#X angora

[demonic0angel]

Danny would fail the wall test 😔 (click for clarity)

[charlieswebb]

black cat this. golden retriever that.

what about black wolfhound and golden turkish angora cat??

[fluffyfaza]

Teacher. Autumn

AI Challenge, that will trigger memories

I don't know about others, but for me the beginning of autumn is associated with the educational process. Although a lot of time has passed since then. The topic may seem rather banal, but it is very popular on Tumblr. I don't like to draw teachers. But too many people like it. The rules are simple: your contest post can contain any content and as much of it as you want. Photos, videos, music, text, etc. In the list of participants, I will publish a link to your full post. Well, and a picture as a preview (just write to me which one, if you have several) Let's try to do something unusual! Good luck to everyone!

Every AI artist can take part in this challenge! Just let me know if you want to participate but you are not on the list.

The post collecting the entries is here

Rules is here

Challenge Results is here

See previous challenge winners here.

@dryndelicate @danni-gurrl @gigiprinceton @ai-satin-chic

@softsmooth69 @alyssa-ai @fluffyfaza @synth-ai

@mohairmaster @mistressmaurahypno @hollyjumper

@andysfantasie @milunessence @anderii @bumani

@burningpoisonroaster

[vaako-faza]

The X-Files "I Want to Believe" Part 2

[yourmomscrib]

Can we just talk about how Jaal’s eyes are literally colored like earth?!

SIR YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS! 🥲

[sephariart]

Todoizuocha-Week Day 7: Animals

Sleepy times....

@todoizuocha-week

[rouphicc]

"i miss you, it's so lonely in my mansion." 🎶

choso ☆ episode 37

[reallyromealone]

Title: meow meow

Fandom: jujutsu kaisen

Characters: Gojo - Geto

Fic type: cat au

Pairings: Gojo x Geto

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, cat reader, cat characters, human characters fluff, child reader

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Did Gojo just spend five thousand dollars for his cats?

Yes.

And was he ready to spend ten thousand more?

Absolutely.

Gojo watched as the tiny kitten stumbled around excitedly before standing on Gojos foot, the man leaning to pet little (name)s head as his bigger cat lounged on the tower, a pure white Turkish angora with striking blue eyes. Geto called him a narcissist for getting a cat just like him, he just wasn't expecting his cat to come home with a black male Norwegian forest cat and a tiny kitten.

"The black one looks like you" Gojo said to Geto who huffed at the sight of the black cat watching over the tiny kitten who played with a toy mouse as their white cat purrtoru watched from higher up, deeply protective of his family.

The two watched from the couch as purrtoru was making his way down to see his kitten... Only to try and take the toy.

And it wasn't for worry.

Purrtoru was just an asshole.

The tiny fluff ball meowed angrily as mewguru smacked the white cat angrily with a yowl as the tiny kitten went to the humans to fix the situation as he seen his dad's do before as the black haired one lifted the itty bitty "you're papa is an asshole" he said as Gojo huffed but pet the little kittens head, the two smiling as (name) put his tiny mitten on Geto's nose "still can't believe they just brought you home, knowing our bastards they kidnapped you " prime example mewguru came to retrieve his little baby.

The two watched as the cats cuddled on their bed, a nice dog bed that fit the three of them comfortably and (name) cozy and sleeping in between his dad's while purring like a motorboat. The two cats beside him grooming each other and occasionally giving kisses to the kittens head.

"I want a child" Gojo said suddenly and Geto spit his drink out.

"W H AT"

[lateatnewyork]

AFTERGLOW PT 2

charlie bushnell x reader

warnings: fluff, smau

summary: pt 2 to afterglow

a/n pt 1 is here

liked by iamcharliebushnell, leahsavajefferies and others yn.ln tryna fight the dating allegations 🤺 view comments

ynloml guys she’s married to me ➔ yn.ln i thought u said u wanted to keep it quiet ➔ ynloml YN??? iamcharliebushnell where are my photo credits ➔ yn.ln photo creds for first pic to him 🙄 walkerscobell so dior js told me u have a picture of me that’s rlly bad ➔ walkerscobell don’t post it ➔ yn.ln don’t piss me off then

liked by walkerscobell, iamcharliebushnell and others yn.ln the last photo is cos u stole my oreos anyway HAPPY BIRTHDAY WALKIE TALKIEEEE view comments

walkerscobell letting this slide cos u got me cool shoes user34 walker has the most goofiest pictures ever ➔ iamcharliebushnell can confirm ➔ yn.ln nuh uh aryan does ➔ aryansimhadri STOP 👏 BULLYING 👏 ME ➔ walkerscobell LMAOOOO hearts4yn oh to be a part of the pjo cast 😔 ➔ ynloml no cos i want them to be my besties too

CHARLIE BUSHNELL AND YN LN DATING? HERES ALL THE PROOF.

Charlie Bushnell was seen with back scratches in Dior Goodjohn’s vlog a day after YN posted that she had gotten her nails done.

Sources say they saw YN with a man who looks a lot like Charlie at the beach. The same day both and YN and Charlie soft launched their significant other at the beach.

YN had posted that she got new white ribbons on her TikTok just a week before this photo was supposedly taken and she also mentioned her newly bought books on her now deleted instagram story. Also in the aforementioned TikTok a voice called out YN’s name in the background. It was a manly voice which sounded a lot like Charlie’s.

READ MORE… comments

user09 leave them tf alone ➔ username they’re literally asking for it by being famous ➔ ynlove i don’t think two 19 year olds are asking for their ‘supposed’ relationship to be stalked username yn is such an attention seeker ➔ hearts4yn u say this as if she cares abt u ➔ username she doesn’t care abt u either ➔ hearts4yn no but at least i’m not hating on someone js cos they’re more successful than me.

liked by iamcharliebushnell, sabrinacarpenter and others yn.ln why’s he so fine 🙈 tagged: iamcharliebushnell comments are closed

liked by yn.ln, walkerscobell and others iamcharliebushnell she kinda… 🔥 tagged: yn.ln comments are closed

liked by leahsavajeffries, ryanreynolds and others yn.ln this is my thirteenth reason why ft inez view comments

ryanreynolds ur a bit too young to be watching that show ➔ yn.ln actually blake let me 🤓 👆 user34 UR CAT IS SO CUTEEE ➔ yn.ln FRR SHES SUCH A LIL CUTIE walkerscobell i wanna steal ur cat ➔ iamcharliebushnell don’t do that ➔ yn.ln real otherwise i will jump u aryansimhadri r u getting more cats? ➔ yn.ln maybe 🤭 user56 CANT BELIEVE YN AND CHARLIE ARE DATING ➔ hearts4yn THEYRE SO IT COUPLE

liked by dior.n.goodjohn, aryansimhadri and others yn.ln inez and betty love their lil sister augustine (auggie) view comments

aryansimhadri miss girl thought she could js sneak charlie in 🤨 ➔ yn.ln had to put my baby daddy in 😔 taylorswift THEYRE SO CUTE HONOURED TO HVE THEM NAMED AFTER MY CHARACTERS 🤭 ➔ yn.ln honoured to have them be raised by u iamcharliebushnell love being a girl dad ❤️ ➔ yn.ln love u being a girl dad hearts4yn what type of cats are they 🥺 ➔ yn.ln inez and betty are turkish angoras and auggie is a bombay cat 🫶🏻 ynloml taylor being the biggest fan of yn’s cats 😭 charlie&yn not yn and charlie pretending to be irl parents ➔ yn.ln wdym we literally have 3 daughters ➔ iamcharliebushnell fr ➔ charlie&yn YN AND CHARLIE HELLO??? ➔ user06 u literally won in life.

@editor : they’re literally every romantic couple ever coded comments:

whosyn omg u guys are so talented ➔ editor OMG YN HII username OMG YN COMMENTED U LITERALLY WON ➔ editor SHE LIKED TOO

@ mayorcoco : petition to be ur aphrodite representation after yn comments

whosyn YOU DONT EVEN NEED TO ASK BBG ➔ mayorcoco LUV UUUUU user58 yn commented and reposted 🤩!! ➔ mayorcoco we’re acc mutuals 😭 🙏 ➔ pjofangirl GIRLY U SO LUCKYY

liked by walkerscobell, leahsavajeffries and others yn.ln stole yn’s unlocked phone 😈 view comments

iamcharliebushnell WALKER WILLIAM SCOBELL GIVE IT BACK ➔ iamcharliebushnell this is yn btw ➔ yn.ln WHYD U REVEAL MY MIDDLE NAME ➔ iamcharliebushnell YOU DESERVE IT hearts4yn they’re so goofy 😭 ynloml this would be so confusing to read back on aryansimhadri i’d like to exclude myself from this narrative ➔ leahsavajeffries i plead innocent ➔ aryansimhadri i plead walker forced us to do this

liked by unavailable yn.ln why’s there so many shirtless charlie pics view comments

iamcharliebushnell WALKER ‼️ THIS POST IS NOW DELETED ‼️

liked by leahsavajeffries, dior.n.goodjohn and others iamcharliebushnell they both got their revenge (last pic is moments before yn pushed him down) view comments

yn.ln I DIDNT PUSH HIM ➔ walkerscobell yes u did ➔ leenascobell W yn ➔ dior.n.goodjohn real 🗣️ 🔥 💯 aryansimhadri did not expect walker forehead reveal ➔ walkerscobell didn’t expect for u to sing adele ➔ aryansimhadri STOP ➔ yn.ln drop the diss track 💯 leahsavajeffries i feel like we need context for 2nd pic ➔ iamcharliebushnell U WERE LITERALLY THERE ➔ iamcharliebushnell walker gave yn too much blue food colouring ➔ leahsavajeffries i gotta feed the ppl 😔 user34 stop i love this cast

a/n off topic but i love mayor coco on tt my favourite pjo fangirl frfr

[calamaricollie]

Haven't seen many people here talk about the WIP shots Troy Little has been posting on his twitter about the COTL comic so I thought I'd show them, seeing these is making me even more excited!! I think he got the style down to a T in these

Here's his twitter, awesome art :)

[luveline]

hi lovely :) i have a request for you!!

i’m thinking spencer reid x reader (and platonic!bau team if you don’t mind!!) where reader is having a bit of a rough time with mental health, but is 1 year clean and they have a lil celebration? thank you!!

-🍓 (this is my application for being an emoji anon lmao)

hi, thank you! ♡ fem 1k

cw implied drug use

You're expecting your boyfriend's voice when a hand touches your shoulder, but it's actually Hotch that speaks. "Good morning. Are you feeling alright?" 

You meet his furrowed brow with a softer expression. "Morning, Hotch. I'm good, I'm," —you stretch your arms out in front of you in a lie— "just really tired." 

"Take it easy today, okay?" You nod quickly. "Okay. And Y/N? Well done." 

You enjoy the shoulder squeeze he gives you and hide your abject puzzlement as he heads up the steps to his office, briefcase in hand. It's always nice to be doted on, but what's today? 

"Hello," a new voice says, a hand again on your shoulder, ducking down to kiss you behind the ear. Here's your expected boyfriend, Spencer's voice low and spectacularly sweet, "Good morning. You're here early, I haven't even made you coffee." 

"That's okay, I can make it." 

His arms cross over your chest. He touches you so confidently, his lack of hesitance a great encouragement; it's hard to find room to feel insecure about things when Spencer seems to see no faults in you. Hard, but not impossible. 

As though he can sense your rough morning (rough week, rough month), he holds you that second longer than usual, lips like angora silk where they touch to your cheek. "I'll make it, thanks. It's the least you deserve today." 

"Right," you say. He strokes your shoulder with his thumb in farewell, leaving you wondering. Today isn't your birthday, you'd probably know if it were. 

"Hey, good morning!" Emily says as she arrives, thrusting her bag and her travel mug onto her desk before she descends on you. 

It's her hug that breaks the camel's back, so to speak. You give her hands an absent minded hold but pull back in her embrace. "Emily," you say, frowning at her, "what's so special about today?" 

She blinks like she's worried to tell you, but she gets it together and hugs you again. "You're one year clean today. Everybody's so proud of you," she says quietly. 

You almost bite the tip of your tongue off. "How do you know that?" you ask. The thing about staying clean is that it haunts you until it doesn't. Some people can't ever beat it, and some people can. It's been a huge struggle for you, but eventually relapsing stopped feeling like an option, especially while you've been with Spencer. You can't do anything to jeopardise your safety while you're with him, you just can't. (That doesn't mean you haven't desperately wanted to.)

"Well, I knew it would've been around now, but Spencer sent us a memo. Nothing too detailed, you know, but we all…" She smiles at you wryly. "We care about you so much, and we didn't get it right with Spencer." 

No, they didn't. Spencer didn't get half the support he deserved, so he's making sure you do. 

There's something of a mental block in you that doesn't allow you to cry, but this shakes you roughly. Emily gives you a sorry smile and a last quick hug, apologising that she has to go and speak to Hotch before the work day officially begins. You lean back in your chair and click dazedly on an email from Penelope detailing how deeply loved you are and wondering if you'd like to go shopping. I know today might be really hard, so if you need me you know where I am. Love Pen. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks, placing your coffee in front of you on the desk. 

"Come and sit with me for a bit." 

You don't sound like you're asking, but you are. Spencer hears the need in your demand and immediately grabs his chair to sit next to you. You're surprised he didn't squat. 

You turn your face, lay your cheek on the short back of the chair uncomfortably, and take him in. He looks great these days, the memory of a young man firmly buried beneath a well-fitting suit, a cropping of facial hair, and the subtle, lean lines of muscle especially evident as he sits back to copy you, curls falling into his eyes. "You told everyone about my anniversary." 

"Your accomplishment," he corrects quietly. "I did." 

"I do want them to know, just… I feel a bit raw." You hardly remembered yourself, though you knew it was soon. 

Spencer takes your hand, pulling the joined pair between his knees. "It's something to be extremely proud of. And there's nothing wrong with celebrating it." 

"It's embarrassing–" 

"It isn't." He sits up as someone comes closer and you follow suit. This is a complicated conversation and your simple intimacies are necessary but inappropriate in the workplace. "I'm sure there are a ton of people who find sobriety embarrassing, but those are all people who don't know what it feels like to have to do it. We," —his voice softens— "do. I know exactly how it feels, and I know exactly how you've been feeling lately, so I'm proud of you and everyone else should be too." 

"How I've been feeling lately?" you ask. 

"Come on." Spencer stands and takes your face into his hands. One is warmer than the other, and he uses it to stroke the baby hair's at your ear very gently. "You do a really good job at hiding how you feel, but you can't hide from me." 

"I'm not trying to." 

"Good," he says, leaning down to kiss you. A soft, brisk connection. "I love you." 

"Not as much as I do, loverboy!" Morgan says as he arrives, giving Spencer a little nudge as he needles his arms behind your back and kisses your cheek. 

"You're squeezing me." 

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" Morgan asks, squeezing your harder. 

"Morgan, she knows you know." 

"Know what?" 

"You didn't see the memo?" Spencer asks. 

"What memo?" Morgan grins at you with pearly white teeth and scrubs at your shoulders until you're squirming at the pressure. It's nice. "Looking good, gorgeous." 

[fluffyfaza]

Teacher. Autumn

AI Challenge, that will trigger memories

English Lesson. Teacher

I don't like autumn. Or rather, its beginning. A sharp cold snap in one day simply destroys the summer warmth, which will not return. And again, educational process, where I never liked to go. You are forced to get up early, study something, without explaining why exactly it is necessary and where it can be applied in the future. Many years have passed, but the associations remain. Teachers… Although I have always been on normal terms with them, I have never had any warm feelings for them. Respect, gratitude, perhaps. But every rule has its exception… The publication is specifically about her. About my English teacher at the Academy I tried to recreate her image as realistically as possible. Appearance. Atmosphere. Everything down to the smallest details. Each episode depicted is a screenshot from my memory. I didn't have to invent or fantasize anything. P.S. I never learned "Inglish" then, Lol

@dryndelicate @danni-gurrl @gigiprinceton @ai-satin-chic

@softsmooth69 @alyssa-ai @fluffyfaza @synth-ai

@mohairmaster @mistressmaurahypno @hollyjumper

@andysfantasie @milunessence @anderii @bumani

@burningpoisonroaster

[vaako-faza]

"The X-Files. The Truth Is Out There" Part 1

[alicealmost]

Jax once said to Ragatha:

"You, me and a bunch of ragbunnies."

Bro wasn't joking

Man, including Jaiden, Bunnydoll has around 65 kids! 65 KIDS! AND those are only the ones I know, it might be more out there.

I am addicted to Jax and Ragatha fankids. I guess it's because all creators have one thing in common, shipping bunnydoll (at least, most of creators). At same time, whenever someone create a shipchild, we are able to explore people's creativity and traits of their personality.

I will try to draw Jaiden with each one of her siblings before tadc ep 3 is due, if you guys allow me (if don't, ease tell me, there is no prob) I don't know if I will get it, as I don't have much time or ability.

Fankids mentioned belong to (this gonna be long)

*inhales*

Scruffy -> @lumineary-arts

Ruby, Jesse, Jett-> @ruemodes

Andy (girl) -> @sorascribbless

Lux-> @naitmeir

Klyukva-> @yakkuo13

Andy(boy) and Aba -> @eryberry594

Onyx -> @pxnky-prxmise

Jeager -> @michiruxbna

Patch, Sugar, Duffy-> @kodaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Maggie, Vivi, Benji, Roger -> @this-old-bee

Daisy, Nibs, Frankie, Periwinkle and Seymour -> @candy-heart-brew

Cole, Juniper and Loo -> @beanandberry / @raggedypina

Ellie, Ethan and Owyin-> @livi-in-digital-circus

Abby -> @fizzyellouw

Jinx -> @ese1anime

Rachel and Jayden -> @kansuda2478

Mopsy and Buster -> @raggstosketches

Rix -> @karikorii

June and Reggy -> @artzy-sketchy

Wink -> @zapperona

Randy -> @starquarck

Chucky -> @saffiroll

Velvet -> @snowthedemonfox

Randall and Mimo -> @Ra1bow-echo

Mimi -> @kazee-acxbi

Shuji and Ruthy -> @lazyxkazee

Donnie and Richard -> @fraudefiscal

Ralice -> @valentinbelleyh505

Anne, Rose and Andy -> @switcherooreo

Annie-> @lovelyragdolly

Kit -> @sh4tt3rg1rl

CJ -> @royalion9

Hope -> @groovygladiatorsheep

Needle and Thread-> @redvelvet-choclatecakes

Riska -> @iverylike-coffe

Wisteria -> @frazzledpixels

Marionette -> @whomstress

Wildyx -> @rayndis

Sabrina -> Star Blossom (pinterest)

Juliet -> this_person-does-art (pinterest)

Edit:

Quick apologize for marking Needle's creator wrong... I saw a drawing of her in another account and thought she was from that said account. And then I saw Needle has a brother and @lindseynicole1999 has designed fankids too, so...

It's more than 65 in the end of the day

Funny... haha...

Edit: two important announcements

1° Wildyx real creator is @rayndis and I can't apologize enough for the mistake. I marked a person in pinterest, but his real creator is rayndis. I am sorry

2° more kids, lol

Maelisa and Kelsey -> @naive-bunbun

Patcharicia -> @xxmia0wm4yh3mxx

Rajany and Athax -> @vanillakkat

Judy, Lola and Briar -> @wondwaeland

Rascall and Ann -> @lindseynicole1999

Raggit -> @6hstz

Hue, Lace and Denim -> @devilgem

Randall -> @krislgfox

Bonbob, Showee and Peabs -> @that-weird-skeleton-bastard

Randy --> @sillyseaveerablogs

Minx, Jinx, Jayce and Andy --> @aleesianicool

Clover and Jolane -> rasyleaf (devianart)

Janny --> PinkHiu (devianart)

Angora: @eldritch-muppetshow

Emma -> skelefun (instagram)

Rob ->There.Real.Lim (Twitter/X)

[whalesforhands]

cats and cats (satosugu x reader)

warnings: crack(?), fluff, smoking, dedicated to that really old geto cat anon that i never replied to, i wasn’t totally sober when writing this, romance?

“…Shoko, what is that?”

“Cigarettes.” The girl pulls out a stick from the plastic packaging, twirling it in-between her lithe fingers as she patted her pockets for her lighter, her eyebrows furrowing as she struggles in her search for it.

“Ah, I’ve got you.” Your hands produce a lighter from within your blazer’s pocket, light pink with the body being decorated with a character you’ve been obsessing over lately. You flick it, a flame coming to life as you hold it to the cigarette that had now been placed between her lips, getting exceedingly close to her, proximity intimate as she entranced you with her usual lazy gaze and smirk upon her kissab-

A bump against your legs. You ignore it in favour of smiling back at the beautiful girl in front of you.

“I think you should stop smoking so muc-“

Another bump. More insistent this time. Paired with pained mewing and the sound of claws extending from a pair of paws that were desperately trying to get your attention.

You look down, looking the rather large, stark white Maine Coon purring and pawing the length of your skirt as it starts to get your attention in the eye. It’s (?) fur long and fluffy, puffing up even more as it meowed at you, huffy crystalline blue eyes looking annoyed.

Cute.

The black Turkish Angora is by its side, brown eyes shut as it continued rubbing its head against the fabric of your socks, a strand of its fur hanging over the cat’s face, reminiscent of a familiar black-haired sorcerer you knew as it purrs adorably in content.

Extremely cute.

You squat down to your knees, resting on the balls of your feet as you started to pet the two, scratching behind their ears and below their chins as they cuddled deeper into the palm of your hand, licking the skin with their sandpaper tongues and snuggling even closer to you now that they had your undivided attention.

(The white one attempted to get under your skirt. You moved away, punishing it by giving more affection to the black cat, who definitely wasn’t complaining, given the smug look on its face.)

“Shoko-“

“Wanna take care of them?”

“…yea.”

——

Sugu laid upon your lap, furry body stretched across as it lazily went to sleep on top of you, purrs sounding out from his throat as you continued to scratch his head.

Sato sat before you, using a dainty paw to rub at his eyes, squeezing them shut before abruptly opening them, before another paw was hurried pressed to his head.

“Do your eyes hurt?”

He quickly nods his head. (So smart.)

You think for a moment, looking around the room before spotting an extra pair of Satoru’s left behind sunglasses… There’s no way that could work, right?

…but they look so similar, it’s worth a shot.

——

You’re poking at the exposed belly of the white one, the cat laying on its back with his paws in the air, borrowed sunglasses over his eyes when you started prodding at its soft and plushy body.

(You honestly can’t believe the glasses worked.)

It’s purring so loudly, revelling in your touch as you scratched and rubbed at the flattening cat, so satisfied, so happy he looked as if he was starting to melt into the ground.

Such a healthy gait.

“You’re kind of fat, aren’t you, Sato?” An afterthought that had been unwittingly voiced out. “Did your previous owner feed you too much?”

His purring slows to a stop as he gradually realizes the meaning behind your words despite your comfortable pats. A yowl escaping as he jumped onto his paws, turning his long body away from you as he ensured that his fluffy tail smacked into your face, fur obscuring your vision before you hear the angry padding of his feet.

Is he… Pouting?

“Are you upset?” His tail is swishing in the air as you ask him, back still turned to your face as he refuses to meet your gaze, ears flattened against his head as he trots away with angry swishes.

(You’re absolutely losing it internally. So precious…!)

“W-wait, I’m sorry? Don’t go!” You’re holding back your laughs as you tried to coo the mass of fluff back onto the floor or into your arms, the crabby feline having decided to strut away from you, choosing to try and get a sleeping Shoko’s attention by pawing at her hair from her position atop the couch.

“Sato? Don’t bother Shoko, darling…” You try cooing again, staying still as Sugu shifts around in your lap, stretching himself out and yawning as he begins waking up.

Sato is giving you the cold shoulder still. Oh my, how petulant.

You look down at the cat still in your lap. “Looks like it’s just you and me, huh?” It meows back at you as you kiss its head, tucking that peculiar strand of his fur back, only for it to bounce back into place, incessant purring and licking at your hand as he seemed to beg for another one.

“Oh? You like that, huh?” You land another sweet kiss upon his forehead once again only for his paws to hold your lower jaw in place when you try to move away.

“Aww, you’re so cute!” You’re absolutely gushing over him, bombarding this cute little cat with kisses all over his face as he lets out mewls and meows of content within your embrace.

“I can’t believe anyone would ever believe you’d be bad luck.”

The white cat has paused its ministrations on the still asleep Shoko, who had used a lazy hand to shoo the disturbance away. He’s staring at the both of you as the frown on his face seemed to deepen.

(Is this affecting him?)

“Sugu~” You’re kissing all over his face as the black cat stood on his hind legs, toe beans digging into the meat of your thighs with front paws upon your chest as it snuggled his head into your throat, meowing delightedly as you scratched and pet him.

Sato lingered close to you, nudging closer and closer but far away enough whilst acting like snob, turning his cute pink nose up at you everytime he think your eyes are on him.

(He’s just like the actual Satoru…)

You pay him no mind, letting Sugu purr into the valley of your chest, letting him nudge and cuddle into you freely with no restrictions as you stroked his back leaving more gentle pecks on the cat’s closed eyes, plainly ignoring the stubborn Maine Coon.

(You’re not paying attention to him. You’re. Not. Paying. Attention. To. Him! Sugu wasn’t paying attention to him, how could you both not shower him in love?)

He was now brooding in the corner, an aura so gloomy and sad surrounding him as he sat on his haunches, tail drooping and ears flattened against his head at the lack of attention.

He’s absolutely deflated. (But still not giving in.)

Sugu meows up at you, a way to get your attention before he tuts his head to the side, mercy in his actions as he tries to get your attention to his sulking buddy.

You misinterpret him.

“Aww, you wanna cuddle somewhere else?” Your voice had grown so soft, so tender and gentle and lovely as you cooed at him, so distracting and so flustering that he short-circuited, nodding his fluffy head.

“Let’s go to my room, then!”

Sato never got out of his corner so quick, jumping onto his feet as he started running after the both of you, circling your feet in quick circles as he yowled and meowed, sunglasses falling off his face as he placed his front paws on your skirt, eyes begging and pleading and remorseful as you continue to coddle Sugu in your arms.

“Someone finally stopped being grumpy, huh?” You attempt to scoop the second cat up, grunting as you feel both their weights in your arms as you cradled them both like babies, both so abnormally large that their bodies were shrouding you in a mass of fur.

(You could honestly die happy here.)

masterlist KOFI pt.2

Notes:

The lighter was a gift from Shoko.

Guess who named them? You did. The boys were meant to be off on a mission together, and weren’t supposed to be back until next week.

Satoru’s cat form is not overweight. Just really fluffy.

“You’re both cats, aren’t you?” Shoko’s eyes are closed and upturned, a tight smile on her lips as she places a can of wet cat food in front of the feline duo.

“Woogle said that wet cat food was better for dealing with overweight cats.” You murmured under your breath, hand placed under your chin in thought as you watched Sato poke at the meal with a claw.

“But with how much that can was, I really hope the owner quickly finds them soon…”

“Well, boys,” Shoko begins again, her grin growing ever wider as a self-satisfied look made itself home on her face. “You heard her. Wasn’t cheap, and she went allllll the way to the local family mart to buy it for you, ya know?”

“Ah, it wasn’t actually that far-“

“Wouldn’t want to waste her hard work, do we?”

Her stare is pointed at the trembling black cat and disgusted white one, their forms unsteady as they physically gulped at the sight of the slimy can of raw tuna in front of them…

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER NINETEEN: DUCK

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, murder mentions

Read after the cut

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“Family,” says Hannibal. “Let’s return to that subject today.”

You occupy the living room, each in a velvet armchair tilted with intent to replicate the layout of his office, the clever dressing of a theatre set. Attempts to put off this particular session had proved inefficacious, the coercion of your attendance rendering you curt and snappish in demeanor.

Truthfully you’ve been so since this morning, having rolled, coughing and vaguely feverish, from dreams of bodies hung rattling like so many clothes hangers in some subterrestrial den.

Hannibal, as expected, had still seen fit to persist with his agenda, weathering your complaints with a brisk good humour.

Will had made himself scarce sometime before you’d awoken, and has left word that you’re not to expect his return for many days. You yearn for him in all his brittle ferocity, a gabion against his friend’s subtle erosion of your mind as you know it. The early hour, the assault of unwanted conversation: such sly methods of torture will damn you to madness as quick as the murkiest secret.

“I’ve told you about my family,” you say to Hannibal, fingering a loose tuft of angora on your sweater. “Besides, you won’t even let me talk to them.”

“I don’t think that it would be to your benefit for me to do so,” he answers, and makes a gracious pretence of examining his pen.

Had you not extended a hand to Amy there would indeed have been a second call, this you’re clearly meant to understand. Hannibal is not above such trivial warfare, as he makes a continuing point to prove; you might be entertained by so comic a flaw were you not in such dire opposition.

“Maybe it’d be good for me to talk to my family,” you say, smartly. “And how can you know that it wouldn’t be when you barely know anything about them?”

Hannibal smirks, pleased to have cast such irresistible bait.

“Enlighten me, then. Begin with your mother, if you like. A predictable start, but in that simplicity rather less challenging than other avenues.”

You glance about the room as though seeking inspiration from it and find it wanting. Only the window at which the dying autumn presses its face wets the brush of conversation again, that symbol of fleeing dark brick to beyond a reminder that you must play on.

“We fight a lot,” you say. “My mom and me. She always has to be right about everything all the time. Never made a mistake in her life. Never apologises for anything. And if you criticise her— well, just don’t. Plus, she used to hit me when I was little. Nothing crazy, but still. She hit me.

“Then one day I slapped her right back and she never did it again.”

Pausing, you tug the hem of your sweater to your knees, an instinct to cover skin that today is not an inch bare.

“It’s funny,” you say. “She acts like she doesn’t remember any of it now.”

“Those in denial of their misdeeds often excise those shameful moments from the past,” says Hannibal. “It may not even be a conscious decision on her part.”

“It’d almost be better if it was. Then maybe she could own up to it, some day.”

Hannibal’s pen mars a fresh page in his notebook; even were it not upside down you suspect you’d fail to untangle his complicated hand.

“Has your mother’s behaviour caused friction surrounding your anorexia?” he asks.

“God, yeah,” you say, half laughing. “She used to yell at me. Tried to bully me into eating. Now she cries a lot and kind of makes it all about her. She loves me, but not in the ways you want in a mother. She pays for stuff. Drives me to places. Ticks all those boxes, you know? But she’s never been kind or comforting, really.

“It’s not all her fault. I guess she just doesn’t know how.”

A leaf falls against a windowpane like the hand of a dead, withered child, and you find yourself drawing back in your seat, wishing you’d the strength to push the chair against the wall.

“Why do you think your mother is unable to fulfil her role as you would like?” asks Hannibal.

“I guess my grandparents treated her the same way she treats me. They were always kind of cold with me when I knew them.”

“Generational cruelty is an infection one must wittingly sterilise. A pity so few are self-aware enough to administer that treatment. Was your father sufficiently conscious?”

Odd, this invocation of the paternal when Hannibal and Will have worked so diligently to embody it in place of your genetic relative.

Now, in a shirt the colour of thatch rolled pristinely back from the jewel of his wristwatch, the doctor could well be the wealthy father of a girl your age, the type to pour upon you his thousands, to walk you down the aisle in a venue of his choosing to marry an approved match of your class.

But you will never wed now that Hannibal has claimed you. He speaks of your family from a wreckage of his making, at ease with his distance from it.

“I love my dad the most,” you say. “But he’s a weird guy. Quiet. Never opens up about his feelings. He’ll talk about movies, or the news, but real stuff? Nope. So I've never felt all that comfortable around him. I mean, with good reason after... after everything.”

“More than good,” says Hannibal, firmly. “That you aren’t angrier with both parents for their abandonment in your time of need surprises me.”

“I don’t really blame them. Uncle Lee has this way about him. He can make people believe pretty much anything he says.”

Inevitable that you should mention Leland, who—though of other blood—is still an incestuous growth on the vine.

“What is this way of his?” asks Hannibal. “You’ve previously spoken of a power to sash the eyes of loved ones against what you perceive to be an obvious darkness. How does that ability present in him?”

You bring your legs up onto the chair, crossing them under you for comfort.

“He moved from Louisiana in his twenties,” you say, “so he still has the accent and everything. He even speaks French sometimes. Then there’s this way of holding himself he has. Kind of cocky, but funny, though. From the second he moved in on our street my parents just loved him, apparently. They never saw what I saw.”

“He’d donned the rubber mask.”

You look up at Hannibal almost shyly.

“Yeah. You remember.”

“Yes. And did you love him, in spite of what seemed to you an obvious guise?”

“I did. In some sick way I still do. So I get why my Mom and Dad believed him over me, but sometimes I think maybe part of them knows the truth, but they just shove it down deep like something dead.”

Scrubbing your face angrily with the sleeve of your sweater you snub, without noticing it, the omnipresent box of tissues on the nearby table top. Hannibal makes no remark on your unclean habit, only pours you a cup of green tea which you accept for the sake of avoiding an argument.

“To truly love someone you mustn’t bury their evils,” says Hannibal. “You must find acceptance of them in whatever form you can. Your parents do not care for this friend so much as fear the upheaval of the known. A suburban life, a sullied idyll— by sending you to me they are attempting to reverse its disunion from their image of it in memory.”

“They’re selfish,” you say. “I know. What’s new there?”

You look at the bottom of your teacup, hunting an impossible pattern in the pale ceramic.

“I don’t want to talk about my family anymore. What about yours? You had a sister, didn’t you?”

Hannibal’s eyes change like the blackening of dusk.

“Will told you this,” he says.

“Does it matter?” you ask, shrilly. “I want to know who you are, Daddy, and this is where I want to start. What happened to Mischa? What did she die of?”

It’s frightening how the man before you alters in only light adjustments: the quiet crossing of a limb, the rhomboid slant of shoulders under his jacket, each a signifier of the restless potentiality for truculence in him.

His face is not so beautiful in moments such as this. The flaws in it stand out to you: flesh racked over halberds of bone, something amphibious in the mouth, of some alien taxon. A killer’s physiognomy, little though you care for such sciences as would define it so.

“My sister was murdered when she was a little girl,” says Hannibal. “I interrupted the culprit in the midst of defiling her body, but it was too late. She was lost to me.”

The moon opal of a tear tips loose of an eyelash, its passage a kinetic artistry. What you’d taken for anger is another emotion: a raw and ancient loss.

“Oh my god,” you say. “That’s awful. Do you know who killed her?”

“A man who remains imprisoned to this day,” says Hannibal. “That is his penance for taking Mischa from me.”

You are in too great a terror and disgust of this man to embrace him, as would feel apt for a moment such as this.

“I’m sorry,” you say, weakly.

Hannibal closes the notebook in his lap and asks, almost blandly, “Are you?”

His bald disbelief flusters you.

“Yes. Of course. She was just a little girl. In fact, I feel like I get it, now. All of this. Me and you. It makes sense why you want me. Why you are what you are. It’s because of her.”

Forcing a smile, you reach over and touch a hand to Hannibal’s cheek.

He turns his face gently away from the caress.

“You’re mistaken, Little One. Whereas you were moulded by your circumstances, I was liberated by mine.”

You stare at him, endeavouring to bone his words for their meaning.

“What are you saying?”

“My philosophies and desires pre-existed Mischa’s death. My love for her restrained me, for while she lived I was never free to act as I yearned to in fear that she would be harmed. In some ways I resented that restraint, but in passing Mischa offered me the opportunity to forgive her.”

A cloud snuffs out the sun, and you sit in the dark of it, aghast.

“Forgive her for what?” you ask, in a near whisper. “Helping you? Hannibal, I—”

“We are still at an impasse, I see,” he says, coolly. “We must rectify this. Would you like to know how she received her absolution?”

You shake your head.

“But you must,” says Hannibal. “You’re a curious girl. Mischa’s remains now lie in a grave in my home country. Before I buried them there, I ate part of her. That is how I reconciled my feelings for my sister with what I am.”

Shock throttles your body in its tremor, and the empty teacup drops from your hand, prevented from breaking only by the carpet underfoot. You had, with all the delicate senses of a medium, deciphered the presage of his appetite, and still you feel the plates of the earth shudder with the magnitude of his confession.

Hannibal gets up from his seat, places the cup back into its saucer, and takes your hand in his.

“Let’s end the session there,” he says. “I’d like to involve you in preparing today’s meal, since that’s a new interest of yours.”

With a fear-stricken servility you walk with him to the kitchen, expecting him to have something—someone—preserved in the glossy coffin of the refrigerator.

Instead Hannibal kneels to unlatch an ingenious door in the floorboards, revealing a neat little staircase which runs down into a basement room. From it emanates a rolling field of cold, biting at you through your clothes.

You take a step back, near tumbling in your eagerness to escape it.

“What is that?”

“It’s an expansion of the freezer,” says Hannibal. “With all the dinner parties I host it’s natural that I found myself in need of more storage space. This is my answer to that problem. I’d like you to go down and choose a cut of meat for dinner.”

There’s no threat in the statement; he speaks, in fact, quite casually, meaning to impress upon you the mundanity of his diet in his eyes. To make supper of his sister, to dine upon lamb: there is no separation for him, being that all of it is meat.

You squeeze your eyes shut, cannot face the oblong of shadow beyond the steps which you’ve dreamt of, unknowing,

“Please don’t make me go down there, Daddy.”

“There’s nothing to be frightened of. Open your eyes, Little One.”

“No. No. I don’t want to.”

You try to turn away, but Hannibal arrests you by the arms, holding you as a farmer would a wriggling hare.

“I’m not going to eat you,” he says. “If that’s what you think.”

“I know!” you wail. “But it doesn’t matter. If I go down there and... see, everything’ll change forever. Because I’ll know for sure, and I’ll be part of it. And I can’t be part of it. I’ll go crazy.”

You jerk passionately in Hannibal’s grip, but his greater strength prevails.

“Wait,” you say. “When you talked about Leland—bringing him to me—you meant that I should kill him to eat.”

“Yes,” says Hannibal, simply. “I did.”

There is a softness in his eyes you recognise as hope. He is a man desperate to create others like him, for all that he believes that they are born.

“But you said with Mischa that eating her was forgiveness,” you say. “But you don’t want me to forgive Uncle Lee. So what would it mean to eat him?”

“Look to why trophy hunters keep mementos of their sport. Some as markers of achievement and dominance over the animal, and others in a subconscious humiliation of the predator they’ve slain. Man gloats to bring a tiger to kneel; a girl, having conquered man, might do the same.”

Thinking of Hannibal’s recorded killings, some of them young women, you say, “Most animals don’t deserve humiliation.”

“That’s all a matter of perspective, my dear. A seasoned hunter develops rather a discerning eye for flaws in his quarry.”

Hannibal smooths a lock of hair behind your ear, his rancid touch queerly soothing.

“What did Savannah Belmont do to deserve humiliation?” you ask, sulkily. “She wasn’t a bad person. She was just a girl, like me.”

“A cursory reading of obituaries and odes to Miss Belmont’s life denote her brief career at a rare bookshop,” says Hannibal, “for which position her personal tastes suggest she was underqualified to take. It wouldn’t be so unrealistic to assume that she left customers unhappy with her inadequate ability to serve them.”

Horror breaks over you like the falling of a chandelier. This, too, you had foreseen: no serious cause to kill was ever required for Hannibal, and that you are fucked rather than murdered by him is but a flourish of fate.

Peering into your eyes, Hannibal comes to a rapid decision and bends to close the trapdoor again.

“Duck, tonight, then,” he says. “That will suffice.”

*

Through terror you cling to Hannibal long into the afternoon, lurking at his elbow, a thumb in your mouth, as he prepares for the day’s appointments.

If he is he here, with you, he cannot kill, you reason, not while he thinks only of the invitation of tear-salt on your lips, the liquor of your nether mouth around him. Again and again you’ll die upon his cock as tribute, for though cold in your disorder you are not so callous as to allow others to, if you can help it.

“I’ll be gone for just a few hours, sweet girl,” he says, pausing to rock you in his lap. “No more of this. I’ve left a new book for you in your room. Please begin reading it for me. And there is the recording of an opera I’d like you to watch. That should keep you occupied until I’m home to you.”

It’s only after he’s driven away in the hearse of his car that you succumb to the awfulness of all you've heard. As in those primordial days of captivity you grasp the bars of your window and scream into the burnished day, beating your fists upon the iron until they burst across the bone.

Only a volley of coughing halts you in this fit, sending you to your bed alarmed by the weakness come over you. You lie shivering for hours, wondering if this is the nervous exhaustion you’ve read about in novels that ends in heroines consigned to the madhouse, sunny climes, or else the grave, none of which you might expect to be released to.

When Hannibal returns he feels your forehead and listens to your coughs with a mildly furrowed brow.

“Hospital,” you croak, but he only laughs and strokes your head.

“There’s no need for that. You have a chest infection. Your immune system is very poor. Nevertheless, you’ll be well again soon.”

He perfumes your damp neck with a kiss and sits down in a chair beside you.

“Perhaps it’s for the best that Will is occupied with work,” he comments, at length. “I wouldn’t like his condition to worsen again.”