BENICIO DEL TORO as LAWRENCE TALBOT THE WOLFMAN 2010 | dir. Joe Johnston
trying on a metaphor

oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
dirt enthusiast
we're not kids anymore.
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
DEAR READER
No title available

Kiana Khansmith
No title available
Misplaced Lens Cap

Origami Around
Jules of Nature

roma★
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Peter Solarz

Andulka
Xuebing Du
art blog(derogatory)

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from China

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Kosovo

seen from Spain
seen from Malaysia

seen from Azerbaijan
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Oman
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
@discreet-eccentric-affairs
BENICIO DEL TORO as LAWRENCE TALBOT THE WOLFMAN 2010 | dir. Joe Johnston
If you see me Lurking™️ on here because I'm looking for Lawrence Talbot fanfiction
Luke Thompson himself confirming that Benedict would absolutely give himself over to a vampire if he met one is both hilarious and scary because my Benedict is always happily interacting with & giving himself over to vampires, Luke are you on my fucking blog?!
Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959
@alwaysanangcl bc if it isn’t Jess and Jessica idk what is
@discreet-eccentric-affairs @lestatdebat
In a way, Lestat had been awaiting this moment with just as much anticipation as Louis. Screened from the victim’s view where he sat on the lower stair, he laid his head back against the wall, and exhaled the exquisite detumescence of the last two hours. The way without realising Louis chewed his inner lip with hunger, swallowed thickly down his impulses; looked at Lestat every now and then with adorably urgent entreaty. His impatient little talitha cumi.
His eyes fluttered open. A clatter and a choking noise: the fish-out-of-water frétillement of the salesman’s legs kicking out half reflexively, half spitefully, at the leg of a priceless Louis XVI coffee table, toppling it to the ground. Louis overcorrected - broke an arm as he pinned it - and Lestat gave a performative recoil on the salesman’s behalf. Another snap of bone followed that.
‘No. No.’
Louis wasn’t hearing him. He was in the thrall of his own accomplishment. His fingers dug into tender stomach flesh, sinking through the skin like a snowbank mistaken for solid ground. Blood was haemorrhaging through the carpet. Lestat sprung up.
‘Non! C’est pas comme il faut!’
Over in a brief flash of transition, like the logic of a dream, his hand snaked underneath Louis’s chin to pull him up from the carcass like an errant puppy-dog. And if his thumb stroked for a tender second across Louis’s wet cheek, then who would refuse him that? After all, this was all his work, his sacrifice, his gift.
‘A little more gently, mon cher. No-’ the whelp trying to evade his grip. He did not like to tighten it, but he would to protect Louis from himself. As the hot skin throbbed against his palm, he could feel the blood swelling, damming in his throat, too much to go down at once. ‘I am trying to help you.’ Lestat’s usual placid gracefulness marred by a note of frustration. It was undignified to have Louis trapped between his legs like this, like an animal, held by the neck. He was impatient to let go and allow Louis to experience the pleasure of his first kill. ‘Don’t bite the blood, drink it. And keep your hands to yourself. I assure you he is not going anywhere.’
The feeling of finally satiating his newfound hunger was in the only way of describing was only this. It's a hot Louisiana day where the only drink that could quench a mans thirst is an ice cold beer. Now when that Louisana man took his first sip, it was like the heavens had opened in his mouth & he wanted more of it. More of that honey come hay taste that sweetened his cheeks, and reanimated his voice. More, and more that he could get drunk with, drunker than Cootter Brown, until he could feel no more. Louis was drawing the blood from the salesman in such away that he was worried some other pup would come and steal him away from his jaws. When his head was raised, the need to sink his teeth back in again clawed at his inside, wanting to feel his own form of heaven against his tongue.
When he found himself pulled off the salesman one more time, the drunken feeling he'd previously felt was washed away and in return his body flooded with horror and grief at what he'd just done the man below him, his mind swirling with the little alcohol from the mans system now taken and streaming through his own veins. But that Louisiana heat came back, beckoning him to yearn for another ice cold bottle of beer, confused, and hungry, and... learning.
Lestat's voice trailed into Louis' ear, his eyes wide with both hunger and fright. Ultimately, Lestat's words calmed him, and made him click in recognition of what his maker was saying. With a much less wilder execution, Louis wordlessly leaned his body forward, finding himself more in control, his body swirling with the mix of sadness, hunger, curiosity, & the strange need to please him. His lips found the earlier wound he'd made on the salesmans neck, and while his fingers still dug into the the flesh of the mans shirt, over his skin, Louis's lesson was learned. There was a particular art to feeding, the way the blood would dance, sing, & swirl about his throat, rather than burn & choke.
As he lapped at the mans skin & found no more blood to consume, the guilt came flooding back as he looked now down upon the corpse. "What---What do we do with him? Lestat---What do we-?" his voice began to choke back a sob, like a child experiencing their first, & unexpected, beloved pet death. His fingers rolled & coiled in the mans hair, pulling & toying in his exaggerated unease.
Death, although still hideous, acquires in the night a sort of impalpable transparency, an illusory innocence, as though in the morning everything would go on as if none of it had ever happened. That was how Louis’s kills would feel from now. But, fresh from the cradle of humanity as Louis was, instead he was shivering. Wincing at himself, as if his tears scalded. Lestat had not anticipated that. Had not experienced his own first drink this way. And so it took a second or so, lingering in the threshold as though trapped between twin hemispheres, for Lestat to realise Louis was in pain.
‘Louis,’ he soothed, in that tapering breath with which he always spoke the word. ‘Consolamini, mon cher, you’ll break my heart.’ A little gust of a laugh, though it was not clear he was joking. His gaze flitted to the rut of torn flesh and linen where Loui’s hand was still curled in the viscera cruda of his kill. The word ‘incinerator’ was not best suited to Louis’s current state of mind. So instead he went to the mechanical music box on the lintel to set the softly tripping three-four waltz that had always sent Nicky to sleep in motion. Then, with a permissive movement of his head (for that was now all it took to communicate with his fledgling) he entreated Louis to crawl back and look away. And glanced over his shoulder, as he rolled the corpse up in a rug, to make sure Louis wasn’t sneaking a morbid look. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw that he was not.
‘Voila. He can wait until the morning. The more pressing question is, what do we do with you?’
He turned his palm upwards, and gently offered it down to Louis.
Louis, in his ache, his big teary eyes sparkling as he looked to Lestat for comfort, a physical comfort, a touch, a hand hold, a hug, and found nothing but the weight of his guilt swirling amongst the blood that seeped into his veins. Lestat left him in that emptiness, the space between them growing more distant as the man rose to put on… music? What good would music do now? A body, a corpse, and so much blood and now… music?!
He supposed, in a strange, nauseating way, the music would be fitting if this was a funeral. His eyes flicked back up to his… friend? Lover? Maker? Master? Though this time, the tears still threatened to fall on the brim of his eyes, they were now disconnected, guilt eating away & consuming him. Much like he’d just done to the salesman. Et infinitum.
Louis understood the nod, and turned painfully away, sat like a sulking toddler with his back to his kill.
As Lestat pronounced he’d finished doing whatever Lestat De Lioncourt does when no-one is looking, Louis turned heavily round and caught sight of the friendly palm he extended. He stared at it some more before asking “Will you hold me, Lestat?”
"Oh! It's your painting dress!" he proclaimed, not questioned, eyeing it over briefly.
Good. That meant his idea could go ahead as he had originally planned.
Benedict curled himself over Allegra, letting his breath tickle at her skin lightly, fingers tracing down without touch before taking hold of her stockings, and snatching them off in a sudden whip, discarding them in a flumped heap on the floor. "Off." he spoke with a mischievous grin.
Turning on his heel, he walked toward his easel, fumbling with brushes, pencils, charcoal. Until, out of the blue, Benedict came back around, and started 'attacking' Allegra by flicking globs of paint at her, allowing it to land on her clothes, hair, skin, and the walls & window behind her, stifling a laugh at how ridiculous he was being, and continue on throwing different colours of paint and laughing some more.
Allegra's grin only widened as Benedict leaned in closer. Her skin prickled as his hands moved downward, even though he wasn't touching her, and she giggled when he snatched her stockings off in one fluid movement.
She followed him with a curious gaze and watched as he organized himself, and she settled herself into a comfortable pose - one leg bent as her foot rested upon the windowsill, the other foot on the floor, toe pointed. She was about to lean forward a little to rest her elbow on her bent knee when she felt something splatter on her and she squeaked in surprise.
"Benedict!"
She giggled and turned her head as he flung paint at her, feeling it land on her dress, in her hair, on her skin. She then stood up and started turning around, arms wide open.
"So you won't miss a spot!"
Benedict broke out in peels of laughter as Allegra rose and span around, flinging more paint at her eagerly as she turned. When satisfied, he placed the pot down, and came to Allegra’s side once more. He guided her to rest once more in the previous position, and with a chance opportunity, brushed his wet with paint finger across her cheek, humming a laugh. Finally, he cleaned his hands of paint with the bottom of her dress, but did it so in a meticulous fashion that it was for the painting, rather than for cleanliness.
Before he returned to his easel, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead in passing, and grabbed his pencil, beginning to sketch out her form, marked the areas of shades & light, and began blending the colours he needed.
Prior to their playing, the room was now still, silent, save the sounds of the streets below trickling inside. “Have you never considered modelling before? You’re a wonderful subject.”
A great smile ran across Benedict's lips, almost hungry in how he ravished in her pleasure as a result of himself. He gave a playful nibble to her skin as she murmured out the compliment. His breath was hot against her ear in his come down, fingers running through her hair in a gentle way to soothe her, just letting themselves be quiet in their afterglow.
Benedict lay there, breathing the scent of her in as he drew in the warmth of the room, basking in it all together. "Can I get you anything, my love?" he asked gently.
"I'm perfectly fine." Allegra whispered and she leaned back a little so that she could look at him. The gentle smile on his face, the warmth in his eyes, and the way he looked so undone by her made her melt. Her gaze softened as she ran a hand through his hair.
"You are all I need." she whispered before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. She pulled away after a lingering moment, and then remembered that they were in their drawing room and she snickered.
"Though we should straighten up before Mr. or Mrs. Crabtree walk in here and see us like this."
Benedict lifted his body some to look about the room, entirely forgetting that they weren’t in the privacy of the bedroom. “Yes, you’re probably right about that.” He sat up on his elbows, helping to raise Allegra up from her relaxed position.
“Though, really, there’s no telling whether they did accidentally walk in on us, the both of us too busy to even note their arrival.” Benedict grinned devilishly.
“You head back upstairs; I’ll restore the room to its former self, just in case they saw nothing.”
Benedict found his head tilting some in curiosity. The way the woman spoke of her, now understood, former husband with a lightness dimming down into darkness to regaining former politeness of their surroundings, baffled him & intrigued him. He certainly wasn't one to want the people he met to be formal & stiff around him, so this slight inkling of truth gained his curiosity.
He looked at their surroundings then, almost sarcastically, before returning to look back at her "You need not hide your conversation from me, Lady Greer. If your former husband was a terrible partner, then I am glad that he is dead." he gave a half shrug at his own statement, then quickly looked up at the ceiling in surprise & mock horror, waiting it out some, before relaxing "See? God did not strike me down for saying such. Perhaps he agrees."
"Then perhaps you should not meet my Mother. She would make it her life's mission to find you someone on her terms." he chuckled as he folded his arms. "Though, perhaps if you were searching for a real love match, you should meet her. She would be the right one to meet. She's had some luck with my siblings in their endeavours these last few years."
Allegra looked down at her feet before turning to look at Benedict. So she wasn't as subtle about her disdain for her former husband as she had originally thought. However, being unable to cover it up was one thing, but saying it out loud when her late husband was beloved by the entire ton was another thing entirely. She glanced around the ballroom to make sure she wasn't being overheard before leaning in to whisper to Benedict.
"Yes, well, there are plenty of people here that believe that I'm the arbiter of my husband's death." Allegra lifted her eyes to meet his and she sighed. "I do not wish to put more oxygen to the rumors, even if it includes speaking the truth in a crowded room. So yes, God may not strike me down for saying it, but the Ton certainly would."
And how was she supposed to tell him that she had now become a creature that God abandoned? She was in the hands of the devil now, and that was fine with her. After all, what did God ever do for her? He turned his back on her long before she became what she was now, and she was better off without him.
"I'm sure your mother would help me immensely but I'm in no hurry. And I'd rather find someone on my own terms. I have freedom now. I won't give that up for just anyone."
That stunned him a little. His once playful demeanour, now dropped into one of surprise. He hadn’t in a million years ever expected to hear something like that. His eye traced the woman up and down, somewhat in disbelief. She was shorter than him, though he was himself rather tall. She was slender & short, and he couldn’t imagine someone of her stature being able to kill another man. Once again, his expression dropped from its one of curiosity to disbelief. It’s not to say that Lady Greer didn’t or couldn’t kill her husband. He’d remember reading somewhere once before about women creating or buying concoction’s to poison their loved ones, it’d happened many a time when a woman sought a means of escape from terrible homes. Not to mention, the fact that there were people who had spread the rumour, so there must have been some truth to it. No smoke without fire.
Suddenly, Benedict didn’t want to drink his champagne.
“If you did or you didn’t, the only truth to it, is the one you lived that went unseen by the Ton. However you got it, you were removed from a terrible match.” Benedict did his best to sound neutral to the matter, that his own curiosity for answers was gnawing in the pit of his stomach.
He shuffled on his feet, eyebrows furrowed in intrigue. “If I may, isn’t that hard for a previously married woman, especially a widow, to find a new suitor? And… again if I may… What type of person would you even look for? Are we men all the same in society?”
Closed Starter for @softcorememories
With the insistent voice of Violet Bridgerton nipping down his ear, Benedict Bridgerton found himself standing in front of his bedroom mirror, adorned in black, with a mask tightly pulled against his face. He turned this way, and that, making sure that it not only sat correctly but that he didn't look a fool. Well, there was something foolish to be said about going to a masquerade in the first place. Though, there was something entirely other to be said about the fact that for once, Benedict wouldn't be recognised or ambushed by debutants & their mama's.
As he arrived however, he found that perhaps his disguise wasn't all he thought it was cracked up to be. For the moment he stepped foot into the room, a flood of women made haste toward him. He stumbled backward, and darted in such a way that you might think he'd arrived drunk, but was actually a method he'd perfected in disappearing amongst the crowd. He slid more and more, checking the way he came so to be sure he wasn't followed.
It was as he found himself drawn to a halt, slipping on the foot of another, that he realised he couldn't go any further, and instead had eyes of brilliant blue boring down into him "I'm sorry! My apologies I-" then something in him settled the more he gazed at the other "-Who are you?" he asked without thinking. "No, sorry, again... that defeats the point of a masquerade."
One moment Theodore Lawrence Pemberley was standing quite peacefully at the edge of the ballroom, contemplating whether the punch possessed any qualities. The next, a tall gentleman in black was stumbling directly into his path with all the elegance of a startled deer. Theodore reacted on instinct, reaching out to steady the man before he could complete his determined attempt to flee the ballroom, catching Benedict by the elbow.
“My foot has survived the encounter, I assure you.”
Theodore had to swallow a smile. Even concealed, there was something unmistakably familiar in the tilt of his head and the sheepish set of his mouth. Theodore released him and stepped back with a courteous inclination of his head.
“Quite so, though I admire your directness. It is a rare quality this evening.”
Around them the ballroom swelled with music, laughter, and the soft thunder of slippers on polished floors. Theodore noted, with quiet amusement, the way a flock of brightly dressed young ladies hovered at the edges of the room, scanning the crowd with predatory determination. Judging by the slightly hunted look in Benedict’s eyes, they had already selected their quarry.
“You appear, to be in the midst of a strategic retreat. I, too, am avoiding enthusiastic company. One could call us fellow refugees.”
Theodore studied him a moment longer. It was oddly pleasant, speaking to someone who did not yet know precisely who he was. No bowed heads, no careful deference, no weight of expectation pressing against his shoulders. Merely two men in masks, equally determined not to be claimed by the evening.
@discreet-eccentric-affairs
There was something about this man, the way he held himself, the way he spoke, as though they'd met before, and that Benedict was truly blindsided by the mask. "I apologise," he caught himself, cheeks reddening under his own mask "......again-for the third time!" He squeezed his eyes shut at what an utter fool was he making of himself. Quickly, Benedict did his best to rectify things "As I say, it defeats the whole point of a masquerade if I go around asking who those in disguise truly are."
Benedict found himself too busy studying the man, seeing if there was any pointers in his identity, hair differences, a perfectly placed mole, a scar, anything to help give him some kind of context as to who he was, so that Benedict could better engage with him. When the stranger spoke once more, Benedict's heart stopped, caught in the worry that maybe he was looking at the man a little too eagerly. Then he registered the comment regarding enthusiastic company, and found his arms folding tightly against his chest. "Is it really that obvious?" he murmured lowly to the other, stealing a glance behind him to make sure the debutantes in question were finally off his heels.
Perhaps Benedict had grown too cocky with the soirees he'd attended, but he was certain this man was eyeing him. No, perhaps he was studying him, or testing him. Instead, Benedict decided to test him. Straightening his back, and giving the man his full attention he asked "Then perhaps we should find an island elsewhere for safety?" with a crooked smile.
Theodore Lawrence Pemberley watched the masked gentleman stumble through yet another apology and felt his amusement soften into genuine kindness.
“Please, if you continue at this rate, you shall leave yourself no apologies for the remainder of the evening.”
He noticed, with quiet interest, the way the stranger studied him. The fellow’s gaze moved carefully, searching for something familiar, some small detail that might betray an identity beneath the mask. Theodore recognized the habit at once. He had spent most of his life being examined in precisely that fashion. For once, it was pleasant not to be immediately known. When Theodore remarked upon enthusiastic company, the man’s posture changed at once. His arms folded defensively across his chest then Theodore followed the direction of his gaze and caught sight of a cluster of brightly dressed young ladies dispersing at last, their attention captured by a new target.
“Obvious?”
Theodore echoed with mild humor.
“You entered as though pursued by an entire regiment. I doubt anyone could have missed it.”
He softened the remark with a reassuring tilt of his head.
“Take comfort. Your admirers appear to have redirected their efforts. For the moment, you are quite safe.”
Theodore felt an answering warmth at the proposal that stranger made to him thought he knew he was a Bridgerton, everybody knew who the Bridgerton family members were. He gestured toward the far end of the room, where tall doors opened onto a quiet stretch of balcony and the curtains stirred in the cool night breeze.
“There is a gateaway beyond those doors. Fresh air, tolerable silence, and, distance from eager matchmaking.”
As he turned toward the balcony, Theodore felt a curious sense of relief. For once he was not the Duke of Wellington, not a name weighed down with expectation and duty. He was merely a masked gentleman in black, escorting another to safety. And for a single evening, that was more than enough, he laughed at himself as he arrived on the balcony, his disguise was a poor one, his own sister and little brother could recognise him. They were surely here with his mother, he said he wouldn't come because Theodore had better things to do at their estate which wasn't entirely false. He did have better things to do, but he didn't want to be claimed over by mothers and debutantes. Theodore didn't quite like women, it was his secret. A joy and sometimes a burden as marriage was pressing onto his shoulders like a sword ready to cut his throat at any mistakes done.
The man took a breather at once, meanwhile his right hand came to undo the two first buttons of his white shirt. Before both hands were on the railing of this balcony, a quiet escape. Then, when he felt this stranger coming to his level on the balcony the man turned around hastily with relief on his face.
" Is it not better than being inside ? One cannot breathe with all these expensive perfumes. "
Well done, Theodore. He thought to himself as it was rich from him to say such things as his cologne was quite the one to be smelled and sniffed from a mile away. Ironically.
@discreet-eccentric-affairs
Benedict’s head tilted downward, hiding the smile that broke out of him as a result of the mans jab to his own fleeing. It wasn’t often at these things that anyone had a general sense of humour that could make him laugh so keenly. Normally, he would have to force it, for politeness sake, resulting in returning home feeling emptier than ever from politeness.
He turned on his heel, scanning through the crowd once more, checking to see how well they could smoothly leave the room, and how many might spot them disappearing, especially checking on the whereabouts of his own mother, who was admittedly a little more frightening than any number of debutants. When he turned around once more, he found the stranger had already disappeared into the crowd. He panicked, searching about for a time until luckily, he spotted the mans hair smoothly making his way unnoticed towards the doors he’d mention. Quick on his heel, Benedict followed suit. It felt as though the crowd was growing more and more thicker, more bodies brushing into him, like a sea of prevention until at last his foot fell through the door to the balcony.
The cool air trickled up his body, and it was a welcome feeling. Benedict stood simply for a moment, hands by his side, and let out a sigh of relief. He could breathe again!
As Benedict came to stand with the other against the rail, though his back leaning against it, his eye caught sight of the mans unbuttoned shirt, and couldn’t help himself as he stole a glance at the others skin. He tore his eye away, forced himself to do so.
“I swear, they get stronger in scent each passing season.” He mused, flashing his snaggle toothed smile up to the sky. “Though, a lot could be said for yourself, you’re wearing quite the pungent cologne.” He teased the other lightly. Though, he still stole another admirative gaze at the others when he was sure the man wasn’t looking at him. “I’d say you’re aiding and abetting those inside.” Another gentle jab at the man.
He straightened his back some, preparing himself somewhat for his next question “Who…. Are you?”
Closed starter for @ballerinaoftheton
Benedict Bridgerton had fallen all out of sorts. Fallen out of love with his art, with life, and even his love life. He barely attended parties of soirees anymore. He kept himself utterly aside. It was only after a friend took hold of his wrist, cleaned him up, and dragged him into a carriage to their private art studio that he'd finally gone out.
The room was warmly lit, creating all sorts of shadows and light about the place. The warmest, was at the centre of the room, and around it were many easels, some empty, some already taken. Within the middle, a woman with blonde hair posed elegantly, smoothly within. Benedict found his eyes transfixed on her, impressed not only at how still she held herself but the features of her face, so dainty & sweet. Still. This wasn't the time & place for that. Not anymore.
Emily stood in the private art studio already dressed and ready, wearing a new pair of ballet slippers after she had worn through her previous pair. She stood at the mirror collecting her blonde hair into a bun to keep it out of her face, the movement was so familiar, she could do it in her sleep. Once she was satisfied, Emily tied it securely as she took one last look at herself in the mirror.
Her friend was supposed to be here with the artist any moment. Not mentioning who it was going to be. Not that it mattered much to Emily, she didn’t mind being the subject. As she waited Emily began to stretch out a bit to keep her muscles warm. She became so focused, she nearly missed the sound of the door opening.
That was when Emily locked eyes upon the mysterious artist her friend was bringing. She recognized him faintly now, Benedict Bridgerton. Because her family were members of the Ton she had seen the Bridgerton family before but never really spoken to them.
“Hello there Mr. Bridgerton. My name is Emily Baker. It is a pleasure to meet you.” She said as she curtised slightly before extending a hand towards him.
Even being dragged down by his loss faith in society, Benedict knew that he still had to use his manners. He wasn’t about to drag others down into his pit with him. He wanted to get away from society, not form another down there.
Gently, he took hold of her hand, and gave a respectful nod back to her. “Baker?” He asked with an arch of his brow, and a squinting of his eye “Forgive my rudeness, but have we met before? The name sounds awfully familiar. Though, I may be confusing you with another, as the name is a common one.”
It was after he’d finally finished stumbling in his words, that he’d realised he was still holding onto the woman’s grasp. His curious expression fell down into one of bashful embarrassment.
“My apologies,” he uttered, removing it, and returning it back to his side. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“I take it that it is you we will be sketching tonight, Miss Baker?”
Benedict chuckled at this "It seems you do have a way of running into people." he noted, thinking of how he she'd not only ran into him in an awkward encounter at the gallery but apparently a former lover. He shouldn't get ahead of himself, she'd mentioned the man having a snake tattoo. It was likely that she preferred more rugged men with tattoos, too much hair, and in leather. Not like Benedict, who some would call an artsy-farsty prep boy.
No, no. This was business. It didn't matter whether she liked Benedict or not.
He gave another idle nod, briefly scanning over everything as he dug his hands into his trouser pockets. "Say, uhm." Benedict cleared his throat, not entirely sure how his next words were going to come out. "I know, obviously we met during that storm, and I know you'll have your bio out with your paintings but uh, do you fancy grabbing a drink together? Coffee or otherwise?" he offered, eyebrows raised in their light-hearted questioning before he babbled on some more "I do this with every client I have, it uh--it gives me a better sense of the person, and helps me curate some ideas of how to best show their work."
A light and airy giggle escaped Allegra's lips and she nodded. "I suppose I do, don't I? Well, it's not the first time I've run into a former fling and I'm sure it won't be the last."
Her smile faded when he started to speak, her eyes widening with interest as she listened to him intently. The moment he asked her out for a drink - coffee or otherwise - she blushed and thought she was dreaming.
Then he finished. Of course. The drink was for business reasons. She took a breath and managed her expectations right back down again. After all, he probably preferred women like that leggy blonde that had walked out of here with her lipstick smeared so elegantly - girls who smelled like money, who went to the right schools and came from the right families that his family would undoubtedly approve of.
"Yeah, of course. A drink sounds great. Coffee or otherwise." Allegra said with a nod and she drummed her fingers on her lap. "Maybe... we can have drinks tonight if you're free? Or some other night that works for you? I always say that if you find me in the evening with a glass of wine in my hand, I'll end up telling you my life story. I mean, you probably got a taste of that a few days ago. Anyways, if you wanna get to know me, that's probably the best way to do it. Unless you prefer coffee..."
Benedict couldn’t help the smile that was beginning to form & spread about his lips, amused by her babbling over the offer of drinks. It was a little arrogant of him to know this, he knew that, but he was aware that a great deal many women found him attractive. He knew he was handsome & held charm, and that meeting someone new was never tricky for him. Still, it tickled him when he clocked it happening. It wasn’t that Allegra wasn’t attractive herself, there was something about her that piqued his interest, but he had to remember that he himself was not an available man. It was early days with Stacey, and while a lot of their relationship at its current stage felt more of a casual fling rather than actually getting to know each other, he was still unavailable.
“I’d be down for drinks tonight, after all you did say you were going away to France for the weekend, what’s a pre-holiday drink?” He asked innocently. He rolled back the cuff of his sleeve, to take in the time on his watch “It’s a bit late in the day for coffee for me. But this is England, and we’re a breed of social alcoholics.” He joked lightly. “I have a few phone calls and emails to make, so why don’t we say meet at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street— I know, it’s name is utterly ridiculous but I assure you it’s a really beautiful pub, and it’s got some amazing character. Say…quarter to six? The gallery closes at 5.30”
Open Bridgerton RP Starter
Relations between the United Kingdom and the small archipelago nation of Jasari had always been close, forged long before either nation quite knew it when Queen Charlotte (future Queen of England) befriended Queen Aiyana (future Queen of Jasari). Each attended the other's wedding, wrote countless letters and even spent summers going between each other's homes, allowing their children to mingle.
This was how Silas became accustom to the world of British customs, including all the pomp and ceremony that came along with it. So, when his latest visit to his "Aunt" Charlotte's side of the globe coincided with the London social season, the Queen of England was more than happy to throw a huge ball as a welcome celebration for a prince she had a considerable soft spot for.
Lords and ladys from all corners of London rolled out for this ball including the household of the Viscount Bridgerton and the Hastings who had travelled a considerable distance for this event.
Watching on from the sidelines was the prince who was being honoured with this ball. Silas was the wallflower of his nine siblings, preferring quiet family occasions to huge blowout celebrations but he knew exactly how Queen Charlotte liked a huge occasion out of any sort of reason. Silas leaned against a marble pillar, arms folded against his chest as his pale green eyes scanned the floor of dancing people.
He hadn't even worn his royal attire, opting for something more casual to just blend in amongst the other lords in attendance and thus far, it had worked to his advantage. Silas had been able to sip his drink and leaning against the pillar, just quietly watching like a owl perched on a branch in the evening time. However, that's when his eye was caught by someone also attempting to avoid the crowds and the dancing.
To say he was intrigued would have been an understatement...
@discreet-eccentric-affairs
Benedict didn't wake at the kiss to his temple, stirring, giving a little honk through his dreaming, but never fully awakened. Instead, he woke up a short while after, hearing the clacking sound wind their up through his window, lifting his head to squint out at the bright sun before him. It seemed the journey to Jasari took it out of him, and momentarily he'd forgotten that he'd woken up somewhere entirely different to the sounds of Mayfair. He rolled over, spreading his arms out across the bed as he beamed up at the unfamiliar ceiling. He closed his eyes momentarily to breathe it all in, then pulled himself up, and out of the bed.
His bare feet slapped across the marble floor towards the terrace, where below he spotted Silas & Elijah in a heated battle of, what he presumed, was fencing. His heart panged a little as he thought of his brothers, but he made sure not to dwell on it. He was here to enjoy himself after all.
Instead, wordlessly, Benedict removed himself from the balcony and searched through his belongings to gather out his sketch book & pencils. His sketch book was placed upon a small table as he dug through to find his pencils, almost burying himself in his packed clothing to find them, that when he came to double check he hadn't already taken them out with his sketchbook, he found his sketchbook was missing too. He spun on his heel searching for it, and found it: in the hands of a monkey now perched on the rail of the terrace. "Monkey!" he cried, launching toward the creature, which darted off down onto the lawns, passed the siblings, and into the bushes.
Without thinking, Benedict flew out of the bedroom, sprinting as quickly as he could through it's halls and out into the garden he'd seen the animal steal to. When he realised the state in was, and the stares he was receiving, in his boxers, with his billowing night shirt, bed hair, & stubble, he promptly folded his hands in front of him, and gave an embarrassed smile to the pair. "Good morning!" he managed to pull out, then pointed to the trees. "A... monkey has stolen my sketchbook." he still forced his smile.
Silas paused mid hit of his cane and looked at his lover now stood before him and his brother in this lovely outfit. Silas covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing before looking over at the trees. "Good morning." Silas hummed and walked over to him, gently combing his fingers through his wild hair. "Somebody must have slept well to have hair like that." He teased him, kissing his forehead before looked over to the monkey.
"Let me go get it for you." Silas hummed and turned, heading over to the tree with a piece of fruit. Silas whilst softly to get the monkey's attention before offering up the pieces of fruit. "Come on, little friend. I would just like the book back." He coaxed the monkey down, but it wasn't budging. Silas rubbed his chin curiously before whistling. "Jioni! Come help!" He called to his black panther companion.
The large cat got up from where he was sunbathing. He loving brushed against Benedict's leg before dashing up into the tree after the monkey. The big cat was very careful in retrieving the sketchbook from the monkey, holding it delicately in his jaws before returning to Benedict with it. Silas chuckled. "He likes you. A lot." Silas mentioned, watching the big cat rub against Benedict's legs.
"Perhaps I should walk you back to the room? Get you some proper clothes for the day?" Silas suggested before pressing a light kiss to his lips. "Although, I must say you do look extra handsome." He murmured against his lips.
"I slept like I was on a cloud but Silas," he hissed out his embarrassment "I'm in my underwear in front of your family!" he whined like a child, feeling the heat rising on his cheeks. As Silas left his side to retrieve his sketchbook, Benedict could only find himself standing awkwardly, still wearing that forced smile as his fingers curled to the hem of his nightshirt, tugging and pulling it down to try and cover himself, and his crotch, as much as he could. He could feel Elijah's watchful gaze on Benedict, even though he did his best to avoid the mans eye, wishing the ground would just swallow him up whole.
He gave a warm smile as Jioni brushed against his legs, letting his fingers trail along the cats back as it passed, and admired it as it climbed the tree to assist. However, for a moment, he did wonder if he was about to witness the bloody murder of a monkey to him into the day. Thankfully, Jioni only stole the book back, and left the rest alone.
He curled himself down to collect his stolen book, his free hand appreciatively rubbing along Jioni's jaw in thanks. "We've grown accustomed to each other, I believe."
Benedict gave a scoff "I did bring my own clothes with me, Silas." he accepted the kiss, but still playfully nudged him in the ribs "I just hadn't exactly planned to have my sketchbook stolen by a monkey this morning!" he batted away his lovers compliment "I look awful in the mornings, you can't lie."
Silas laughed and easily lifted Benedict up, his hands guiding Benedict's legs to wrap around his waist whilst he held onto him and pressed a kiss against his lips again. "You should always expect the unexpected here, love." He murmured against his lips before carrying him back inside. Elijah had cooled off towards Benedict, noticing how happy his brother was with this young man.
The prince carried Benedict back inside, Jioni following the pair back to his room and climbed back up onto his perch in the window whilst Silas carefully lowered Benedict back down onto the bed with his lips still connected to Benedict's before slowly pulling away. "You don't give yourself enough credit, love. You're very handsome with your hair all messy. It's adorable." He whispered and kissed behind his ear before going to find Benedict's clothes.
"What are you wanting to wear for the day? I was hoping you and I could go down to the beach and spend some time there?" He suggested with a small hum. Silas was excited just to show Benedict around the main island, to show him his home and culture.
"Or we could go to the markets?" Silas added, bringing over Benedict's luggage. "It's up to you." He also added before catching himself. "Am I being too much? I know we've only been here a day and I want you to experience my home." Silas began to ramble again.
Benedict gave a startled wobble & a shriek of a laugh as Silas picked him up with ease. He truly wasn't expecting that! "You don't say!" he gestured sarcastically at the fact he was now being carried, something he hadn't experienced since he was probably a child.
Benedict let out a groan as the felt the man's lips pulling away from his, eagerly lifting his body up off the bed to chase them back until they finally parted, and Benedict dramatically flopped back into the pillow, grinning up at the man. "Oh, no. I'm very handsome. I'm told that enough to be assured that is the case. Just the mornings I rarely like." he reached out to grab and hold the man close, but just narrowly escaped his grip as he left his side.
He sat up promptly on his elbows, squinting out the window for an idea of the weather. "Likely, given how Jasari seems to be a place where it's consistently beautiful, a simple shirt & trousers. I don't think I've ever been in a place so warm before." he pulled himself off the bed, and came to Silas side, wrapping his hands about the mans waist, and pulled him close. "Wherever you go, I'll go." he ran his fingers lightly through the others hair "I wouldn't want you to be less. I want to see your home, I want to experience it with you, but most of all, I want to see you happy."
Silas relaxed when he felt Benedict's hands around his waist. It was a quiet sort of comfort, one he enjoyed. He leaned back against Benedict, placing the clothes he had picked up down on the dresser just to take in the moment with his lover. "My happiness will always come when I get to see your smile." He reassured Benedict before slowly turning his arms, his own arms wrapping around Benedict's neck. "Besides, it is the perfect day for a surf." Silas enthused.
He and his siblings had grown up watching their father construct boards to glide along the waves like they controlled the water itself. It was a rather popular sport in Jasari given the summer months could reach rather warm temperatures. The water was always the best place to be in times like that.
"You can even try out my board, it will be fun." He reassured Benedict, knowing this was all going to be out of the comfort zone of a boy from Mayfair. "And then perhaps I could talk you into attending an event with me." Silas leaned in closer to Benedict's face. "Not as my lover or a guest, but as my partner." He murmured whilst getting closer to Benedict's lips, pressing a soft kiss against them once again. Silas lingered there, soaking in the moment of just getting to hold Benedict close.
He parted, his forehead still pressed against Benedict's and the tips of their noses touching. "Only if you wish to. I would never force you to do or go anywhere you felt uncomfortable." He whispered softly.
Benedict found himself lightly swaying as the man wrapped his arms around his neck, as though the pair were dancing at their own private ball, simply enjoying the silence and the company. His fingers lightly ran through the mans hair, caressing and toying with it as a gentle breeze blew in through the window.
His expression melted into one of confusion then, tilting his head some in curiosity. “What is this surfing you so eagerly speak of? I don’t believe it something I’ve ever come across in London, or even England!” He hummed his bemusement as he continued petting the man.
Then he looked at the man in complete loving surprise at the others proposal. “You truly wish that for us?” He asked in disbelief, trying to hold back his smile, even as gentle kisses were shared. “You wish for me to be your… partner?” He pondered the offer for a moment more, mulling it over in his mind.
He then gave a gentle grip to the mans arm, wanting to make sure he was taking him seriously. “Silas?” He questioned softly “This hasn’t to do with what happened yesterday, has it? You don’t have to prove anything to me—declare anything, you know that, don’t you?”
For two beings from opposing world, desire is not the problem...
"That's not to say your idea wouldn't go ahead, lass. It would just need a little reworking." He narrowed his eyes as he thought, observing a semblance of a plan forming on the wood floor below, but couldn't see how to stitch them together.
Another hum of a laugh rattled inside the mans chest. "You are correct. Women, especially red-haired women, are considered bad luck." He managed to catch her gaze and leaned in "To the average pirate" before playfully swinging himself back, turning himself side on to stare ahead at the wall, his back to her.
He raised his cup to take another mouthful. "But when you're a ship full of already cursed & dead men, what's one more pot of bad luck?" The ship creaked & groaned in another dramatic sway, the sound carrying like a low, sad cello strike.
Ralston set his cup behind him on the table once more. However, this time, when returning his arm, his elbow knocked it over to which he didn't care about doing so. Its contents inside trickled out slower, more thickly, than a normal cup of wine would, & its colour ran in different blend than wine would.
"Travelling these seas for as long as I have," he started to answer her question, addressing his words to the wall still "even with a ship full of crew, it gets lonely. Their hunger, so ravenous that eating with them is more effort than its worth."
Ralston turned in his seat, elongating himself to reach out towards Viola, like a cat reaching sleepily towards its prey. His eyes had changed from their dark brown, to glimmering red. A long thick web of drool travelled down from his lips, his breath almost hitching with his hunger. Four of his canines had grown sharper & longer. His eye was fixated on Violas throat, his tongue lapping at his lips. "Sometimes, dining alone with your own personal feast is exactly what a captain of a cursed, dead ship needs." His hand reached out to grab hold of Violas dress, tearing his eye from her neck to hers once more "And you are the finest cut of meat I have seen for a very long time." His red eyes were darkening again, his expression threatening "How could I not want you all to myself?"
It took a considerable effort to frighten Viola. She didn't know if the cause of her bravery was stupidity towards the circumstances or a general disregard for her own life. She had a strong feeling that it was the latter. But fear was not a sensation she was familiar with.
Ralston admitting that this was a ship of cursed dead men confused her. The cup knocking over and spilling the thick, bloody consistency made her curious. And then his face changed, his eyes flashing red, his canines sharper than before and her entire body froze in place.
And yet, there was no fear. This? This was hatred. Disgust. Hatred for the man who trapped her, of course; who planned to feed on her until she was no longer useful to him and he'd just toss her over the side of the boat, leave her to fend for herself amongst the sharks. But disgust... because she was back exactly where she began.
Same circumstances. Different monster. No discernible way out.
Her nose and brow were scrunched, her eyes narrowed, and she trembled with absolute fury. A tear or two rolled down her cheeks and her top lip curled over her teeth when she spoke in a rough whisper.
"Just get it over with."
Ralstons eyes widened in pure manic delight that the woman held no fear, and was instead more than willing to allow this to happen. There was no fight, no reason to use force. His hand unfurled from her dress, raising now instead to let his fingers grasp at her chin, to hold her still as he drew close once more, close enough that she would be able to smell the blood on his breath.
"I am very glad we see eye to eye," he hissed. The grasp on her chin loosened, and instead, his fingers snaked along her jawline, through to the back of her head, and gripped harshly at her hair, tugging with a sudden force to expose her neck to him. "You'd be wise to know to never expect sympathy from me." He added.
With another use of force, Ralston harshly pulled the woman towards him, wasting no time in sinking fangs into her flesh. It had been so long since he'd last fed straight from the source, rather than bottling and rationing from the humans they'd stored below. Ralston practically moaned against her skin, suckling the mouthfuls that fled his mouth, lapping them up so not to escape.
His once former gripped fist turned into that of a caressed palm the more he grew full. Ralston forced himself away from Viola, his head dizzy in the ecstasy, eyes appearing drunk like. He breathed out long and heavy, relishing in the post drink high before looking over Viola observantly. "You-" he readjusted her head to look at him once more "Are the most exquisite bottle. I could easily get drunk on you."
Intriguing. This woman, while obvious she wasn’t one to cower in her fear, seemed to relish and welcome the idea of a life of theft and deception. There was a sparkle of lustful idiosyncrasy, like an emerald buried beneath sand dunes. Perhaps Ralston could use her more to their crews advantage instead of his original plan of satisfaction. Perhaps even, he could use her for both.
Ralston gathered his bottle and cup, stalking his way down to her side and perched himself on the tables edge. “Your points, I must admit are very well thought out, and do ring true for the order of society but there is one thing you have forgotten in all of it.” He placed his bottle of wine down on the table, and instead reached for hers, using it to refill her cup, and her cup only. “You have forgotten that we are pirates. We are not creatures who tend to reside in a location for long, building a trust with humans to be worthy of an invitation is not something we do.”
He placed the wine bottle down, and reached for his own, to top up his cup.
“I do find it admirable however, that you wish to prove yourself useful in other ways than I intend.” That shit eating grin returned to his lips, his dark eye cast his gaze up and down the woman’s body once more.
“Thats not to say your proposal hasn’t gone unnoticed. Just that up close, I notice how delectable you are that it distracts me.”
"Ah, well. It was an idea." Viola said and she leaned against the chair, sipping her wine and taking another bite of her food. She watched him take her in and she tilted her head to the side a little.
"To be perfectly honest, I'm a little shocked I'm on board your ship at all." she admitted. "I thought that women were considered bad luck. A redheaded woman even more so. I grew up around sailors and the like, so I've heard the superstitions and I wagered even pirates knew and abided by them."
She finished her wine and set the cup down.
"So, what are your intentions with me, then? Why am I here, locked away with you in your cabin with a feast fit for a king?"
"That's not to say your idea wouldn't go ahead, lass. It would just need a little reworking." He narrowed his eyes as he thought, observing a semblance of a plan forming on the wood floor below, but couldn't see how to stitch them together.
Another hum of a laugh rattled inside the mans chest. "You are correct. Women, especially red-haired women, are considered bad luck." He managed to catch her gaze and leaned in "To the average pirate" before playfully swinging himself back, turning himself side on to stare ahead at the wall, his back to her.
He raised his cup to take another mouthful. "But when you're a ship full of already cursed & dead men, what's one more pot of bad luck?" The ship creaked & groaned in another dramatic sway, the sound carrying like a low, sad cello strike.
Ralston set his cup behind him on the table once more. However, this time, when returning his arm, his elbow knocked it over to which he didn't care about doing so. Its contents inside trickled out slower, more thickly, than a normal cup of wine would, & its colour ran in different blend than wine would.
"Travelling these seas for as long as I have," he started to answer her question, addressing his words to the wall still "even with a ship full of crew, it gets lonely. Their hunger, so ravenous that eating with them is more effort than its worth."
Ralston turned in his seat, elongating himself to reach out towards Viola, like a cat reaching sleepily towards its prey. His eyes had changed from their dark brown, to glimmering red. A long thick web of drool travelled down from his lips, his breath almost hitching with his hunger. Four of his canines had grown sharper & longer. His eye was fixated on Violas throat, his tongue lapping at his lips. "Sometimes, dining alone with your own personal feast is exactly what a captain of a cursed, dead ship needs." His hand reached out to grab hold of Violas dress, tearing his eye from her neck to hers once more "And you are the finest cut of meat I have seen for a very long time." His red eyes were darkening again, his expression threatening "How could I not want you all to myself?"
Ralston listened to Viola intently. At parts, he had to fight the corner of his lip back from smirking. In others, he had an itch in his fingers to want to prove the woman wrong. Yes, there were many similarities to the some of the violence & manners she would likely experience on board, and yet, she was still blissfully unaware despite the earlier disturbance, which felt like Ralstons own private joke, and what he was fighting to keep his smirk back from.
Still, the gears in his head ran, learning this new information of Viola’s life had him thinking of all the ways they could use her, aside from Ralston had originally planned for himself.
“If you had this life prior to your father’s gambling, a life of aristocracy of sorts, then you could easily lie about who you are.” He chewed the inner of his lip, biting back a pang of hunger “You could even set foot inside their homes & steal your own wine from there cellars. You wouldn’t even need to be invited in, given your notability.” He hummed the idea.
Ralston eyed the bottle in question, chewing on his lip, and bouncing his right leg as he cast his memory back. He ran his tongue along his teeth, as though he could taste their memory. “A very indulgently living couple near the coast of southern France. Isolated by themselves as they felt humans too stuffy in society. Isolating themselves to the point that their greed could be smelled from miles away. It was an easy kill & raid, since there was no-one around to fight back, and we managed to gather some prize jewels, including the wine you are drinking.”
Viola wrinkled her nose a bit in thought over his suggestion and she finished eating the meat off of her chicken leg before grabbing an apple and taking a bite into it. She chewed as she thought it over and she swallowed.
It wasn't a life she wanted but she may as well make the best of it while she was here.
"It's not as easy walking into a nobleman's home. You have to be acquainted with at least one member of the family first before you are invited. There's an entire system of formality to wade through or else it will look suspicious. And then there are the servants who see everything and yet are seen by no one. I'm not saying it's impossible. But it'd be tricky."
Viola thought it over for a moment longer, rolling the notion around in her mind.
"A party, however. A ball, in fact. When the wealthiest of the wealthy are gathered in one central location with plenty of champagne to last the night and where the servants are distracted by their duties and catching tidbits of gossip? One could easily slip away without being noticed. And if they catch wind that one of their own is in town, it would be rude to not issue them an invitation. I'd have to come up with a different name, though. The name I have now is a laughingstock."
Viola listened to the tale of how he procured the wine and she looked at the label and chuckled. It was clear she had no love left for her fellow bluebloods as they turned on her the moment she wasn't seen as worthy. "It serves them right."
Intriguing. This woman, while obvious she wasn’t one to cower in her fear, seemed to relish and welcome the idea of a life of theft and deception. There was a sparkle of lustful idiosyncrasy, like an emerald buried beneath sand dunes. Perhaps Ralston could use her more to their crews advantage instead of his original plan of satisfaction. Perhaps even, he could use her for both.
Ralston gathered his bottle and cup, stalking his way down to her side and perched himself on the tables edge. “Your points, I must admit are very well thought out, and do ring true for the order of society but there is one thing you have forgotten in all of it.” He placed his bottle of wine down on the table, and instead reached for hers, using it to refill her cup, and her cup only. “You have forgotten that we are pirates. We are not creatures who tend to reside in a location for long, building a trust with humans to be worthy of an invitation is not something we do.”
He placed the wine bottle down, and reached for his own, to top up his cup.
“I do find it admirable however, that you wish to prove yourself useful in other ways than I intend.” That shit eating grin returned to his lips, his dark eye cast his gaze up and down the woman’s body once more.
“Thats not to say your proposal hasn’t gone unnoticed. Just that up close, I notice how delectable you are that it distracts me.”