People unaware they're bleeding, no one with a brain is believing

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*Her toes look terrifically useless, Barty realizes. They're shorter than his own, less elegant. He can't help but think if Lily lost her arms her back-up prospects were dim. His wouldn't be dim, his toes are much better - much more dexterous. If only there was some way his toes could be on her body. Then he'd be strong and imbued with multi-purpose appendages. The possibilities would be endless.

Of course, none of this is about his Frankenstein-like toe fantasies, training feet to act like hands is not a hefty enough endeavour to distract from his real purpose. With Regulus mysteriously absent, there had been no detour. No one else he's on friendly enough speaking terms with. He wouldn't precisely call Damien a friend, well perhaps he would, if there was some sort of friend-counting contest and he wanted to have more then one name to list. But still here he is, perched on his bed, a leg out, grasping around for a quill on Mulciber's desk. The room is ideal for his training, but perhaps not quite as ideal in its security. Even in his scandalous attire and a much more scandalous body it had been easy to talk himself into the manor. Looking purposeful and talking loudly possibly the most valuable skill anyone can possess.*

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[whysosadistic.livejournal.com]

*The day had been uneventful for the most part. His cat scratched him, his father offhandedly mentioned an attack in Essex, his mother invited an old friend over for tea and compulsory bragging of Mulciber's intellect and nerve. Mrs. Mullens was her name, and he's rather certain he hexed her daughter back in third year for snickering when his voice cracked in Herbology.

Yes, mundane and perhaps disappointing. But after some light reading downstairs, Mulciber made his way up to his bedroom, ready to turn in for the night.

If there is one thing to know about Mulciber it is this: He hates surprises, he hates the unexpected. He especially hates surprises in the form of half dressed Mudbloods by the name of Lily fucking Evans—or rather, Potter— sitting on his bed.

His heart thuds in his chest and he immediately draws his wand before closing the door. He can safely say that he's never been so stunned in his life.*

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU—