#even though i had plenty of Time to do them because i was trapped inside my apartment by Ice Roads Of Death for two days

[lilyaceofdiamonds]

Omg i downloaded the Finch app yesterday and it is sooo cute!! He’s (she’s/they’re) just a lil guy! What a cute penguin. Mine is green and i named him Scamper.

(Because my sisters and i were obsessed with the movie (?) Scamper the Penguin when we were kids, we watched it so much the vhs had changed the blue colors to greens. It is also cute and i recommend it, if you haven’t seen it!)

@goldkirk thank you for posting about this app however-long-ago to put it on my radar!

[babyleostuff]

when you call them your husband | ot13

❥ seungcheol 

goes through five stages of a mental breakdown, because what did you just call him??? if you ever called him your husband in front of people, cheol would turn into a stuttering mess with cheeks as red as a tomato. if you did it when you were by yourselves he’d start whining like a bitch, getting shy as hell, because why are you messing with his heart like that? on rare days, though, he’d embrace the husband figure and start calling you “wife” and make you shy

❥ jeonghan 

so smug - no one would be able to wipe that studpid ass smirk off of his face. it does mess with him a bit, though, because come on - calling him your husband??? but he’d try his best to act unaffected, because it’s jeonghan, and he needs to be cool :))) (i’m going to repeat this so many times throughout this headcanon, but all of them would start to freak out a bit thinking about a day when this won’t be a joke anymore, hannie included)

❥ joshua 

is he really surprised when you call him your husband? not really. he knows he’s a husband material, and you often make jokes about him being your husband anyways. that doesn’t mean he isn’t freaking about it on the inside, though, because no matter how many times you call him that as a silly little joke, it still makes him so incredibly happy that one day, he’ll really be your husband, and you won’t be calling him that as a joke anymore

❥ jun 

one of the “turns into a shy, blushy, and a stuttering mess” squad. he’d malfunction at first, point at himself, and melt into a puddle of fluff, and love. one - how dare you call him your literal husband as a joke??? second - give him all the kisses, and hugs, because his first instincts is to run away, and break out in tears from all the love. he doesn’t really know what to do with himself after you say that word, but you can be sure it’ll be in his head for the rest of the day 

❥ hoshi 

soonyoung would be confused for a second, because “wait, are you talking about me?” and when he’d finally understand that, yes - you were talking about him (because who else would you be talking about), he’d get so smiley and giggly and shy, and just turn into the cutest bean. he’d immediately cling to you, wrapping his arms around you and trapping you in a warm hug, giggling like a maniac

❥ wonwoo 

cue shy wonwoo with his lil cat smile. he can’t help the butterflies fluttering in his tummy, and as much as he’d want to tease you for calling him your husband, he’d be too shy to actually do it. you calling him that would make him so happy for some reason, even though he knows that you mainly do it as a prank or a joke to mess with him. don’t do it in front of people, though, or he’ll run away

❥ woozi 

“anything for you, baby.” woozi always indulges in all of your silly antics and jokes, and this time it’d be no different. he’d try to act as unaffected as he could, but his acting skills are not always the best, so you’d still be able to catch a glimpse of a small smile and blushy cheeks. he isn't the type to think about marriage, kids, and your domestic future together, he prefers to focus on what you have now, but hearing that word coming from you, would make his heart flutter a bit faster

❥ dk 

“yes, i am.” smiles cutely at you, and gives you a bone crushing hug, while freaking the fuck out on the inside. he won’t comment on it too much in the moment, but the way he’d be extra clingy throughout the day, giving you ten times more kisses, and hugs, and pouts, and any physical affection. the thought of becoming your husband some day is so??? because it will happen someday, and that’s kind of crazy

❥ mingyu 

cue mingoo giggles, because that man would not be able to behave himself after hearing the word husband from you. will whine, smile, laugh, hug you, pick you up and spin you around like a lovesick teenager, and when he finally calms down, he’d give you the biggest smooch. even though you had marriage talks plenty of times before - you both knew you’d get married some time in the feature, hearing it from you - saying it so casually, messed with his heart so much 

❥ minghao 

as someone who has mentioned a couple of times before that he wants to get married, hearing the word “husband” coming from you would make him so so happy and giddy, to the point where he’d just stand there with a lovesick smile on his face, and the urge to hug and kiss the life out of you (he wouldn’t though, he has to keep his composure) (but don’t worry, he’d kiss your forehead and tell you how much he loves you) (all with an adorable blush covering his cheeks)

❥ seungkwan 

turns into a shy and blushy mess. seungkwan’s first instinct is to hide his face in his hands or your neck, so you wouldn’t see the effect that the word had on him (even though you could clearly see how it affected him). then he’d probably proceed to yell at you (lovingly) for making such mean jokes (he wants to be your husband now, boyfriend is not enough)

❥ vernon 

at first he would think that he had misheard you, so you’d have to repeat the word two or three more times, because why would you ever call him your husband? and when you’d clarify that, yes - you did say the word “husband”, and yes - it was directed to him, vernon would just stare at you with big eyes but no thoughts. you’d laugh at him immediately, because the lack of his reaction was even funnier than if he’d react. then he’d say “thank you” and proceed with the rest of his day with the word “husband” floating around his head

❥ chan 

leechan.exe has stopped working. looks at you with the biggest puppy eyes, pointing at himself, as if he was asking if you were really talking about him. it’s so crazy to him that you’d call him that even as a joke, because hearing the word “husband” coming from you is??? hello??? and the fact that someday he’ll really be your husband??? you can expect chan to be a bit more clingy than he usually is (a bit more pouty too, because what do you mean you called him that as a joke?)

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[msnihilist]

"It's been quite a while since I got to see our counterparts like this, dearest," Anti-Cosmo remarked to Anti-Wanda. He grinned down at the three fairies in the cage beneath them. "Miserable."

"Shoot, it must've been at least twenty years!" Anti-Wanda remarked. "Longer for you two, though, huh?"

Cosmo cradled Peri's head in his lap, keeping him on his side so that he didn't choke if he vomited. Wanda sat next to her boys, rubbing a hand soothingly between Peri's wings, like she used to when he was a baby.

She felt close to tears. Her baby was so sick that she feared he wouldn't make it... And they had their anti-fairy counterparts to mock them through the whole awful ordeal.

"Don't you two have anything better to do?" Wanda snapped at them. "Terrorize someone else for a change! We're plenty miserable without you here."

"Oh, please don't think that we're trying to make you feel worse." Anti-Cosmo shook his head. "It's more like we're here to enjoy the show."

"I even made popcorn!" Saying that, Anti-Wanda procured a bag of popcorn. She held it out for Anti-Cosmo to help himself to a handful.

Wanda clenched her jaw in frustration. The smell of food just made Peri's convulsions worse. She shushed him, trying her best to be comforting as her son dry-heaved.

With shaky fingers, Cosmo brushed Peri's curly hair away from his sweaty forehead. He met Wanda's stare, his eyes tight with concern. "Wanda..." He started, but said nothing more.

What was there to say? What was there to do? They were trapped, and the situation was getting worse by the minute.

As a last, desperate bid for her son, Wanda cast her voice up to the anti-fairies. "Please, can't you at least ask Dev to make a wish? Something small! Peri has magical build-up, and he..." Wanda swallowed, unable to say it. "You don't want the same thing to happen to Irep, do you?"

Anti-Wanda hummed as she pretended to think about it. "Now, correct me if'n I'm wrong, darlin', but that ain't how anti-fairies work, innit?"

Anti-Cosmo adopted a similar look of faux thoughtfulness. "No, you're right, strumpet. I believe that anti-fairies aren't affected by their counterparts deaths, merely by any action which might undo their creation. So our precious child is going to be perfectly fine."

Something inside of Wanda shattered. All she could think was that this wasn't fair; she hadn't had enough time.

"Please..." She tried again anyway, because it was all that she could do. "Please don't let my son die."

Anti-Cosmo laughed. "Enough with the melodrama. I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of this. You ought to be used to it. After all..." He adjusted his monocle, lips curling into a vicious smirk. "This isn't the first time you two have lost a son."

His words hit like a slap to the face. Wanda was too stunned to reply — torn between the urge to sob and the burning desire to kill someone.

Not a day went by in the last ten thousand years that Wanda hadn't thought about him. And now she was going to lose her youngest son, too. What had she done to deserve this? Why was fate so cruel?

Why did love always have to end in "goodbye"?

When he didn't receive a response, Anti-Cosmo huffed and turned away. "Look on the bright side — perhaps the loss of a child to bond over will be enough to keep your fragile relationship hanging on for another thousand years or so."

Anti-Wanda giggled, looping her arm through Anti-Cosmo's and leaning on his shoulder. "Give a holler when he's ready to pop, y'all! I love me a good confetti shower."

The two anti-fairies drifted away, cackling together. Wanda felt numb. She was so angry that she had looped right back around to feeling nothing. She was completely calm.

Cosmo reached over and took her hand, entwining their fingers. "What are we going to do?" He asked.

Wanda took a deep breath. She squeezed his hand back, placing her other hand on Peri's head. "Whatever we have to do to protect our son," she promised.

She had failed once already, and once was too much. Not again. Never again.

As long as Wanda still had the strength to flutter her wings, she was going to do everything in her power to defend her family.

AO3 link.

[ccscocoapuffs]

Amanda Young NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) The absolute sweetest, she loves to wrap up in your arms and cuddle. She makes sure that you know you're loved before anything and she wants to pamper you in all her love and kisses.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Amanda loves her hands, after all she builds her traps with them and they helped her survive her test. She loves that they allow her to feel you and make you fall apart for her in the bedroom. She loves her partners eyes the most, she is someone who believes that someone's eyes tell you everything and that its the closest to a soul.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Amanda loves to eat you out after you cum, she loves the way you taste and just can't get enough.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) She wants to run away with you, she feels such a connection with John because she feels like he saved her but deep down she knows the truth . She dreams of the day you two can go away someplace and live a happy life just the two of you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Amanda is decently experienced, she had a few flings in her college aged days however she has more experience with women more than men.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Amanda likes 69 the best, she loves eating pussy. She loves that she can pull you closer to her face and hold you there till she's done making you cum.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) She's very serious during sex mostly because she wants it to be intimate and romantic, though she loves to see you smile during it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Amanda stays pretty well groomed, she trims it down it just stubble though the stubble is slightly darker than her normal hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Amanda is very intimate, she loves to light candles for a little extra mood setting and making sure she does plenty of foreplay to get you fired up and ready for her.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Amanda doesn't masturbate, she didn't have the time before and ow she has you so there isn't a point. She tends to relish in loneliness prior to you two dating so it was hard for her to get aroused anyway with no one around.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Amanda is into some slight bondage she doesn't wanna do anything that can even come close to hurting you. She loves to use a strap on though and you use it on her as well. Overall she's a little vanilla but she is insanely intimate and loving with you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) At home in bed, it's the safest and most comforting place to her. She wants nothing more than to keep you protected even during sex.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Her love for you to put it quite simply. She is so attracted to you and truly gives you all her heart, if you return to her the same energy she promises to absolutely rock your world ever night.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Anything that involves you being around her work or being inside of a trap. She also wants to keep you as far away from Hoffman as she can.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Amanda prefers giving, she loves pussy and knows how to eat it just right to make you squirt over and over on her face. She loves to finger you while she pays special attention to your clit.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Amanda likes slow and sensual unless straps are involved then she likes to pick up the pace and wreck you. However if she's the sub she wants you to go and on her and rail her into the mattress.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Amanda is more into quickie like teasing then actual quickies, she wants to make sure she gives you something to remember. While she wouldn't say no to one she definitely doesn't prefer them.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Amanda is down to experiment and down to take some risks. She keeps it safe though, she definitely would try a knife or gun kink with you though the gun has to stay unloaded at all times and she'd never actually cut you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Amanda usually lasts about 2-3 rounds, she can actually be quite energetic in bed and that's why she tends to go for so long. She loves to make you cum at least twice before calling it quits though.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Amanda owns a few toys, vibrator, dildo, and of course a strap on. Her favorite though is a clit sucking toy she owns that has a warming function.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Amanda loves to tease, her favorite thing to do is sneak up behind you and kiss up and down your neck before attempting to suck a small hickey on you. She loves to finger you under tables too.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Amanda is kinda loud, she tends to get really into things and loses all sense of volume control or care about who hears, if you wanna stay quiet you're gonna have to cover her mouth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Amanda loves body worship but she gets to flustered to give it likes she wants to.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Amanda has a vagina obviously.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Not very high until she truly gets to know you. When she falls head over heels in love with you she will start to be more frequent in wanting to fuck.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Once you snuggle up to her and get under the blanket she starts to doze off. She feels safe and so warm with you that it just lures her right to sleep.

[whataboutsimple]

Heyy, just wanted to ask your opinion

What are your thoughts on Cassie Rose and Lukas. It came out of nowhere. It seemed pretty fun though. The killer and the guy that was framed for the killers murders

It's not like I ship it. Not really. I'm not sure how if it'll work out as a ship at all. But I definitely want to see them having to go on dates together cause their cat's have become besties

(Yeah.. I'm going to come here from time to time now. Hope you don't mind)

Oooooh~ you already know I can make them work out as I ship:)

All we need to do is slightly punch canon in the face *punches it with a strength of Godzilla* and pretend Lukas never really left the Ocelots and was playing along with them the whole time.

That way it'll make him just as much of a villain as Cassie is. Twisted love to the point where they both sight dreamily, thinking how they can can rid of Jesse together.

Or we can work other way around and actually let Lukas get back to the mansion to save Cassie, since no one really deserves to die from hunger with their cat on their hands. Sure they will send her in jail or something, but I think Lukas is pretty much capable to take her under his wing and help "redeem" herself.

They can bond together over building, since Cassie did built this mansion and she's probably an Old Builder too. Maybe she can teach him how to deal with a sword, and he'll teach her how to oneshot with a bow. I think Lukas would be pretty much interested in listening her rambling about Redstone and Potions, maybe even homworld where she's from.

Of course it won't take only a week, she will be salty for a long time, but in my opinion the right company around will cool her down. Plus they can promise her to help to get back in homworld.

And if we're talking about notaship version, I have plenty of ideas actually here.

As you probably know, I'm rooting for "Cassie Rose as an Old Builder" trope, because for me it only makes sense. However the second trope I'm rooting for is that the closest thing she had to a parental figure was Soren. Because to me he seems like the most hearty person.

Hadrian is hot crazy ass old man.

Mevia is hot crazy ass old woman.

Both Isa and Harper are too focused on work and probably don't know how to deal with children (and they're a bit too salty too).

Otto was probably too boring for her.

And than there's Soren, who doing crazy thing, experiments, dance and sings, just what a child needs.

Well, at least until she hit her teen years, where Mevia started effecting her, turning poor girl into maniac she became.

So, what was that for?

Let's remember some part of the fandom counts Soren as a parental figure for Lukas.. yeah! Siblings Cassie and Lukas trope!:D

It actually would be funny, knowing how different they are. Lukas probably will built something beautiful and rainbowish, when Cassie would go with "And now let's add just a bit of lava.." "NOOOOO!"

Also hilarious would be if we add Aiden there. He can be a friend of Lukas, his lover or Cassie's friend or lover. Either way he would put lots of chaos.

After the Sky City events, if Aiden bonds with Lukas, Cassie would probably go into the protective mode and promise to snap his head if he hurt her lil bro.

If Aiden bonds with Cassie however, Lukas will worryingly run around trying to prevent them from killing someone.

One more trope us rivalry of course.

Thanking the letter in S2, we know Cassie probably escaped and now very angry with Jesse. Knowing her love for difficulty and non-standart ways for the win, maybe just maybe, instead of straight approaching Jesse, she'll decided to go after his friends first.

Specifically Ivor, Petra and Lukas.

If Petra is a bit too strong for her, Ivor's missing would notice fast enough, her perfect first target would be Lukas, who leaves pretty far from everyone else.

Imagine the girl putting traps in his house, when he comes back in the evening. As soon as blonde steps inside, something snaps his legs, making fall down with horrible pain. While he gasps for air, trying to lift himself up, the last thing he sees is White Pumpkin with two bright yellow eyes, before he gets a bit with an axe, that's finishes him.

Well, that wasn't really a rivalry, more just dying Lukas.

I can't think of anything else in the moment.

I actually love Cassie a lot, especially her red hair and Winslow, even though the girl could've just explain the situation and ask for help, she decided to do the murder. Just what the doctor ordered.

Lukas.. well, I have mixed feelings. I like him as a character, I ship lots of ships with him, but I strongly avoid Jesskas or Aidkas content. It's not about characters, but about how people present them in this situations.

I'm not against the ships and even wrote some oneshots, when people asked, it just that.. I don't know, I have some allergy towards popular things. That applies to Jetra, Jesstra, Lukesse, Jesskas, Aidkas, Harpvor or Jesse, Lukas, Petra themselves.

When I'm writing something about them, I actually enjoy it, but content of other people keeps me away somewhy. Expect yours! The way you deliver both Petra and Lukas I love..

But I think I went off topic, yep. Sorry.

[rachelsfav-queer]

😱 damn little raven for giving our wiwi the cold plushie shoulder…(for like 10 seconds but still!)

But I still love the fact that wiwi can sense little ravens presence, it’s just an unbreakable bond between them and it’s so pure and sweet

I wouldn’t say it’s the cold shoulder. More like Little Raven is very insecure about her abilities as a big sister. If anyone recalls the lore dumps I’ve posted about Little Raven’s history, you’ll know she used to be an older sister when she was alive, but then she died in an accident at a young age, maybe early teens. So she didn’t fully develop as a person and after she passed, she felt a lot of guilt for “abandoning” her younger sister even though neither of them had any control over what happened.

It’s why she’s trapped inside the raven plushie. It was a gift she gave to her younger sister before the accident and now she’s got unfinished business in this world. But she never learned how to actually communicate or really do anything as a spirit possessing a physical object and so she missed her second chance with her younger sister until eventually, she was passed down to Enid, who gifted the raven plushie to Baby Wednesday! And because Wednesday is an Addams and obviously has plenty of experience with spirits, she could not only sense Little Raven’s spirit, but could also teach her how to communicate!

(There’s a couple other people who can sense Little Raven btw. Morticia for obvious reasons, Larissa because in our own headcanons, she used to have someone like the spirit in her own life before she lost them, and Baby Enid has suspicions but Little Raven only talks to Wiwi cause angst reasons)

ANYWAY! This is all to say that Little Raven wasn’t upset with Wiwi, she literally couldn’t be upset with her. She reminds her so much of her own little sister and she cherishes both of them more than anything or anyone else in the entire world! It’s really just jealousy and literally an immature mindset. She’s still a kid! She literally doesn’t have the emotional intelligence to understand Wiwi having another friend, even if they’re not actually real.

Poor Little Raven was just lost, not understanding why her bestest best friend wasn’t spending all of her time with her anymore. Baby Wiwi and Little Raven have such a strong bond, one of two sisters, though they’re not actually related, it’s just as strong and intense. And there’s nothing that can break them apart! 🥰

[muchelburstenstein]

Totally Natural

(CONTENT WARNING: BURST)

It had been a terrible day at work. I was working on some various genetic materials for one of the more dangerous of the local forest species, doing some deconstruction of their genetic code and some of their more interesting abilities. But then one of the new hires messed up, there had been a spill nasty spill. All sorts of materials had gone everywhere, some of it even splashed onto me. Everyone else got out quickly, but I'd ended up getting really dizzy, ended up trapped with the fumes for a while, and the material we'd been working with had plenty of time to sink into my clothes.

Eventually, I'd gotten rinsed off and changed. Everyone had to go home early because of cleanup and documentation. Physical and mental examinations were required, which was fine. I'd seen some of the materials from other creatures end up on co-workers, or had them inhale the wrong pheromones, and it messed them up bad. Mutated their bodies, or altered their brains, they'd forget who they were or why, think they were only bodies to be bread. It always seems half sad and half pathetic. I couldn't imagine forgetting how important my family was to me, or how important the work I was doing was.

I'd checked out fine, although I did still feel pretty light headed. I was told to take tomorrow off too, that it was probably just a stress reaction from the accident. I HAD been in there a pretty long time, after all.

On the drive home, I'd felt the desperate desire to see my husband. I found myself missing him terribly, just wanting to hug and kiss and snuggle with him. And once I saw the man... well, I'd needed a bit more than cuddles.

For some reason, his seed gushing into my belly was the most satisfying thing I'd ever felt. So perfectly right. I assumed it was just the stress finally getting worked off. I got up to shower, and he got up to go back to doing housework.

After I got cleaned up and dressed though, I found myself binge-watching videos. Ones I'd never really had any interest in. Mating habits of bizarre creatures, especially things that laid eggs. Just... whenever I saw something that involved eggs lined up in a nest, I felt odd and shivery. Whenever they started hatching out... I couldn't help but touch myself. After the seventh or eighth time, I found myself whispering to the babies on the screen. Encouraging them, telling them how much further they had to go, how proud I was.

I had no idea what was going on. And I was so focused on the videos, I didn't notice that the hard, tense feeling in my belly wasn't from cumming so much. Bit by bit, my midsection was growing. Swelling. Several videos in, I looked well into my second trimester.

Then, I felt the first kick. But, for some reason, it didn't alarm me. I just reached down, rubbed my warm, tight midriff, and whispered "Soon. So soon, just be patient."

It didn't even occur to me. Just... everything felt right. Slowly, the thought I was pregnant had just become... ok. Not alarming or curious, just exactly how it should be. Every movement was deeply satisfying, every kick sending shivers of anticipation deep into me.

And still, for some reason, every time the eggs on screen started shifting and cracking, I became intensely aroused. My sweatpants were soaked, my panties ruined, the whole room reeked of my cum. Every time, I climaxed as the first baby animal broke through the shell of the egg. It just felt like the most perfect thing in the world to me. Exactly how it should be, that's how babies are born, they hatch.

I was big. Ripe. So close to being ready to birth. But... birth didn't sound right. That's not what babies do, not how they come into the world. They hatch. They break out of their egg. And it's the job of a good mommy to help them, however possible.

I hit play on another video as I felt a hard shove inside me. "Mmm... it's almost time..." I whispered breathlessly. I skipped forward, not looking away from the screen. I needed to see one part. Just one, the perfect part, the part that is exactly what it should be.

The egg. It was moving. The baby inside was pressing against the shell, ready to be born.

My sweet baby was pushing against my womb. It's shell. It was ready to be born, like a good baby. I rubbed my egg. "You're so good. You're ready to be born, you're so strong..." I whispered to my child.

Thrust. My breath caught as pain surged. The egg shuddered and wiggled, the baby onscreen eager to emerge. "There we go baby, nice and hard... just gotta break the shell..."

Thrust. I moned. He was so strong, tears of pride filled my eyes. "Mmm, yes, push baby, push against the egg..." I stroked the shell gently, letting my child know how eager I was to meet them.

Strange sounds began to come from inside as the animal on the screen tried even hard to escape. The egg was strong, but it had done what it was supposed to, and now only existed to break. The hard shell was starting to buckle.

Thrust! I threw my head back, a deep guttural groan escaping from between my teeth as a strange sound came from inside. "Ohhh god I'm hatching... He's hatching out of meee... Good baby, come out, let mommy meet you..." I gasped, stroking the prison hanging off the front of me.

Now was the difficult time. On the video, the egg was starting to crack, but not break. Damage was being done, bit by bit, weakening the shell. But it wasn't enough to tear it apart yet.

Thrust! I cried out in pain. It hurt so bad, but then it didn't matter. All that mattered was that my little one needed to be born, just how nature intends. "Yes baby, hatch from mommy! Nice and hard, you can do it!" I cried, just like I did at the videos. I hear my husband's voice from downstairs, but I don't respond.

Thrust! There's an awful sound from inside, and searing agony radiates out. "Oh god, I'm cracking, I'm cracking open for you! Go ahead sweetie, break mommy, break me open and be born just like you're meant to, hatch from your egg and live!"

There! A little piece of shell begins to tent out, the weakest point. Over and over, with each push, it goes a little further, until finally it falls out. The little cutie is only moments from emerging!

Thrust! "It burns, it buuurns, I can feel it bleeding, you're so close, just come out, break mommy wide open, nice and fast!" Tears well in my eyes, but I don't give in. I have to be a good mother, that's all that matters. This is my entire world, right here, between my hands, skin bruising and skin bulging as my little one assaults my insides.

Thrust! I hear a concerned call, loud steps running upstairs as I scream in pain, a stomach-churning tearing noise coming from inside. I was so close to breaking open, like a good egg. All I needed to do was let my baby hatch and it would all be over! I was such a good mommy, such a perfect egg, All I wanted, all I ever wanted was to hatch for my baby, everything was just as it should be.

THRUST! More voices, panicked as I let myself go, being as loud as I need to endure the beauty of childbirth. Apparently someone came over. I can't even comprehend them, the only languige I care to speak, that I ever want to speak again is the agonized cries of a perfect egg splitting apart for their beautiful baby! How could I have ever had a life prior to this, how could I have ever wanted anything else?!

THRUST! My skin splits as I feel my womb rupture. Fluids run from the wound. Well, if you can call an ovum breaking to let the baby come out "wounds" or "dying". Apparently these people do, as they slam the door open. A woman, I dimly recognize her as having been my boss an impossibly long time ago, in a different life. Now, the only life I have is pressing its snout against the unspeakably painful hole in the egg its trying to be born from.

The egg on the screen holds for just a moment more before breaking open, an adorable little creature tumbling out into the world. "Oh no, it brainwashed her!" The dark-haired boss human laments. Some strange creature I think I used to be. But now, I'm nothing more than a shell, and I'm about to do what good eggshells do. And I am a perfect egg.

THRUST!!! The wound grows, and grows, I'm tearing apart as I shriek, half in agony, and half in orgasm! "YES, COME OUT OF MOMMY, BE BORN LITTLE ONE, HATCH FROM MOMMY!!!" There's noise everywhere, a blonde human is preparing a syringe of some nature, the male is screaming and crying, the dark-haired one looks furious, reaching for my precious child. Probably to welcome it into the world. Or congratulate me on being a perfect mother.

It's hard to breathe now, and my vision is blurring. There's a weird stabby pain in my arm, the blonde one went near it. Dark hair mutters something about "should stabilize her, she'll survive, but it's her mind I'm worried about..." but it means nothing to me. I am overjoyed, I've been hatched from. I'm a beautiful egg, and I've done my purpose. I close my eyes, exhaustion overwhelming me...

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Mind's Eye (5x16)

I hate the way you see me.

Sometimes it feels like everyone sees her the same way. Helpless. Weak. Pathetic. She doesn’t see bright light, she doesn’t see blackness. Only nothingness. People seem to think her lack of vision inhibits her; that without it, she’s unable to see. 

But Marty sees plenty. 

She sees it every day: pity, impatience, even revulsion, like she’s something abhorrent. Something inhuman. And after twenty-nine years, she’s sick and tired of it.

She’s lived her entire life putting up with the way others view her, but Marty knows the truth: that she is just as capable as anyone else. She’s traversed certain pathways in her life enough times to know them by heart. Three steps forward inside the lobby and seven steps to the left will always get her to her building’s staircase, without fail. Twelve stairs, then two right turns will get her to her front door. And when she gets there, she can access an entirely new set of muscle memories to get her through the rest of her daily routine. She gets by just fine, thank you very much.

Her blindness isn’t the issue, not for Marty. But she still feels trapped. She’s been imprisoned for as long as she can remember, and for her entire life, she’s come to accept it’s where she will always be. But that acceptance doesn’t lessen her yearning to escape.

Her imprisonment doesn’t come from her lack of sight. It comes from her experience of life in a cell through the eyes of another: a stranger, or so she’s thought all these years. An ex-con who had finally been released into the world again, only to unknowingly share with Marty all the horrible things he’s done.

Her father. 

She should’ve expected such cruel irony: that the very man who gave her life is the one ruining it. 

She could be more helpful to the police, if she really wanted to. Finding the murderer of some loser drug dealer really doesn’t seem worth making an ass of herself, though. Maybe it’s better if they think she did it. Marty’s had it tough enough defending her own independence, her own worth. Getting someone, any one to believe she’s seeing through the eyes of another person would be impossible.

At least, that’s what she’s thought until now.

You didn’t do it. And I’m not gonna let this happen. 

Do you hear me, Marty?

Agent Mulder understood her right away. She didn’t really get it at first, the way he seemed to want to let her off the hook because he felt sorry for her. But that wasn’t it. He’d been testing her. He wanted to let her off the hook because he genuinely believed she was innocent, which was more than she could say for Pennock and his cronies.

Agent Mulder is the one who convinces her to help. He’s probably the only one who can. And she does want to stop Gotts. Watching that poor woman’s demise isn’t something she ever wants to relive. 

But Agent Mulder is still basically just another cop, after all. If she lets him take over, he’ll put Gotts in prison. 

And that means he’ll put Marty back in prison, whether he means to or not.

She cannot allow that.

As you lost one sense… you gained another.

He can talk all he wants about this power she’s gained. She wants no part of it. She never has. She’s lost far too much.

When she pulls the trigger, the images finally disappear. And even though she’s being led away in handcuffs, she doesn’t mind at all.

It’s control, finally. It’s freedom.

She is free.

She can’t see Agent Mulder in the room, of course, but she now can recognize his energy. She can sense his presence as she’s taken away. And she can sense it again when she’s tried and sentenced. Never judging, but quiet, observing. Seeing.

Surely Agent Mulder will approach the judge on her behalf, make a plea for leniency. She knows this because he’s a good man, a kind man. Someone who understands that a black and white world has many shades of gray whether or not a person can see them. But she doesn’t want special treatment. She’s killed a man in cold blood; she will face the consequences like any other human being. And she knows that Agent Mulder will understand that, too. 

He’ll visit her soon, in prison. She can feel it. And this time, she’ll be pleased he’s come. Because for the first time in her life, even after all she’s lost, she’s gained something even greater: someone who sees her the way she wants to be seen.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@admiralty-xfd

[battlemaiden13]

OKAY OKAY, yandere house! But you took all the covers and pillows and made yourself a corner somewhere to just relax under a pile. Like all the covers, from all the skeles and a lot of the pillows, how screwed are you? Reactions?

Sans -Doesn’t notice. He can see what you're doing on the cameras but the skeleton hardly sleeps in his bed so he wouldn’t notice the missing sheets nor that you are using them to build a ceiling. He has no issue with you making this pillow fort as long as he can still see you somehow. If not he’ll just move some blankets no biggy. 

Papyrus -He thinks this looks like a lot of fun and actually wants to help you build and expand the fort. He brings you even more pillows and blankets and the fort just keeps expanding. Some of the other skeletons even join in, there's a small war over land, you get to watch a movie. It’s a real cozy time. 

Red -He makes a joke about how if you wanted to be in his sheets you were more than welcome before lying down with you. He doesn’t really care that you stole the bed sheets or that your making a fort with them but he will not be helping clean up this mess. 

Edge -As long as his sheets are back, clean and bed made by the time he wants to go to sleep he has no issue with it. If they however have not been returned by this time there may be some words, or more accurately a home made poision smoke bomb that he has been wanting to test lobbed into the fort. 

Blue -Don’t steal from this monster you lunatic! You had plenty of blankets and pillows in your own room. There was no need to piss him off but now you have. He insists that if you like the fort so much you can stay there for the next three days. If you had just asked it would have been fine but since you stole them like a little thief you will be punished. I hope you brought snacks and incorporated the bathroom into your fort because if not your screwed. 

Orange -Asks if he can help. He thinks it's cute that you're making a blanket fort, you can keep his blankets for all he cares, it’s not like he hasn’t slept on worse than a bare mattress.If you don’t want his help he asks if he can just chill on the couch nearby then. He just wants to be near you.  

Berry -He was fuming about someone stealing the linen, thinking it was blue, but his mood immediately changes when he sees the thief. He is instantly interested in what you're doing and asks you a bunch of questions about your building and even offers some really good suggestions. He won’t touch anything unless you say its ok though. 

Syrup -He watched you take his sheets and honestly is just content to sit in the corner and watch you have some fun. He does invite himself inside your fort when it’s finished but it’s relaxing even with him there. Well that is until Syrup accidentally falls asleep and traps you in one of his inescapable hugs.

[unicyclehippo]

as someone who is also in fever recovery, i send a wish that you feel better and the word: acumen

thank you, feverish friend, i love you i hope you are feeling well <3 this is for you

//

high on the hill where the crows do not fly stands a house and a family that cannot die.

//

'uh - mister pock o'pea?'

there was a man at the door. barely. a young man, an intern in an ill-fitting suit and his first tie, talking to chetney even though he had made it perfectly clear he wasn't to be disturbed or interrupted in his goddamn wallowing. jesus fucking christ. a decade of work gone down the drain.

'what.'

'you got a call. from her.'

chetney didn't lift his head from his stack of files. they smelled of dense paper and ink and stale coffee. it was a scent that had always reassured him; it was the scent of industry, of hard work, of forms and files in triplicate and a paper trail being chased down but now it was just... nothing.

'what the fuck are you talking about?' he sighed. 'listen, if this is about the case, you can tell whoever it is - world news, i bet, they've been up our ass for weeks - tell them that it's over, alright? it's over. we're done.'

'no, sir - it's not a reporter. it's her. briarwood.'

chetney's head snapped up. 'delilah?'

'laudna.'

'laudna,' he repeated, turning the name over in his mouth. he hadn't had many dealings with the woman but those he had, chetney had walked away with a sour taste on his tongue. defeat, always, but also a horrid sinking gut feeling--for himself, for the world, and a little bit for her, too--that she was her parent's daughter through and through. for as bright as she was, there was nothing new in her--she was a creature of her father's design, dressed in her mother's striking fashion and features (and disdain). but this? this was new. 'what did she want?'

'to talk. said she wanted to tell you everything--confess, she said.'

'what?'

'i know. gave us a weird address too.'

'did she say what she wanted in return?'

'no, sir. just that chetney pock o'pea come see her at this address, as soon as possible, and she'd confess.'

chetney smiled wryly. 'does that sound like a trap to you?' he asked, even as he stood and grabbed his coat. at the intern's dumbfounded look, his smile widened. 'call me curious,' he shrugged. 'i've spent half my life chasing this family. ten years i've on this case alone--so if the heir to the throne wants to talk to me...i want to hear what she has to say. oh - but if you don't hear from me by, say, six tomorrow morning...'

'we'll send someone after you.'

'i was going to say look for my body off the coastline because that's plenty of time for the grim ripper to do whatever she wants with me.'

'uh.'

'lighten up, kid. it's a fucking joke.' chetney swung his office door closed, locked it. 'mostly.'

//

the taxi dropped him at the end of the street, refusing to take him any further.

chetney pock o'pea trudged up the hill through a cold mist until he came to a small house--even by today's cramped standards. the pavement leading up to it was cracked. tough weeds had shoved up through the concrete and died. trees had grown in the garden just long enough for their bark to twist into unsettling grimaces and the branches to hang, leafless and menacing. the house itself was old and horrid. it sagged like an ancient pumpkin, insides all rotted away to soft fluff. the stairs did not creak beneath his feet as he climbed onto the porch; instead, they squished, black water seeping out and dripping down into the dead grass.

chetney knocked. there was no answer. he tested the knob - unlocked - and pushed the door open, coughing into the dust that billowed up the instant he did so. it tasted like a billion health code violations.

'hello?'

for a long moment, silence.

chetney stood at the door, tensed, waiting to be attacked. he had his doubts that the woman was even here--why would the heiress step foot into this place, rundown as it was? but he couldn't deny the evidence in front of his eyes. clear as anything - a set of footprints leading deeper into the house, marked distinct against the dust that blanketed every surface.

'hello?' he called again.

the house wasn't large. four rooms, five at a stretch. he could see from his place in the hallway a sitting room directly ahead of him--a low fire crackled but it lent no heat to the chilled space--and there was a kitchen to his left. the door to his right was closed.

a figure moved in the sitting room, standing out of a low chair. it moved away from the firelight, disappearing out of sight. chetney inched backward to the front door - and then laudna briarwood stepped into view, framed by the doorway. her face in deepest shadow as the firelight flickered.

'mister pock o'pea,' she said, and with a tilt of her head the light found her and her welcoming smile and there was nothing unsettling about her at all but chetney still felt every alarm in his system go off. 'i wasn't sure you'd come.'

'yes, you were.'

her smile grew. 'i hoped you would. you've proved yourself remarkably dogged, chasing down my family's dirty laundry, turning over every stone in our path.'

'yeah, well, no point in it anymore. my case is dead. oh relax - i didn't mean it like that, don't look at me like that. just meant the judge's basically come down on your side already, what with the deaths and all. even before all that. was he in your pocket all along?'

'i'm sure i don't know.'

'right. like it wasn't the first thing the grim ripper did when you found out who'd be presiding.'

laudna shook her head. 'perhaps she did. it certainly sounds like her, is certainly within her capabilities. but i truly cannot say for sure - and that isn't why i asked you here.'

'right. you're confessing,' chetney said, and wandered forward into the house. 'boy, i sure would love that. one of you lot on record for something. a dream come fucking true.'

'what a way with words you have, mister pock o'pea.'

'agent.'

'agent,' she amended, and smiled like he was foolish to be concerned with such things. 'well. a dream come true, then. come in, take a seat. can i pour you a drink?'

'no. thanks.'

she led him into the sitting room and gestured for him to take a seat on the couch. he sat. the fabric was cold, a chill beyond the weather. a chill like no one had sat there in a decade. and the house was so small. maybe it was the dust, but he felt like the light of the fire didn't reach as far as it ought to, didn't burn as bright. the air felt heavy, the way it always did before a storm. chetney rubbed his nose. watched as laudna briarwood crossed to a drink cart and plucked a bottle of wine out of the mix. it was old. looked fancy enough. he was sure it was worth millions.

'i'm sure you think i've lured you here with nefarious intentions,' she said, perfectly conversational. 'i don't know how reassuring this might be but please, let me assure you that my motives regarding you are far from nefarious. i am truly glad you came, agent.'

'yeah, well, when the daughter of the most powerful man in the world invites you to a secret location, promising you everything you ever wanted...'

'you turn up with a tape recorder and hope for the best?' his hand twitched for his pocket. 'do relax, agent, i'm not upset. i have the highest regard for you and that would only have been diminished if you hadn't brought something. i enjoy your dedication to the classics, as well. a phone simply isn't the same as a tape recorder. ah - and you can keep it running, if you like. if you need my permission. i'm not sure what you can do with the recording afterwards but i won't stop you.' she poured as much of the wine into her glass as would fit. then, she set the bottle down and, eyeing him thoughtfully, poured a second drink. scotch. a generous three fingers into a crystal glass. she brought it over to him, holding it out between spindly fingers until he took it. 'i'm not, by the way.'

'not what?'

chetney searched for a place to set his glass. no way he was going to drink it - she'd probably poisoned it.

'his daughter.'

chetney froze. in all his years following the family, learning their every secret, was it possible he had missed one as big as that?

'please, don't strain. it's not worth it. i'm going to explain - i'll tell you everything, in fact, everything that happened. every shady deal, every blood-soaked contract, every death on our conscience.'

laudna took her seat opposite him, on a red cushioned armchair. it was deep and soft and obviously hers, for she was wonderfully comfortable in it, resting her glass on the arm of it and tucking her feet up onto the seat beneath her. she regarded him for a moment.

chetney looked right back.

her hair was down. he'd never seen her with her hair down, without the severe bun that she and delilah both favoured. without it, she didn't look all that much like her.

laudna swirled the drink in her hand. the liquid in it was dark, a red so deep it was almost purple.

'lets start this properly, shall we?'

'yeah.' chetney dug the recorder from his pocket and set it onto the side table, microphone directed toward her. it would pick him up clear enough just by virtue of closeness and he didn't want it to drop one word of her confession. 'agent chetney pock o'pea, here with laudna briarwood, who has consented to being recorded. would you state that again for the record?'

laudna smiled. she leaned forward ever so slightly and, in a crisp voice, announced, 'i am laudna briarwood and i have consented to agent pock o'pea recording our conversation.'

'the date is october thirty-first, twenty twenty-three. the time is -' chetney twisted his wrist. '- eleven twenty-three p.m. okay, miss briarwood. take it away.'

'thank you, agent. i suggest you get comfortable - this may be a rather long story. like i said, it is my confession. our confession, if you like. i'm sure i shall reveal enough that you may find my whole family guilty of everything that you accused us of, and yet more besides that. we are rather lacking in people to prosecute now, however. what with all the deaths and all, as you so succinctly put it.' laudna raised her glass and drank. savoured. a drop of red clung to her bottom lip. she pressed her thumb to it and swept it away. 'forgive me for delaying. if i'm being honest, i'm not entirely sure where to begin.'

chetney inched forward, elbows propped on his knees. the taste of the hunt was back in his mouth. 'why not the beginning? that day in the courthouse.'

she laughed. 'that was far from the beginning, agent pock o'pea. but,' she inclined her head, 'as good a place to start as any. very well. it all began that morning, when the briarwood family gathered to attend the first day of our trial. the case you brought against us. the case you brought against Whitestone.'

//

high on the hill where the crows do not fly stands a house and a family that cannot die. they traded much for power, glory, and gold but the price comes due for what must never be sold.

[fairlyfriendlylurker]

Why Pretty Privilege Sucks Ass

I've always understood the beckoning of plastic surgery. Being pretty is 100% a blessing, whether the person realizes it or not, but it's an arbitrary gift. And it's not fair that only a few get to enjoy it. Most people aren't outright treated with disdain or affection on the basis of their looks but there's always that subconscious factor. Not to mention plenty of us DO just straight-up shit on unattractive people simply for being unattractive. I've always hated it when people used the word ugly as an insult. You're basically condemning someone for existing. I can't believe society categorizes people as having varying value or worth just because they were born a certain way that they can't help. Sometimes I feel ashamed to just EXIST the way I do among prettier people. Being insecure and feeling plain and unattractive is definitely a big part of the reason I'm so trapped in this shell, although I don't think I realized it before. What makes me feel the most helpless about it all is that these labels of worthiness/unworthiness are given subconsciously. People don't even realize it's going on but it is. It's an inherent prejudice, engrained in us, and I don't think we're ever going to find a way to get rid of it. Maybe it's because of this that I sometimes deliberately go out of my way to be nicer to less attractive people and generally wary of the more attractive ones. Most of the time, though, I keep this to myself. Inwardly loathing the attractiveness of girls on the internet like a jealous bitter old hag (which I guess I kinda am) is one thing, but I would never outright treat them differently because that would essentially be doing the same thing I have been complaining about this whole time; treating people differently based on how they were born. But mark my words, if I had a villain origin story, my motive would be something along these lines. No amount of inspiring and encouraging body positivity influencers or wholesome-seeming messages is gonna make me believe I'm pretty, because I'm not. They all parrot the same thing, that "everyone is beautiful" but that's a load of bullshit because OBVIOUSLY not everyone is physically good-looking. I wish people would just be honest, because if they were, we wouldn't all have false hopes which lingered only to be dashed. Even understanding that being pretty isn't an accomplishment doesn't make me feel better. The only thing that WOULD make me feel better is realizing I'm pretty, which is not going to happen unless I have some sort of massive glow up in the future. And, yeah. That's pretty much the gist of it, sorry for making you endure this- I may have made it deeper and more dramatic than necessary- but I think this stuff will fare better out there than inside me. If you think you aren't pretty- regardless of whether you actually are or not- I'm with you. I hope someday we can figure something out and feel at peace about all this for once.

[itboyarchives]

I NEVER ASKED TO BE LIKE THIS.

His feet were dragging from one side of the living room to the other as he paced back and forth. Hands rubbing his face, as if to awaken from the momentary nightmare he was experiencing.

This time he really fucked up.

Everyone was aware of Devyn’s impulsivity. It was a trademark of sorts. His spontaneous personality was part of his charm. However, his actions never threaded the line of endangerment this way before. 

He couldn’t identify what was different this time around. What took place exactly? Why did he expose himself like that? 

Katya said she’d attempt to return by Saturday. After their brief encounter in Tyumen, they had plenty to discuss.

But on Sunday morning, back in Seoul, he was still alone, left with nothing but a handful of questions and no one to respond to them. 

Did she bail out? Was she frightened by him? Perhaps something happened to her. Her family did not seem wrapped too tight either. Or maybe she simply had enough of his bullshit.

He could still hear the gunshot ringing in his ears, as though it had just occurred. If he closed his eyes for longer than the time necessary to blink, he could see her holding the gun and shooting with no hesitation. He knew he’d survive it; that was never a concern. However, the swiftness to pull the trigger when instructed left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Even greater than the discomfort of that stupid bullet splattering the insides of his skull all over the walls of a random villa in Russia. 

He assumed she’d open up, for some reason. As if the realization nothing would happen to him would magically relinquish all of her fears and reservations. How naive of him. Delusional, even. 

He’d never been so irresponsible before. He couldn’t wrap his head around how he ended up disclosing so much so quickly. The two barely even met... What was he thinking? Something about Katya was different. Or so he kept telling himself in order to save the last ounce of sanity he still had left.

He collapsed on the couch. The morning rays of sun beaming through the tall glass windows were warming up his skin, offering a faint sense of comfort. Fingers were massaging his temples in circular motions, his head rested against the cushioned headboard of the sofa. 

Maybe he was just overthinking it, right? After all, it had only been a couple of days since Devyn had last heard from her. He pulled out his phone from the jeans pocket and unlocked the device. Thumb rushed to open their text conversation.

��: If you wanna talk to me about anything, you’ll have to do it in person.

💬: Texts are a cop out.

Those were the last words on the screen. After that, radio silence.

Many times he typed a message, deleted it, wrote another, and discarded that one too. 

All he desired was to see her again, but the likelihood of that happening was getting slimmer and slimmer by the day.

They used to joke about him being like Rapunzel held hostage in a tower as he awaited her visit. The irony was he felt even more trapped now, in his own home, than he ever felt in that remote villa.

Life had a sick sense of humor sometimes.

A knot in his stomach was twisting his insides like a ribbon on a perfectly packaged Christmas present. What crimes had he committed in his past lives to suffer this way in his current existence? He never asked to be like that. He didn't want any of those powers. 

He couldn't help people because he'd expose himself to the very real possibility of being studied like a lab rat. And if he couldn't use his abilities to aid others, were they even any good?

All he ever received in life was isolation, loneliness, and artistic inspiration. Big wins... Devyn rolled his eyes. He was truly losing his mind waiting in that damn house. 

He grabbed a pillow, buried his face in it, and released a scream into the void. Well, into the feathers. 

That frustration would make for great lyrics one day. But right then and there, the only songs playing in his head were impatience and discouragement. Their out-of-tune chords were screeching nails on a blackboard, a rusty pipe organ whose wobbly notes resonated with melancholy in an empty church with no worshippers.

[babybluebex]

okay so modern!enjolras. absolutely a grad student.

you see him for the first time while he's putting up one of those "'tutor available for latin/polisci/french studies' with the little tabs on it so you can take the number/email" flyers onto a bulletin board in the commons. and he's so gorgeous that of course you take one of the papers with his contact info, not even realizing what he's tutoring for. but it's cool, you're taking one of those courses. (he's the sort of student to have a leather messenger bag and never use a laptop, just a pen and notebook, but somehow his notes are flawless??? and dresses like he's auditioning for henry from the secret history? there is ABSOLUTELY room for academic rivals to lovers but i digress...)

he's happy to help you with midterm prep, so you meet up once a week maybe after class just to review and help take notes. he's professional, but when you take a break he talks about how he's head of the student union, or how he's helping plan a protest, or that his friend who works for the school newspaper is helping uncover some social justice scandal or other and he's so proud and excited. and one day you see him outside a commons area handing out flyers from a cause close to him, and you jokingly ask if he actually goes to class or not.

you start to attend protests and meetings and joining clubs. you really do care about the causes he fights for; spending time with him is just a bonus. it's amazing how someone can take hold of a conversation and steer it so confidently, so passionately, yet somehow sit comfortably on the other end of the spectrum and listen deeply to you when you have something to say. enjolras is a true gentleman as well; always guiding you to the inside of the sidewalk, always keeping touches light and necessary, always holding doors open for you. after you finish your midterm, he takes you to a pub to celebrate. (passing is neither here nor there; you made it through the term, and that deserves praise.) most of the students in your program have the same idea. you spend time with him at the pub, sure, but by this time you have mutual friends. and there's something about meeting his eyes from across the room -- looking for him, and knowing he's looking for you -- that makes that night different.

he insists on walking you home. you hate to go back to your dull, drafty dorm (the cost of living in a building raised in the 1800s), so he invites you to stay with him in his little apartment. you know it's just a dance. an excuse. but he's an expert at it, and you're just learning the steps -- a teacher, a student -- so you let him take the lead. he knows you're putty in his hands. knows he can ask anything of you and you'd do it. (god knows there are plenty of other students he tutors or works with in unions/clubs that could say the same.) so enjolras leaves things open for you, and though you're in his arms by the end of the night it's because you entered his embrace, not because he crowded into your space and trapped you there.

you knew he was morally passionate, intellectually skilled. you'd dreamt about how that passion and skill might translate to the bedroom -- but you never realized how true that was. by the expert way he handles your body, you know you're not his first. but by the way he looks into your eyes, the fire behind his gaze, the way he whispers your name and slips back into french when he enters you because he's so flustered, so taken with you, betrays something. yes, he's had others; but none of them were you. he's overwhelmed by it. consumed by it. he takes it slow, not just because he's being gentle with you but because he wants to savour it. but that familiar ferocity you've seen in him rears up when he's chasing his own end, fingers knotting the sheets by your head, face tucked against your neck as you come down from the high he held you through.

god help him if anyone hurts you after that, if anyone touches you without your permission, if you're in trouble. you quickly learn that when he's around, you do not carry your books. yes, he's all about equality, but he will still treat you like royalty.

my brain is still caught on the night you first sleep with each other, so i'm ending it here but. i have feelings about modern!student!enjolras.

me with this ask

yes yes yes to all of this. the sweet tenderness of your first night together, the playfulness that you have that is a through line in your relationship, the FRENCH…. whew. oh my GOD.

[aparticularbandit]

Of A Fatal Captivity: Day Five (I)

Summary: When do they decide that she can’t leave? That they’re going to keep her there no matter what she wants? That’s the day her captivity begins. Is that today?

Some of you will think that this beginning is a gimmick. Up to you! Think what you want! (It’s not a gimmick more than anything else in writing is a gimmick, which is to say, of course, it’s a gimmick, because that’s all writing is, really, isn’t it? A bunch of gimmicks? Some of them more successful than others? Isn’t that why we have tropes? The trappings of a Tragedy to tell us whether that’s really what the story is or not? (Do you know the story you’re in?))

Enough games.

You’re here for something better than that.

Or: Junko Enoshima’s factory reset may or may not be going as planned, and Ryoko Otonashi has plenty of things to say about that. Or will, once she realizes what’s going on.

Chapter Rating: M for Disturbing Imagery. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons.

TW for Disturbing Images and Descriptions of Vomit.

AO3

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Book One

Day Five (of a Fatal Captivity).

This time, when Ryoko sleeps, she dreams.

Nothing concrete that she can remember when she wakes up, unfortunately, other than faint flickers of things, as is often the way with dreams.  A building burning, smoke curling into the air and transforming the bright hopeful blue of the sky into the horrifying black despair of a storm just before it hits.  Lightning flashes.  She remembers thinking the rain should help stop the fire, but it isn’t water that falls from the inky black.

Something tells her that bodies are not an effective way to smother fire, no matter how much of that sparkling wine pink bleeds out of them.

Something tells her that she shouldn’t know what that smells like, yet she wakes with the stench of burned flesh in her nostrils.

City on fire!  City on fire!

Mischief.

Mischief.

MISCHIEF.

When Ryoko wakes, it’s with her heart pounding far too quickly, with her forehead beaded with sweat, with her fingernails – sharp and red as blood should be – digging half into the soft mattress beneath her and half into the soft woman still curled against her.  She releases her death grip only to find that she’s left deep imprints in Mikan’s skin, imprints stained that same sparkling pink, a sharp bright wet color now at the tip of her nails.

She’s going to be sick.

She’s going to—

Ryoko whirls away from the woman still curled up against her (as though nothing is wrong, as though she couldn’t even feel those nails piercing her skin), finds a trash can neatly placed next to her bed (as though someone knew this would happen), and barely hears Mikan’s, “What’s wrong?” before she grabs the can and vomits into it.  Her stomach groans, grinds, clenches, and her muscles spasm as she tries to get something – anything – out, but there’s nothing.  She doesn’t know how long she’s been here, doesn’t know how much she’s eaten (or not eaten, as the case may be), and nothing comes out, only bile, and barely any of that.

It burns.

It burns.

She coughs, sputters, heaves again.

Feels Mikan gently drawing her hair out of her face to hold it back and out of the way, fingertips cool as they brush along her skin.  “You’re okay,” she murmurs, soft and soothing.  “You’re going to be okay.  It’s okay.”

She can’t see, her eyes are tearing up so bad, and even when she’s finished, the taste of bile coats the back of her throat, the inside of her mouth, the whole of her tongue.  Her breath comes in huffs.  “I—”  Her eyes squeeze shut, and she wipes them with the back of her arm, trying to ignore the way the IV tugs at her skin.

I had a nightmare, she wants to say, but she can’t get the words out.  “I’m sorry,” she says instead as she slowly melts back into the bed, trash can dropping with a plunk (and a squishy sounding splatter) to the floor.  “I’m sorry—”

“You never need to apologize for anything.”  Mikan smiles at her just as soothing and gentle as she speaks.  She holds the back of her hand to Ryoko’s sweat-covered forehead and hums softly.  “No fever.”

I’m not that kind of sick.

But Mikan’s the nurse here, isn’t she?  So that’s really her call, isn’t it?  She’s the one who would know better.  Probably.

Even so, Ryoko tries to sit back up.  Her head hurts less right now, even with the vomiting, even with the panicky pained rapid heartbeat that still hasn’t quite slower, but that’s not her focus.  Her focus is on getting that stench of burned flesh out of her nose, that acrid taste of bile out of her mouth, and Mikan smells like chemicals and cleaning alcohol (and something slightly putrid), which is better but not better, but she still breathes her in because it least it’s not—

It’s not that.

Her eyes burn.

She ignores that.

“Can I…a drink?”  It’s hard to get the words out around the bitter taste, around her dry mouth.  Food, too, she wants to ask for food, despite everything she’s incredibly hungry, she wants something she can sink her teeth into, but there’s nothing, nothing, nothing—

“Of…of course!”

There’s something stuttering and uncertain in Mikan’s voice, but she takes a deep breath in, gives Ryoko another cautious look over, and then kisses her damp forehead gently.  “One moment.”  She curves her hand around Ryoko’s cheek, runs her finger along her jaw, and searches her eyes.  (Ryoko resists the urge to flinch away.)  Then she pushes herself from their shared mattress and heads to the now quite closed door.

Ryoko lets out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding.  Mikan is familiar with her in a way that makes her uncomfortable when it doesn’t make her relaxed, which is a weird dichotomy to have, but it’s there all the same.  Her gaze follows the nurse to the door, then she leans back against her headboard and closes her eyes once more.  Maybe, now that her head feels a bit better, she can remember something.

Like how she got here.

But the moment she tries to bring forth any sort of memory at all, her head begins to itch, a pressure that increases as she tries hard to draw something out, until finally she gives up with a little huff, the pounding in her head releasing.  Nothing.  Just Yasuke and the fleeting image of him in the back of her mind: the long, scruffy black hair; the furrowed, thick set brows; the deep blue eyes; the constant, constant scowl.  Her heart beats once, hard, in the center of her chest.

(Something says that remembering him is supposed to make her heart go wild, but what she finds is that remembering him makes her sad – odd – and that that sadness makes her relax – odder.)

As Mikan draws closer (her footsteps shuffling across the hospital room’s tiled floor), Ryoko opens her eyes again.  Tears pool at the edge of her eyes; they still burn, but she doesn’t know why.  When Mikan settles into her chair instead of onto the mattress next to her, Ryoko asks, “You keep calling me beloved?”  She licks her dry lips.  It doesn’t help.  “Why do you.  Um.”  Her brow furrows, and her gaze drops.  “Why?”

Mikan chuckles, her laughter like the bells of a bubbling brook, like wind chimes in the midst of a frost storm.  A hot flush spreads across the bridge of her nose like freckles (and she remembers someone else with freckles across her nose, a memory that flicks in and disappears through her grasp like ash the moment she tries to hold it in place), and this time – this time – her soft smile lights up the blood red beneath the thistle purple of her eyes.  “Because that’s who you are,” she purrs in that deeper tone she sometimes has, the one that makes Ryoko shiver.  “My beloved.”

“Me?” Ryoko asks.  “Or Junko?”

The name sounds weird when she says it, and it sends that sharp stab of pain through her head again.  Ryoko can’t help the way she winces, the way she reaches up and presses cold fingertips along her forehead.  It kind of helps.  (It doesn’t help.)

And yet, at that name, Mikan’s eyes grow dark.  “You,” she breathes out, voice ragged.  “Junko.”

Ryoko licks her lips, and though she knows the answer to the question might kill her, she starts to ask it anyway.  “Who is—?”

“Knock knock!”

Mikan’s teeth grit together, and she’s out of her chair before the door even opens.  “No.”  Her hand catches the little man with the red chef’s hat that is somehow taller than his face is long – or, at least, Ryoko thinks it’s taller; it’s hard to tell given that Mikan’s hand presses directly into the man’s face and pushes him back.  “Out.”

“You asked for tea,” the man says in a smooth, smooth voice, “and I thought our fearless leader would like—”

Fearless leader?

Ryoko waits.

No.  That thought doesn’t make her head hurt, doesn’t cause the horrible itching.  It’s almost like…like it didn’t cause anything.

Weird.

But if it’s true, that would also explain why they’re…why they’re keeping her here.  If she is – was? – their leader, but has somehow forgotten about all of that.

(They must be wrong.  She can’t lead anyone.  She can’t even lead herself.  Especially not right now.  He has to be talking about whoever this Junko person is.  That’s not her.  She could pretend, maybe.  Or could have, if she hadn’t already told Mikan to call her something else.  Maybe she could pretend she’d been playing a game with them?  That can’t be right, though.  No leader of a group like this would play a game like that with—

Well.

Actually, Ryoko doesn’t have any idea what this group even is.  Or does.  So she can’t really say what sort of a person their leader would be like.  Maybe this is a group of kinksters.  That would explain Mikan’s outfit.  And why the guy with the fur around his neck talked so weird.  Doesn’t explain the huge red chef’s hat, but there have to be people who are into that sort of thing, right?  Right?

(Of course, there are.  There’s always someone into that.))

The man lifts onto the tips of his toes so that his eyes can just poke over Mikan’s fingertips.  When he sees Ryoko, his eyes take her in.  And in.  And—

Ryoko slowly pulls her blankets up until they cover everything up to her chin.  She’s just a head.  Just a head.  Everything else can be shapeless and hidden.  She doesn’t want him looking at her that way.  Like….

Like she’s a piece of meat.

“Oh, don’t be so shy~….”

“Out, Teruteru.”  Mikan shoves him back, and the tray he holds in his hands wobbles.  Something on that tray isn’t a drink, maybe more than one something, and one of them sloshes just enough to drip a bit over its side and onto the tray.  “She isn’t taking visitors right now.”  She takes the tray in one hand and moves easy between Teruteru and Ryoko, blocking her from his view.

“Ma chérie—”

“Out.”

Ryoko shrinks further under her blankets.  She doesn’t want to see how Teruteru looks at her as he leaves, doesn’t want to see him at all ever again, actually.  It’s only when she feels the press of weight at the foot of her bed that she peeks out from under the covers, and when she sees Mikan, she lets the drop to her lap.  Then she can smell the tea – the food – on the tray.  Her stomach rumbles hard, and her mouth waters. “Gimme.”

“One moment.”  Mikan sets the tray just next to her, lifts a cup of tea, and blows the steam from it.  “Ginger.  It should help with your stomach.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it!” Ryoko exclaims.  “I just had a nightmare!  That’s all!”  She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to think about that stench she remembered filling her nose, doesn’t want the tightness in her stomach when she remembers that smell.  It’s far better to think about the enticing scent of the food in front of her, which makes her stomach quake with desire.  “I’ll be fine.  Please?  It’s been—”

She falters.

Ryoko has no idea how long it’s been since she’s eaten anything.

Her brow furrows again.  “How…how long have I been here?” she asks, gaze flicking up to meet Mikan’s.  “How long was I out?”

Instead of answering, Mikan sips from the tea, closes her eyes for a few seconds, and then hands it over.  “Try this.”

Ryoko hesitates.  Her glance flicks to the door, and she shivers at the thought of that Teruteru messing with her drink.  “Is it okay?”  She bites her lower lip and turns back to Mikan, who she still doesn’t quite trust but who she certainly trusts more than that guy.  “He wouldn’t have done anything funny with it, would he?”

“Not to you.”

The way Mikan says that sends another shiver up Ryoko’s spine, but she takes the tea, holds it warm between her cold hands, and doesn’t drink a drop of it.  Maybe in a few minutes.  Maybe when Mikan has answered her question.

“How long, Mikan?” Ryoko asks again, insistent.  Then, immediately, “And where’s Yasuke?  He should be here by now.  It’s wrong that he’s not.  He wouldn’t leave me like this!”

Mikan hesitates.  She opens her mouth, closes it again.  Her gaze drops.  “Four days,” she says finally, and Ryoko struggles to make the number four out that instead of a general for.  “We rescued you four days ago, and I’ve been taking care of you since then.”  Her gaze lifts, meets Ryoko’s briefly, and then drops again as a small smile creeps to her lips.  “I haven’t left your side.”

Ryoko splutters over her first sip of tea.  “Four days?” she echoes.  “You rescued me?  From what?  Where was I?  Is that why I don’t remember anything?  What were they—”  She stops as a sharp pang spikes through her head again – there and gone all at once – and she winces, nearly splashing her tea over the edge of its cup.

“I…I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Eh?!”  Ryoko slams the teacup into her lap.  Tea sloshes all over its edge, staining the white blankets around her, burning her thighs.  (It doesn’t matter.)  She leans forward as much as she can, pushing her face as close to Mikan’s as she can.  “Why not??”

Mikan searches Ryoko’s wide eyes and blushes before her gaze drops again.  “You’re…you’re not…you’re not at all how I thought you’d be.”  She runs her fingers in small circles on the tray.  “I-i-it’s really…really cute.”

Ryoko’s cheeks puff out, a bright red, and she flumps back against her headboard.  “I’m not cute,” she murmurs.  “Not at all.”  She runs a hand through her hair, long fake fingernails catching on a few strands, and then tucks it back behind one ear before holding her hand out in front of her and staring at those red nails.  Their ends are sharpened into points.  Like shivs.  Or claws.  “These suck.  I’m gonna cut myself.”

“They’re your single defense,” Mikan explains, demure and soft.  “Like a rose’s thorns.”

Ryoko snorts.  “When the tigers come, these won’t do me any good at all.”  (Where did that come from?)  She holds her hand aloft, stares at the fake nails in the overhead light.  “Does this mean I can’t get rid of them?  They’re ugly.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Yeah.  Maybe?  I don’t—”  Ryoko lets her hand drop.  She lifts her teacup to finally take a real sip – one that hopefully she won’t sputter out on anything – but then she catches her reflection in the golden liquid.  Her eyes widen.  “Is that….”  She stares deeper into the liquid.  “That’s not me!”

Her hair is the wrong color (even in the amber reflection, she can tell that).  Her eyes are the wrong color, too.  Her freckles are missing.  She has mascara stains under her eyes.

Ryoko drops the cup.

Fortunately for her, she drops it on the mattress, which means that while it spills what was left of the tea within it and stains the sheet an unsettling piss color, the teacup doesn’t shatter the way it might have otherwise.

But that doesn’t matter.  She’s not worried about that.  This is one of those moments that, when she draws it up in her memories later, the scent of the tea and the color of it as it pours out on the sheets (or the uncomfortable heat as it sinks through them, as it sinks through her gown, as it burns her skin) won’t come up, only the image of that face she’d seen staring up at her, one that grinned at her even though she wasn’t grinning.

Her eyes burn, and she rubs at them with the back of her hand again.

“But that is you, best beloved.”  Mikan reaches out, cups her face, and smears the mascara on her cheek.  “Junko Enoshima, who you really are.”  She smiles, gentle.  “Even if you don’t remember yet.”

Ryoko blinks twice and looks up to meet Mikan’s bloody thistle eyes.  “What if I don’t remember?” she asks.  “What if…what if I’m just…I’m just me?”

Mikan’s expression freezes.  She hesitates.

(That’s enough of an answer.  She doesn’t need to say anything.  Ryoko will remember the space between her breaths far louder than any words she might ever say.)

“You’ll remember,” Mikan murmurs, more of a self-reassurance than any sort of answer to Ryoko.  “You’ll come back to us.  You will.”

(Ryoko’s not so certain.)

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Creatures Lie Here - Sneak Peek

Synopsis: The Noble House of Gaunt burned from the inside out... || A Hogwarts Legacy story ||

Warnings: None

A/N: Just shouting out into the void here. Would anyone like to see this continued? because if not, then I doubt I have the strength to write it. OC is not the playable character of the game. This sneek peek is a flashback that takes place before the HL storyline.

"Monster,

How should I feel?

Creatures lie here

Looking through the window"

The Slytherin common room wasn't as cold as most would suspect. Not even on winter nights such as this. Likely it was slightly cooler than the other common rooms, but Hogwarts was a school after all and there's hardly a point in freezing the students every December through March.

There were plenty of fireplaces to heat the place and a plethora of enchantments to keep the heat circulating. It was comfortable. And quiet. A great place to sort out one's self after a few less than pleasant dreams.

Screaming.

Ominis always dreamt of the screaming. And the pain. The pain would never leave him.

It was always so silent and serene in the common room, however. He didn't have to listen to the screaming - only the soft sounds of fish outside the windows. He liked to count them as they passed by. The oppressive weight of his family's cruelty couldn't touch him here - so long as he was alone anyway. Though, the only time to be alone was after hours.

His favorite sofa directly behind him, Ominis tucked his wand away and, with a miserable groan, flopped onto the leather cushions. It was nice to be dramatic every once in a while. Perhaps Sebastian was rubbing off on him.

"Bad dreams, Ominis?"

Her voice rang out from one of the window alcoves across from his sofa.

Ominis shot upright, brandishing his wand. It could detect the objects around him and separating people from furniture was usually quite easy as people were rather prone to moving. Even without it, Ominis knew when someone was about him. He could hear their breathing. But not hers.

He couldn't hear her breathe.

Though he did hear her shift. Her neck popped two or three times as she turned her head to look at him. Disgusting.

Nothing about her was quite right.

When once he'd asked, his best friend had told the Gaunt boy what that girl looked like - he'd described something close to a corpse. Thin, pale, and skeletal, with sunken eyes and jet black hair. "Just a smidge too pretty to be an inferius," Sebastian had often joked.

Evelyn was her name. A rather beautiful one. Ominis had never thought it fit. Perhaps she was beautiful, but her voice rasped and broke - as though her vocal cords were ancient frayed ropes, covered with dust. Everything about that girl sounded so... delicate - constantly on the verge of falling apart. It was unsettling.

"Relax," Evelyn hummed and always there was that lazy smile in her voice. Something about it still sounded so wrong - so barren. "We're all friends here, are we not?"

The way she emphasized 'friends' betrayed the notion of anything but.

"I hardly know you," He stated coolly. The hour was far too late for him to bother with manners.

A dry, harsh laugh escaped her then. Singular and sudden. "No? We've only been going to school together for four years now. In the same house, no less."

"That hardly means anything," He huffed. "You don't talk to anyone."

"No. I don't, do I?"

That question raised another.

"Then why speak to me?" He demanded. Still, he strained to define where she was. That girl was somehow... dimmer than anyone else.

"Why indeed."

It was her spine this time, cracking in multiple places as she stretched. It was as though her entire being were trapped in a perpetual state of atrophy, yet somehow incapable of ever truly decaying. The way her joints snapped every time she moved, the way her voice rasped like the grain of wood worn raw - even that stomach-turning tendency she had to twirl her wand between those far too thin fingers. He could hear the wood rubbing against bone through her skin when she did that and it never ceased to impress upon him the need to vomit - worse than any of his, or heaven forbid, Garreth's, concoctions in potions.

Ominis waited, suppressing a gag and she sighed.

"I think the two of us have a lot in common," She answered, finally.

"Really?" Ominis chuckled, sour on his tongue. "Such as?"

"Eh-" He imagined she waved a hand dismissively. Her wrist cracked. "Sleeplessness, bad dreams, a terminally guilty conscience - take your pick."

His grip on his wand tightened. "Get all that from eavesdropping, did you?"

"Well, you do talk in your sleep," She said, the rustle of her robes reaching his ears as she shrugged. She was still fully dressed.

Ominis scowled. "You've listened to me sleep?"

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "We've been going to school for four years, Ominis," She reminded him again. "You come out here often enough. Do you really think this is the first time I have?"

Chills racked his spine. The room wasn't all that cold.

"I don't... fall asleep out here," He claimed.

"Not intentionally."

Ominis opened his mouth to reply, but the clatter of footsteps on stone stairs interrupted him. He tilted his head toward the sound and sighed. Across from him, the girl's hips snapped as she swung her legs up and over the arm of the chair she sat in. Her signature in his wand's sense wavered strangely - flickering almost.

"Evenin', Fronz-y!" She called out.

A pathetic yelp sounded from the direction of the stairway. "What the- Lumos!" The voice belonged to Slytherin prefect Fronz Mortondell - a snide, impatient soul with an affinity for getting students into trouble for no reason at all. "You!" Ominis flinched. Did he have to be so loud this late? "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Listening to you ask me what I'm doing out of bed." The girl snickered. "And berating dear Ominis, of course."

He rolled his eyes. Whereas the back of his sofa would have hidden him from the prefect's sight, she just had to call him out. Lovely.

Fronz's pulsing presence drew closer and Ominis could detect the prickle of magic on his skin as the light from the prefect's wand illuminated him. He twiddled his fingers in a wave.

"Gaunt," Fronz all but growled.

"Mortondell." He sighed.

"And where's that little weasel you call a friend?" He snapped.

"I'd say he's with your girlfriend, but that would be an insult to his tastes," Ominis sneered.

"Come now," Evelyn giggled. "You know Fronz-y prefers men."

"That would require I pay attention to his affairs."

"Touche."

Fronz spluttered. "You can't talk to me like that! I'm a prefect!"

"You hear that, Ominis? We can't talk to him like that," The girl mocked.

"Never stopped me before."

"Both of you! Get to bed! Now!" Fronz's high pitched squeal demanded.

"What are you going to do?" Ominis drawled, now thoroughly annoyed. "Snuff out the candles on us?"

Evelyn's harsh peals of laughter were an oddly comforting sound.

Fronz huffed like a child. "Professor Sharp will hear about thi-"

"Petrificus totalus!"

The spell, like an icy spear, lanced past Ominis' right ear. A moment later, a rather hefty thump signaled to him that Fronz would not be getting up for a while.

Evelyn chuckled darkly. "That should shut him up."

He remained silent for a while, blinking in surprise.

"Well... if you weren't in trouble before, you certainly are now." He scowled and laid back down.

"Ask me how much I care," She snapped, mood suddenly quite foul.

"I won't."

"Good."

Worlds could have passed away between the moments which encased them in silence, though Ominis knew they were mere minutes rather than centuries. He broke the quiet with a question, one he'd been wondering about for a while. He didn't think she'd answer. The important part was asking. Politeness, composure - all things that could wait for the morning. He wanted to know what she'd do.

"I overheard Imilda note that you have your own dorm - that your door locks from the outside," He recalled quietly. A fish swam by the window but he didn't feel the need to tally it for once. "Why is that?"

"I suppose Professor Black merely wishes to keep my half-blooded filth from contaminating this - our most noble house of Slytherin, eh?" A chuckle, bitter and rasping, forced itself from her chest. Sarcasm dripped from every syllable, yet if he wasn't mistaken, there was a deep despair hidden behind each one.

"So, now that I know what you sound like when spilling falsehoods," Ominis began, shooting a pointed smirk in her direction. "Why don't you tell me the truth?"

He expected his demand to be met with her wrath - loud and forceful - just as she'd demonstrated for him so plainly in their second year. But the fire of her hatred did not come. The air between them froze instead. He could hear the grinding of her teeth. Perhaps they were all growing up.

Evelyn let go of a long sigh.

"Go back to bed, Gaunt."

She spat his name like a curse. He supposed it was.

Then… the edge in her voice dulled away. Like how rust wears a blade over time.

"You need the sleep," She said.

"And you don't?"

Her robes rustled as she readjusted herself with a shallow huff. Judging off of the particularly loud snap given by the vertebrae in her neck, he guessed she must have tilted her head back to watch the fish swim by the common room windows - not entirely unlike he did.

"No," Evelyn replied. Silence followed.

And she didn't move after that.

Didn't breathe.

Ominis went back to bed. Yet, he felt a little less alone, though he didn't quite know why.

Thank you for your time.

[charliedawn]

Caught under the mistletoe

Hannibal family x Reader

Peter was caught off guard when he noticed the mistletoe above the threshold.

He looked behind you and saw his two brothers looking at him with big mischievous smiles. He instantly knew it was their doing.

Hannibal Jr. had decided to go and retrieve Hannibal Sr. for the day, leaving plenty of time for Morgan and Kevin to plot his embarrassment.

He quickly understood Kevin had set up the whole house and Morgan was holding a camera in his hands.

They probably expected you to just reject him on the spot or tell him you didn't want to kiss him.

He tried not to roll his eyes.

However, he was agreeably surprised when you didn't reject or refuse the kiss, you were even the one to engage first.

He thought it would be a simple peck on the lips, something innocent enough that his two brothers would quickly get bored of..But boy, was he wrong.

You grabbed him by the collar and in an instant, you were kissing him with fire.

He wasn't one to deny an early Christmas gift and decided to indulge in the tradition before kissing you back with just as much passion or even more.

Problem was, he got so caught up in the moment, he completely forgot about his two witnesses.

It was finally Kevin who had to step in.

Kevin *laughs awkwardly* : "Hum..Not to be an a** or anything but, the food is gonna get cold."

Morgan *keeps filming*

You addressed Kevin a mischievous smirk before closing the door behind you.

Kevin instantly tried to look for his keys, but realized he had left them inside and so had Morgan.

They had tried to set Peter up, a few minutes outside would make them think twice.

Peter would have normally opened the door for them in the following minute..

But, when you kissed him again, he completely lost it.

At this point, nothing could have snapped Peter out of it and at the end, the two other boys had to wait 10 minutes outside before they were allowed back in.

Kevin was surprised. He was usually the one pranking people, but he got trapped under the mistletoe anyway.

No doubt Morgan was behind this..

Kevin *nervously scratching the back of his head and looking at everything but you* : "Hey. We don't gotta..You know..No worries."

He tried to tell you you didn't need to kiss him, but when you admitted you wanted to, his eyes widened in shock.

"You want to...okay ? Sure. No problem."

He tried to shrug it off as casual, but was literally panicking inside.

Intense mental self-doubt activated.

Kevin is a very nervous boy in general and even though it doesn't show often because of his constant teasing and verbal overconfidence..He would be stunned and excited.

But, he would also be afraid of messing things up and wonder if he shouldn't be the one to just call things off and call it a day.

But, if he really thought you wanted to and felt confident enough ?

He would give it a shot. But, be careful that he doesn't get lost too far into his own thoughts, or it would definitely ruin the experience.

Example: his brain during a kiss.

How does someone kiss someone else ?

Eww. Eww. Ewww...Let's do it again.

Wait. Am I actually enjoying this ?

Nah.

Okay. Maybe. A little.

It would end up with Kevin, making a bunch of random weird facial expressions the whole time, to the point where it would seem like he isn't enjoying himself.

So, verbal praise is always a plus.

You : "...Stop overthinking things and just kiss me."

Him *smiles and nods before indulging* : "Alright, ma'am."

Morgan expected it. Kevin did the same thing every year. It made family reunions awkward and most of the time some family friend would try to set him up with his niece/nephew/cousin..

It wasn't a pleasant tradition for Morgan, but he did enjoy it on rare occasions when Kevin or Peter would embarrass themselves by trying to kiss the most "good-looking" person of the night.

Only to end up with a wet kiss on the cheek from great aunt Jane.

He usually didn't participate in their childish games..However, when he saw you—he immediately called dibs.

Peter : "HEY ! NOT FAIR ! I SAW THEM FIRST !"

Kevin : "YEAH ! WHATEVER THE BABY SQUIRREL SAID !"

Morgan *sighs* : "Alright. Then, shall I speak to father about that time when you both broke uncle Hannibal Jr.' favorite vase and I took the blame ?"

Peter and Kevin : "...."

No need to say. They didn't win that argument and Morgan got full monopoly.

He then approached you and first talked to you before smoothly leading you to the mistletoe he knew was hanging above the fire place.

Morgan *smiles/pretends not to have known it was there* : "Would you look at that ? It seems like a trap was set.."

You *smile back/not buying it* : "A very sweet trap indeed.."

Morgan is very simple and direct when it comes to physical signs of attachment.

If he likes it ? He'll ask again.

If he doesn't ? Friends it is.

But, as he is a man who prefers to rely on what he knows than what he feels, the kiss will be enjoyable depending on how your previous discussion went.

Morgan *stays still for a second or two after the kiss before smiling* : "~Not bad. Not bad at all.."

Hannibal Jr. was set up by his three very very nosy nephews who decided it was their job to find their uncle a good person to kiss on Christmas.

Morgan organized multiple files on each of the guests until they found the ideal candidate: you.

Kevin hung mistletoe over various strategic places he knew would make it impossible for his uncle to miss or deny.

Peter talked to the both of you separately during the event and made sure the two of you would end up alone at the end.

Kevin even slashed your tires so you won't leave too early. Dedication right there.

However, their uncle wasn't a fool and even though he didn't really know what the three of them were plotting, he eventually realized when both of your backs collided.

You turned around and suddenly, he seemed to understand.

He looked up and as he expected, the mistletoe was there.

You looked up as well and your eyes widened for a second before you let out a small knowing chuckle.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I should have paid more attention."

He studied you carefully. He had never seen you before..

"Who are you ?"

"I am one of Morgan's co-workers. He invited me. I hope it is no bother ?", you answered and Hannibal Jr. sighed. Of course the boy was behind it all..

"No. Of course not, love."

You blushed slightly at the nickname before looking up once more at the mistletoe.

"Do you want us to kiss ?", you asked and Hannibal Jr. chuckled softly.

"That is how the tradition goes..."

You laughed too and before you knew it, your lips were connected and Hannibal Jr. heard vivid clapping behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Besides, he was enjoying what he was doing far too much to stop.

Finally, to trap Hannibal Sr. under the mistletoe would take incredible time and effort. The man barely leaves his office and to catch him off guard is as rare and unlikely as spotting Santa Claus in July.

It would take the whole family to come up with a plan—including Hannibal Jr.

And to get him on board would already be a miracle.

At the end though, Hannibal Jr. decided it would make a good distraction and an occasion to test the younger Hannibals' skills. So, he allowed it.

He did help them set their father up with one of his co-workers he had invited for the occasion.

He knew you had been single for a while and were living alone. No attachment.

His father would approve, as you would fit better into the family and soon, they were all working on a way to

But, he let the young ones take care of the rest and only sometimes inquired on their plans and gave them some clues or advice.

When the day arrived, you soon found yourself outside with Hannibal Jr. who pretended to have forgotten his drink inside.

You waited. But, he never came back.

Instead, his father did and was surprised to find you alone outside, freezing.

He instinctively took off his coat and gave it to you.

"You poor thing..A charming young lady/man such as yourself shouldn't be waiting here in the dark all on their own."

You hadn't waited that long, but you wouldn't rectify it when the man was acting like such a gentleman.

Hannibal Sr. wasn't the one to spot the mistletoe first, you did.

You looked up and your eyes widened slightly as you noticed the branch hanging above your heads from one of the branch of an apple tree..

The silence made Hannibal Sr. look up at what you were looking at and his own eyes widened slightly before he shook his head and let out a small chuckle of disbelief.

"I swear those boys.."

His eyes then settled back on you and you involuntarily shivered. You weren't cold. But, you had this odd feeling about the man.

He mistook your silence for denial about the mistletoe and sighed.

"If you wish, we could come back inside and forget about it ? It is up to you.."

He wasn't one to push, but you shook your head. He had been nice enough to keep you company. You didn't want to appear rude.

When he leant in, you followed.

But, you were surprised when he lips didn't connect with your lips, but your cheek.

You then blushed when you realized you had expected the other alternative, without even considering this one..

He then lead you back inside and once you were back, he raised your hand to his lips and kissed it.

Your heart hammered in your chest.

It was only when he was gone that you realized he had left his jacket with you.

You were about to call him back when you felt something brush against your fingertips in his pocket.

When you pulled it out, your eyes widened as you realized it was his number..

At the end, the only one who had been trapped was you.