockwood noticed to have fresh, small scars and what looked like to be traces of tears on her slightly muddied face. It was the exact opposite from the pristine, composed Florence he'd known for so long.

"I'm sorry."

"You needn't be."

"Did you get hurt anywhere?"

She shrugged, wincing as she touched her cheek.

"I could-"

"Don't. It'll heal on its own." He wanted to tell her to clean it as well, but he could tell she'd turn down the advice in the same manner.

"Well," Lockwood said, "what are you doing next?"

Her grip tightened on the fabric of her skirt. "I don't know."

"You could train with me," Lockwood offered gently. "I don't have an agency or anything, but-"

"I-I think I'll try that. Thank you, Lockwood."

"Also, I brought these." He handed her the bag of liquorice.

A slight smile appeared from under her hat.

Her swordsmanship was still intact. Lockwood could for sure confirm this after she'd disarmed him 5 times. She'd lost her will, though. She looked pained picking up a rapier and could barely glance at salt bombs. Lockwood didn't ask. It seemed too personal. Over the course of 3 months, nothing had changed. If anything, it seemed to be harder and harder for her to fight properly.

"Locky... I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?" Lockwood knew perfectly well what she was referring to. "You're amazing with your rapier, still."

"This whole... 'agent' thing. I-I don't think I can go back." She was incredibly vulnerable with no snarky remarks or sarcasm in her voice. It hurt him to see her like this. He'd once felt similar, in his pain-filled rage when Jessica died. He couldn't look at ghosts, couldn't bear to think of them. Unlike Florence, however, he'd had rage to direct toward ghosts; she just felt pain.

Lockwood nodded. "You're sure?"

"It's been 3 months. Every time- every time I can still see their bodies next to me. Hear the screams, see the Limbless. I can't do it."

He hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder. "I understand. But- what will you do?"

"I'll find something, I'm sure."

"I'm always here, Florence. I've been thinking about starting an agency, so if you need anything..."

Florence Bonnard smiled her classic grin. She patted his hair - he took so long gelling it in the morning.... Her blue eyes shone like the sea. "Don't worry yourself, Locky. I've got this."

For months, Florence wandered from thing to thing in search of replacement for being an agent. She hadn't found much. With the Problem raging, agents were in the highest demand, and it was hard to ignore all of the flyers and inquiries looking for one. Lockwood had been concerned she'd find nothing, constantly reminding her of his offer. One thing was clear, though: she was never becoming an agent again. She didn't need to say the words, but it was mutually understood even as Lockwood asked her to train with him.

Slowly, she gravitated toward relic collecting. It exercised her Talent, yet comforted her. She could be free from expectations, and not have to be perfect or clean; she could collect the relics on the River Thames and sell them. It would sustain her and calm her. Most importantly, it was an environment she was comfortable in.

As time went on, her straw hat became faded of color and gained splotches of mud on them. She traded her agent fit for a padded jacket and Wellington boots. It suit the job. For once, maybe she was happy.

"So, you're sure you don't want to become an agent?"

"Locky, the only reason I came was because you said you had liquorice. I'm perfectly happy as a relic woman." She smoothed down her padded jacket and adjusted her signature straw hat.

"I have my license now. I'm recruiting-"

"I'm happy where I am, thank you very much." She took a sip of tea and plopped a liquorice in her mouth.

Lockwood sighed. Florence Bonnard, as always, was impenetrably stubborn. she'd started going by Flo Bones, which was catchy, and fit her relic woman persona. Lockwood respected this. He could see how happy it made her, though not particularly sanitary.  He recalled the day she'd first told him of her new occupation. They'd been sitting on the banks of the River Thames, near where Lockwood had comforted her the morning after tragedy struck her.

"So... you're becoming a Relicwoman? Where will you get the sources?"

"The river has enough," she gestured to the muddy shore of the river. "My Sight's been getting stronger."

"Be careful, Flor-"

"Oh, and Locky, I've started going by Flo Bones - it's quite fitting, don't you think? I like it. It's catchy." She'd lifted her hat, just enough to wink at Lockwood before pulling it down again.

"Well, my offer will always stand, Flo. You're a spectacular agent - you know my address. 35 Portland Row, hasn't changed."

"You haven't an agency to work for, Locky, have you?" Flo mused bluntly.

"Working on the license. I plan to open my own agency, agent run. What d'you reckon I call it? I was thinking 'Lockwood and Company.'"

Flo gave a grunt of approval. "'Lockwood and Co.' It's decent."

"Thanks, Flo."

She'd nodded. "Now go. I can't be seen hanging about the lots of the upper class. See you, Locky."

He pushed the bag of liquorices to her, the memory making him smile sadly. "It's all yours." 

Lockwood couldn't find any agents willing to work for him. Flo, being one of his main friends, was painfully aware of this fact, subject to his forever hanging offer of employment. 

"Oh, cheer up. Don't be lonely. You'll find someone. Lockwood & Co.! It'll be known through all of England." She softened for a second. "Anyway, I have an auction to attend." She stood up, bits of dirt falling from her jacket. "Bye, Locky!" He reached out to her then restrained himself - but she'd already exited 35 Portland Row, shutting the door behind her.

"Bye, Flo." He stared at the closed door, at his slightly outstretched hand. He could only hope she was right, and he'd find someone soon.

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #flo bones #florence bonnard #lockwood #the screaming staircase #lockwood x flo #what is the ship name for them??? #fencing #fluff #jonathan stroud #fanfic #angst #lockwood fluff #lockwood angst #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #*silverspectre

[laynavile]

Some Days, I'm Struggling For Control

Pairing : Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham

Warnings : Mentions of murder and blood, anal sex, spit as lube, oral sex, physical fighting (hitting, punching)

Rating : E

Word count : 2k+

Will pisses Hannibal off, he starts swearing which turns Will on, they fight, then they fuck.

Inspiration came from Mads character, Nigel, saying the word, "fuck" a lot. I wanted to write Hannibal getting angry and not being able to stop saying it. So I figured why not write this as the fill for the free space on my @hannibalbingo card.

Enjoy 😌

"How careless are you? Do you want us to become caught? Do you want to go back to uncle Jack so badly that you'd expose us in such a way?"

"It wasn't my fault, h-he was flirting with you."

"Flirting with me? Do you know how many men I have to watch flirt with you every single day? Do I kill them in broad daylight for it?"

"There was no one around. Hannibal, I'm sorry, he pissed me off."

"Do you even fucking understand how pissed off I get every time men flirt with you? When they attempt to take what is mine? You're lucky everyday that I do not fuck you in front of them."

"Then who would be careless?"

"Would I not be following your fucking example?"

"I'm shocked, Dr. Lecter, I've never heard you use such crass language outside of our bed."

"You insufferable man, you make me crazy."

"I think it's very sexy of you." He knows what Will is doing, how he's trying to divert the situation, it will not work.

"Do not fucking trying to distract me." Hannibal is doing it on purpose now, now that he knows Will likes him cursing. He's still upset, still needs to try to control the situation, but right now he cannot help but want to rile Will up. "You know damn well what the fuck you've done wrong. We don't murder in the middle of the day. Unless of course as I said, you'd rather go back and play FBI with uncle Jack again, is that what you fucking want? Is it?"

"No, if I wanted that why would I have come to you in the first place?"

"Perhaps this is all an elaborate fucking ruse again to try and get me into a cage." Low blow, he knows that Will regrets what happened that night in Baltimore what seems like a thousand years ago and yesterday all at once.

"How many times will you make me apologize for that? I wanted to run away with you, and now I have and you're pissed because I killed someone. Hannibal, we kill people all the time."

"Yes, but one of us is not careless when fucking killing. Will, if you want to go, there's the fucking door, don't let it hit you on the way out." He doesn't mean it, never would he mean it, but Will has him angry and not only that Hannibal is feeling particularly petulant today.

"I'm not leaving, unless you're coming with me."

"Tell me, Will, why the fuck would I come with you after what you've done?"

"I did it for you, you bastard."

"For me? No, you fucking did it for yourself. You threw a fucking tantrum because someone flirted with me."

"You're mine, no else's, they don't get to flirt with you."

"Do you think I fuck every person who fucking flirts with me?"

"You fucked me."

"Yes, I fucked you, because I fucking love you."

"I don't understand why you're so mad."

"We could get fucking caught now, or is this your way of saying you don't want to be in fucking Germany any longer? You couldn't fucking say so like a fucking adult? You're such a fucking child sometimes."

Will throws the first punch, fist connecting with Hannibal's jaw.

"You little fucker." Hannibal resists, he doesn't want to hurt Will.

Will punches him again, this time in the stomach--Hannibal stays standing at least. "Fight back."

"I do not wish to fucking fight you."

Will smacks him this time, Hannibal is certain there will be a red hand print across his face.

Hannibal snorts, "Fine, you want to act like a fucking child, I'll leave."

Will backhands him, "You're not leaving me." The force of it splits Hannibal's lip.

He's not leaving, he's never leaving, this is the exact reaction he'd hoped for. Will takes his anger and frustrations out on Hannibal instead of some random man in the middle of the street. "I'll leave whenever I fucking want to. You do not fucking tell me what the fuck I can or cannot do." He can practically smell Will's anger and arousal.

"Do you want me to hurt you?" Will grinds his teeth together, Hannibal grabs his jaw to stop him.

"No, I don't want you to fucking hurt me, but I'd rather it me than someone in the middle of the fucking street exposing us."

"I'm sorry, I got jealous. But you have no right to get mad at me."

"I have no right? What the fuck does that mean? I have no fucking claim over you? You are my fucking husband or have you decided that's not what you fucking want any longer?" Blood leaks from the split in his lip, it stings but Hannibal welcomes the pain.

"No, never, Hannibal I chose you. I want you, and in wanting you, I want no one else to even look at you."

"So that fucking equates murder in the middle of the day? I'd have rather you had fucked me in front of him."

"You would've allowed that?"

"Perhaps I wouldn't have. I wouldn't want to be arrested for fucking in public. Though I'd rather that than be arrested as a fucking serial killer."

"I told you, I'm sorry. I was jealous, but Hannibal,"

"No, no buts, this isn't a fucking I'm sorry moment. Perhaps you should fucking leave."

Will's nostrils flare, and suddenly he lunges at Hannibal, knocking them both to the ground. He hits and punches Hannibal anywhere he can reach. Hannibal's nose is bleeding, his lip, the inside of his cheek where it has been bitten when Will's fist had connected with the side of his head for the third time. "You fucking asshole."

No doubt Will can feel Hannibal's erection beneath him, Hannibal resists the urge--for now--to grind up against Will.

"I'm not leaving you." The side of his fist connects with Hannibal's sternum this time. "Don't make me leave you."

"Never, mylimasis, never would I let you fucking leave me."

"I hate you." There's no truth to his words, Hannibal knows that.

"I fucking love you too."

Finally Will notices or finally decides to acknowledge Hannibal's erection, he grinds his hips down, ass pressed firmly against Hannibal's trapped cock. Neither can keep quiet at the sensation--Hannibal groans and Will whines. Will bends down to kiss Hannibal, his face is covered in blood, it's not a bother to either of them. Will laps at the blood where it still drips from Hannibal's nose--it doesn't feel broken, thankfully, Hannibal would hate to have to set it later--he licks across Hannibal's lips, nipping at the split in them, trying to bite it open further.

Hannibal pushes Will up, there is blood smeared all over his face, "Are you fucking trying to wound me, mylimasis?"

"Who knew you had such a dirty mouth Dr. Lecter?" Will rips Hannibal's shirt open, buttons skitter across the hardwood.

"You little fuck, who do you think you are ruining my shirt?"

"Oh, boo-hoo, it's a fucking shirt." Oh, so that's how Will wants to play this.

"A shirt that you know as well as I do cost one hundred and fifty fucking dollars."

"And you have a million more. Don't be a baby, Dr. Lecter." Will grinds down onto Hannibal's cock again, nails digging into Hannibal's chest, dragging down--the scratches are not bleeding now, but he has no doubt that they will be soon.

"You insolent little fucker, you'll be sewing the buttons back on." Hannibal grabs Will's hips, lifting his own hips to press against Will's ass.

Will's nails dig in again, he's panting harshly, "You don't control me."

"Do I not?"

His nails scratch down Hannibal's chest again, nails catching on his nipples, causing him to practically growl. "No, I'm in control of myself."

Hannibal pushes and pulls Will's hips, grinding Will's ass against his cock. "Take your shirt off, mylimasis." Hlannibal's voice is low and predatory.

"Make me." Will leans down, crushing their lips together, reopening the split in Hannibal's lip, fresh blood smears across their lips.

Hannibal's hands snake between them, under Will's t-shirt, caressing his soft abdomen, before pushing him back, and yanking his shirt up. "Do not fucking challenge me again."

Will slides down onto Hannibal's thighs, hastily unbuckles his belt, yanks the button open and the zipper down, he lifts himself up on his knees to push Hannibal's pants and underwear down enough to expose his cock. It's flushed and dripping, foreskin retracted fully to expose the dark, glistening head, Will touches gently with his thumb, before jumping up, "Do not move." He pushes his own pants and underwear down, kicking them across the room. He drops back down onto Hannibal's thighs, scooting down further to take Hannibal into his mouth.

Hannibal's fingers tangle in Will's hair, "Such a good little cocksucker for me."

His throat constricts around Hannibal as he takes him further into his throat, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, smearing across Hannibal's skin. He moans around Hannibal's cock, as he slides his fingers into Hannibal's mouth. 

Hannibal licks and sucks and coats them in his saliva--he knows where Will is going with this, and while he would rather grab one of the many bottles of lube stashed around their home, part of his wants it to hurt a little bit, he knows Will's body, knows what he can and cannot handle, being fucked with only spit as lube is no where near the worst thing he's endured because of Hannibal.

Will takes his saliva slick fingers and presses them into himself while focusing his attention on the head of Hannibal's cock, licking and sucking, tip of his tongue sliding into the slit, tasting Hannibal's precum before it can escape.

Hannibal groans and grunts and growls, pulling on Will's hair--to keep him down on Hannibal's cock or because he knows Will likes it, he himself is unsure of.

He pulls off of Hannibal's cock abruptly, saliva drips down the shaft. Will braces himself and sinks down, taking Hannibal inside in one swift motion. The corners of his eyes scrunch up slightly, nostrils flare out--tell tale signs of his discomfort--he grabs at Hannibal's shoulders and chest, nails digging in again, moaning high pitched and breathless.

Will fucking himself on Hannibal's cock, fast and hard. "Don't try to tell me what to do."

The nail marks Will leaves sting, his nose dully aches, his cheek intermittently throbs where he'd bitten through the flesh, but the only thing Hannibal can focus on is the tight, heat engulfing his cock. "Fuck, I will never get used to how tight you are. You will obey me, Will, you will do exactly what I want you to fucking do, or you will not come."

He braces himself--palms flat against Hannibal's chest, knees firmly on the ground on either side of Hannibal's hips--and increases his pace, fucking himself faster on Hannibal's cock, "I will come when I'm ready to come, Dr. Lecter. You cannot control how your cock hits my prostate, you can control how tightly I clench around you. I will come without your permission and you will do nothing about it, unless you'd like to go jerk yourself off. Is that what you want, Dr. Lecter?" The sounds Will makes tell Hannibal he's getting close--Hannibal is determined to make Will come first.

He grabs Will's hips--tight enough to bruise, lifting and dropping Will back onto his cock. "Fuck yourself, Will, come across my skin, smear it the scratches you've left. Let me fucking feel it."

Will bites at his own lips, stifling the pretty sounds he's making.

"No, none of that shit, let me hear you."

Will cries out above him, "Oh, fuck, ah, Hannibal."

Hannibal gets lost for a moment, staring at Will, he looks so beautiful--skin flushed light pink, skin glistening with sweat, that Hannibal wants to taste, his pupils are blown wide and his eye lids are heavy--Hannibal tries to memorize every detail so that he may draw Will this way later.

Will trembles, tightening around Hannibal's cock, "Mmhm, fuck, Hannibal, I'm sorry." Warm, sticky cum spread between them, pooling on Hannibal's stomach. Will slides his hands through it, smearing it through Hannibal's chest hair.

The scratches sting as Will's sweat and semen seep into them, but Hannibal doesn't mind. He bends his knees and thrusts up into Will's, chasing his own release. Will all but collapses onto Hannibal's chest, face pressed into his neck, panting, and moaning still. Hannibal's orgasm comes on quickly as Will's body clenches and relaxes around him. Hannibal cannot resist, he tilts his head up and bites down on the first bit of flesh he can reach--the juncture between Will's neck and shoulder--Hannibal tastes fresh blood, he laps hungrily at it as he releases deep inside of Will, thick, hot spurts of cum, coat Will's insides.

They lay there, unmoving for a long while, Hannibal's cock still inside of Will until it's gone completely soft and slips out on its own. Hannibal's back begins to ache from lying on the hardwood floor, and he can't imagine Will's knees appreciate it either.

"Apologies for getting so angry with you."

"No, Hannibal, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I need to be more careful."

"We have to leave Germany for now, you know that?"

"Yes," Will sighs, "I did really like this house."

"We'll have an even better one wherever we go. Do you have a preference, mylimasis?" Hannibal asks as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, Will seated firmly in his lap, Hannibal's arms wrapped tightly around him.

"No, not really, but wherever we go, Hannibal, I want to get a dog."

"Oh for fucks sake, I suppose it was only a matter of time until we got one, but only one, Will."

"We'll see Dr. Lecter." Will kisses him, barely more than their lips brushing together. "Let's go get cleaned up, this bite mark is killing me, and I think we need to make sure I didn't break your nose."

"Rest assured, mylimasis, my nose is not broken, but you are right, we need to get cleaned up, so I can bandage your neck."

"Wait, Hannibal, you know I didn't mean it when I said that I hated you, right?"

"I know, you were upset and I was not helping the situation."

Will nods against his neck, "Alright, carry me to the bath now, please."

#alayna writes #hannigram #hannibal bingo #nff #phone sex square and perjury square are probably the two ill finish

[avatarvyakara]

Drops of Gold and Silver

A Tangled Fanfic

Prompts 166-170

“Castle Life, Part I”

166. Illuminate

"Oh, Friedborg, that's…wonderful!" says Rapunzel, encouragingly, looking at the finished piece of the mural. "I mean, I don't understand it, but it's so…so you!"

Friedborg smiles. Friedborg always smiles. It's just part of who she is.

But this time there's something a little different about the smile. If it were on anyone else, Rapunzel would almost call it teasing.

For some reason, Rapunzel's view is drawn back towards the work that Friedborg did on her part of the wall. Fully black. Just…black. No real difference in colour to mark it out as something else, just…nothing.

Her mother's handmaiden goes gently over to the curtain opposite the mural, pulls it back a little bit—

Rapunzel can't help the gasp that escapes.

It's still black. But the way the brush strokes cover the wall, layer after layer, is textured. Delicate spirals and leaf-shapes cover the black, lit up by the setting sun. Patterns within patterns, a picture of a little tree beside a great castle in detail more fine than Rapunzel can say for even her own work—everything is surprisingly delicate. Something that you can feel, in burnt gold and midnight red.

And without giving it a little light of its own, without looking for it, nobody would know the work for what it was.

Not even her.

"I see now," she says, softly.

And a quiet but warm little voice in her head says, Yes, Your Highness. You do.

167. Interpret

From the first days of Corona's history, the Steward has been responsible for acting as second-in-command when the King and Queen were incapacitated, and their advisor when not. The Mistress of the Castle might rule the domain with an iron fist, but the Steward is a go-between first and foremost. For the monarchs, for the laws, for the will of the people, for the state of the military. Deciding what information is passed to whom, and doing so in a way that makes them listen.

And a good interpreter keeps up to date on translations—the economics of the land, the ways the laws have been followed and revised. The matters of statecraft. But they also develop their own unique personalities, which affect the reigns of their monarchs as much as those monarchs' own foibles and passions. After all, the monarchs are born into a job, but a Steward has to earn their keep.

And Nigel—in deference to the pain he saw in the eyes of King Frederic and Queen Arianna for eighteen long years, and as a compromise with the heavy heart of the Captain of the Guards every time a new order comes in to bring petty thieves to the highest justice—knows it is his duty to keep from the Royal Family anyone who might bring them to harm the kingdom. (Again.)

Be it a stolen dragon's egg that risks bringing fire upon all their heads, or a small, scared boy who would pull the Princess into a maze of rocks and possibly kill her and plunge the kingdom back into chaos, Nigel has made many decisions that his head can make sense of.

(His heart? Not as often.)

168. Breathe

Castle life doesn't ever stop—the building itself is alive, in many ways. There's always some sound, even if it's just the tap-tap of footsteps from the night-watchmen, or (in recent years) the distant hoot of an owl.

In the mornings it's easy enough to sink back and listen to the whispers of a whole palace coming alive around you. But then you'd miss out on the work you need to do yourself to keep the place working. You'd miss your part in bringing it to life. And the occupants—the King and Queen, the Princess, the Princess' rogue companion—would notice your absence, or at least the absence of your work.

Still, there's enough time across the day for other entertainments.

Panting, sighing, moaning, snorting with laughter, tiny gusts of wind moving from person to person…the air is never still, in Corona Castle.

169. Spine

"We've all had a smacking from Mrs. Crowley at one point or another," says Dinah, soothingly. "Don't think anything more of it, Faith. You're not in danger here."

"You're about as far away from danger as you can get," says Cassandra, freshly minted lady-in-waiting and somehow hating every minute of it. "Show a little backbone, Faith. You can't wait for someone else to fight your battles for you."

"And some battles you should not think of fighting," says Ethel, sternly, looking up from her book. "A lady-in-waiting must be modest, Cassandra. She must remember her station. She should not speak out of turn to those whom she serves, if she wants to keep serving them."

Cassandra grits her teeth, which to Faith have always seemed just a little…sharp. "Believe me, I know."

Faith remembers.

170. Wood

There are trees in the Royal Gardens, scattered here and there. There's room enough in the courtyard for flowers, come Springday. But for the wild, the real wild, you need to head out across the Corvus Bridge into the forests beyond the Island.

Few from the castle do, honestly, if they don't need to. Most, if they have homes beyond the palace, have homes on the Island. And why spend so much time working on order when it takes five minutes to be reminded just how chaotic the world will be regardless of all one's efforts?

#tangled the series #rapunzel’s tangled adventure #rta #tts #rapunzel #friedborg #tangled nigel #tangled faith #tangled cassandra #lingering in the golden gleam #fanfic #one shot collection #Corona #castle #slice of life