#ic. the sea does not like to be restrained / visage.

[quarantinevibes2020]

LoveDrug

Summary:  That trope where someone's eyes dilate when they see someone they love. That's it. That's the whole fic. OR Virgil and his accomplice play matchmakers for some literal star-crossed lovers.

Word count: 2198

Pairing: Romantic Roman/ Logan (college AU)

Warnings: drinking (not underage), other drugs mentioned but no one uses any

Yes this happened to me. Hush and let me project

AO3 Link

Roman was going to murder his roommate. Or at least shave an eyebrow off in his sleep.

He had been trying to navigate a small apartment decorated in polaroids and newspaper paintings, crowded with people he didn’t know. He had done his best flitting around from group to group: parties weren’t exactly a foreign entity to him and usually he would relish in the chance to make new friends. However, he had been looking for a particularly stormy visage among the sea of people.

He locked eyes with his target: Virgil Kross, aforementioned roommate who had dragged him here in the beginning of the night and told him to stay close before uncharacteristically darting off.

The get together was for everyone in Virgil’s physics class and when Roman found him, Virgil was propped up against a wall and sitting on some steps, swirling around a cider and talking to someone in square glasses and an almost comically over-formal button down.

Virgil caught his eye and lifted an eyebrow. Roman shook his head in a restrained don’t you dare Virgil I swear sort of way. Virgil either didn’t see it or outright ignored him. He waved Roman over, made some sort of excuse that Roman didn’t hear, and left the two alone.

Roman was going to fill Virgil’s pillowcase with popcorn kernels. He was going to tape his toothbrush to the ceiling. He was going to hide his socks in the freezer. He was going to-

“Roman?”

Roman sucked in a breath, litany of threats against his horrible, no good roommate suddenly coming to a halt.

In front of him sat Logan Nova, Virgil’s study partner from when he had taken astronomy a semester ago and also, less important, the person Roman had been pining for ever since Virgil had dragged them on their fieldtrip in September. The class was supposed to map out the stars they saw, identify them, and measure their distances or something. Roman didn’t really keep track of the details. He wasn’t even too interested in looking at the stars, coming from a city where they were mostly blocked out by the light pollution.

And sure, they were pretty in the open sky, but not prettier than the wide eyes that drank them in, than the elated expression that same face had when Roman asked him a question about the class since Virgil was off probably shotgunning a beer with their professor and Roman was bored out of his mind. Logan had shown Roman his star maps and pulled out a worn out textbook with tenderly placed bookmarks of his favorite constellations. Roman had been fascinated by the stories behind them and the two spent the night going through the book, cover to cover.

By the end, Roman was sure he never thought the stars were beautiful until he saw them reflected in Logan’s eyes.

Virgil continued to bring Logan over, even after their astronomy classes had ended, sometimes completely unannounced, before flouncing off to run some errands with his art major friends (how Virgil managed to double major never ceased to amaze Roman, especially given that both those majors were so hard). And for the past six months, Roman had gone from crushing to something close to besotted. It wasn’t something very easy to hide so the next time Roman caught that spider he was going to put ice down his back and-

“Um, there aren’t anymore seats. I can move if you’d like?”

Logan’s voice brought Roman back to the present. He took an extra swig of his drink, hoping that Logan wouldn’t notice how he almost downed it for the courage, and shook his head.

“Scooch on over, Specs, we can share,” Roman said, the burn behind his sternum fueling his words.

Logan laughed, a little bubbly and Roman guessed that his cup was full of something with a similar texture, and moved for Roman to balance on half the seat.

Roman took another sip, looking out over the room of people.

“So this is what you physics people do on a Friday night, huh?” Roman asked, a little teasingly, “not bad.”

Logan bumped him and Roman barely kept his heart from fluttering out of his chest like a frantic dove.

“Did you see how drunk half the class got at the Meteor Fields?”

Roman snorted, “Fair. We almost had to carry Virgil back to the room.”

“You almost had to carry him. I did carry him.”

Roman made a noise of offense, “Excuse me! I am a knight in shining armor! Not a carriage!”

Logan laughed and Roman finally turned to look at him, startling when his face was much closer than he had anticipated.

“I don’t appreciate that I am the carriage in this metaphor,” Logan said with a faux-pout. Roman wanted to quip something back, but he had something of an elephant-sized lump in his throat. Logan tilted his head before leaning in. Roman just barely managed not to squeak.

“Goodness,” Logan said, “your eyes are so dilated!”

Roman blinked, taking another sip of his drink and trying to will a blush down.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Logan exclaimed back, leaning in even more and woo-boy was he close.

Roman looked to his drink slightly, not able to hold Logan’s wide eyes for a second without turning cherry-red.

“It’s pretty bright in here, they shouldn’t be,” Roman said, trying to ‘science it out’ like Logan loved to do. Logan, mercifully to Roman’s thundering pulse, sat back a bit: considering.

“Well. Quite a few things can cause one’s pupils to dilate. Lack of light. Opiate withdrawal. Looking at someone you’re attracted to. Love. Parasympathetic activat-”

“Coke,” Roman nearly choked out. Logan paused in the list he was rattling off and blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Coke. I did coke. Just- whole line of cocaine all in one gulp.”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. “You don’t drink cocaine, Roman. Furthermore-”

Roman didn’t hear the rest of Logan’s sentence. He pushed off the wire seating, sputtering out something about refilling his drink, and made a beeline for the back exit.

When he got to the balcony, he nearly slammed his head into the corner of the railing.

Well Roman thought miserably better for him to think you’re on drugs than hopelessly in love with him. Really dodged a bullet there.

The thought didn’t help. Roman let out a groan and let himself slump. He poked his legs between the columns of the balcony and swung his feet. Above him, the sky was hazy. The moon was barely visible as it peeked through a curtain of clouds. Not a star in the sky. A part of Roman thought that was rather fitting given how royally he had just messed up.

A door opened and closed behind him. For a moment, Roman thought it was Virgil from how quiet the footsteps were and was about to get up and tell him he was heading out when he turned around.

Logan Nova, adorable wavy black hair and now slightly-crumpled but still endearing button down, was staring back at him. Clutching his drink a little as he moved to sit next to Roman. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then-

“Whoever your dealer is, I don’t think they gave you cocaine,” he finally said.

Roman swiveled around to meet his eyes. Logan’s eyebrows furrowed even further.

“Your eyes are dilated again. And while that is a symptom of its ingestion, your behavior otherwise does not indicate its use.”

Something bubbled out of Roman’s throat. For a horrifying moment, Roman thought it was his drink trying to take revenge, but no- it was laughter. Croaky at first, but rapidly devolving into full-bellied howling.

“Perhaps I misjudged?” Logan said after Roman’s guffaws continued, Roman shook his head, trying to stop the shake in his shoulders as Logan, obviously more than a little concerned at Roman’s ‘illicit drug use’, got more and more worried by the minute.

“I didn’t do any drugs, Logan,” Roman finally got out between heaving breaths. Logan stuck out his bottom lip a little.

“But you said..?”

Roman waved at him, he must have misjudged the distance because his hand caught Logan’s shoulder but Roman didn’t feel like moving it.

“I know what I said,” Roman said, laughter trickling, “I know, it was stupid, I promise though. I haven’t had anything besides this crappy beer and,” Roman took in a breath, now or never he guessed, “maybe a little love,” he finished quietly, not sure whether he should thank the alcohol or curse it for letting him say it.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, “Lovedrug? Like ecstacy?!”

“What?!” Roman shot back, looking incredulous before rubbing his face, “NO, not- not lovedrug you-UGH- how are you smart but so dense??”

Logan only blinked in return. Roman supposed he deserved that.

“Lo,” Roman said, taking his legs out of the balcony and setting them in a lazy kneel, “what were the things you listed off for making someone’s eyes dilate?”

Logan’s nose scrunched, “Em. Parasympathetic activation?”

“Keep going,” Roman said, exasperated but woefully fond.

“Ecstasy would certainly be on the list.”

“Logan.”

Logan huffed, “Ah. I believe I also said looking at someone you’re attract-”

Logan stopped. His expression almost sent Roman into hysterics again but he didn’t give in because if he did he might have ended up crying.

“Oh,” Logan said in a small voice.

“Yeah, oh” Roman echoed softly, “sorry I lied, I kind of just. Panicked. A little.”

“So you led me to believe you had taken a bad strain of cocaine?” Logan replied, voice strained but still shocked out of emotion.

Roman squirmed. “Yee. My bad, you don’t- you know. Have to say anything though. I know you don’t- I just wanted you to know since you seemed a little freaked that I was having a bad drug reaction.”

“You know I don’t what?” Logan asked suddenly as he spun to face Roman. Roman looked down and scratched his nose.

“You don’t-ugh. Don’t make me say it dude, you know what I mean.”

“Roman, look at me.”

Boy, Logan was not making it easy. But he supposed if he was going to get rejected, he should look at him straight in the eyes. At least he’d retain some of his dignity then. Roman lifted his chin.

“What color are my eyes?”

Roman blinked, a little caught off-guard from the question. Was it that obvious that Roman had been waxing poetic about Logan’s eyes in his own mind from the moment he had met him? How they caught the light and sucked it in, like two galaxies swirling in his irises. How his lashes curled naturally, almost touching his brow bone when they were alight with wonder. How it didn’t even matter now that he couldn’t see a star in the sky because they were all caught in Logan’s eyes. They were a force of gravity pulling him in and everything else with them.

“…black?” Roman said, tamping down on his raging thoughts. Logan cocked his head.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked.

Roman almost would have been offended if Logan hadn’t chosen that moment to tug Roman’s chin towards him.

“Look closer,” Logan said.

Breathe, dumbass Roman’s brain said. He listened to both as he squinted.

There were still the swirling galaxies in the middle. The soft gaze did nothing to curb that, but there- Roman tilted his head as he saw something else. Like the sun brimming over the earth, a honey brown at the very edges. Logan must have seen Roman’s expression as he realized it.

“My eyes are amber, Roman.”

There was something in Logan’s voice, it was the same one he used when he was helping Roman with his GenEd calc class. Like he was trying to lead him somewhere. If Logan’s eyes were amber, then his pupils must have been massive because they took up the majority of the…oh.

“But-I-I don’t,” Roman stuttered.

“What were the reasons for someone’s eyes to dilate?” Logan pushed.

“Didn’t take you for a coke guy,” Roman said, trying for cool but bordering on watery. Logan huffed, his face was so close that Roman could feel the breath.

Then, Logan’s lips were on his own and suddenly Roman could care less about eyes.

“Logan,” Roman breathed, smiling when he pulled him forward into another kiss. He turned to pepper more along his jaw bone. Logan giggled. Roman tried to stamp the sound into his brain.

“You’re amazing, you know. Amazing, smart, beautiful, so beautiful,” Roman whispered, half out of his mind as he tugged on the hair at the nape of Logan’s neck.

“Are you sure that’s not the alcohol talking?” Logan managed, though it came out a bit garbled.

“Nothing can addle my brain more than your beauty already has,” Roman replied instantly, pulling Logan in again.

-

Behind the window of the balcony, a blue sweater clad boy adjusted his round glasses and gleefully took a five dollar bill from a pouting spider.

“I told you all they needed was a little push,” whispered the glasses boy.

“Fucking finally,” replied the spider, not missing his five dollars all that much.

[eorzeasfrozenknight]

DO ALL THE SHIPPING ANSWERS 😈

🤗Are they physically affectionate?  

Oh Very much so, just heavily restrained in public.

🎶Do they have a type?

“Yes, Her. And her alone.”  

😡What are their deal breakers?

Compulsive liars, abusers and manipulators.

↕️Are they sub, dom or switch? 

Switch.

⏰How long do their relationships tend to last? 

She has only been in one relationship thus far and its nearing it’s 5th anniversary this year, though Yuki is very much a one relationship girl, she takes the saying “till death do us part.” literally.

💍Would they ever get married? 

She is Married/Bonded and is very much content in staying that way as she has been for five years and counting.

🏷️Do they give their partners cute nicknames? 

She tries to but she often defaults back to more common terms of endearment, her most profound name for her beloved is her “Guiding Light.” but otherwise she is always trying to work out a cute name for her fiery magus. 

💋Are they more sensual or sexual? 

Yuki for all her stoicism is quite Sensual and sexual when she wants to be, though she often reserves such displays and acts for the privacy of her own home and her lovers eyes alone.

📖What is their favorite outside of the bedroom activity to do with their partner? 

Besides generally spending time with her love? that is a very long list, but she really does enjoy reading with and dancing/singing with her Beloved as one of her favourite activities.

🛏What is their favorite bedroom activity to do with their partner?

  is anything they do allowed to be a favourite?

💚Are they prone to jealousy?

Not really, she does though get a little jealous/guarded when others come up attempting to flirt with either of them.  

😘Does their demeanor change when in a relationship?

Very much so, Yuki in a relationship though she often keeps it out of the public eye is honestly a sweetheart in a relationship and a VERY doting partner often going out of her way to rise before her love and have their meals made, everything ready for the day as early as the break of dawn and leaving small gifts about for her love to find as well as welcoming her home if she gets home before her lover. Being a relationship certainly brings out Yukis loving and caring side to a strong extent, were it not for her Beloved, she’d be one Cold as ice soul.

👫Do they display affection in public? What about in private? 

yes, She’ll hold hands gladly and even give a kiss on the cheek if she feels like no ones watching in public, in private however is another story entirely, she very much lets her stoic visage simply fall away and utterly exposes her heart around her Beloved giving all to gladly many many forms of displays of affection be it physical, verbal, non-verbal or even behavioral, but you can be certain that she makes sure her Beloved knows that she LOVES her. 

💕Are they open to threesomes or a polyamorous relationship? 

nope.

💔Do they have a certain type of person they will not enter into a relationship with? 

in a similar vein to her deal breakers, but she has already found her one and only, so the thought of other types is well and truly off the table all together, she’s going nowhere

💝How long until they feel secure and comfortable in a relationship? 

it took her a few months to get comfortable and feel truly secure but once she felt that way well she definitely doesnt wanna move and is very warm and cozy in the little piece of heaven she landed herself in.

🤐Would they ever confess their feelings first? 

She did confess her feelings first actually… as a blushing jibbering mess no less but she was the one who confessed first and has never been happier since.

❌Would they ever cheat on their partner? 

Yuki would sooner commit Harakiri.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦Do they want children? 

ehehehe… ‘want’? /sweat

🐶Are they a cuddler?

Yes. big ‘ol YES.

🔮Do they believe in soul mates? 

She does and she’s found hers.

⚔️ Are they protective of their partner? 

fiercely, to the last breath, she knows full well her Beloved can handle herself, it doesn’t stop the unyielding desire to keep her beloved safe from being there though. “You can break my soul, take my life away, hurt me. Beat me. Kill me. But for the love of God, Dont. Touch. Her.�� kinda deal (dunno who did the original quote of that sorry!)

🚀 How far are they willing to go for the person they love? 

She would do the impossible if it meant keeping her Beloved alive, safe and happy. there is nothing she wouldn’t do and no limit to how far she’d go for her Beloved.

❤️ Do they fall in love easily? 

no she does not, it’s why now that she is very much deeply and madly in love with her partner that she most certainly has no wanting need or desire to be anywhere else

📺 Do they share information about their relationships freely with friends and family? 

friends not so much, Family there was an incident with Yuki’s own family in Doma where they all but had to share some rather private information with Yuki’s mother to open her eyes to certain realities otherwise they’re often content to keep their relationship doings between themselves

♦️Are they concerned with the social status of their partner? 

thats kinda yes and no answer, She values her Beloveds social status as a merchant in trade and will not do anything to tarnish her reputation, but under all that she really couldn’t care if her Beloved was a merchant a pauper or a simple farm worker, She feel in love with her Loves heart, mind and soul, and those are what matter to her more than anything.

💭 Do they tend to sleep better when in bed with their partner?

“better”? more like at all. Yuki’s own past robs her of sleep constantly, whenever her beloved is away on business trips She is flat out getting 3 hours of nightmare infested sleep a night, she takes a great deal of comfort in the ‘special’ sweater her Beloved wove for her as it most certainly helps ward off the nightmares but otherwise she only ever sleeps peacefully or at all in the arms of her beloved, only then is she at peace and only then is the darkness held at bay.

//whew! one long as HELL ask done for @remnantlight thank you~! (also mention to @of-sea-and-forest for being amazing partner and in screenshots:3)

[margotverger]

bloom’s duality

[Sequel to Guillotine’s Glint! | Read on Ao3]

I can't lose this. I can't lose you.

Margot's words remain imprinted on the fleshy fabric of her brain; when she closes her eyes to sleep, fitfully, they are illuminated on the red screen of her eyelids. Bright, stark white; white as stars. Navigation through the grim and murky waters of their hiding. In her dreams, she sees her family, becalmed on a red sea, a black mass surging from the depth. It has no face, but she knows it is him. The kraken has awoken, and has come for his pay. All the while, Alana is marooned on an island of her own creation, frozen as she watches those foul appendages pull her family deep into its toothed maw. Entirely helpless.

She wakes up with a scream in her throat, and Margot hovering over above her, haloed by the overhead light. Her eyes are wide, terrified, wet with fear. Morgan is stirring, his dreamscape disturbed. “Bad dream?” Margot's hands are so soft, fingers brushing along the dip and curve of her cheekbone.

“Bad dream,” she echoes, voice weakened, raw, as if she really had been screaming. She seeks comfort in a kiss, chaste and brief. “I think I'll take watch now.”

Something has to be done about this.

*

She invests in a trainer, taming her paranoia about interacting with others. While it is incredibly unlikely Hannibal intends to enact his plans through a mere idol, one can never be too certain. To allow someone into her sanctuary is to create a leak in the boat. But it must be done. If she is doomed to be a sitting duck, she might as well be one that can fight back.

*

Aleksandra is her name. A bulky Russian woman, she towers above them, so much so that her blonde hair, cropped short, almost touches the ceiling. Despite the toughness that emanates from every curve of muscle, Morgan takes an instant liking to her. Alana sees it as a good omen.

(A good omen is still an omen, says some small part of her.)

*

Aleksandra stays with them. She instills a nutrition plan for she and Margot; things that will imbue them with strength, stamina, enough protein to carry them through the absolutely ruthless training plan she has in mind. At night, when Margot is sleeping, Alana trains in the living room. First, building tolerance, stamina; warm ups, muscle building, elasticity. Reflex training. Basic combat. Then, into styles: krav maga, kung fu, taekwondo, boxing; the list is endless, and Aleksandra skips nothing. She knits each style together seamlessly, so that Alana may find what best suits her. She trains until the sun rises and then some, and only rests when the night comes round to. Her exhaustion kills any dream, and she is glad for it.

*

She finds time for tenderness regardless. Devoting her life to protection can be as double-edged as devoting her life to paranoia. Instead, she employs Aleksandra's extra time to look after Morgan. They play games in the living room or what could be—tentatively—called the garden, while she has alone time with her wife. There, she allows herself to kiss every place that has gone unkissed for so long (too long), to worship Margot's soft skin, scarred belly, the curves of her thighs. She kisses and licks and paints patterns with her fingertips along the canvas of her wife, and allows herself to be lost in the world of her body, in the world of pleasure that has been alien to them for so long. Other times, they merely sit in silence, enjoying the sound of their slow heartbeats, appreciating each rise brought on by their breath. The reminder that they are here and alive, and for the moment, at peace.

When Margot's eyelids become heavy with sleep, Alana finds herself staring, reverant. I'd do anything for you, her heart sings a hymn. God, I'd do anything for you.

*

Margot and Aleksandra are in the bedroom, which doubles as a playroom for Morgan nowadays, when the door knocks. Alana freezes, her knife stagnating, only half-way through the cucumber. Nobody is supposed to knock on the door. Nobody is supposed to know where they are. A small voice, that same voice, is tearing her apart for her foolishness, but she retains a calm visage despite herself. She inhales through her teeth, recalling everything Aleksandra taught her, and goes to the door, bracing herself for the worst.

But she does not come face to face with the monster who has haunted her dreams. She comes face to face with its' psychiatrist.

She shuts the door in Bedelia du Maurier's face.

*

Minutes pass, maybe few, maybe many. All Alana knows is that the quiet rumble of life in the bedroom is the most beautiful thing she's ever heard, that her heart is beating louder and faster than it has even post-nightmare, and that Hannibal Lecter's psychiatrist is, somehow, on her doorstep. Part of her wants to believe it was merely some sort of illusion; an invention of stress. Some diluted madness taking form in the most bizarre shape imaginable. After all, why—and how? – is Bedelia du Maurier on her doorstep?

She takes a steadying breath. Only one way to find out. She opens the door, and finds that Bedelia is still standing there, her glacial expression betrayed by the rise of her eyebrow. She's miffed. “That was rude, Doctor Bloom,” she says, voice stiff and velveteen all at once. Her skin crawls at the very word. It must be deliberate. Instead of confronting that particular turn of phrase, she affixes a sharply polite smile to her face. Out of Bedelia's line of sight, Alana's knuckles are blanching against the doorframe. She half-expects it to splinter and snap beneath the pressure of her.

“My apologies, Doctor du Maurier. You took me quite off guard.”

“I imagine so.” Without moving, Bedelia's eyes explore what they can of Alana's home. “May I come in?”

Hidden beneath the pale pink of Alana's lips, her teeth are grinding. Then: “I don't see why not.”

*

“You have a quaint little home.”

“I was in the mood for something smaller.” Safer. Less shadowy corners for Hannibal to lurk in.

“I can imagine,” Bedelia purrs, eyes ceasing their roaming of the living room and settling on Alana's gaze. She has striking eyes. The colour of ice. Just as cold, too.

There is a silence.

“Do you have any wine?”

She chooses to ignore that. “Why are you here?” Alana asks, and her voice is quiet. Still, but with the threat of a tremble. A storm brewing in the column of her throat. “How did you find us?”

Bedelia opens her mouth to speak, but finds herself interrupted.

“Alana, are you done with those snacks—“ her words find themselves decapitated mid-sentence. “Alana,” she repeats, her voice carrying the threat of fear.

“Margot,” comes her quiet response, her gaze unmoving from Bedelia. She trusts her wife. She does not trust Bedelia du Maurier. “Make sure Morgan and Aleksandra stay in the room.”

Margot lingers, uncertain, but her doubt is ephemeral; she leaves, silent as a ghost.

“You seem to be wary of me,” Bedelia notes, “despite the fact we are both victims of the same man.”

A mirthless hm, one that jerks her lips in a way that could almost pass for a smirk. “You don't strike me as the victim type, Doctor du Maurier.”

“If I did, would you enjoy my company more?” the graceful tilt of her head; hair pools over her blouse like liquid gold. “As I recall, that appears to be your type.”

She narrows her eyes, contrasting the almost feline dip of Bedelia's nude-dusted lids. “How did you find us?”

“My apologies, I seem to have struck a nerve.” Alana can see, so very clearly, why Hannibal decided to bring her along with him on his Florence escapades. Whatever hope she had that the stories were true is distinguished; her doubts have flared into a great and angry beast. There is something in her eyes, something bright and cruel and cold, that suggests they have never once been blind to Hannibal's nature. “You're a bright woman, Doctor Bloom. I'm certain you can piece together a suitable answer.”

“Aleksandra? She's been off the grid since she got here.”

Her simpering smile patronizes her, and Alana's voicebox bobs in her throat. “Not off the grid enough.” Bedelia moves then, as slow as a cat on the prowl. Alana half-expects her pupils to narrow to slits, black knives ready to pierce and carve. She leans forward, and even the slide of her hair manages to look predatory and controlled. Her fingers lace together, French tips digging into the vanille crème of her own skin. “Do you want to know why I came here? Why I looked for you?” She waits for no answer. “I wanted to know if I could. Because if I can find you, so can they.”

Her breath stutters, her eyes blowing wider than they ought to – a shot of fear, adrenaline pumping through her blood, then followed by a relief. They, meaning not only Hannibal; they, meaning Will is alive. Despite the years, there remains something tender for Will Graham yet. She hopes he can say the same for her. “They survived.”

“Unfortunately so.” It is Bedelia's turn to narrow her eyes, blonde lashes almost ghosting along the curve of her cheekbone. “I do hope that little response is fear, and nothing else. Like I said, you're a bright woman.”

Her confidence is blooming, piece by piece, as things fall into place: her own strength, her wife's, Will's survival. She says nothing, but her thoughts must show on her face, for Bedelia's glacial demeanour fractures for only a moment, eyebrows furrowing.

“Your faith, while … admirable,” she barely restrains a sneer, “is misplaced, Doctor Bloom. The Will Graham that rose out of that water is not the one you knew. He is something new and sharp. One has to wonder what lurks in the mind of the one who walks willingly by Hannibal Lecter's side.”

“Yes,” Alana stares deep into those near phosphorescent eyes, as pointed as a blade, “one does.”

Spider-web fractures crack along the porcelain of Bedelia du Maurier's facade, exposing veins of frustration. Her eyes are alight, almost. Jaw hard-set, she says, with a voice brittle as winter: “You understand nothing of the man who holds your fate in one hand and scissors in the other.”

“He doesn't hold my fate. I do.”

Is that admiration, there, glimmering alongside the slow-burning anger? Perhaps. “And here I had assumed your naivete had shattered along your pelvis.” Bedelia lets out a sigh that falls somewhere between suffering and irritated, gaze breaking from Alana's only to rise to the heavens before falling to where her legs sit, primly crossed. “I see that I will have to force you to see what he really is.” She unfolds herself, only to set about fiddling with, presumably, her stocking. Alana watches on, expression morphing into a deeper state of vexation with each passing second. Then, in a moment of stark shock, Bedelia separates her leg and sets it to the side. Her gaze is unflinching, but there is a vulnerability there. Raw as a mineral, jagged and sharp.

“This is what they are capable of. What Will Graham is capable of.”

“He did that to you?” Alana's voice catches in her throat, only escaping in the shape of a whisper.

“I presume the cooking of it was all Hannibal, but he certainly helped in eating it.”

A sharp stab of nausea: acid pools in her stomach as her skin cools.

“Did he tell you of his visits to me? How he took Hannibal's role as my singular patient?”

“No.” She swallows. “He didn't.”

Bedelia tilts her head, hair shifting with it. Something violent flashes in her eyes. It almost appears to be something like satisfaction. “An interesting thing, that, isn't it? I must admit, I don't blame him. Not after the things we discussed. Do you know what he said to me, on the eve of Hannibal's escape?”

Alana is quiet.

“He looked me in the eyes, Doctor Bloom, and said: meat's back on the menu.”

*

“I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“For this. For everything. If it weren't for me...”

“If it weren't for you, I'd have been torn apart and eaten alive by pigs. Alana, you brought light into my world when there was only darkness. You redefined what family meant for me. You showed me what love is. Don't ever apologize for this. For us. For Morgan. I'd follow you around the world.”

Alana offers a weak smile, though the tears on her face aren't wholly from fear anymore. “You might have to.”

“So be it.”

*

The world has shifted. Their world has shifted.

Bedelia du Maurier's words lie side by side Margot's on the canvas of her lids. In her dreams, she is still marooned. Will Graham appears as if from air, all light and divinity. Will, she says, voice thrumming with relief, Will, thank God you're here. You have to help me. The water is lapping at the white sand, staining it red, then black; it grows thicker and thicker. Margot's screams grow loud and desperate as Will's gaze remains indecipherable, the entirety of his eyes blown out by light. Please, and she reaches out for him, her friend, her conspirator, and begs.

Oh, Alana, he hums in that voice, yet it doesn't sound like him. It sounds new and terrifying. He takes her hand, and his skin is burning. There are no Gods here. Not anymore.

He pushes her into the black sea.

[astrumacademia]

Accepted Character Profile:

To the stars we fly with Netherlands/ Arjen Schrijnemakers

OOC:

Name/ Nickname: Cassian

Age: 21+

Pronouns: They/Them

Triggers: Trypophobia

Timezone: CET/CEST

Skype: ap0c47yp53

Personal account: satanmiao

》》》》Student 《《《《

IC:

Character Applying for: Netherlands

Character Full Name: Arjen Schrijnemakers

Age: 24

Birthday: April 27th

Major: Business economics

Minor: Criminology and Criminal Justice

Employment: -

Clubs: Chess club(though not fully engaged), fencing team

Pet: a rabbit named Coen

Housing Arrangements: solo dorm on campus

Appearance:

He is a tall young man, standing at 188cm(6’2) with an athletically muscular build and a clean physical appearance. A visible short scar marks the right side of his forehead, and along with sharp Caucasian features edged with sobriety and a strong jawline, his visage can be said to be rather handsome and resolute. His clothing of choice ranges from being business like to what can be considered stylish. Though when not meddling in the streets, he often chooses to dress more plainly in contrast to the brighter colours and more dapper attire many would have known him for. He usually has his short hair spiked up with gel, causing the dirty blonde strands to shine with a glint, and when he lets it down, his bangs would just dangle before his eyes, which has a gleam of amber green.

Personality:

He is carefully selected phrases uttered on contemplative lips, ravaging wild fire concealed deep under a solemn countenance and an ocean of contrivances casting sparks against dimming eyes. He holds a reputation of almost business like practicality, playing his cards through careful calculation and holds them closely to his chest with nimble, calloused hands. He is watchful eyes and perceptive wisdom, taking in closely the world around him though not holding back his razor edged tongue. Tolerant and articulate, his self indulgence does not get into the way of his open mind, his canvas allowing expressions of any kind from different walks of life. Under his enigmatic and evanescent smile lies a beating heart of determination and fathomless aspiration for freedom. He holds his own ground, and marks his own destiny. Though whisper his name, and he will come to your aiding.

Headcanons:

He is an undisclosed poet and painter. He has never been vocal of either practices though neither has he ever tried to hide it.

He bikes everywhere if practical, if not, he’d ride his motorcycle. He has yet to get his drivers license though he’s now strongly considering it.

Garden tending was a hobby he picked up from his grandparents, who also had five cats. He still remembers and can recite many names of flowers and their meanings. He plants some of his own herbs as well and has a pot or two in the spaces available in his kitchen, which is always maintained to the best condition.

He rather admires chivalry, though can’t be said to be too gallant himself. He prefers to explore these romances in the form of literature, poetry and art.

He has an old trench coat and a scarf which he is rarely seen without when the weather gets chilly.

His favourite colour is orange, how could it not be.

Brief Character Backstory:

Hailing from an intellectually prestigious family, Arjen had a lot to live up to and was no stranger to being overwhelmed by seas of expectations. He grew up just around the edge of Den Haag, and spent his youth mostly attending classes along with workshops and fencing lessons. He was obedient and reticent, carefully performing his duty and following orders in a loving though affectionless household, until he was not. Not liking his passion restrained, and feeling increasingly powerless over having little say to his own proceedings, he broke free of the reins and dropped out of engineering school in his second year, opting for a more stimulating lifestyle as he pursued employment along with freelancing for the next few years. He however eventually found himself back onto the path of academia, and with some innovated ideas guided by his honed senses of the world, business seem a solid option.

Sample RP Para:

College was nothing new to him. Even as the bitter taste of it have still to completely leave his tongue, there was an almost nostalgic ring to it, a disconsonant sentiment that still strummed at his heartstrings.

It was more than delightful, that this new place he would make a temporary home allowed him an undisturbed solitude. He unpacked his belongings, effortlessly efficient as he took in a fresh breath of the wind chiming at his opened windows. The housing was comfortably spacious, and within a few hours, it was made a place Arjen could call home.

“Neat, ain’t it? Coen,” he hummed, lending a glance to his fluffy companion flopping idly across the room, himself seating down on the floor against a wall, reaching towards a bottle of Belgium beer.

Well, I guess this is home now.