#Savor it in my place ( aesthetics )

[deathdefilcd]

tags? tags!

[shadowkoo]

Kingdom Cum

→ Summary: On the eve of your wedding, you're ready to let loose and make it a night to remember. In the heart of a vibrant city, surrounded by your closest friends, you're determined to savor one last taste of freedom. But when a series of unexpected encounters transforms the celebration into something far wilder than you ever imagined, you find yourself torn between temptation and the life you're about to commit to. At Kingdom Cum, the night is bound to be steamy; leaving your desires to run high, while dangerously blurring the lines between loyalty and lust.

↠ mingi x f.reader x hongjoong | 3.3k words | 18+ ↠ genre: y2k cyberpunk aesthetic nightclub, exotic dancer/stripper au, the filthiest smut i’ve written in a looooong ass time

→ Warnings: infidelity (Y/N is at her bachelorette party) double penetration and double teaming (you’re welcome in advance), fingering, oral sex (female receiving), partial voyeurism and exhibitionism, breast play, light bondage (bride sash used as a restraint), spanking, begging, semi public sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, doggy deluxe, edging, deep dicking, belly bulge, clit pinching, ass enthusiast!hongjoong, teasing expert!mingi, well behaved!reader, multiple orgasms, sloppy oral sex, cock swallowing, cock choking, throat fucking, size kink, heavy praising, slight degradation, creampies, cum play, cum stuffing, overstimulation, the slightest power play, mingi’s got a magic cross dick piercing (bc why not hehe i’m feeling evil) there’s probably more I’m missing

→ Networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity

→ Author Note: a big thank you to beezy @hobeemin for beta editing, to cherry @shuadotcom, summer @beomcoups, booki @kwanisms, and maren @wooahaeproductions for hyping me up and letting me scream about this!

And also to sevn @aaagustd & nabi @jenoslutie for being my sprinting partners for several days i would have never finished this without the motivation fr, ILYSM <3

It’s almost midnight, and the real fun is about to begin. It’s your bachelorette weekend, and you’re surrounded by your closest friends, ready to celebrate in style.

The city lights glimmer outside, but all laughter and music are inside. Drinks flow as you and your crew revel in the weekend's freedom. You’ve been looking forward to this escape for months and with your girls by your side, the energy is electric.

The night is young, the city is yours, and the party is only getting started.

“Just wait, I’ve heard they strip everything,” Yeri says, emphasizing her last word.

“They better be hot,” Sunny jokes, lifting her cup to sip her drink. You’re all sitting at a table in Kingdom Cum, a popular cyberpunk nightclub that’s known for having the two best after-dark dancers in the city - SpankMaster and SlickNasty.

“Hi ladies,” a male says from behind your group, “We can’t show you everything, but you won’t be disappointed.”

Turning to look, you see that it’s a gorgeous man with a blue streak running through his tousled hair. He runs his ring-covered fingers through his colorful strands, furthering the messy-styled look.

“I heard earlier that a bachelorette party would be joining us tonight. After spotting you sexy ladies, I knew you had to be the group.”

His eyes land on you, “You must be the bride.”

It’s obvious, you can’t pretend otherwise - even if you want to. You’re wearing a slutty white bra top (per Yeri’s demand), and white cheetah print pants with a ridiculous silk sash that says ‘Future Mrs.’ across the middle.

“Mingi, better known as SlickNasty, at your service,” He says, extending a hand toward you. His fingers brush yours before gently lifting your hand to his lips. Mingi’s eyes never leave yours, holding your gaze as he places a soft, lingering kiss on the back of your hand.

It feels way more intimate than it’s probably meant to be.

As he finishes, he lowers your hand slowly, releasing it with a sly smile that hints at something more.

Or maybe that’s exactly how he meant it…

“And here comes the other half of tonight’s show,” Mingi says directing your attention to the next stunning man walking over to your table.

“Hello ladies, I’m Hongjoong, your SpankMaster. My pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice deep yet smooth, brimming with confidence that radiates from his effortless demeanor. “We’re here to steal the lovely bride-to-be for the first performance.” He winks at Sunny, whose cheeks instantly heat up.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely! Take her away!” She blurts, practically pushing you out of your seat and into their arms. You rise to your feet and follow them as they lead you backstage.

“Alright, hot stuff,” Hongjoong says once you’re hidden behind the curtain. “Excuse my manners, I forgot to ask for your name.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Here,” Mingi directs you to sit down on the chair conveniently placed at the center of the stage. He stands to your left, hovering over you as Hongjoong leans in on the right side.

“Just gotta confirm before the show starts, do we have your consent to touch you on stage?” Mingi questions an inch away from your heated face.

“Yes,” You nod, giving them permission.

“That’s a good girl,” Mingi whispers in your ear. Before you have time to react, the curtains sweep open, and bright lights flood the stage, momentarily blinding you. Over the rush of excitement, you can hear your friends cheering wildly from their table.

The two explode onto the stage with electrifying energy, their movements sharp, fluid, and in perfect sync with the pounding beats. A few backup dancers join behind where you are seated. They’re all dressed in neon, complementing the trendy punk looks of Mingi and Hongjoong.

The stage vibrates with power as they hit every beat with precision, seamlessly blending their different styles together.

“How’s everyone doing tonight,” SpankMaster (Hongjoong) grins, swaying his hips to the beat as he struts down the catwalk of the stage. He poses at the end, teasing all the women in the room as he slowly lifts a corner of his tank top.

He drops the fabric and wags a finger, “Not quite yet, I wanna hear you scream for it.” The crowd erupts, giving him exactly what he demands and he chuckles.

“That’s good, very good actually,” he praises. “SlickNasty, you think you can help me out?”

Mingi saunters over until he’s behind Hongjoong, resting his hands on his friend’s shoulders before running them down his chest. He bunches the thin fabric between his fingers and tears Hongjoong’s shirt right down the middle, leaving the shreds to fall onto the stage.

They turn around, gyrating their hips to the beat and in sync with one another, before walking back over to where you are seated.

“Ready to have some fun?” Mingi’s breath tickles your neck as he straddles your lap. He hovers above you before crossing his arms and slowly lifting his shirt off next, tossing it somewhere offstage where two women fight over it.

As Mingi dances, his gaze remains fixed on yours, an unspoken connection pulsing between you both with every move. The music echoes around you, but it's the intensity of his eyes that holds your attention, drawing you in deeper.

Even as his body twists and sways in rhythm, he never breaks eye contact, as if the entire room has faded away and it's just the two of you in this moment. Each glance feels deliberate, filled with a mix of arrogance and something darker that keeps you locked in, unable to look away.

The rest of the song is a blur of skin and muscles. Every roll of Mingi’s hips has your insides burning more and more. The air is thick and heavy, like the calm before a storm. And boy, do you want it him to rain down on you.

His movements overflow with unspoken words, and tension hums beneath the surface. It’s electric and suffocating, as if any moment could tip the scales and send everything spiraling out of control. That thought pools heat between your thighs.

Hongjoong saunters back over toward you, pausing to tap Mingi on the shoulder. It’s their signal to one another, and they switch positions effortlessly.

Mingi returns to the front of the stage, dancing energetically while engaging with the crowd, drawing them in with his cocky presence.

Hongjoong has a sideways grin on his face as he pulls you to your feet. “Show me your moves, hot stuff," he teases with a grin, twirling you around with effortless grace. As the spin ends, he slides down your side, fluidly and playfully, syncing perfectly with the rhythm of the music.

Swaying your hips against his, you raise an arm to your hair to release the claw clip currently holding it up. Tossing your head back, you let the curls bounce around you as move to the beat. Your friends’ screams fade into the background as you lose yourself in the moment.

Mingi watches you, his eyes all dark and broody. He’s entranced, stuck under your spell as you grind against his best friend. His eyes lock with Hongjoong’s and they share a silent exchange, and with a quick nod, agree on the matter.

Your moment is suddenly interrupted when the crowd erupts into chaos, the lights dimming, and then it dawns on you. Their set is over. This is over. Damn.

The backup performers step out from the shadows and down into the crowd, pulling fellow show-goers to the open dance floor. The DJ picks up the tempo as more and more people leave their seats to join in on the fun, including your friends who are dancing with a few hotties themselves.

The curtains shut dramatically again, closing you off from the outside world.

“Follow me,” A stagehand says, grabbing your attention and directing you backstage with SpankMaster and SlickNasty.

“Um…What now?” you ask nervously as the two look at each other knowingly. “I should-uh. I should head back, right?” You awkwardly point to the front of the venue.

“Well, now you have a decision to make,” Hongjoong smirks. “You can go back to your friends…”

“Or you can stay here with us,” Mingi finishes, cracking open the door to his dressing room, inviting you to join them.

Your gaze travels back and forth between the two. Half of you knows better than to pretend like you don’t know what will happen if you go in there. But the other half of you is dying to find out if you’re right. It is your last night of freedom, how can you turn down this chance?

“Do you trust us?” Mingi asks, pulling you from your battling thoughts.

“Yes.”

Your stomach twists in anticipation as they shut the door behind you, and with a decisive click, you’re locked inside.

Mingi is the first to touch you, his large hands wrapping around your bare waist, pulling your backside up against his front. Those same hands slide up to your breasts, kneading them lightly at first. You moan, reaching backward to clutch his strong thighs, your nails digging into them as his grip tightens.

“You’re gonna be a fun one, aren’t you,” Mingi chuckles in your ear, nipping at it gently before pulling away from you. He joins Hongjoong who’s sitting on the black couch, waiting.

“Last chance to leave, sweetheart,” Hongjoong warns, tapping the space between him and Mingi. Your legs move before your mind and heart even catch up to what you truly want, what you crave.

You should be running back to your friends, and yet, you sit.

“Good girl,” Hongjoong murmurs before crashing his lips against yours. His tongue tickles the corner of your lips, demanding to be let inside.

Simultaneously, Mingi works to undo your pants. You lift your hips, giving him space to drag the fabric down your hips, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

“Damn, baby,” he groans, looking at your damp panties. “Look how worked up you already are. Spread your legs for us. Let us see how wet you are.”

You comply and are kindly rewarded when Mingi’s fingers pull your panties to the side. Sucking in a sharp breath, your head falls back as he spreads your dewy folds open with his digits.

“Is the fact that I’m fingering you while my best friend watches getting you all worked up?” he questions devilishly, already knowing the answer. Your face twists in pleasure with every curl of his fingers.

Mingi’s other hand wraps around your hair, pulling your mouth to his. He sucks in your bottom lip, surprising you when he bites down.

Hongjoong sucks on your exposed neck, then hovers above the spot he created, pleased with the purplish spot already growing. One of his hands dips down between your legs, meeting Mingi’s as he adds another two fingers inside you.

“This pretty little cunt’s gotta get stretched out if she’s gonna take both of us. Do you want that?” Hongjoong asks, his voice all husky.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily, “I want that so bad.”

Their fingers quicken, pumping in perfect sync, each thrust inward hits that sweet spot that has you dancing dangerously close to the edge.

“Please, please!” you cry out, begging for release.

“That’s it, gorgeous. Let us hear those pretty moans,” Hongjoong praises.

Your body inevitably tenses as shockwaves rush through your body, pleasure pulsating head to toe as your insides contract around their slowing fingers.

Mingi tilts his head and grins. “Are you ready?” he asks as you’re catching your breath.

Before the words ‘for what’ even have time to register in your brain, he moves from his spot next to you and kneels between your legs. Swiftly placing his hands behind your knees, he yanks you forward. “I know what to do to make this kitty purrrrrr,” he rolls his tongue, “Are you ready to find out why they call me SlickNasty?”

“God, yes,” you plead as he rips your useless panties off, throwing the remaining fabric elsewhere.

Mingi delves into your soaked center, and he moans deliciously, loving your sweet taste. The one thing he loves most in the world is pleasing a woman with his tongue; the satisfaction he gets is unmatchable.

His tongue licks up your slit, circling the sensitive nub several times, making your legs shake and his length stiffen.

“Such a good slut. Look at you, trying to fuck my tongue,” Mingi rasps as you push back against his mouth.

You’re a moaning mess, frozen in pleasure, and Hongjoong takes the opportunity to untie the back of your top. He tosses it aside with the rest of the clothing that is quickly disappearing.

He sucks one of your velvety peaks into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth before sucking to alleviate the pain.

Hongjoong massages your other breast with his hand while his mouth continues its beautiful assault on your hardening point. He releases his lips only briefly, blowing air over your wet mound, before swapping to the other side.

“Fuck, I need more,” you beg, arching your back off the couch.

As if they know that you’re on the precipice of coming again, the two men work harder; Mingi’s tongue lapping your folds as his nose rubs against your sensitive clit, Hongjoong’s teeth tugging on your nipple.

A moan tears through you, your body convulsing as your second orgasm courses through your veins.

Without giving you time to come down from your high, Mingi flips your body over in one quick movement, leaving you on your hands and knees. He stands at the end of the couch, shoving his leather pants down and freeing his cock.

Your mouth waters as you take in the size of him. Something reflects in the light, and your eyes quickly land on his tip. It’s pierced, with two bars crossing over each other, creating the perfect ‘X’ marks the spot.

“Open wide for me, pretty girl,” he says, quickly shoving his length into your stunned mouth. He’s hot and heavy, just his tip alone fills your mouth. You stretch your jaw, opening as wide as you can to take in more of him.

Something feral inside Mingi switches when he notices his cock creating a bulge in your throat. He growls, grabbing a fistful of your hair to hold your head steady while he watches it move as he does.

Hongjoong undresses behind you, quickly finding his place at your backside. He takes a moment to enjoy your ass from this angle, gazing unapologetically before raising a hand to slap the perfectly untouched skin.

Your flesh jiggles from the impact, and he rubs the area to relieve the stinging. He admires the redness growing across your cheeks as he spanks you again and again.

You moan, vibrating around Mingi’s cock.

“I think she likes that, what do you think Hongjoong?” Mingi says through gritted teeth.

“I know something she’ll like even more,” Hongjoong answers before slamming his thick length into your heat.

“Oh yeah,” he practically purrs, loving the way you take all of him. With every hard thrust from Hongjoong, you choke around Mingi’s cock.

Mingi wipes the drool dripping down from your chin before gripping your jaw, “You’re just a toy that’s meant to be stuffed from both ends, isn’t that right?”

You nod as much as you are able with his length still shoved deep down your throat.

“Such a good toy,” Hongjoong compliments, awarding your ass with another hard smack. Your nails dig into the arm of the couch to keep from falling over.

Holy fuck.

Mingi’s cock twitches, but he holds back. He’s got other plans on where his cum will be spilling tonight. He makes eye contact with Hongjoong, and they share the same thought as he slips out of your wrecked mouth.

You mewl at the loss of contact when Hongjoong also pulls out. But before you have time to ask questions, Mingi lifts you and carries you over to his vanity, gently setting you down against the cool marble countertop.

Hongjoong’s eyes land on something white and silky on the floor; he smirks at his finding.

Perfect, he thinks, grabbing it from the ground and twisting it in his hands as he saunters over toward you. Your mind registers that it’s your ‘bride’ sash.

“Hold your wrists out.” You do as you're told, and he ties it around them. He lifts your joined hands over your head, pinning them in place. “Will you keep them there?” he asks.

“Yes,” you whisper, keeping them lifted when he removes his hands.

Your eyes wash across both men’s bodies, their cocks resting up against their abs. It’s the best sight in the world.

They look to you for approval as they line their cocks lined up with your center. You nod repeatedly, silently begging them to fuck you already. 

Slowly, they both push into your needy cunt. You feel the cool metal of Mingi’s piercing glide against your inner walls as they sink into you.

Mingi tosses his head back once he’s pushed to the hilt; the position shows off his tense neck veins.

Meanwhile, Hongjoong hisses as his body goes rigid. Taking in a couple of deep breaths, he regains his composure and turns his head toward Mingi, giving a slight nod to say it’s go-time.

You scream out when they pull back, slamming back into you before you even have time to register. Pain mixed with pleasure at the stretch you out.

“You can take it, I know you can,” Hongjoong says, his hand gripping your waist.

“So fucking tight,” Mingi groans.

Your eyes land on your lower stomach, where you can see their cocks practically rearranging your insides. Moaning as you watch the bulge move in and up and down motion, your arms momentarily fall while distracted.

Hongjoong growls, grabbing your bound wrists and slamming them back up against the wall. His thrusts get slightly sporadic, getting closer to his own release.

Your body glistens with sweat, and Mingi is entranced by your perfect tits with perky nipples bouncing in circles as they hammer into you.

You hook your legs around both men, crying out when Hongjoong pinches your clit.

“Come. Now.”

Mingi’s demand has your mouth watering from the sheer dominance laced in his voice. Your eyes flutter as your face twists, accepting your fate as you succumb to orgasm number three.

Hongjoong grunts as your walls tighten around both cocks. His eyes roll back as he releases his creamy load into you. He shudders, pulling out of you and watching some of his cum drips onto the floor below.

Mingi growls after Hongjoong steps back, lifting one of your legs as he pounds into you one, two, three more times until his cum shoots through your soft folds.

You’re perfectly content and ruined, unable to move.

“Didn’t I say that would be fun?” Mingi says after noticing your blissfully fucked face. He leaves a quick kiss on your cheek before stepping back to clean himself.

When he returns, you’re about to reach for one of the tissues he has in hand when you’re quickly stopped by Hongjoong.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He shakes a finger, before putting two between your legs, stuffing their creamy mixture back up into your heat.

“That’s for later, when you’re missing us,” he winks, handing you your pants to slip on while Mingi reaches for your top.

“So, you better get back to your friends,” Mingi says, stepping back after he helps you into your shirt. “We don’t want them to think you got lost for good.”

Hongjoong taps you on the ass lightly as you’re led to the door, “Goodbye, hot stuff.” He smirks. “Good luck with the wedding.”

…Oh yeah…

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©shadowkoo 2024. All rights reserved.

[chlix]

juno

bf! minho x fem! reader: you have baby fever. your boyfriend wants to be with you forever. turns out you can kill 2 birds with 1 stone

genre: fluff, crack, suggestive (MDNI, explicit dialogue)

word count: 3.3k

warnings/tags: pregnancy scare, jokes about a breeding kink, marriage proposal, y/n is a little spoiled i gotta admit, this one is all over the place ya'll

a/n: minho's fic in my album series! this one is based on "juno". y/n is a LOT in this one but i found it way more fun and fitting to the song to write her that way rather than actually being down to earth and reasonable lol

You’re out at a mall with your friend Jia, having a lazy day shopping and eating overpriced food from the shops in the central plaza. It's been a while since you had time to bum around with her, and your boyfriend, Minho, had said he'd drive you there and take care of his own errands while he waited. He'd even handed you his second credit card and told you to get whatever you wanted, much to Jia's amusement. You wish you were more put off by him flaunting his money, but unfortunately you passed that point long ago. It's also due to the fact that his money is much appreciated at this point in your life. Currently, you’re a bit of a NEET; after you had to quit your last job, you’ve been doing little except sitting at home, attempting TikTok recipes, doing housework and fantasizing about having things like hobbies and life goals aside from marrying your boyfriend.

“That’s nothing new for you, though,” your friend Jia says. “You inherited the suburban princess aesthetic from your mother.”

“You say that as if we weren't raised on the same street” you say, words thick around the spoon of froyo in your mouth. “We’re both suburban princesses.”

Your eyes roam around the mall, people watching as you often do. Next to the frozen yogurt place you had just visited, there is a mother with her small toddler at the counter. The mother is stylishly dressed, in cute jeans and a red sweater, and her daughter matches perfectly in a tiny little red turtleneck and a corduroy pinafore press. She’s wearing little charms in her hair and has a backpack with a bunch of dangly charms that jingle as she fidgets. She is eyeing the froyo on the counter with big eyes as she waits for her mother to pay for it, ever so patient and polite. The cashier waves at her and the toddler waves back.

“Stopppp, look at them. Isn’t that girl so cute?”

Jia follows your eyeline to the mother and daughter at the froyo counter.

“She is. I love how her and mom are matching.”

“I can’t wait to have a little mini-me that I can wear matching outfits with.”

“You and I wear matching outfits all the time.”

“Yes, but I want to do it with someone cute.”

Jia’s eyes roll so hard that you know it must’ve hurt.

“Since when do you want kids, y/n?”

“Since always. Or I don’t know. Maybe I just was worried that it would be difficult? Or that I’d never find the right guy? But I think Minho would be a good father, so it’s kind of made me think about it again.”

“He seems like he’d be good with kids.”

“When we babysit my nephew, he’s really good with him. And he’s always been so attentive to me in everything, so I just know he would double down during pregnancy. He’d take bullets for me. He’d protect me, he’d bring me all my favorite foods he’d take care of me-”

“He really should be doing that all the time, not just when you’re pregnant. Like, what kind of cavewoman logic is this? Are you in heat or something?”

You take another bite of your froyo and savor it.

You’ve known Jia forever, and at this point her comments to you about your love life just go in one ear and out the other. She’s the one who introduced you to Minho, actually, so you’d thought maybe she’d spare you the lectures, but she seems to think your impulsivity would overrule Minho’s common sense. This isn’t you being impulsive, though. You’ve actually thought about it an embarrassing amount- the concept of Minho fathering your children. It’s not just some passing fancy.

When you’re thoroughly done enjoying your vanilla-passion fruit swirl, you deign to answer her.

“First of all, shut the fuck up. Second of all, no I’m not in heat. Is it so wrong to dream of motherhood? To yearn for something to care for?”

“You have three cats and seven potted plants.”

“I mean something that can love me back.”

“I’m telling Dori you said that.”

You ignore her, already lost in your little domestic fantasy. You could already imagine it. You could have a little girl who looked exactly like you. Or maybe just like you with Minho’s pretty eyes. You’ll develop all the “mom skills”, like sewing and kissing boo-boos and making baking soda volcanoes. And Minho would be there, giving her piggyback rides and pushing her on swing sets. He’d call both of you his “princesses” and you could take cute family photos for Christmas and mail them all your relatives. A perfect domestic life.

“Hello? Earth to y/n?”

You blink. Jia is looking at you with an exasperated expression.

“I’d ask you what you’re thinking about, but I already know.”

“Oh, really.”

“You only get that stupid expression on your face when you think about Minho.” Jia crumples up her trash and reaches behind her to throw it in a trash can. “Does he know you are having delusions of domesticity?”

“It’s not delusional. We’ve been together for like two years. We’ve talked about the future.”

“So he wants kids?”

“He wants whatever I want,” you say, and you can hear the lovesickness in your voice even before Jia lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Go ask him to get you pregnant right now then. He seems like the type to think that’s really hot.”

“Everything I do is hot. I’m a catch. I’d look extra hot pregnant. Working so hard even when I’m just sitting around all day.”

“Your favorite activity.”

You wink cheekily. “Of course. You should give it a try sometime.”

“Give what a try?”

A familiar voice from behind you makes you perk up. You whip around to see your boyfriend in the flesh, coming up behind you. He’s finally arrived. His presence improves your mood by approximately one thousand percent. You can sit up straighter and breathe deeper. The sun shines brighter on your face. His pace is so leisurely that it’s driving you mad. You want to stand up and drag him closer to you, so that as much of you is touching you as possible. The meter between you feels like a nautical mile.

Christ, maybe you are in heat. You think it’s possible you’ve been permanently ovulating since you met Minho. Just seeing him coming has you contemplating breaking several civil laws.

Jia rats you out immediately. “We’re talking about pregnancy.”

“Oh.” Minho stops where he is, as if blocked by an invisible wall. “Is someone you know expecting?”

“Not yet,” Jia says.

“Jia,” you hiss.

Jia ignores you, revenge for forcing her to listen to you for the past half hour.

“Y/n thinks that pregnancy suits her lifestyle. She thinks she’d look hot pregnant. What’s your opinion on the topic?”

“Don’t answer that,” you tell him. “Jia, come on.”

Jia shrugs. “I don’t think it’s that crazy of a question. Your boyfriend should think you look hot all the time.”

“And I do,” Minho interjects, smiling slyly. “Especially right now, as you’re staring daggers at me.”

Jia leans up and stage whispers to Minho, eyes still trained on you. “She specifically said ‘extra hot’, just so you know.”

“I struggle to think she could get any hotter,” Minho says in answering stage whisper. “She’d look equally pretty frozen solid, or zombified.”

 “You know the saying is ‘until death do us part?’ You don’t have to keep loving her as a zombie.”

You try to be annoyed but you’re too busy cheesing for it to have any effect. “Okay haha fun’s over. Take me home now.”

Jia boos you as Minho grabs your hand to help you off the bench.

“As you wish,” he says, and kisses your hand with a flourish.

“I’ve gotta get going too. See you later, y/n.” She stands up and grabs her bag, then pauses and turns back. “If you’re pregnant the next time I see you, I will kill you.”

“You seriously give me no credit.”

Jia gives you an absolutely withering look and walks off.

“I shouldn’t have even brought it up,” you say mournfully. “She’s gonna start keeping tabs on me.”

“We’ll lock our doors and windows,” Minho says, and presses a kiss to your hair. “Home?”

Later that night, you’re lying on the couch searching up pictures of baby clothes. You have an entire Pinterest board for your future baby, and today’s scene at the park has inspired you to add to the collection. You scroll through little images of kids in duck outfits and Hello Kitty themed socks, of cute little barrettes to put in their wispy bangs. Your kids are going to be so well-dressed. They’ll make the other toddlers at the daycare jealous, and maybe even the moms too.

That’s good, though. It’s important to learn how to deal with adversity from a young age.

Your daughter is gonna be so well socialized and assertive and thick-skinned, just like her parents. She’ll get such good grades and be very polite. And you’ll get to show up to parent teacher conferences as the hottest mom in the entire class, which will be good for your ego, and then you can pass that confidence down to your child. It’ll be perfect. Your life will be perfect. You can see it in such clear and vivid detail.

Minho passes by you on the way back from the bathroom and glances down at your phone.

“Baby clothes?”

You blink up at him. You’re not embarrassed at being caught, but you are a little annoyed that he’s interrupted your daydreaming with one of his gateway questions.

“Yes. Our future child has to be up on fashion trends.”

“The fashion trends will have changed by the time you have a baby to dress up.”

To your own surprise, your heart actually stutters with the reminder that you are currently not, in fact, with child.

“Don’t remind me,” you whine, rolling over to hide your face in the cushions. “Jia already lectured me today.”

“Lectured?”

You partially roll back over to look up at him. “She says that I’m being delusional for wanting a baby so badly.”

“How is wanting to be a mother delusional?”

“Right? And I told her like what are you talking about, we’ve already talked about the future, and we’re gonna have kids, and she just gave me this look.”

“Jia’s just looking out for you. She doesn’t want you to rush into things.”

“Jia is a cynic and a skeptic. She thinks we’re too young to have a baby.”

“Well, aren’t we?”

“Are we?” Your visions of being a MILF dance through your head. “I think having kids young would be cute.”

Now Minho looks skeptical. “Really? Since when.”

“Since I had a paradigm shift. I always knew I wanted them, in a vague sense. But now I know that I want to have them with you, specifically, so it’s been on my mind a lot more.”

“You want to have my kids?”

You bristle. “Well they’d be my kids, too, y’know.”

“I know that-”

“And who else’s kids would they be? Do you envision us breaking up?”

“Absolutely not,” Minho says. “You’re stuck with me forever.”

“Right. So then eventually I’ll be having your kids. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

Minho sits down next to you on the couch. “That’s really what you want?”

“Yes?” A single pang of doubt flashes across your chest. “Do you not want that?”

“No, I do, baby. I’d love to have a family with you. I just want to be sure we’re on the same page, and we’ve thought it through.”

“Well, like you said, we’re still young.” Jia’s admonishment of not being married flashes through your mind. “But sometimes I see little kids in public, or on TV, and I think, God, I want a baby so bad. Y’know? I want to be pregnant. I want to glow like that, and everything.”

Something complicated passes over his face. A lightbulb goes off in your head. It’s the same expression that he had when Jia had mentioned to him the topic of your conversation.

“Oh my god. You actually do think I’d look hot pregnant.”

“Didn’t I say that at the mall?”

“No, you were teasing me. But now you’re being for real. You want to knock me up.”

Minho says nothing, but the tips of his ears redden. You shoot upright, delighted at the turn of events.

“Oh my god, you actually want to knock me up!”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No! Of course not. I want to be the only girl you want, and I want you to want me in every way.”

“Well you are, and I do,” he says flatly. “Congratulations.”

“Congratulations is right,” you say. You’re giddy with energy. “Have you thought about it a bunch? Is that why you wanted me on the pill? So you could cum in me and indulge your breeding kink?”

“I don’t have a breeding kink.I just love you. There’s a difference.”

“You’ve said at least five times today you think I’d be hot while I’m pregnant,” you remind him. “Seems kind of breeding kink-ish to me.”

“You have spent the entire day fantasizing about having my kids. That’s the definition of a breeding kink.” Minho leans further into your space, and though his words are teasing, his tone is decidedly not. You feel heat start to run through you, and not from embarrassment. You scoot closer to him, pulled by magnetic forces beyond your comprehension.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just life planning. I’m making vision boards.” The lie is so flimsy your lips trip as you try to say it.

“Uh-huh. Right. Because you normally start breathing heavy when you make vision boards.”

“This is unfair. Of course I’ll get turned on when you start talking like this.”

“Like what?” he says, leaning even closer. You can feel his breath on your face, and a shiver goes down your spine.

“Like you’re going to fucking breed me.”

His smile is absolutely feline. “That can be arranged.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Baby, I want whatever you want.”

You grab onto his shoulders, tight. “Then take me to bed, hot stuff.”

His eyes darken. A hand comes up to your face, and he kisses you gently. He grabs you by the hand…

and of course, he gives you what you want.

Your period is a week late.

It’s actually Minho who notices and points it out, which causes you to freak out and call Jia, who freaks out worse than you and demands that you go to the store immediately and buy a test. You get three different brands, and also an entire chocolate cake which will either be for congratulations or for emotional support.

Minho waits outside the bathroom door, an encouraging presence as you try to calm yourself down enough to read the labels.

“Whatever happens, I’m here,” he tells you. You can’t tell whether he wants it to be positive or negative. You aren’t even sure what you want. Yes, you want a baby, yes, babymaking sex is hot and you want to keep having it whether it gets you knocked up or not, but you’re both still young, and he has a career, and your apartment doesn’t have a third bedroom so there’d be nowhere for the nursery that you’ve already meticulously planned out in your mind-

The timer goes off. You open your eyes and look down.

“Negative,” you say, loud enough for Minho to hear outside the door. “All of them.”

Minho doesn’t say anything. You let out a deep breath, tension falling out of you, and open the door. Minho is on the other side, expression cautious.

“Is it bad that I’m a little disappointed?” he says, and his tone is joking but the words stick in your chest because you agree. The relief you expected to feel is nowhere to be found.

“I hope not, because that makes two of us.”

He draws you into a hug, and you sink into him, processing all the events of the last hour.

“And I was all ready to start building a crib.”

You snort. “Picking up carpentry as a hobby?”

“A real father should work with their hands. I need thick, callused hands to hold my baby with, so they feel smaller and daintier by comparison.”

“Wild thing to say, honestly.”

“It works on you.”

You break free and shove him playfully. “You’re ridiculous. You’d be a good father even with your soft city boy hands.”

“You think so?” he says, his tone heavier than before. You don’t even hesitate.

“Yes. Any child would be lucky to have you as a father.” You sigh dramatically. “Unfortunately it seems my uterus didn’t pull through this time.”

Minho is silent for a moment. “Well. We could…try again.”

You stare at him. “Sorry?”

“I mean, you said I’d be a good father. You said you wished the test was positive. I want that too. Just because it didn’t work this time doesn’t mean that-”

“Wait. Wait wait wait wait. Are you serious?” You’re gob smacked. You can’t believe that your usually cautious boyfriend is proposing you have a baby right now.

“I’m serious,” he confirms. “You’d be such a good mom. And I know how much you want this.”

“And you think I’d look hot pregnant.”

“Obviously,” he says, without a hint of jest.

“But I’m- we’re so young, and I’m unemployed, and-”

“Sorry, were you planning on getting a job any time soon?”

Your cheeks heat up. “Oh shut up.”

“No, it’s perfect. You can be a loving stay-at-home mom. I’ll be the breadwinner.”

“Stop it. Stop talking this way. You’re- do you know how pissed my friends would be? What would I tell Jia? She almost bit my head off over the phone earlier, did you hear her? She was so pissed that I was thinking of motherhood instead of marriage-”

“Then let’s get married.”

“Don’t start.”

“Y/n, I’m not joking.”

You actually think you’re going to faint. Your heart is racing and you’re breaking out in a sweat. Is it hot in here? Did you forget to pay the AC bill this month?”

“Are you proposing to me right now?” You’re trying to joke but you’re breathless. “You’re proposing to me as a gimmick to get me to bear your children?”

Minho cringes. “Saying it like that makes me sound manipulative.”

“It’s kinda manipulative.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to be married before having kids. And I want to do both of those things with you eventually, so why not now?”

Your vision is blurring. For a moment you worry you actually are fainting, but then you realize that you’re crying instead.

“Stop playing with me, Minho, I’m so serious.”

“I’m not playing with you. I actually already bought a ring, but I didn’t know if the timing was right. Like you said, we’re young, and I didn’t know how you felt about getting married so soon. So I thought I’d ask eventually but-”

You lunge forward and kiss him. If you’d felt stressed earlier while taking the test, that’s nothing compared to the depth of emotion you’re feeling now as you hold each other. It’s like joy is filling you up so much that you don’t know where your body behind and ends.

When you finally separate, Minho asks,

“Is that a yes?”

“You’re not proposing to me in our living room,” you tell him. “You have to ask me again. Later. Don’t even show me the ring. Wait, what color is it? You know I only wear gold.”

“You think I’d forget something like that? I’m going to be your husband. I know what jewelry you wear.”

If he wasn’t holding you up, you think you’d actually collapse to the ground from the way you absolutely swoon.

“Propose to me again and I’ll say yes. Right now, I need you to put a baby in me.”

“You want to walk down the aisle pregnant? Your dream wedding dress has a corset.”

“Oh my god, we’ll do it before I start showing, just fuck me, please!”

Minho doesn’t make you ask a third time.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - fem!reader, implied kidnapping, implied stalking.

“I used to be the best dancer in Snezhnaya.”

You hum, playing thoughtful while she guides you through a loose turn and savoring the way the skirt of your dress fans out behind you. The music is slower than you prefer, made more for conversation than exhibition, but you’ve never taken much of an interest in gossip, nor can you stand discussions on the circus that is Fontaine’s political sphere. This, the performance of it all, is all you really care about. Well, that and a chance to sample champagne fit for an archon, of course. “Used to be?”

“I was recently usurped. A tragic turn of events, I know, but it was well-deserved.” Her gloved hand falls from your side to your lower back. It’s too low to offer any real support, clearly a choice made for aesthetics over practicality, but you don’t protest. You can hold yourself up, even if your feet won’t thank you for your independence in the morning. “By a foreigner, no less – some court gem so lovely and so elegant, even the Tsaritsa couldn’t help but stare. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s not exactly a description I’d expect from an envy-stricken rival.”

“I’m not jealous. I couldn’t be.” She takes an unexpected step forward and you take one back, nearly colliding with another pair too caught up with each other to mind anyone else. You purse your lips. Arlecchino – that was what she said when you asked for the name of the strange, monochromatic woman who’d spent the better half of the evening scaring your other potential partners away. A diplomat from Snezhnaya, if memory served. Hopefully, for the sake of her nation, she’s better at the negotiation table than in the ballroom. “I was the one foolish enough to bring her home with me.” There’s a slight pause, a wistful sigh, as if she’s recalling something dear to her. “We only knew each other for a few days – just a few nights, really. I could hardly bring myself to speak to her, but she was the one to approach me, in the end.”

A quick turn that became into an abrupt twirl, a tug in a direction that went against the flow of the dance floor. This time, you fail to suppress your reaction, a slight frown coming to rest across your lips as Arlecchino flashes a broad grin, nearly hauling you to a less populated corner of the dance floor. “You must be quite the hopeless romantic.”

Your voice is flat, cold, but if she notices your sudden change in demeanor, she doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t deem the insult worth leaving you alone and partnerless in the middle of the dance (no matter how much you’re starting to wish she would). Rather, she only pulls you closer, until your chest is flush against hers, her mouth close enough to your ear for her voice to resonate in a way that makes you want to run. “More possessive than romantic, unfortunately.” Her grin is heavy in her tone. “I’ve just always preferred to keep the things I find beautiful close by.”

That’s enough. You try to wrench your hands out of hers, to shove her away from you, your reputation be damned, but her hold is iron-clad around yours, her posture unfaltering. In one smooth motion, she sweeps your legs from underneath you, leaving you falling into a deep, full-body dip – her strength the only thing separating you from the floor. You open your mouth, ready to scream, but there’s a tight pinch somewhere in your lower back, the feeling of something very small and very sharp being pushed underneath your skin, and your voice catches in your throat, your vision blurring as your body stiffens and your joints lock into place. You do what you can to stay upright, to stay conscious, but it’s a futile pursuit, punctuated by a soft laugh, a pair of smiling lips pressed gingerly against yours. “You’ll like it, in the Tsaritsa’s court,” she says, the words just barely above a whisper.

“I know how to keep my precious gems polished.”

[zorosbeau33]

Morning Routine~ Shota Aizawa Headcanon

❖ BNHA/MHA, Aizawa x Gender Neutral reader

❖ Headcanon, maybe a series someday?, Fluff

❖ Tw: None

❖ wc: 600

❖ @kimnamshiks @d0uble0hd0nut ❖ Masterlist ❖

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

I had to do this idea for my hubby Aizawa he truly deserves a vacation and free supply of high quality eye drops~

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

A quaint and homey apartment is all he needs. Nothing big or fancy like Best Jeanist or Vampire homeroom teacher

The aesthetic of the apartment is very clear, upon moving in he (pushed by Mic) had you redesign the place how you like. Leaving only his necessities and some cute cat aesthetic things unchanged

So waking up would depend upon your schedules, if neither of you have work expect morning to be more like 11 am wake up time. With small bouts of him waking up to cuddle in or press kisses to your face or shoulder, five oclock stubble tickling your skin

Or to move your cats so he can cuddle all of you better 

These days you will have to be the one to get up first, start the usual cup of black coffee for him and he will groan and get up to come find it and you

Softly touching your hips in a silent thanks as he moves to get his favorite mug from when Eri was little

If its a weekend with Eri staying with you all, he will grudgingly get up first so he can make his loved ones a simple but delicious breakfast.

He likes to share the joy with Eri of the toaster leaving a toasted cat face on the slices after you bought it jokingly for him

Its one of the rare times he takes you out somewhere noisy because he knows she will enjoy the time at the parks, water slides, fair, music festival, etc, especially with both her pseudo parents with her

The morning is filled with coffee, getting dressed and a leisurely drive as he takes you wherever he has planned for you all

If you do have work he is getting up first, making an entire pot of coffee for himself plus one cup for you in a hideous cat mug he picked out for you trying to be sweet

Once you join him in the land of the grudgingly conscious, expect grunts and him to lean on you as you get ready or eat beside him. Hes savoring your warm presence for a little bit longer

Will threaten to call out and spend the day in bed or on the couch with you and the cats

Would never actually though, even sick he will leave in the morning grumbling but happy he woke up to your face beside him

Likes to share the bathroom, helping you get ready by handing you things as he pretends to look busy or just drinks his coffee eyes half open

Adores the times you brush and style his hair, he falls back asleep standing or sitting

Asks you every time to help him pick out an outfit, yes all his uniforms are the same but he wants you to be the one to pick them out. Sitting on the bed watching you with halflidded gaze

This all ends when he packs you both into his car and drives you to your favorite place to grab breakfast on the fly, then to you job, and waits for his kiss goodbye. He doesn't ask just leans in and gazes lovingly and soft until you kiss him. If he is feeling stressed or worried, heres where you can tell the most as he kisses you back a bit more thoroughly than usual

Its small but it is how he reassures himself the day will go well

Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays he goes for a morning run/training bout (often with Hitoshi these days). Then showers and gets to work ending his morning routine

[spirk-trek]

Would love to see a little something about TOS spirk and dress uniforms, whatever speaks to you!! I love the intimacy of getting ready together and dressing up fancy with your partner :)

inspired in part by this post by @flippyspoon, this fan art [deactivated], and also this fan art by @lesbospirk!

i initially wanted to do something with spock's eyeshadow (still might??) but then the idea of him cutting jim's hair broke into my mind and wouldn't leave... and i never stop thinking about mind melds, so.

lastly: fuck hypersonic showers, ok? spock takes baths and jim loves sitting under steaming water for the drama. that is all. hope you enjoy, anon!

now on ao3!!!

~*~*~*~

Jim was toweling his hair dry when he re-entered his quarters, screwing his face up as he scrubbed at any residual dampness. He let the towel fall in an open loop around his neck, cotton sleep pants slipping down his waist as he leaned against the partition. Spock was there, of course. Jim watched as he diligently smoothed the sleeves of a green dress tunic laid out over his mattress.

And, my, was Spock a sight for sore eyes. The reflective blue complimented him, each fold capturing light like shards of zircon, lattice trim evoking something almost… royal, in the way it climbed his high collar. Jim’s eyes traced the line of gold down Spock’s chest as soon as the Vulcan turned to find him there.

“Dressings suit you,” he murmured by means of explanation, pushing off the wall and taking a few slow steps to close the space between them. He propped both arms against Spock’s shoulders, extending them into the room with loose, lazy wrists.

For so long he had savored these moments of up-close observation, even going so far as to fabricate close quarters on multiple occasions just so he could drink Spock in. The shades of barely-there greens surrounding his lips, touching the hollows of his cheeks, arching over where his nostrils met the bridge of his nose. Short, dark lashes lining irises the color of a mud-settled pond. Of tadpoles. Of space between stars.

“You have a significant bias, Captain."

“Do I?” Jim's gaze dropped to Spock’s lower lip. “Based on the evidence,” he dragged his finger down that seam of gold, “I’d say we’re dealing in objective fact, Mr. Spock.”

Spock finally angled his face lower so their lips were mere centimeters apart.

“Aesthetic preferences cannot be objective.”

Jim’s smirk only grew before he finally captured Spock’s mouth, letting a satisfied breath out through his nose. Spock met him, hands bracketing his waist before sliding upward over skin, eventually finding the nape of his neck where fingers curled into damp hair…

Spock broke the kiss and Jim hummed in protest, blinking his eyes open.

“I’ve noticed an increase in the length of your hair,” he observed, as if commenting on the weather. Spock's eyes rose to watch his fingers card through the wave of Jim’s bangs.

“Is that right?”

“I estimate it has exceeded typical length by 2.51 centimeters.”

“Hm. I suppose it has been a while since I had a trim. Remind me after the delegation-”

“We have time presently, if you are amenable.”

Jim drew back, giving Spock an amused look. “I doubt the salon will be accepting appointments at this hour, Spock. Even for the Captain.”

He curled his fingers over the nape of Jim’s neck again.

“I perform my own haircuts.”

Jim’s brows shot up even further in surprise, still sporting an open mouthed grin which he laughed brightly through. “You want to cut my hair?” He withdrew his arms so he could place one hand on either side of Spock’s neck, thumbs just reaching each corner of his jaw. “I’m not sure I could pull off your cut, sweetheart,” he joked.

Spock didn’t answer aside from a quirk of his lips, accepting the implied agreement before extracting himself and moving past Jim to the door of their adjoined bathroom. Jim watched him go, once more thanking Starfleet for their choice of dress uniforms, and still hadn't looked elsewhere by the time he returned holding a basin and several utensils. Jim knew that Spock preferred his own grooming routines (right down to the fingernails), but he wasn’t expecting the fine golden scissors. Nor did he expect the straight razor which resembled antiques from Earth, yet was still different somehow. He reached for the handle, turning it over in his hands, appreciating the way it gleamed.

“You’ve never shown me these.”

“It has not been pertinent until now.”

Jim placed the razor back into the basin, supposing that was true.

“Come,” Spock requested, and Jim did, allowing himself to be turned so Spock stood at his back. Gentle fingers slid the towel from his neck and draped it over his shoulders.

“Sit.”

And Jim did again, lowering himself into the desk chair Spock had wheeled around. He began pulling strands of hair upward and letting them fall free, so Jim shut his eyes, almost losing himself to the sensation until he heard a snip. The very end of a curl tumbled down the length of his arm and fell to the floor. He peered down at it, prompting Spock’s hands to wrap around his head and face it forward once more.

“Remain still, k’diwa.”

Jim smiled, a warmth blooming throughout him. He loved when Spock called him that.

He continued to snip here and there, a halo of trimmed hair quickly forming around them. Jim relaxed into the contact until once again a sound roused him. Water. He cracked one eye open to see Spock running his fingers over the surface of a clear pool now filling the basin, flicking droplets back inside and combing the moisture through his hair.

“Could get used to this,” Jim murmured. Snip.

“I have no objection to making it a regular practice.”

He grinned, shivering briefly as cold droplets rolled down his neck to be absorbed into the towel.

“Apologies.”

“No, no. Feels nice.”

Snip. Snip. Then, Jim saw in his peripheral as Spock set the scissors down on his desk. Gentle pressure on the back of his head tilted it downward, chin to chest. More swishing in the water.

“Do not move,” Spock directed more seriously, and a moment later Jim felt the press of sharp metal scraping down the lines of his neck. He swallowed, hairs on his arms raising as Spock diligently shaped the bottom of his hairline. Slow. Careful. He felt a hot flash of trust, of comfort and care skittering over him until the pressure from Spock’s hand released. Jim didn’t immediately raise his head, allowing Spock to trace his fingers over the line, inspecting it by touch.

The same hand soon reached around to tip Jim’s chin back up. He continued the movement until he was craned back as far as he could go, sure he looked ridiculous as he peered up at Spock, batting his eyelashes.

“You know, the barber usually kisses me once he’s finished.”

Spock’s second brow rose to meet the first before he bent at the middle, pressing a chaste kiss to Jim’s lips upside down.

“I do not find that amusing,” he murmured. Jim brought his hand up to the back of Spock’s neck to pull him back down for second kiss before he could pull away, lingering this time, smiling into it before releasing his hold. He could hear Spock smooth the lines of his uniform and draw a short breath through his nose.

“Regardless, I am not yet finished.”

When Jim tried to twist in his chair, he found Spock already circling around to his front.

“You aren’t?”

“You have not shaved.”

Jim blinked. He usually just used a photon shaver on his way out the door, which could be done in an instant, but when hazel eyes fell to see the razor still held in Spock’s hand his lips curled. He flashed his eyes back up.

“Okay,” he answered with a slow nod. He settled back in the chair as Spock moved to stand closer, eclipsing the ceiling light, and when a hand reached for his face he leaned into the touch readily. Spock's thumb swiped over the rough stubble covering his chin, then fell away again.

After smoothing a layer of lotion that smelled like desert spices over the bottom half of Jim's face, Spock began his ministrations high on each cheek, making smooth swipes downward and carefully steering the blade around the corners of Jim's mouth. He relaxed his jaw, lips parting, eyes falling shut of their own accord. Spock eventually brought his hand to one side, propping Jim's face against his palm as he shaved along the opposite edge.

By the time he recognized the warm feeling wrapping itself around him, the tightening thread pulling through his mind and lifting him from the world, Jim was already plummeting through space. He was vaguely aware, somewhere, of his physical body falling into Spock, a cold hand meeting the drop of his head with gentle steadiness.

K'diwa.

Spock!

Delight spun through him in tendrils. He rushed forward, coiled around Spock’s presence, reached inside and felt the beating of his heart like it was his own.

Jim. His name was feather light, yet somehow more insistent. Echoes bounced around them before Spock brought him back to center. My intention was not to meld with you.

Then I must be dreaming, he thought warmly, and suddenly Spock was there before him in swirls of shimmering twilight, pulling him by the hand, by his chin. He felt his warmth from the inside out. Like he had swallowed a sun. Like he could never be cold again.

Return to me, k'diwa. I must finish.

“I love when you call me that.”

The words, his own voice, were what pulled him back to reality. Their faces were mere inches apart. His cheek was wet. He smelled spices around him, felt humidity in the room. Suddenly, Jim remembered the task at hand and blood rushed to color his face, but the expression he found on Spock’s was fond. Soft. His fingers followed Jim’s chin as it drew back before letting the contact cease altogether.

“Did I…?”

Spock nodded once. Jim bit his lip.

“Sorry.”

He shook his head, denying the apology. “My hand placement was unwise. I admit, I was distracted.”

Jim’s embarrassed grimace began to lift into a self-satisfied smile.

“You, distracted? I'd be curious to know what could've managed such a thing.”

Spock said nothing at first. He placed a considerably more careful hand on top of Jim’s head to steady it.

“Aesthetics.”

And Jim let Spock steer his head sideways once more before feeling the cool metal touch back down on his skin. This time the path began just below the line of his jaw, trailing down and catching fine hairs along the column of his throat. When he could, he tried to catch a glimpse of the unwavering concentration on Spock’s face as he worked his way across.

“You do this every morning?” Jim all but whispered as his head was allowed to level. He instinctively brought a hand up to feel the smooth skin, running his fingers over it in appraisal.

“My metabolism has adjusted to living aboard the Enterprise. I only require this level of grooming approximately once every twenty one standard days.”

Jim blinked. How was he still learning new things about Spock, even after all this time? He supposed that explained why he never had a hair out of place- that is, unless Jim had something to say about it behind closed doors.

Spock was inspecting him now, dark eyes roaming his face, searching for any neglected spots over it's surface. Jim sat still, defiantly keeping his gaze steady until those eyes met his again. They both held it for a prolonged moment until Spock reached out, touching his thumb to what must be a single hair left behind. His fingers climbed…

Jim couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted to. He surged forward again, their minds coming together like a flood as if protesting the premature ending from before. As always, Spock was there to catch him. Arms twined around, undefined and abstract, embracing him from all directions. He was steady, as if he himself were the solid ground on which they stood, as if Jim would float away and cease to be without him there. His tether. His anchor. His north star.

Hello, ashayam.

Spock, Jim practically sang. Not for the first time, he felt a certain sort of music shivering free in a distant part of his mind. A single note hanging suspended in the fog. He wanted to hum along, to stretch it into a tune that could be carried by birds, a song composed for a symphony, but instead he simply reached for Spock and thought you’re here, you’re here, you’re here as they twisted together.

Always.

He felt love float up between them, lifting like bubbles from vents below the sea and racing for the surface. Oranges and pinks brightened in the periphery, dropping off into blue below. He marveled inwardly, distracted by the space that was all their own before his attention was drawn to a thought passing over him. Uncertainty. Spock was the one who put words to it.

You are nervous.

It was as if Jim hadn’t recognized the ache in his stomach until then.

That is why you are seeking me. K’diwa. Come.

Clarity. Sense. Logic. Jim followed him into an embrace of sensation; Lying against Spock’s chest in the morning. Finding his hand below the table without having to look. Kissing him in the dark. All at once it came over him, settled inside him. Comfort. Home.

Your nerves are unwarranted. You have prepared thoroughly.

So did the admiralty when the delegation turned them down.

You are Jim Kirk. Decidedly, not the admiralty.

Jim laughed, and the music came back distantly. Bells.

Spock continued. I, for one, have historically found it difficult to deny you.

Jim could feel the ache within him begin to subside as quickly as it had come, could practically feel Spock pulling it from him. He reached out again, hand closing around a wrist which was not there before he decided to hold onto it.

I love you.

And I, you, ashaya.

And with that, the meld began to abate, turning to mist and leaving only filtered sunlight behind Jim’s eyes. His quarters returned to him like waves of a dream. He sighed, nodding forward until the hand supporting his chin steadied him enough for him to open his eyes.

“Are you comforted, Jim?”

And the question was so sincere, he felt his heart reeling in appreciation for the man before him.

“I am, thank you,” he murmured, and seemingly satisfied, Spock brought the razor up and grazed it over the missed spot on his cheek. He wordlessly gathered his belongings, submerged in the now frothy water, and disappeared to return them to his quarters.

Jim raised a hand to ghost over the spot their foreheads had met and thought back to a time long ago, when they were practically strangers. Spock's words to him...

If I seem insensitive to what you’re going through, Captain, understand… it’s the way I am.

Spock’s brow lifted when he caught Jim watching him a beat longer than he should have. He was standing in the doorway now, drying his hands, and all Jim could think was how could I have let him be so wrong?

All he said, however, was, “How do I look?”

“Tempting,” Spock answered without hesitation.

Jim’s grin warmed several degrees. “That is what I was going for.”

After taking a moment to appreciate the curve of Spock’s lips, reserved just for him to see, he finally stood to face the green tunic laid out with such care on his bed. Unsurprisingly, each medal was already pinned in perfect position. He ran the backs of his fingers over the dyed fabric, parted it, smiled when he found his undershirt neatly folded there, too. He imagined Spock alone in the room as he had been washing up. His careful movements, so precise and so graceful at the same time, always yielding perfect results. Point A to point B. The path of least resistance. Jim sometimes marveled that Spock, in all his simplicity, could tolerate him at all.

A hand pressed to the small of his back, their hips touching as Spock reached for the undershirt. He presented it to Jim, who pulled it over his head, emerging to find Spock holding his tunic out for him to slide his arms into.

“I’m beginning to feel rather spoiled,” he teased before sliding one arm in, turning, sliding in the other. He leaned back and Spock wrapped his arms around him, closed the shirt over his chest, bowed his head to tuck himself into Jim’s neck. Lips pressed to his pulse. One. Two. Three.

“You are worthy of the treatment, Captain.”

Jim shut his eyes. Captain. It was spoken like a name. Like found treasure. Like he’d follow him anywhere.

He turned again so they would be face to face, leaving some space for Spock’s hands which immediately sought out his sleeves to soothe them down his arms. Comfortable silence enveloped them as Spock resumed closing his cuffs, tightening the material around his wrists and sliding each gold disk through their respective slots.

“Thank you,” Jim said again sweetly once he was finished, reaching two fingers out to find Spock’s and pressing the tips of them together. As he so often did, Spock looked down at the contact, observing it as he pushed more purposefully along Jim’s fingers, up over the first fold of his palm.

“I am confident you will be successful.”

“What, I don’t get to hear the odds?”

Spock’s grip flexed inside Jim’s, their fingers laced now. Reverent. Devout. Jim squeezed back.

“I could provide them, however I see little point as it is your tendency to defy all probability.”

Jim leaned up on his toes to press a kiss to Spock’s cheek, delighted to leave behind the faintest imprint of sage.

“Perfectly logical, Mr. Spock. As always.”

[naranjapetrificada]

Waking up with plans to write but instead Having A Think about translating Izzy's concretes to an AU setting, as well as the particular challenges of writing him in the style I have.

Namely: when you're used to writing deep inside a character's head and finding inspiration in imagery, how the fuck are you supposed to handle this guy? How the fuck is a writer like me supposed to be anything but completely laid flat by him between paragraphs?

Most characters in most stories, even and sometimes especially antagonists and villains, are capable of taking joy in something at some point, even if it's something an audience finds morally or aesthetically or socially repugnant. The simple capacity to enjoy things and imagine past and future times when things have been enjoyed/could later be enjoyed is such a human thing that it's relatable or at least compelling when we see even a loathed villain laugh maniacally or revel in the chance to lay out their plan or swell with "righteous" indignation as they talk or think about the ways the world has wronged them. But how much "joy" (or anything even close to it) do we see Izzy experience or express?

We see him smile a few times (or at least seem amused) I'll grant you, but let's think about those times and what's missing from them. I'm going to focus on season 1 because I don't find his rehabilitation in season 2 to be interesting or compelling enough to translate to this AU.

He seems amused when he's trying to put Lucius "in his place" in s1e5. He smiles creepily during both the "there he is" and "Blackbeard is himself again" moments in s1e10. You can argue that maybe he seems...content during multiple moments where he gets to bark orders and bully people, especially in s2e9 when he gets to briefly play at being a captain. The rare enough moments when we see him doing anything that seems like it's even in the same neighborhood are built around what he does to other people, and about feeling like he has power. But where's the engagement with that?

Is he experiencing enjoyment? Does he bother staying to watch his barked orders carried out? Does he savor his steak more after Fang salts it or does he just keep chewing? Does he relish touching Ed's face or even the way his words make Ed shrink back into himself? What on earth does he feel about seeing his own cause and effect in action? The only thing season 1 Izzy seems to actually like is misery, while also being incapable of truly relishing it. It's a believable phenomenon, but fuck is it miserable for me to write.

And I don't mean like "oh god that character has been through so much and spending time in their head has given me an empathy hangover," because it feels like there's an emptiness to Izzy's season 1 misery. It's a tar pit. It's a black hole that pulls in everything around it, but does so without taking note of its awesome power to do so. It's a character who (at least before season 2) drinks because that's what you do, but not because it tastes good or bad or like anything in particular at all.

In the bit of POV he has in my draft, there's still so, so much sensory detail because I can't write without it. In revision I've tried blunting or inverting those details into things Izzy notices but maybe doesn't extemporize on the way other characters would, or if he does it's to complain. But I'm still not comfortable with doing it or pleased with the results coming from it and I don't know how to get past that right now. It's truly exhausting to be mean and joyless and express zero wonder in the world around you, and while that feels appropriate for the Izzy concretes I'm carrying over to my AU, it's not something I have any idea how to write without drowning in misery myself.

[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Act II- Chapter Fourteen

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Crying, Implied Death, Malpractice, Lying, Realization, Flashbacks, suspicion,

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter @dilfdemolisher

Twisted Minds Masterlist

HANNIBAL LECTER’S HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT-

Hannibal stands across the island from Jack Crawford, who studies him intently. Jack’s mouth is moving, but we only hear Hannibal’s RHYTHMIC BREATHING and HEARTBEAT against the

backdrop of his HUMMING CIRCULATORY SYSTEM. Hannibal takes a breath and exhales, and SOUND RETURNS TO NORMAL. A dawning concern is washing over Jack Crawford.Then something subtle changes in Hannibal’s eyes, almost immeasurable. But Jack Crawford measures it. We hear his RHYTHMIC BREATHING and HEARTBEAT, which beats steadily over

the next action, but eerily does not accelerate. Jack’s hand drifts toward his coat, brushing his thumb across the fasten of his sidearm holster. TIME SUDDENLY SLOWS AS HANNIBAL THROWING HIS KITCHEN KNIFE AT JACK. Jack Crawford dives out of the way as he draws his gun from his holster and SHLUCK... Hannibal’s KNIFE MOVES THROUGH Jack’s hand at the wrist, his gun clatters to the floor. Hannibal vaults over the kitchen counter as Jack pulls the

knife out of his wrist, swinging it immediately. The blade whisks through the air, narrowly missing Hannibal. He yanks another knife from the cutting board and swings it in a deadly arc. Jack jackknifes his torso to avoid the blade, slashing back at Hannibal with quick swipes.

Hannibal deflects Jack’s knife with his own and they dodge, parry and block each other’s blades.

Jack thrusts and slices into Hannibal’s waist, who twists around the knife, knocking it from Jack’s grip. Hannibal lunges his knife at Jack’s belly, meaning to gut him. Jack blocks the knife with a cutting board and then smashes the cutting board into the side of Hannibal’s head, knocking him off balance, but not quite down.

He grabs Hannibal and bodily swings him crashing into the cupboards. Hannibal throws his weight back at Jack, driving him across the kitchen, but not far. Jack is solid. Jack maneuvers his arms around Hannibal’s throat and begins to squeeze a chokehold. Hannibal writhes and kicks, trying to throw Jack off balance, but to no avail. His eyelids flutter and pinch as he tries to focus and remain conscious. His body goes limp and he slumps in Jack’s arms... just enough for his shoulder to drop and allow his hand to reach a SHARD OF GLASS on the floor.

Hannibal plunges the SHARD OF GLASS into Jack’s neck. He recoils and stumbles back, clutching his neck. Hannibal acts quickly, picking up a butcher knife and turning on Jack. Still clutching his neck, Jack stumbles back into… THE PANTRY Jack falls inside, kicking the door closed on the advancing Hannibal. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. Hannibal throws his shoulder

into the pantry door, Jack’s foot braced against it.

Jack holds his neck wound with one hand as he fumbles for his phone with the other. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. The door splinters.

TWELVE WEEKS EARLIER - HANNIBAL LECTER’S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

Hannibal ENTERS carrying two tastefully-ornate Japanese serving trays displaying their arrangements of food.“This course is called mukozuke. Seasonal sashimi. Sea urchin, water clams and squid.” Hannibal places Jack’s dish in front of him. “Beautiful.”

“Kaiseki. A Japanese art form that honors the taste and aesthetic of what we eat.” Hannibal smiles while explaining.  “I feel guilty eating it.”

“I never feel guilty eating anything.” Jack tastes the sashimi, savoring it, then: “Can’t quite place the fish.”

“He was a flounder. I last prepared this meal for my Aunt Murasaki under similarly- unfortunate circumstances.” Hannibal says as he reaches for his wine with an eloquent posterior.  “What circumstances were those?” Jack ask politely, “A loss. This is a loss. Will is a loss. We’re mourning a death.”

“Will’s "death" is on me.” Jack says with guilt and sadness leaking from the very essence of him. “It’s on both of us.” Hannibal says noticing the guilt. “It’s the last thing I think about going to sleep and the first thing I think about when I wake up.  Will’s gonna be convicted of five murders. I’ll be convicted of one.”

“You’re not on trial.” Hannibal says as he takes a sip of his wine and sets down his glass. “I will be. In the halls of the FBI. So will you. According to Will Graham, this was all you.” Jack points out. “Will was one of  your bloodhounds. You can’t ignore where he points.”

“I’m not ignoring it.” The words hang in the air a moment. “You have to investigate me. It’s in my best interest, and yours.”

“I’m also not ignoring the fact that one of my bloodhounds went mad before pointing your direction.” Jack says, “We can’t define Will only by his maddest edges.”

“We can’t define Will at all.” OFF that somber note...

RIVER - DAY-

On the pebbled banks, tall mature pines give way to a snow-capped mountain range in the distance. Yet we don’t hear a sound except for a steady RHYTHMIC BREATHING and HEARTBEAT amplified by the skull arena. navigate the river, a LONE FLY FISHERMAN wearing waders appears up ahead. Thigh deep in the water, we soon realize the angler is:

WILL GRAHAM A peaceful expression on his face, Will gracefully casts his fly into the water and waits for a fish to bite. His RHYTHMIC BREATHING and HEARTBEAT the only sounds we hear.

He couldn't be happier. He's a long way (emotionally and physically) from the jail cell where we last saw him. The quality and direction of light has changed. CAMERA

BSHCI - THERAPY HALL - DAY-

Will sits shackled inside ONE of SIX CAGE-LIKE CELLS lined up in a semicircle facing DR. FREDERICK CHILTON, who speaks MOS as Will stares into middle distance, ignoring him. Will’s BREATHING and HEARTBEAT all we hear.

RIVER - DAY- 

Will casts a new line and waits. On the bank of the river, the BLACK STAG slowly approaches. Will stops, remaining still as to not spook the beast. The black stag suddenly startles and bolts. But before Will can question what set it off, a TUG on his line reveals he's caught something.

Will works to reel in his catch, but whatever lurks beneath the dark waters is big. And strong.

Then... A BROAD, BLACK PAIR OF ANTLERS pierces the water's surface and pushes into the air. The skeletal MAN STAG rises from the water. And we --

BSHCI - THERAPY HALL - DAY-

Will startles out of the virtual reality of his mind that suddenly turned against him. “What did you say?” Will asks as e comes out of his daze abruptly. “I said, how does that make you feel?” Will focuses and finally turns to look at Dr. Chilton. “Makes me feel like I’m sitting in a dunking tank and you’re lobbing softballs, hoping to make a splash, but you keep missing the target.” Will says with a distaste for the man in front of him.

“Fortunately, I have time for a few more lobs. You’re in my hospital. You’re my patient now, Will.” Chilton says with a smirk. “I’m not talking to you, Frederick. I want to talk to Dr. Lecter.”

THROUGH THE BARS The CLICK of the VISITOR'S HEEL transforms into a hollower,

heavier hoof CLOP. The SHADOW OF ANTLERS crawls eerily across the floor, the harbinger of something terrible. Finally, ONE BLACK HOOF STEPS INTO FRAME. Will’s eyes remain closed, until...“Hello, Will.” Will opens his eyes, sees Hannibal standing outside his cell. “Dr. Lecter.” 

“Lost in thought?” Hannibal inquires, but why does one inquire when their friend has become their foe but unknowingly to you. “Not lost. Not anymore……I used to hear my thoughts inside my skull with the same tone, timbre and accent as if the words were coming out of my mouth.” Will says as the muscle in his jaw ticks.  “And now?” 

“Now my inner voice sounds like you. I can't get you out of my head.” Will says, to somebody else he’d sound crazy, maybe he was. But to Hannibal this was all a game, something to entertain himself with. Kind of like watching the world drown in fire. “Friendship can sometimes involve a breach of individual separateness.”

“A blurring of self and friend?” Will cocks an eyebrow, “Yes.”

“You're not my friend. The light from friendship won't reach us for a  million years. That's how far

away from friendship we are.” Will states with a scoff as he glares at the man he belie- no not believes Knows. He knows Hannibal is the one who is framing him, He just knows it. “I imagine it's easier to believe I am responsible for those murders than it is to accept that you are.” 

“Sure is.” Will says bitterly.  

“Your inner voice can provide a method of taking control of your behavior. Accepting responsibility for what you've done. Giving those thoughts words encourages clarity.” Hannibal says as he watches the man he claims as a Friend. 

“I have clarity. About you.” Hannibal blinks, adjusts his tack. “Our conversations, Will, were only ever about you opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.” Will steps closer to the bars, closing the distance between them. Only inches now, but separated by the barrier.

“What you did to me is in my head and I’ll find it. I’m going to remember, Dr. Lecter, and when I

do, there will be a reckoning.” Hannibal smiles at this, nods. Proud. “I've got huge faith in you, Will. I always have…”

FIELD/WILL GRAHAM'S HOUSE - DAY-

Y/N is running Will Graham's PACK OF DOGS, watching them chase each other through the grass, She’s on the phone with Will.  “How are the dogs?” the field is next to WILL GRAHAM'S FARMHOUSE. “Good.” Y/N heads towards Will's FRONT PORCH, where WINSTON lies curled up at the base of the door.

“Winston keeps running away, but the others are adjusting.” Y/N sits on the steps, puts a comforting hand on Winston. “Where does Winston go?”

ALANA BLOOM (V.O.)

“Home.”

She fastens three dogs' harnesses to their corresponding belts in the backseat. The three in the back hatch are already harnessed and belted. Y/N shuts the hatch of her trunk and turns back to Winston on the porch. “Come on.” Winston reluctantly crawls into the passenger seat and Y/N fastens his harness to the belt and latches it.

“Watch your tail.” She moves Winston's tail out of the way and shuts the door.

BSHCI - STAIRWAY - DAY-

Y/N descends the staircase, walking past an ARMED NURSES' STATION with TWO NURSES and a GUARD.

“He's not going to find me there.” Will says continuing our conversation from earlier. He recognizes the clicking of my heels.  “Not today. But maybe one day. He might. I hope that he might.” I approach the bars that separate her from the main cell block, glancing over at the Nurse with a polite smile. The Nurse nods and the GATE KLAXON SOUNDS as it rolls OPEN.

“With the right defense.”

BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM'S CELL - DAY-

I sit on a folding chair opposite Will, outside his cage. “I don't currently have legal representation.” Will says softly, I sigh deeply; “You keep firing your lawyers.”

“They're the FBI's lawyers.” Will says with a raised brow and i roll my eyes with a soft chuckle. “Then I'll find you a lawyer who's not affiliated with the FBI.” I tell him as i lean forward.  “What defense do you think I have?” Will asks me incredulously, “Automatism. Allows a defendant to argue they shouldn't be held criminally liable for their actions due to unconsciousness.” I explain to him softly.

“Unconsciousness?” Will questions me. “Neurological dysfunctions like encephalitis can be considered an acceptable excusing condition.” I explain solemnly. “Presuming I did it.”

“Your mind was on fire. You didn't have any control of what you were doing, much less remember doing it.” I say gently as I place a hand on his, I wish I could kiss him. “What if I could remember? What if I remember how this was done to me?” Will says as he grips my hand and rubs circles with his thumb on my hand. 

“What if you remember how you did it?”

BSHCI - DR. CHILTON’S OFFICE - DAY-

Reveal Dr. Chilton wearing headphones as he listens to this conversation on his laptop via a concealed microphone. A red light on the screen indicates he is recording...

“You believe Hannibal….”In actuality Will knows Y/N doesn't believe Hannibal-- a pleased-with-himself smile on his lips...

BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM'S CELL - DAY-

“I believe the Will Graham sitting across from me now is incapable of that violence. I believe you lost your mind and, for periods of time, you weren't the Will Graham I know.” It hurts me to say this ...Because its true…but- Will has Evolved as a person, he now knows that people he thought he could trust he might not be able too anymore. 

“I hear Hannibal's voice in the well of my mind. I hear him saying words he's never said to me. It isn't my imagination. It's something else. Have you ever helped a patient recover memories?”

A SLOW SWINGING PENDULUM  It could be a decriminalization FWUM-FWUM, but then --

to reveal Y/N sitting behind a METRONOME that emits a regular PULSE OF LIGHT. PWUM. PWUM. PWUM. PWUM.

BSHCI - PRIVACY ROOM - DAY-

 Will Graham, hands in cuffs, shackled to a bar in the table.Y/N speaks as the METRONOME moves back and forth. PWUM.PWUM. PWUM. Her voice slow, soft and reassuring… Will does as she commands – “Close your eyes.”

We hear Will’s HEARTBEAT slowing down. Gradually his HEARTBEAT matches rhythm with the metronome's PWUM. “Feel the heaviness in your limbs…” WILL GRAHAM, eyes closed. PWUM. PWUM. PWUM. DARKNESS PWUM. The METRONOME PULSES, briefly illuminating Y/N in the darkness before plunging her into shadow once more. PWUM. PWUM. Y/N appears to be coated with a tarry black shadow, her features barely distinguishable as she speaks: “Imagine yourself in a safe and relaxing place…”

Will watches as SHADOW Y/N moves closer, seductively… “...safe and secure here, safe to relax completely…” PWUM. Shadow Y/N leans in for a kiss, lips parting...“No matter how deeply you go…” PWUM. The tar of Shadow Y/N washes over Will in a kiss. “...my voice will go with you.” PWUM. WILL GRAHAM’S EYES OPEN

HANNIBAL LECTER'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

Will sits at the end of the table covered with an elaborate feast, meats and fruits overflowing from their dishes. PWUM. PWUM. The REFLECTIVE LIGHT of the METRONOME washes over him. “Now that we're in a safe place...listen.” the LARGE BLACK ANTLERS sitting directly across the table from Will Graham. “Can you tell me what you hear?” THE WENDIGO MAN STAG It sits at the head of the table.

“See? See?” Will glances down and sees an EAR, bloodied and torn, lying in front of him on his plate. Will opens his eyes abruptly, breaking the hypnosis.

BSHCI - PRIVACY ROOM - DAY-

I turn off the METRONOME and its PULSING LIGHT FADES. Will is visibly shaken from the haunting images in his head. “This isn't working.” “What did you see?” He doesn't respond. She reaches across the table and wraps his manacled hands in her own. Holds Will's gaze. “Will. What did you see?”

RIVER - DAY-

Now a CRIME SCENE. Jack Crawford stands, looking down into the dam pit where BRIAN ZELLER and JIMMY PRICE are in haz-chem waders and gear, down in the water. A small hoist is carefully raising a badly-decomposed corpse from the water as they oversee. Technicians address THREE MORE BODIES, one with a deep footprint in its abdomen. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Lecter. I was hoping you along with Dr. L/N could help me with a psychological profile.” As Hannibal nods, he allows Beverly and Jack to see him feign a slight unease at the bodies, averting his eyes for effect.

“We're standing in people soup.” Zeller says groaning in an annoyed way. “We're spoons. And it's gazpacho.” Jimmy says with an amused smirk as he looks at Zeller. “What?” Zeller raises an eyebrow and gives him a ‘what the fuck’ face. “It’s cold. So it’s gazpacho.” Jimmy says nonchalantly.  “I thought that was vichyssoise.” Zeller says with a confused face.

“This is number four. At least one more down there.” Jack says to me and Hannibal, who Jack is seemingly making my ‘new partner’. “How long have they been here?” Hannibal asks from beside me as he looks at the bodies. 

“Hard to say. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to preserve them. Been coated with some kind of resin.”

“Big guy was partially sealed. Rotting from the inside out. Other three look like they were embalmed.” Bev says as she taps one of the bodies with her pen. “Whatever he's doing, he's still figuring out how to do it.”  Hannibal approaches the bodies and studies their shape. “Were they injected with silicone?” I ask, as I crouch beside the body as I have just donned some latex gloves. 

“They were injected with something.” Jack turns to Me, curious what i'll say next.

“A technique for making resin-coated models out of fish. Helps the body retain a lively shape in death.” Hannibal says for me, but jack doesn't seem to get it so i’ma dumb it down. “He's making human models.”

“Make models out of things you keep. These were tossed in the river.”Jack says confused, 

“Then they were imperfect.” Hannibal says, then he looks at me. Just gazing. He normally watches Will, but now he gets to watch me. But this time he's getting watched as well.

BAU - MORGUE - DAY-

TWO BODIES (including the bloated body with a footprint in its abdomen) on drawers and FOUR BODIES on tables. “Dental and medical records placed the six. All adults, men and women, different ages, different ethnicities, from different states”  L/N, Zeller, Price and Katz 

“Nothing in common except they lived alone and disappeared from their homes with their vehicles.” Zeller says and Jimmy piggybacks off of that. “And they all had large amounts of heroin in their systems.” Jimmy points out on the screen which had large trace amounts of heroin in their system. “Enough to be the cause of death?” Jack asks as he looks at the screen. “And then some.” I say as I lean back on the empty examination table, something Will had done often but now it is I who has taken his place. Will I fall. Or will someone push me?....

Jack studies the non-bloated bodies. “There's unusual skin discoloration in these bodies.” Jack points out, Beverly flips a page on her clipboard; “We found traces of BHT, which is a color preservative.” Bev says as she shows Jack. 

“He wants them to look alive.” Jack takes that in. “He shoots them up with a little china white, injects preservatives. Fills their bodies with silicone so they don't emaciate, then seals them in a hard resin shell.” Zeller says as he clasps his hands together loudly and rubs them together. “Maybe he's making mannequins out of real people. Like in that Tanya Roberts movie from the '70s.” JImmy says as Jack moves on to the laceration patterns on the corpses.

“What are these punctures?” 

“Eyelets. Something was threaded through. Bodies were likely strung up. Mounted or presented.” Zeller says,whats with these killers and mounting their victims like pieces of art…..wait a damn minute.  “How is he choosing them?” Jack asks, i keep my realisation to myself. I need to discuss it with Will, or even Hannibal. I gotta get closer to him. 

“We've got nothing. Appears random. But if this is the discard pile, I'm curious how many were keepers.” Bev says, If only they looked closer see the shade difference. “I want a list of any missing persons who disappeared with their vehicles in the surrounding states.” Jack looks to Beverly as Jimmy and Brian hop to it…

WILL GRAHAM'S HOUSE - DAY

I go inside to find Jack sitting against the wall, Winston's head in his lap, nuzzling his hand. “Hello, Jack.” I say softly, i avoid his eyes. He keeps his eyes on me as he pets Winston.“You need to take better care of this dog.” Jack says gently, hes not mad at me

“I feel horrible. I got all the dogs chipped. Least they're not running away to anywhere I can't find them.” I say with a deep sigh as i smile and crouch next to Winston.“He's looking for Will.” Jack states out the obvious, i sigh and look at him. “Isn't that why you're here?” Jack acknowledges that with a small nod, then: “I understand why Alana felt she had to file that report. You both questioned my judgment when my judgment needed to be questioned.” He says understandingly.

 “Yes, it did.” Jack appreciates her bluntness. “It's going to help Will's defense if it's on record.”  Jack says and gives me a knowing look. “Yes, it will.” Jack now clearly understanding that Alana threw him under the bus in a desperate attempt to save Will Graham.

“How is his defense coming along?” Jack asks me, “Declaring Hannibal's guilt is more important to Will than establishing his own defense.” I say sadly, or at least i act sad. Ive known something was wrong about Hannibal, Will is giving me a chance to figure out just what. And i’m not Fucking it up. 

“Hannibal's not guilty.” Jack says, if only Jack knew what i did. “Neither is Will. He's clinging to the hope Hannibal did this so he doesn't have to face what he did.” I pretend to support both sides, but my loyalty lies with the innocent. “I envy your certainty about him.” Jack says to me genuinly, “You used to be certain.” I say to him with a soft sad smile. Everyone had used to be certain. 

“Convince me he didn't know what he was doing. I want to be convinced.” Jack expresses sadly,he desperatly wants to be right about his decisions with Will. “A psychopath wouldn't be so scared of the truth, Jack. And Will's terrified, but that's not stopping him from trying to find it.” I say to Jack softly. “Somebody needs to find the truth.”

“We are who we are in the now, and we are the sum of our memories. If Will doesn't remember what he did, he'll never accept the truth.” OFF the tableau of Jack, Y/N and Winston...

BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM’S CELL - DAY

Will Graham sits at his table, looking at a compartmented tray of food. Pulls back the cellophane and regards the unappetizing meal. Mashed potatoes, gray vegetables and overdone meat that he struggles to cut with a plastic knife. He puts it to his mouth and chews.

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - NIGHT-

Will sits in a chair at the table, head held back, eyes rolling as a metal tube is forced between his teeth. A plastic-sheathed arm holds his head/throat in an embrace. Hannibal’s face comes into CLOSE FOCUS and he puts something down the tube... Hannibal pushes the food down with the handle of a wooden spoon... Hannibal removes the tube and pushes Will’s mouth and nose closed with one hand, as his embrace stays ever tight with the other...

Will’s face goes red, and then his throat works convulsively and he swallows. Hannibal releases his nose and mouth and Will gasps for air...Hannibal’s hand reaches for a loaded needle on the table, an empty one already lies beside it...Will still in that dreadful embrace --

HANNIBAL LECTER’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Beautiful classical music plays. We MOVE OFF the clock, across a broad desk and linger briefly on a leather-bound appointment book. On the page under 7:30, it says, "Will Graham." the book, across the floor to reveal we are in Hannibal’s office. Hannibal sits with a glass of wine,

staring into the empty chair where Will would have once sat. As the music soars, Hannibal’s face clouds...

BSHCI - PRIVACY ROOM - NIGHT

Will is chained to the table, watching, as Beverly and Y/N ENTER, the door closing and locking behind Them.“It's good to see you.” Will says as he gazes at us. “Don't know how I feel about seeing you. I'll let you know when I do.” Beverly says when she approaches the table that I am already sitting at. 

“Does Jack know you're here?” Will asks us, i smirk slyly. “No, but he shouldn't be surprised.” I say with an eyeroll. “I'm surprised.” Will says more towards bev than me. “She’s compartmentalizing. I’m trying to make sure I'm right. A lot of people are missing.” I point to bev and then to myself. “Do you have the file with you?” Bev hands him the file. “Yes.”

“And pictures.”

“Yes.” i open a file and show him the six victims from the soup. “The first six bodies ended up in the same place. Dumped in a river, caught in a beaver dam.” Bev says as i pull out the photos and place them on the table. “What does he do to them?”

“He targets them, follows them home, abducts them and preserves them.”

“You want to know how he's choosing them, don't you?” Will asks Beverly more than me. “Thought you would have some ideas. Maybe confirm some of my own” I say as I grasp his hand softly. “This second group are all missing, under similar circumstances, from three different states.”

She hands him a bigger sheaf of photographs. Will takes it, focusses on the pictures, concentrates. I grasp his hands tightly. Our eyes lock on the photos. “Tell me what you see?”

We close our eyes and in the...DARKNESS OF OUR MINDS  A PENDULUM SWINGS. FWUM.

He OPENS HIS EYES and studies the faces in the MISSING PERSONS PICTURES as he flips through the photographs.

IN OUR MINDS The PENDULUM SWINGS. FWUM. A VICTIM'S FACE partially

illuminated by the reflective light of the PENDULUM. FWUM. Another VICTIM'S FACE. FWUM. Another. FWUM. Another. (NOTE: These are not pictures, but the actual VICTIMS staring into middle distance as the PENDULUM washes over them.) Will concentrates on the faces as he gathers the pictures up and fans them on the table and begins arranging them.

 Beverly watches as We slide the pictures around and around. The victims' pictures are now ordered according to skin tone --light to dark. He looks at Beverly. “It's a color palette.” My theory is confirmed, but is it because of a inside reflection of the artist's inner thoughts? Or does the artist feel like something is missing within himself.?

GRAIN SILO - NIGHT-

Darkness. dark eyes as they open. Roland Umber. He groans, struggles, gasps for air. He is stuck, trapped in close confinement. His eyes roll as he sees what he is trapped by and he starts to freak out. from his terrified face to reveal he is stitched along the arms and legs to other bodies, bent and formed around each other in a human tapestry. As a scream starts to build in Roland's throat...

[jenyifer]

The Trainee Ep 5 Initial Reaction

Oh thank god, Episode 5 is exactly what I wanted! Episode 4 was a bit dry and boring, but thankfully Episode 5 totally makes up for it. Some people commented last week saying I shouldn’t criticize the show just because I expect spicy stuff. But no, this is what I wanted—and surprise, it’s not about kissing. Sometimes it feels like people don’t really read what I write. I make these posts to remember the shows I’m watching, whether I enjoy them or not. It’s all just my opinion.

But anyway, Episode 5 was fantastic for both the main and side couples. We got to see the shallow crush of Bah-Mee and the gradual crush between Ryan and Jane. I was screaming for joy when they were walking home together, finally talking about something other than work. Honestly, that scene alone would’ve made me happy, but the episode gave me so much more!

Jane’s apartment gave me major "Theory of Love" vibes with its IKEA and creative core aesthetic. Anyway, let’s get to the photo review!

Awwww Pie does appreciate Ryan for his friendship and his skill. I love her.

Okay yeah this boy’s mentor’s are actually fucking up. 1. Give the intern the invoices is a 1 way trip to getting fired 2. Don’t even check in with the intern to make sure he’s doing it right.

Idk at my company money stuff is the most important thing I can’t imagine HR taking this lightly. I got in deep shit when I had to go on a business trip and didn’t have a properly lit receipt. Got emails every single day. I had to have every purchase and movement accounted for and I think that’s less important than a department’s invoices.

Hehehe Bah-Mee is too cute head empty girl

No noodles is bringing Punn back!!! *once this series is over it’s time to watch Gifted again* seeing Gun’s forehead is a rare treat that I shall savor ahah

Jane is turning his anxiety into his super power. I don’t think he’s as confident as he pretends it’s just hardened into “this is how it is.” He takes every job. Does it to the fullest never thinking of himself.

“Getting to know you, Getting to feel free and easy. When I am with you, Getting to know what to say. Haven’t you noticed? Suddenly I’m bright and breezy Because of all the beautiful and new Things I’m learning about you Day by day.” Them talking about what they like and bonding over who they really are hits me right in the feels.

I like that Jane NOT ONLY apologized but clearly explained why he had been overwhelmed and made the mistake in the first place. He really means it. Jane feels really bad that Ryan was so affected by his words. Just really precious.

First off all I adore this song by Nanon. Second both of the side couple are in love with the theory of being together but that’s how love can be. You are going through the motions of what you think a relationship is

Ryan being enchanted by Jane’s actions of giving him his clothes to wear is so heart warming and makes me giggle and kick my feet. Probably because stealing clothes is the peak of lesbian behavior. When you start sharing clothes you are close to discussing marriage plans with a girl hehehe.

[woozysioux]

girlblogger questions ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🦄

tysm for the tag @morbidteenagediaryy i'm honored that you think of me as a girlblogger 🖤🥹

🪻current fav songs

🪻obsession at the moment

nu metal (this is always my obsession not just at the moment 🖤)

checking my newest piercing every 0.25 seconds to make sure it hasn't fallen out of my face 🤣

concert movies & behind the music docs

that purple glow / neon city / cyberpunk-ish kinda aesthetic

arcology (architectural ecology)

savoring every last second of the cold weather before it starts getting warmer (aka instant death)

🪻 celebrity crush

jonathan davis

susan sarandon

jerry cantrell

(yeah i want a sugar mommy / daddy sue me)

🪻fav drink & food

coffee, bubble tea, lemondrop martinis

jerk chicken, bao buns, curry, homemade mac & cheese

🪻place i'd like to live

somewhere with a colder climate than where i currently live lmao

🪻style

like a love child between a dark spooky bitch & and hippie stoner

🪻hobbies

concerts / live music / music in general

hiking & kayaking

getting body mods

baking

ink drawing

nature / travel photography

crochet & domestic crafting

writing poetry that will never ever be seen by other human eyes

burning trees 🍃💨

🪻tagging:

@dreamoftheotherlife2 @littlemiss-stardust @mangosteine @satanlikedmymoxie @cleverbabyghoul @necrotic-biotic @beeczarbagel @sparklebussy @aspdsuicidal @ckozy (my apologies & feel free to ignore or change the wording of the post if you don't identify as a girl / feel uncomfortable with the term "girlblogger")

[yanderelmk]

I'm gonna bite, could you share some detail of the yanderes and their unaliving preferences? I'm especially interested to hear about the Mayor, Spider Queen, Wukong, Macaque, and Redson. Write as little or much as needed

CW: GORE, MURDER, HUMAN EXPERIMENTATION ☠️MAYOR☠️: BIG fan of making his victims live through a horror movie, preferably with an antique aesthetic painted over it. Imagining a scene of him slowly walking down a hallway quietly humming this song. (As a side note, anyone else thinking the Mayor would serve with an old filter over his voice???) He's a man of old fashioned tastes in my opinion. A simple axe will do most times, but that's for his casual ventures. The more angry he is with a person, the more intense the hunt. I imagine him having a sort of Backrooms-adjacent realm he can drag people to that has different settings he can chase you around in: an old oil baron's mansion, an expansive garden maze, perhaps even the woods if he fancies a more traditional hunt with a gun. 🕸️SPIDER QUEEN🕸️: Spider Queen also is partial to hunts. After all, she fed herself for many millennia on unsuspecting prey that fell into her web. Despite the size of her mech, the Spider Queen is extremely good at stealth and hiding in the shadows. You won't know she's there until she's dropped on you and her fangs are digging into your throat. However, if you've really pissed her off, she'll bite you with her paralysis venom and savor this particular meal. ☀️WUKONG☀️: Normally Wukong goes for something simple like his staff. It's quick and effective, and with how powerful it is only a red mist will tell that you were there at all. However, if you push him over the edge I can see him genuinely going feral and ripping a person limb from limb, mutilating them and tearing at them with his claws and teeth like actual monkeys in the wild (chimps, notably). It takes a special case Macaque to bring him to that point. 🌑MACAQUE🌑: Same with Wukong, if you push Macaque enough he will go absolutely feral and mutilate his target, but if he's of sounder mind he'll have some fun. Hunts include sending his shadow clones to fuck with you, making you think he's closer than he actually is. He has eyes and ears all over the forest, he can track you like a tiger could. His shadow clones are also very useful in keeping tabs on where you are. If you see them, he's already seen you. If he especially hates you, he'll have his shadow clones drag you to the shadow limbo, the place between his portals. There his clones will proceed to, without going too graphic, eviscerate you. He could also trap you within his lantern and force your soul to face its own shadow: all your secrets, all your nightmares, all of your life's pain displayed in an endless loop for his entertainment. 🔥RED SON🔥: Now obviously Red Son prefers varying degrees of burns, but I actually want to add more to this. What if he experiments on the most heinous of people? Tries merging flesh with machines? He takes the victim and begins trying to see if it's possible to merge a human soul with his demon bull clones. Why? Just to see if he can. I feel like we need more Mad Scientist Red Son, all of the vibes are there. I can also see him testing to try and see just how far the human psyche can go until it fully breaks, how far the human body can go under certain types of torture. He is a man of experiments after all.

[villainsimpqueen]

"Morning after Whispers"

This is a one shot part two for my dear friend @smoldoddles with her oc Rosa x Mansk.

Minors will be blocked from my pages.

As always my pages and works are all 18+ if you are not 18+ That means your a minor and you are not welcome to my page or my works!

Now to @smoldoddles one shot!

"Morning After Whispers"

The warm, thick blankets contrasted perfectly with the toe-curling cold air, making Rosa burrow deeper into the bed. She inhaled deeply, savoring the rich scents of bourbon and coffee, which sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. Her tail curled as she nuzzled her face into the plush pillows and covers, breathing in more of the clean, masculine scent of a man. It was the only thing that triggered a warning bell.

Her eyes snapped open, and she groggily sat up, rubbing her palms against her eyes as she tried to fully wake up. She quickly realized that this room was most definitely not from her unit. A sharp inhale brought that intoxicating scent back into her nostrils, and her mind flashed back to the previous night’s memories.

Bright stars against trillions, a soft, chill breeze. The roofing panels pressed against her back as her legs spread wide, wrapping around sturdy hips that fit perfectly between them. The memory of her back arching in the midst of their passionate lovemaking even now caused heat to pool between her thighs. Her ears perked up, and her tail twitched as she exhaled shakily.

She recalled being warmly invited back to her lover's home. Her head snapped to the other side of the bed, finding it empty and semi-neatly put back together. Her heart dropped, panic surging through her as she scrambled out of the bed, trying to find all her clothes.

Their passion hadn’t stopped at the roof; he had seemed to enjoy having her wrapped around him as he carried her back to his unit. They fell onto the bed, lips never disconnecting. He whispered the most sinful and beautiful nothings into her ear as he moved inside her again, another round on his bed.

“Make my bed smell of you so that I can have you in my dreams when the nights are cold.”

“Come on, little sunflower, cum for me one more time tonight.”

“You’re doing such a beautiful job taking all of me, sunflower, just a little more, please, darlin', just a little more.”

Rosa's face burned as she frantically searched for her blouse and skirt, only to freeze when she saw them—all her clothing neatly folded and placed on the soldier's desk, with a paper note on top. She moved closer and picked up the note, squinting at it without her glasses to read the words neatly inscribed on it.

Left for morning patrol and protocols, should be back at 0900 with some groceries to make you a full breakfast to make up for leaving a pretty flower like yourself all alone.

Feel free to use my shower, sunflower, and borrow one of my shirts from the closet. Make yourself comfy.

-Damian

A warm, tingling sensation filled her before giddiness bubbled up. Rosa let out a soft, excited squeal as she moved to the soldier's closet. She helped herself, as he had invited her to, taking one of his oversized T-shirts and making her way through his unit. Moments later, she found the bathroom and stepped into his shower.

She was pleased to see that Damian had separate shampoo and conditioner, which she lathered generously into her kinky, curly hair. She also discovered a separate coffee-scented body wash, which she applied using a spare clean washcloth she found in his bathroom cabinet. The suds slid over her skin with ease as she giddily let her active mind imagine the soldier in the kitchen, cooking for her—a breakfast he wanted to make because he had to leave her for work.

How could she resist the smile that stretched so wide it burned her cheeks as she rinsed off in the heavenly hot water? She exited the shower, threw on the man's shirt, and began exploring Damian's unit.

It was quite clean, but one surprising aspect was the decor—a mix of several similar aesthetics put together, making his place feel homey. Instead of the usual gray or beige walls, they were painted a warm latte color. A picture frame that looked hand-carved hung on the walls, filled with photos of him and a few others. A framed college degree caught her attention, and she paused to read it.

Westbrook Culinary Institute  

Associate of Applied Science in Culinary Management

This certifies that  

Damian C. Mansk  

has successfully completed the prescribed course of study in  

Culinary Management  

and is hereby awarded the degree of  

Associate of Applied Science  

with all the rights and privileges thereto pertaining.

Given at Austin, Texas, on this 15th day of June, xxxx

Dr. Jonathan Ellis  

President

Prof. Clara Thompson  

Dean of Culinary Arts

Rosa found herself wondering, what had happened? She ran a finger across the frame as she read it over and over.

What were his goals? Was cooking his dream? What made him join the RDA’s military? Did he regret his choices?

Rosa was so lost in thought she hadn’t heard Damian's unit door slide open or the footsteps that followed. She was too lost in wondering about the man's life before the RDA lured him away from Earth and to Pandora.

"That's old." She jumped at his voice, quickly turning her head, eyes wide and ears perked high, her tail flicking in apprehension. She snapped her head toward the unit's entrance hallway to see Damian leaning against its opening, watching her with his pastel green eyes.

“You went to school? Culinary?” she managed to find her voice, hesitantly watching him push himself off the archway and move to her side, staring at the degree. She would have thought he’d be proud to show it off with glee, but instead, his shoulders slumped, and a distant pain circled in his eyes, reflected in the glass panel of the degree.

There was no pride.

Only pain.

“It was an old dream,” he muttered before his ears flicked, and he turned, heading to the kitchen. He had promised her a meal, after all. “One that died with my lost human corpse.”

Rosa followed him to the kitchen, watching with wide eyes as he pulled out pans designed for their size and other items and ingredients from the fridge. He began mixing and whisking things as he got the pans hot and ready.

A dream that had died and yet stuck hidden away in mundane tasks.

They did not speak as he lost himself in his thoughts, his body moving around the kitchen on muscle memory, while she leaned over the bar to watch him cook. She inhaled the fresh smells of sizzling meat and eggs and the sweetness of fluffy pancakes that he piled generously onto plates and carried to the table for them to eat.

“These are amazing; you're a good cook,” Rosa complimented, but she pressed on, wanting to know more about him, about his choices. She watched as a faint smile twitched on his face, but he did not speak further on the matter, silently letting her know to drop it. She would, for now, but she intended to bring it up another time.

“How was your training?” Rosa asked instead, making him groan.

“The old man made me run three extra miles because I left the café still messy, but to be fair, he made everyone do the same for getting so wasted. I think he just wanted us away from him so he could baby his hangover,” Damian spoke before snickering softly.

It made her smile. They fell into nonsensical conversation, discussing his work, the bits he was able to speak about, and hers, the parts she was permitted to share. They seemed to have endless chemistry between them.

When it was time for Rosa to leave, she felt a bit down. It might be the last time she saw this soldier, and it dampened her spirits. She heard him washing the dishes as she gathered her folded things, moving to put her skirt back on, but she decided to keep wearing his shirt. She walked back into the living room just in time to see him coming in from the kitchen, having finished cleaning up after them both.

“Do you want me to walk you to your unit?” he asked softly, giving her the option to refuse without any pressure. She appreciated that, truly she did, and she smiled with a flick of her tail swaying behind her.

“I think it’d be best if I went alone,” she replied softly, turning down his offer. She watched how he simply let out a small sigh, nodded with a gentle smile, and walked her to his door, giving her plenty of space to leave. Hesitation paused her for a moment before she stepped out from his unit into the brightly fluorescent-lit halls.

“Are you free Wednesday night?” Damian asked, making Rosa turn her head back to him, a brow raised at his question, only to earn a cheeky smile from him.

“Because I’ll be on that roof again at 2300.”

---

Had so much fun writing this part two one shot for you smols! Hope you loved and enjoyed it!

[llondonfog]

lettie i need an expert opinion. how does one enjoy tea?

i need warm drinks for a medical thing, but oh my god. i am having no luck with tea. i never have. coffee is not an option, and while i do enjoy hot chocolate, it's not something i can drink every day.

any advice would be lovely.

allow me to wax poetically (and hopefully practically) about tea (and i do hope it helps and eases your medical strains <3)

this might sound a little silly, but for me, tea enjoyment starts with the ritual of it all. heating water up in a kettle (mine's pink, naturally...i cling to the aesthetic...), selecting a tea from my pantry shelf that's entirely devoted to many loose leaf types and flavors, measuring it out into a tea infuser, selecting a cup or mug that matches the mood i'm feeling, setting a timer for however long that tea is meant to steep, and then finally settling into a steaming mug that i've prepared for myself by curling up with a book, putting on a show i've been meaning to watch, or simply opening the windows and watching the world outside while my cat sits next to me.

i say all of this because, again, it might sound silly, but it's part of a calming ritual helps me either start the day when i get up early before work, settles me from the frustrations and hectic demands of work when i get home, soothes me before bed, or when i'm making it for friends and family, an act of love where each detail is cared for so that i can savor the delight of the person i'm entertaining. i know this isn't much about flavors/types, which i suspect is where you might be headed, but i think it's equally as important because tea preparation can take anywhere between 5-10 minutes, and those minutes should be yours to center yourself.

now, for tea types: (important because tea can be ridiculously expensive and why waste your money on something you won't even reach for twice speaks from devastated experience and tea betrayals)

real quick to touch on before the flavor profile breakdown; tea types differ in caffeine widely. depending on what your goal is with tea, it can have a negative effect on your sleeping schedule (black/matcha- surprisingly high depending on the amount) if you drink concentrated volumes closer to bedtime

i have an awful penchant for black teas— i find them to be full-bodied and with such interesting, heavy flavors that i gravitate to them naturally. since they can be so biting and bitter though, i know many people might choose to soften the tea with sugar or honey to your taste preferences, but....i really just enjoy it plain, i don't tend to alter the taste of my teas if at all. there's been a wide range of tea companies/grocers in general carrying london fog or chai tea mixes in cartons at the store? i've seen them in walmart/krogers/target, and they're fairly decent? rishi and target's brand of london fog mix definitely ties for first place for me if i have to make it quickly at home lol

herbals/greens can be a hit and miss— i really dislike the heavily flavored teas that just have essential oils and shit added to them to make the flavors more pungent, i never enjoy those lol i tend to reach for these though when i'm feeling like i have a cold or like now when i'm currently cramping. a good friend sent me some maple herbal tea from the adirondack, and i'm mourning my last cup of it as it literally has carried me through so many awful period cycles. again, these teas can be flavored with sugar or honey just to add to their sweetness, but i really don't find it necessary as i prefer the original taste of the tea.

white and oolongs are probably my second favorite, but they can be very...light in flavor, almost aromatic instead of bodied. it can sometimes feel like you're drinking heated water with a floral aftertaste and hey, on some days, maybe that's just what you want lol. (again, sweeten how/to your desire, i just prefer not to do so.)

and matcha is a class all on its own lol i know it can be very divisive tea depending on the amount of sweetening you do or don't since it can be almost...fishy? if that's a good way to describe it? this is the only tea i'll add a LOT of sugar/simple syrup to when i order it. my mother thinks it is a bastardized foul but i'll order a 24 oz matcha with 3 pumps of rosewater syrup and it is honestly fixes whatever the hell is wrong with me (for at least 24 hours lol). i wouldn't advise for the matcha premixes in the cartons at the grocery store, i've tried a few and...bleh. there's something so artificial about them (i say, slurping a sugarfied sludge of matcha and rose).

so i literally am opening my pantry to list out a few and their types that i enjoy, to hopefully give a sense of their flavors:

queue mignonne tea, yuzu & earl grey— this one has such a pleasant citrus kick to a typical earl grey flavor, i love it in the mornings to wake up the senses!

maple herbal tea— a mix of chamomile, rooibos, sunflower, calendula, and maple; instantly soothed my aches and cramps, but it could have been a placebo effect just because i loved this tea so damn much lol

sleepytime tea by celestial seasonings— i can't explain this tea haha it's the tea from my childhood. my father would always make this for me when i was sick and i just associate it with warmth.

milk oolong/double milk oolong— has a meaty flavor? literally the only way i can explain it, very deep and heavy on the tongue. but it's one i reach for when i have cramps too, and it's a good staple i keep around.

ma wei moonlight & white peony— VERY LIGHT flavor teas; floral and sweet in nature, moonlight is heavy gardenia scented while the peony is....peony lol.

olbas wellness tea— THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED. this is a swiss herbal tea of over 20 different herbs that i swear to god, will knock your sinuses clear open within five seconds of inhaling/drinking. a little, A LITTLE!! goes such a long way with this tea, it's got such a pungent and unique flavor, i literally just keep it around for the winter to knock myself back into coherence lol

and as a fun little extra, i have to say that my favorite hot drink outside of tea (if it's a possibility for you) is wassail, especially now in the wintertime. it's a recipe from my grandmother and a little different than what you might find online, but basically cider and fruit juice, an orange studded with cloves, cinnamon sticks, and cooked in a crock pot for at least four hours before enjoying; it literally is a balm for the soul, and i'm more than happy to share the full recipe if it's of any interest<3

did this answer anything or did i simply ramble on about tea......

[serickswrites]

Would you be willing to do a Halloween themed whump? Like whumpee is trick-or-treating and accidentally goes to the wrong house? And it’s whumper’s house? They whirl around and try to run but they don’t get far before they’re being beaten and dragged into the depths of the house. Thank you so much!

Here’s a treat: 🍬🍭🍬🍭🍬🍭

Hello, Anon! (I'm answering this one out of order because we are getting further and further away from Halloween). I love Halloween (it is my absolute favorite holiday hands down). I'm going to twist your request a little bit (so as everyone's of age in the story), but one that should be yummy indeed! Please stop by again!

Warnings: physical violence, head injury, captivity

Whumpee gripped the pizza box tightly in their hand. It was warm and they let it sink into their bones. The cold evening stole all heat from them, so they savored the moment of holding the warm box. This was one of the busiest nights they had worked so far, and one they were happy to work. It gave them a chance to see different decorations, children enjoying their costumes and getting candy, and it gave them a chance to enjoy Halloween while working.

This was their last house to deliver to and then they could go home. No lights were on, nor decorations out. Perhaps the person didn't celebrate Halloween due to its origins. Or maybe they worked too much. Nonetheless, Whumpee thought as they trudged up the long driveway, the person deserved their pizza.

As they got closer to the house, they could see how in disrepair it was. The plaster was cracked, the sidewalk broken in places, and weeds sprouted up in the yard. Maybe the person didn't care about the aesthetic. They rang the doorbell.

Whumpee shifted uncomfortably in the cold. It was deadly quiet here, not even the sound of the wind in the leaves. Just as Whumpee was about to ring the bell again, the door opened. It was so dark inside the house, that Whumpee could barely make out the shape of the person holding open the door. "Uhhh, I have your pizza?"

"I didn't order any pizza," the person's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Oh. This isn't 1427 Elm Street?"

"It's across the street. This is 1428."

"My mistake," Whumpee's cheeks heated, "I'm so sorry." They turned to go and just as they were leaving the courtyard, a hand closed on their shoulder.

"Not so fast," the whisper was closer.

Whumpee struggled to get away from the vice like grip the person had on their shoulder. "I'm sorry, it was an honest mistake!"

The person shoved Whumpee so hard they fell and hit their head on the ground. "An honest mistake and mine to enjoy," the person, still swathed in shadows peered down at Whumpee. "And I am going to take my time enjoying you."

Whumpee, in their dazed state, still tried to grab anything that would stop the person from dragging them into the house. But their fingers only scrabbled on the concrete as the person grabbed their ankles and began to walk back into the house. "Please," Whumpee begged, "I didn't mean to."

The person chuckled. "And that is the best part."

[adanaac]

tierlist of my favorite color pages and stuff

gushing abt them below ⬇️

i did top 4 and not top 5 bc a lot of the 5th place for these is like a 5 way tie

Double page

ch102: what ive learned from this is i really like full scenes. cmon!! who doesnt!! also man the colors are really good. hatanaka really has a deceptively good character design, once again proving to be senseis blorbo

ch88: sorry principal color page u have been dethroned as my fav i still love u so so so much tho. love the umbrella and plum blossoms, and also obviously principal is really hot. im pretty sure i know the umbrella asset on clip studio and actually have it downloaded. also i just personally love the paper cranes bc my sona is based off paper cranes

ch60: culture fes arc has some of my favorite color pages and b&w pages and my favorite aesthetic in general really. also i owe hijita my life for proposing the chinese dress theme. haru looks so so so good in chinese clothes and the combo with hatanaka's hoodie in the underground culture fes is top tier. also my favorite non-cover color page and volume promo are from this arc too

the color palette is also so good i basically stole all the colors for that halloween art i did (still love it so much). now u might be thinking. if i have so much to say abt this one why is it only 3rd. tbh its bc this one is the oldest of the 4 so ive had more time to savor it. also i just like the principal one better than this one, and i like the hatanaka one better than the principal one. (but i dont actually necessarily like the hatanaka one better than this one?? its a rock paper scissors situation)

ch79: 2 harus. im sold 👍 also makuragaeshi arc just means everything to me also i consider this color spread a package deal with the vol 12 inside color page which makes me like both of them more

at this point the seimeiliker part of me is yelling WHATT THE 2 SEIMEI COLOR PAGES ARENT EVEN HERE??? THE AME ONE ISNT EVEN HERE??? FAKE FANNN theyre tied for 5th!!! maybe even tied for 4th!! i just really like the ones that are full scenes!!!

Single page

ch25: this one isnt getting dethroned anytime soon its just so good. the COLOR PALETTE the LIGHTING AUGH ITS SO GOOD. and of course haruaki looking sexy as always 👍 this might be one of the sexiest harus tbh. i think its also one of my favorite official arts in general i cant think of many that i would confidently say i like more than this one. ITS NOT EVEN ATTACHED TO SOME DRAMATIC CHAPTER ITS THE PTM CHAPTER LMAOOO

ch46: miki pretty privilege.... i think miki arc has my 2nd favorite aesthetic, behind culture fes. tbh i like the 2 b&w cover pages from this arc just as much as the color page (maybe bc theyre more angsty by virtue of being black and white??)

ch33: i am so married to this chapter. one of if not my number 1 fav chapter. tbh this one is tied for 2nd with the miki one, its just bc i like how colorful the miki one is. this is the only time haru gets drawn with just solid black hair and its very pretty 😳 this one is also a package deal with the 2018 october gfantasy cover in my head bc theyre both teacher trio, not really in their usual outfits, from around the same time, and gets made as merch together often

ch75: im not exactly married to this one like i am with the top 3 but its just good art good composition good colors!! its just such a... cozy and normal scene contrasted with it being a color page. (wait fuck thats what the arc was about)

u may be wondering. why are all the single page ones sort of old. this is actually bc recently all the color covers are double pages (from 76 to 102 there's 1 single page and 9 double page covers)

Cover

vol 13: aughhh seimei...... punches walls etc im so normal about it hahahahah god i love the parallel with vol 1. sensei insane for this. i have nothing else to say this cover just fucks so hard i spent days oogling it why is seimei so hot. also aughh the unused draft for it would have been so good too but the vol 1 parallel was probably the right choice....

vol 10: this one stockholm syndromed its way into being my number 2. ok not really its a really good cover everyone is rly pretty and its a very fun composition and u know i love culture fes. but also it was the thumbnail on a lot of manga sites for the longest time so it ended up being the cover i associate with yohaji in general the most, maybe even more than vol 1

vol 14: i am easily swayed by principal 👍 i see principal and i neuron activation. its so funny its like the most blantant spoiler cover

vol 9: i am also easily swayed by ebisu 👍 sensei sure loves her red and blues huh. also sano in the black shirt is really hot. can u tell i also love when theres parallels

vol 8 is tied with vol 9 tbh rintarou and ibara are so pretty

Cover flaps

i didnt do the back covers bc theyre all alright to me tbh theres not standout amazing ones that make me lose my mind. ok maybe the vol 6 and vol 8 one. i am easily swayed by seimei and ebisu

now the cover flaps on the other hand. oh ym god

vol 14: WOOF WOOF BARK BARK BARK WHITE HAIR HARU WOOF WOOF THIS ONE MEANS EVERYTHING TO ME......... normal harus expression is soooo good...... the mini harus...... and Him... my cat..... sobs.... tanaka mai is a cruel god how dare she pull out this design and concept for 1 chapter and we're probably never gonna see it again..... UNLESS??? (<- mentally ill) anyway heres this promo art for no real reason other than i wanted to oogle him more

v7 and v5: lumping these together bc theyre both harusanos. can u tell i love parallels. and vol 5 has the harusano handholding and vol 7 has the sano confession under the moon.... wow......

v13: i love animal trio they mean so much to me. also just look at weasel hatanaka i wanna squeeze him like a squeaky toy

Inside color page

for a while i was like "how come my fav inside color pages all seem to be from recent volumes" it turns out its bc sensei only started doing full scenes for them starting at vol 10

the vol 11 one IS really good but its up against such bangers as "has principal" or "has haru" or "has seimei" sooooo

vol 10: look this one has principal and is culture fes of course its my favorite. easiest decision in my life. i think for all these categories the top 1 spot was super easy and 2-4 could all be shuffled around. it may not make me as mentally ill as the other 3 but its straight up good art i would set this as my phone screen any day

vol 13: hi this one makes me mentally ill. its so cool it has such cool imagery and its also so inscrutable. what does it all mean. why is saturn there. this one (and also all of kyoto arc tbh) makes me want a anime so bad

vol 12: you KNOW im a sucker for makuragaeshi arc aughhhh this one makes me mentally ill in a different direction from the vol 13 one. the fact he wore a blazer uniform when he was actually in high school and him wearing a gakuran in this arc. fucks me up every time

vol 14: aughhhh...... tanaka mai is out to GET me...... i care them so much.... so so much......

5th place probably still isnt the vol 11 one LOL sorry renpapa thats gotta go to vol 6 (the one with haru in the bath)

in conclusion. i am easily swayed by haru/seimei/principal/ebisu and i will never recover from white hair haru

and also culture fes has my no. 1 favorite aesthetic and miki arc is no. 2. time travel arc will probably prove to dethrone miki arc to become number 2 but idk if itll dethrone culture fes

[diegestings]

A delicate hum pushes past thin lips, eyes never straying from @reqciems features. Uta allows a small smirk to form in response to her playful banter, always enjoying moments like this. ❝ Never been one to own proper furniture. ❞ His apartment didn’t host the same comfortable sofas or plush seating his studio did, he always opted for odd aesthetics when it came to his home.

He watched Itori intently as she carries on preforming bar tricks, earning amused looks from those who sat at the counter. Uta gratefully takes the glass she gave him, sipping it gingerly, tongue darting out to lick garnish off the rim. He savors it momentarily, enjoying the aroma emitting from the cup. ❝ Nothing fun, there hasn’t been a single thing that’s caught my eye lately. ❞ His voice is calm, hiding frustrations from his tone. ❝ Haven’t even been on a good hunt lately… seems as if everyone’s leaving the ward and moving to safer places… ❞