#oc: margot

[a-m-pyra]

The Imperial Beloved

—♫♫♫—

Before and after

[loolilyumm]

They are sleepy after a hard mission

SPLATOON AGENTS YOU MEAN SO MUCH TO ME…😣😣🥹🥹🥰🥰

[heterocaine]

children of the city

version without the chibis and police lines

[blvckentropy]

'Fictional' Cast in @sentate & @serenity-cc Sophomore Collection

[vaguehotels]

okays. making this just so i can reference it later. incomplete 👍

sammy: X

lupe: X

teeth: X

chicago: julien granel

sorbet: bowen yang

deedee: dorothée pousséo

margot: X

mattie: neil newbon

beattie: X

dallas: michael cera

chips: andy bean

victoriano: X

[beckverse]

oc sketchbook dump (poorly edited at nearly midnight. my bad)

[top row: chips, teeth, sammy.

middle row: lupe, sable, chips.

bottom row: gasoline; beattie, margot, mattie, dallas; chips, victoriano]

[scumpatrol]

his desk is just begging to be sat on okay?

had the pleasure of finally commissioning @sinsydia ♡ thanks you so much for capturing them so well !!!

[mmediocreman]

now that october is coming to an end im gonna post stuff i did for my OC_tobers (divided by their stories/worlds)

[cece693]

More Hannibal please 🙏 🙏🙏

Quite The Pair

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader tags: doesn't take place in a season but hannibal and reader met in Florence, reader is also a killer, two monsters finding each other and being only soft for one another, reader wants to see hannibal loose some of his control, and kinda succeeds?

You always recognized the glimmer in Hannibal’s eyes just before a dinner party. It was the same glimmer you carried behind your own, a mirror of desire: for elegance, for creation, for something exquisite that both enthralled and intimidated. By the time you arrive at his home—your home, now—the smell of fresh herbs and simmering stock curls through the air, and you can already anticipate the feast he’s prepared.

You sense his presence before you see him. It’s the subtle shift in the atmosphere, a tension that hums between two beings sharing the same dark passions. When you step through the threshold of the dining room, Hannibal is waiting. Dressed immaculately, eyes sharp with a refined hunger, he gives you a smile meant only for you—an acknowledgment of everything you both are beneath the veneer of high society.

Tonight, it’s just the two of you. He has prepared a lavish meal: seared foie gras, your favorite amuse-bouche, and the promise of something sweet to end the evening. But it is the undercurrent, the unspoken bond, that truly excites you: the knowledge that beyond the refined courtesies and classical music, you both share a darkness and a brilliance that no one else could ever match.

Hannibal gestures you closer, and you let him guide you to the table with one hand on the small of your back—possessive, reverent. In a world where Hannibal Lecter stands elevated above all others, you have learned something fascinating: you are the one capable of drawing him from his impenetrable heights. You see the slight tremor in his fingers when he sets a glass of deep red wine before you. Those hands so deft with a scalpel, so unflinching in their artistry, now waver. Because of you.

“I trust you’ll enjoy tonight’s menu,” he murmurs, voice low and cultured as ever, though there’s a hint of warmth that rarely surfaces for anyone else.

“Always,” you say, returning the smile, your reflection in his gaze.

You savor your first sip of wine. Hannibal watches you carefully, like a painter studying their masterpiece. He remains seated across from you, but the tension in his posture betrays his eagerness to be nearer. His eyes linger on your face, on your lips, as if you are more enticing than any dish laid out before you.

You recall the night he first approached you, after a particularly exclusive benefit in Florence. You had been drifting through the gallery, analyzing each painting with an astute eye, ignoring the usual polite chatter in favor of letting the masterpieces speak. He caught your attention with a single, well-placed observation—a challenge, really, about the meaning behind one of the more obscure canvases.

Something in that challenge had made your heart pound. And when you challenged him back, you watched Hannibal Lecter’s carefully schooled expression shift—just the barest flicker—into the beginnings of curiosity. It was no small feat to snag the interest of a man like him.

From that moment, it was as though you were two predators circling in slow, deliberate steps. You admired his refinement, his intelligence, his capacity for both cruelty and tenderness. And you matched him, piece for piece, tactic for tactic, in a cold, calculated dance until you both admitted what was between you went far beyond fascination. It became need.

Now, in your shared life, your combined intellects and appetites thrive. You create new dishes together, merging flavors no one else would dare. You sharpen each other’s nightmarish edges in stolen moments behind an innocent façade. You understand each other on a level that is entirely primal. And as much as Hannibal Lecter relishes control—lives to orchestrate and manipulate—he finds himself bending to your presence, entranced. You alone can coax from him a moan of admiration, the brief flicker of a trembling breath, or the subdued smile that only you can inspire.

Dessert is almost finished when you decide to test his resolve. You lean back in your chair, letting your gaze travel away from him for a moment, as if you’re distracted. A faint pout touches Hannibal’s lips, only visible because you have learned to read him like a favorite novel. The flicker of jealousy is there, unguarded, an emotion he normally masks so deftly.

He clears his throat.

“Is something amiss, my love?” His voice is smooth, but there’s a tension humming beneath.

You tilt your head. “At the market earlier, the sommelier seemed quite taken with me,” you remark, feigning nonchalance. You watch Hannibal closely, anticipating the shift in his demeanor. His grip on the dessert spoon tightens. For just a second, you see the edge of the predator in him. Protective, territorial. You wonder if he envisions removing that sommelier from the equation—discreetly, elegantly, as only Hannibal can.

You sip your wine slowly, letting the silence crackle around you. He sets his spoon down carefully, collecting his composure. But you see the intensity in his stare, as though any perceived threat to what is his cannot be tolerated. “Did they, now?” Hannibal says softly.

You nod, holding his gaze. “They gave me a bottle of that exclusive vintage you’ve been after. All on the house.”

A flash of raw possessiveness crosses his face. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to—jealousy and love alike coil through him. So seldom does Hannibal lose his impeccable composure, yet here he is, rattled. Because of you.

You lean forward, placing your hand gently over his. “I brought it home for us to enjoy,” you say with a wry smile. “I made sure they knew I had someone waiting for me.” At your reassurance, the tension drains from him, replaced by that blossoming warmth that he reserves just for you. His fingers thread between yours, and he raises your hand to his lips. That old-world courtesy, so carefully performed, never fails to make your pulse quicken.

Hannibal’s lips brush your knuckles. “I trust you sent them your gratitude,” he says, smooth but laced with that quiet darkness.

“Naturally.” You run your thumb across the back of his hand. “Though I suspect they know my heart isn’t on the market.”

A hint of a smile. Relief softens his features, but the subdued desire remains. That is the moment you realize you have the power to unmask him in a way no one else ever could. Later, you find yourself in his study—a haven of leather-bound books and the soft glow of lamplight. Hannibal stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his chest to your back. You can feel the steady drum of his heartbeat.

“You distract me,” he whispers, voice reverberating against your neck. “I’m enthralled.” It’s rare that he admits to vulnerability. But with you, he does so freely, because he knows you will not use it against him—you will nurture it, reflect it, mirror it. You turn in his arms, catching his dark gaze.

“You’re not the only one who finds it difficult to focus,” you murmur. “Sometimes, the only thoughts in my head are of you and all the exquisite ways we can devour each other’s minds.”

He grins, a fleeting glimpse of teeth—sharp as a wolf’s. “We make quite the pair,” he says, pulling you in closer.

The scent of his cologne tinged with the faintest aroma of tonight’s dinner drifts around you. His composure is usually rock-solid, but now his breath quickens, eyelids lowering as he leans to press his lips to yours. There is no gentleness—only pent-up passion and quiet devotion that threatens to consume you both.

He lifts his head just enough to whisper against your lips, “I have been searching for someone worthy. And here you are, my perfect reflection.”

You trail your fingers over his collar, then up into his hair. He exhales, and you feel his powerful form relax beneath your touch—Hannibal Lecter giving himself over to you. For all his careful planning, for all his cultivated self-control, he allows himself these moments of surrender, heart and mind unguarded.

“There’s no one I’d trust more,” you reply.

And in that stillness, you both know: your unity is as inevitable as it is extraordinary, two minds—two monsters—dancing in tandem. Together, you create something so rare and potent that it challenges Hannibal’s rigid control. He needs you, and you need him, each the other’s mirror, forging a bond that fuses obsession and affection into an inescapable truth.

[hee-blee-art]

I ♡ lesbians

[ID: two graphite drawings. the first is of two people kissing, one thin and shorter with curly hair and one buff and taller and seated with a short spiky haircut. the shorter on is tugging on the taller one's tank top as they kiss. the second is of three people cuddling and kissing, one small and thin with long hair, one taller and broader with a curly ponytail, and one tall and fat with a dark bowlcut. end ID]

[loolilyumm]

aaaaah op I am SWALLOWING THE MARGOT LORE POST WHOLE

I got curious about Margot so I went looking for lore and there I got it on a silver platter eheheeheee

I've liked your art for a while but hadn't had time to look into the lore bits but I am so glad I did so thankuuuu~~~

found family is SO good and I especially like the bits with her egg hunting friend Millie :3

AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH….I’m so happy you liked it omg!! I can’t believe people actually read my crazy ramblings…I CARE SO MUCH FOR FOUND FAMILY AND MARGOT AND MILLIEEE I could talk about them for hours and I swear one day I will organize my thoughts and create comprehensible lore for them…ONE DAY…!!

BUT FOR NOW I have some silly doodles of them!!!! I’m so happy you liked the bits with Millie!!

(Millie and Margot were actually initially created to just be salmon run ocs - I created Margot and @paninipanem created Millie and then I decided that I love Margot so much that I should make her my Neo agent 3 and the rest is history!!!)

[yyshcul]

girl characters who are kind of insane. like if you agree reblog if you agree give me everything you own if you agree

[kungsljus]

[pantamonte]

Dont wanna talk abt the fandom w/ the first image but the SEEECOND one!!!- their ship name is "FireSnail"

[madame-mongoose]

fuck it posting now im impatient

[scumpatrol]

Don't you notice how hopelessly I'm lost That's why I'm following you

absolutely in awe of this one, commission of my rook, margot and emmrich by the ever so lovely @sidver ♡