#bunny got chomped like a chew toy

[e-hibiscus]

IM EATING GOOD 🤯 HOLY SHIT

M’rolling around in bed and giggling like an idiot 😭😭😫😫😫😫

Ive been laying here rereading it as i write 😭 Imma beat u up sev (affectionately) cause 🫵 CANT DO THIS TO ME 😭 THANK YOU FOREVER

🛐 first blessing me with a god damn yummy CHARACTER and NOW this‼️😫 AAAAAVAGHGGGGHHHHHHWWWWW

ARCHIVIST’S RECORDS: FAFNIR [HSR], 002

cw. [NSFT][MDNI], generally mild and suggestive at best but adding the cw just to be safe

this record involves @spirit-lanterns’s incredible casino AU and @e-hibiscus’s bunny oc misha! they’re both amazing creators 100% worth checking out!

“You know, I’ve heard about you,” Fafnir hums, trailing a hand down Misha’s thigh as the bunny perches on her lap. The dragoness's touch is warm, even through the expensive leather of her gloves.

“Yeah?” she responds breathily, placing her hands on the other woman’s waist to steady herself. Fafnir’s abdomen is firm under her hands, and she actively has to tamp down the urge to pop those buttons off right here and now to see what lay beneath.

“Yeah,” Fafnir croons, the hand on her thigh coming to rest at Misha’s hip. Her grip is firm, possessive, keeping her decidedly in place on her lap—and it sends an electric thrill shooting up Misha’s spine. “I heard that you’re an odd little bunny—that you like to watch your patrons lose instead of win.”

A giggle escapes her lips at the (entirely true) accusation. “Ah, well—you got me.”

“Hm,” the dragoness hums, and something shifts in her eyes. They go from glittery gold, the kind befitting jewelry, to molten pools swirling with dangerous, devouring heat. Fafnir leans forward, close enough to whisper right into one of Misha’s ears, sharp teeth grazing the pink fluff.

“So you think I’m going to lose, little rabbit?”

Her heart thunders in her chest, and she swallows. Her veins feel alight with excitement, and her arms wander up to loop around the dragoness’s neck. Fafnir is so close now, and Misha can feel the wisps of heat emanating through that dark, sinfully well-tailored and form-fitting suit of hers.

“Maybe your luck will run out this time,” she challenges, and it pulls a low, hissing laugh from Fafnir while the dragoness's hand cards through her pretty, pink hair.

“Bold little thing, aren’t you?” Fafnir muses, pulling back to casually lean in her chair again, as if she wasn’t betting millions on the Blackjack game before her. Those golden eyes were fixed on her and her only—it shouldn’t be as fucking thrilling as it is, but Misha’s blood sings nonetheless.

“Let’s make a bet, little rabbit,” Fafnir offers, her tail curling on the floor, scales shimmering like jewels in the low light. “If and when I win, I get to have you as my reward.”

“Wow, confident. And if you lose?”

The grip on her hip tightens by a fraction, before it relaxes again. Misha has spent long enough in a casino to recognize a tell when she sees one. It seems the dragoness does not take the concept of losing easily. “If I lose, I’ll give you anything you desire that is within my reach.”

“Anything?” she asks, a devious little smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “That’s dangerous, wouldn’t you say?”

"Indeed it is," Fafnir chuckles, a low rumble deep in her throat. When she breathes out, the column of her throat emits a light, orange glow, like the color of magma. The glow pulses in tune with each beat of Fafnir's heart, slow and steady. “But you like playing with fire, don’t you?”

“Guess I do," she shrugs with a smirk that's more teeth than anything, and the adrenaline coursing through her system feels like liquid fucking fire. Who even needs to hit the bottle anymore when she's got this? Fafnir meets her intensity in equal measure, true fangs glinting as her lips peel backwards in something between a sneer and a snarl.

“So do we have a deal, little rabbit?”

The dragoness's gaze is deep, dark and vast—both a warning and an invitation. Something buried in her subconscious screams at her, a bone-deep instinct, a prey response ingrained into the molecules of her being. It tells her to run before she gets devoured.

Too bad she's never been the type to listen.

“Deal.”

It's like the atmosphere shifts, the temperature of the room turning up a notch. The other players at the table squirm nervously in their seats—some tug at their collars, while others unbutton their store-bought suits. Fafnir holds her close as she leans forward, territorial, possessive, a draconic grin nearly splitting her face in two. When she speaks, the words engulf every other player at the table like a pyroclastic flow—scorching and inescapable and damning.

"How about we have some real fun, hm?"

In the end Fafnir wins just as she had promised, and Misha has never taken a patron to the private rooms quicker.

(She'll have to do a lot of explaining for the number of bite marks along her skin on tomorrow's shift, but that's a problem for future Misha. Current Misha is much too preoccupied to care.)

Linking OC sheets here: - Misha, @/e-hibiscus's OC - Fafnir, my OC

[lovelyserpentines]

Do You Really Want To Be Alone?

You'll never know how to make it on your own, and you'll never show weakness for letting go I guess it's still hard if the seed's sown, but do you really want to be alone?

•

Phoebe awakes from a nightmare a few days into their Hawaiian vacation, and Max just so happens to be up as well.

Words: 2,197 | Angst & Hurt/Comfort

It’s three a.m. when she woke up, startled and sweating, listening to Nora’s easy breathing from the bed beside her.

               It’s raining, she noticed. It’s thundering, lightning is soon to follow, and she just had another nightmare.

               She tried to convince herself the elemental noises induced her panic-driven sleep state, but the effort is fruitless. She knew the real issue; she knew it’s guilt. Her family had forgiven her, but she had yet to do so herself.     

               She sat up in bed and glanced over at her younger sister, moving her hair away from the back of her overheated neck and exhaling. Her eyes travelled over the dark room, trying to toss the image of Dark Mayhem’s jail cell out of her brain. It was prominent, the lack of light aiding in her torment. A clap of thunder sounded and she jumped, body tensing. Her mind was going a mile a minute, and she knew her worries wouldn’t cease until she went and checked on the rest of her family.

               She lifted her covers back and swung her legs around to the side of her bed, quietly padding toward the door. She paused briefly to look at herself in the mirror—and, truly, she did know she was hallucinating, but she could have sworn her eyes glowed red for a moment. She quickly opened the door and ducked out of her bedroom, shutting it behind her soundlessly.

               She was greeted by a dark corridor, doing nothing to help her already-deteriorating mental state. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out as she opened the door directly across from her own bedroom. Billy was in his bed, still breathing, but her own twin was missing from the room. She knew that was nothing out of the ordinary; for as long as they’d been alive he was a night owl. Even so, the knowledge didn’t stop her heart from skipping a few beats.

               The next room showed Chloe on the floor, apparently having fallen asleep while playing with toys she’d brought from home. She found herself wondering how many of them Chloe had forgotten and teleported back to Hiddenville for. The thought made her lips spread, heart slowing back down a bit.

               The last door she opened revealed her father snoring, as well as her mother tucked underneath her husband’s arm. The sight was relieving. Now she just had to find her twin and then maybe—maybe—she’d be able to get back to sleep.

               Maybe.

               The last door led to the bathroom, which she opened with caution. The lights were out and the space was vacant. Onto the open kitchen and living room next.

               Her eyes instantly found him, tousled hair floating above the sofa. Her mind calmed down, any worrisome possibilities leaving her. She looked onward, into the kitchen and behind the island, stopping on the slightly ajar cupboard. She walked over and fully opened it, almost immediately noticing what was missing; exactly what she always craved whenever she woke up with a headache. Exactly what he always craved whenever he woke up with a headache.

               The television was turned on, and only as she got closer did she realize there was a cartoon channel playing. Either he was asleep or her footsteps were a lot quieter than she thought, because he didn’t turn to face his sister and ask her to stop creeping around or attempt to act like he wasn’t focusing on a cartoon show.

               She stopped right behind the couch and wondered if maybe she really should just go back to sleep. The sane part of herself knew that would be practically impossible, and the longing part of her knew sitting down and eating Oreos while watching cartoons was an experience she desperately wanted and needed at that moment.

               “Headache?” she asked semi-quietly, still causing her twin to startle despite her best efforts to sound soothing.

               He lifted his previously-sliding-down-the-side-of-the-couch head up and narrowed his eyes at her, hands rubbing his exposed arms. “Gosh, Phoebe, next time show yourself before talking.”

               Her mood was already improving a bit. She grinned at him and circled around the sofa, plopping herself down on the opposite side of the cookie package and tucking her knees into her chest. “Well then next time wake me up when you decide to have Oreos at three in the morning.” He eyed her suspiciously, to which she tilted her head at him. “You know I love these just as much as you do.”

               He reluctantly nodded and then gritted his teeth at the action.

               She stuck an arm out and stole an Oreo. “So the headache,” she tried again, chomping on the cookie. She pointed at his head. “What’s up with it?”

               He blinked a lengthy amount of time that was sure to have been him stalling, then answered, “It’s really dumb, and if I say it you have to Thundertwin Swear not to repeat it. Ever.”

               She smiled at that. Talking through cookie, she spoke, “I Thundertwin Swear. Spill.” She looked around the vicinity and frowned. “No milk?”

               He sighed and pointed an arm toward the kitchen, telekinetically opening the refrigerator door and hauling the carton of milk over to them. She smirked at his problem solving. Turning the conversation back to himself, he began, “I’m kind of…worried about,” and then he mumbled, “Dr. Colosso…”

               She bit back a smile, but the sarcastic tone they always used around each other snuck through anyway. “You’re worried about your bunny back home?”

               He glared at her, looking much more tired all of a sudden. “He may be a supervillain turned into a rabbit, but he’s still an animal; people always worry about them being home alone.”

               “Uh-huh. Sure.” She snatched another cookie and glanced at the milk carton, letting out a sigh when she realized there were no glasses. Throwing caution to the wind, she bit into the cookie and then cracked open the carton, drinking right from the spout. Afterward, she set it back down and looked to her twin. She opened her mouth to speak again, but he cut her to the chase.

               “Why are you up?” His right arm rested on the back of the couch, and it was so blatantly obvious that he didn’t wish to speak about his feelings anymore that she let him change the topic.

               She locked eyes with him and lied, “Couldn’t sleep,” proceeding to take another bite of her cookie.

               He merely looked at her, leaning forward to grab an Oreo himself. “Aaaand you’re lying.”

               She felt her eyebrows draw together. “Why,” how, “do you think,” know, “I’m lying?” He might have bought her innocent act, if in the next second she didn’t hallucinate him laying on the ground after she blasted him and took his ATV, her eyes widening on their own accord.

               He pointed at her with the cookie, simply stating, “You just drank from a milk carton. Little Miss ‘I Always Play by the Rules’ wouldn’t risk sharing germs.”

               She frowned, attempting to shake off the latest hallucination—or any of them, really. “I can get a new carton,” she muttered, eyes following her hands as they flipped the small remains of her cookie over and over.

               He nodded and took a bite of his own cookie. “That you can, but you’re still not telling me why you woke up and decided to eat my Oreos.” Then he frowned at her. “Do you have a headache, too?”

               She shook her head, understanding too late that she just sent her only way out of this conversation down the drain. “No, I just…” She shoved the rest of her cookie into her mouth and chewed slowly. “I had a nightmare,” she divulged, eyes flicking over to his face for a moment.

               The television screen flashed as another thunder clap sounded, lightning following behind it this time. The room was illuminated for a quick moment, and in the next, the space as well as the conversation became darker.

               He let his eyes wander over her frame, thinking. It had only been a few days since her evil scare, and it was fresh in everyone’s minds, especially since they were still on the vacation. His jaw loosened as he quietly asked, “Was it about Dark Mayhem?”

               Truthfully she didn’t need to answer; he knew her so well, she probably had ‘affirmative’ written all over her face and even her demeanor. She nodded, hand moving toward the Oreos but deciding against them. “If we’re being nitpicky, then technically I was dreaming about me being controlled by Dark Mayhem, not really him in general.”

               He looked away for a moment. “Phoebe, c.mon, you gotta get him out of your head. Nothing you did was your fault.”

               She smiled sadly and played with the hem of her sweats. “Yes it was. It still is.”

               “No, I’m telling you it’s not—”

               “If I would’ve just trusted you,” she said, eyes snapping up to meet his, “and let you fix your mistake yourself…if I would’ve just listened to you, then none of—of that would ever have happened.”

               He shifted in his seat, removing his arm from the back of the couch as he leaned forward. “Phoebe…you need to believe me. None of that, absolutely none of it was your fault.”

               She shut her eyes. “Max—”

               “You were doing what you thought was right by cleaning up my mess, alright?” He laid a hand on her knee and squeezed, causing her eyes to open like he hoped they would. “That’s how the Max-Phoebe twin thing works, right?”

               She smiled weakly at him. “The Max-Phoebe twin thing only works when we both have each other’s best interests at heart, even if we don’t admit it,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “And I wasn’t thinking about yours. I wasn’t thinking about how it was important to you that you solve your own problem, or that I finally stopped acting like your babysitter.” She swallowed and leaned her head back. “I was only thinking about how I could save the day again.”

               His eyes looked over every inch of her face, twice. “Pheebs…you have to stop analyzing that, alright? I’m the one who holds grudges, and even I got over it.”

               She laughed joylessly and shut her eyes. “That’s because you’re developing, meanwhile, I feel like I’m…just…regressing.”

               The television was crackling. He located the remote and turned down the volume a bit, moving back to his sister. “Phoeb—”

               “I keep seeing you, just lying there…” Her eyes were still shut and she seemed lost in her thoughts. “I see the rocks shutting you and Billy and Nora into that cave, and the force field I put around everyone…” She opened her eyes and lifted her head up, looking at her brother. “I can’t stop seeing it, Max. The memories just keep coming back and I…” A tear slid down her face as she leaned her head against her knees. “They won’t go away,” she managed, sobs starting to wrack her body.

               He didn’t waste a second in grabbing the Oreo packaging and moving it to the coffee table in front of them. Sliding closer to her, he placed one hand on her back and the other on her calf. “Phoebe,” he said softly but firmly, “come on, look at me, Pheebs.”

               Her head raised a tiny bit, just enough to look at him like he asked her to.

               “This is not your fault,” he said vehemently. His eyes bore into hers as he repeated himself, “None of it is your fault. This is just Dark Mayhem getting to you, everything he did through you.”

               She shook her head, and he unhappily noted that she hadn’t stopped crying. Normally he didn’t like to deal with tears, but now he just wanted her stop and understand that she wasn’t at fault.

               “Pheebs, please,” he said quietly, a rough hand reaching up to wipe away one of her tears. She muffled a sob by placing her mouth on her clothed knee, eyes shutting again.

               The television flickered once more, as if it depended on her emotional stability, or lack thereof at the current moment.

               “Phoebe, you gotta…” Even he didn’t know where that sentence was leading. Seeing his sister crying like this was really tearing him up. His heart felt like it was being ripped in half.

               She shook her head and moved her mouth, fumbling to whisper, “I…can’t…”

               Her voice cracked, and at that he resorted to wrapping his arms around her and gently tipping her backward and against his broad chest. A hand stroked her hair and down her back, her sobs shuddering her whole body as well as his.

               With one more thunderous clap and lightning strike, the television screen was completely out, enveloping the two in total darkness as he slowly felt sure he was going to cry, too.

               In the morning, their family would see them curled up together on the couch, television showing cartoons and a package of Oreos flipped over on the floor, a carton of perfectly fine milk spoiled.

               What they wouldn’t see, was a perfectly fine eighteen-year-old spoiled as well.

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