#Now back to our regular scheduled programming

[fogsy-feel]

Here's 10k of Amanda/Sarek for you plus or minus a little Spirk.

[ravioliravioliravioli]

Very surprised that they were NOT going to end up together unlike usual movies that do this

[rose-greenhouse]

wanting to take the time to say i love all of my mutuals and wish them the very best. even if we haven’t interacted much or talked at all, i wanna say that i appreciate you all. thanks for checking in on this blog and me ^^

[oatflatwhite]

episode tag fic alert

[sencrose]

i will shut up in a sec about granblue but nearly had a heart attack playing my old team bc i fucking forgot grimnir is voiced by megumi ogata and my brain went "YUUTA??????"

so i fell down a rabbit hole of gbf/jjk charas that share voice actors (bc nearly everyone and their mother has voiced a character in this game) but the funniest one of note is takahiro sakurai as lucio/lucifer bc wow. an angel. but also you're some dude who got vored and then shat out by a shark for a shitpost summer event and voiced the line "poopie, i am"

[thievinghippo]

Presented without comment

[poessiblyfedya]

last night i lost my grandmother so my initial hiatus is now indefinite while i’m in bereavement. so sorry that this blog has sort of died while i’m away but i’ll queue all the posts i’ve been liking when i have a bit more energy. 🖤

[sophfandoms53]

On the bright side, a woman won. It’s just unfortunate that it was Ratcole of all ppl.

BUT ON THE BRIGHTER SIDE, this was the most fun I’ve had with BB episodes in a long time.

They really brought their A game and it shows through the results of every episode. I hope to see these editing decisions and equitable competitions reflected in future seasons because it makes such a better product overall.

This was just a fun, slightly nerve wracking, 6 episode experience with some alumni I was glad to see again after so long and I won’t hate to see this happen again.

And ofc it was a joy to rejoin you all a month after bb25 for this. Hopefully we’re all free from a bb tag until next year but who knows LMAO

Thank you all for sm fun these last several months together, see y’all next season for bb26��️❤️

Also, let this be a lesson to everyone that BB16 continues to be a poison on this franchise and production needs to learn to let it die a painful death :)

[clarkeybabey]

❝ no seriously get your hands off my man ❞

summary; you don't like the way she acts around him playlist; miss possessive - tate mcrae word count; 1.2k note; this is for @raekensluver as she is in her miniminter era rn, no one else asked for this so its very much self-indulgent, back to our regular scheduled program after this one.

You and Simon enjoyed many parties in your time, much more when you were younger but, if you hadn't shown up for the charity match after-party he would've been given quite a bit of shit as he took charge of setting up almost everything. He's not stopped beaming since he woke you up yesterday with a coffee in hand for you, ensuring you knew it was nearly time to get going so everyone would be checked into the hotel before training.

Danny makes his way over, Ten's arm hooked with his, a blonde girl whose face is vaguely familiar in tow, "Simon!" Danny dabs him up pulling him in to aggressively clap him on the back, Your husband stumbles slightly before straightening up. They go into a loud conversation about the match attempting to speak over the bass-boosted music.

Tennessee and the nameless girl ogling at Simon sidestep around the two men over to you, "Ten, darling, you are glowing," you pause to kiss her cheek before continuing, "And admirable, can't believe you're out. I'd rather be under several duvets and I'm not pregnant." She smiles, shaking her head, "Glowing, no, oily, absolutely. Wouldn't miss it, Danny's floored." The girl behind her clears her throat, reminding you both of her looming presence.

"This is Emma Moran, she was on locked in with us," and that's when it hit you. The insufferable woman from Locked In who couldn't seem to keep her hands to herself when it came to the guys on there with even the slightest bit of clout or interest in anyone but her. She wanted attention, negative or positive, in her eyes any of it would do.

You nod along as she fangirls over your husband and his friends, he had fans so this was nothing new but she seemed to discuss solely followers and how she had been trying to get in on a Sidemen shoot or their podcast since the end of the show but never had success. "Maybe you could put in a word," she smiles too big for it to be real, you find yourself unable to control the way your face twists.

Her blue eyes flit from you to him a few times before settling on his face, "Uh, I can't really do much, I mean, I can mention you?" The words come off your tongue sounding unintentionally bitter, "They honestly do their own thing guest wise, I'm just his wife."

"That'd be nice, thank you," you smile, albeit tight-lipped, the next thing she says catches you completely off guard and based on how her brows knit together, Tennessee was thrown off just as much as you: "He is very nice to look at isn't he?" You narrow your eyes in her direction, doing your best to let the comment roll right off your back, he gets that from hundreds of thousands of girls daily. "Yeah, he is. One of the reasons I married him."

Silence quickly falls among you, and Simon, being only an arm's length away, picks up immediately on your now stiffened form and the abrupt ending of the conversation. Emma senses the awkward tension within the circle "Think I'm gonna go get a drink." Her grin resembles the Cheshire cat as she saunters off to the drink table, and poor Arthur Hill gets roped into a conversation with her.

The hazel-eyed girl watches her slip through the crowd of people and once she deems her out of earshot she's quick to let apologies flow, "I'm so sorry about her, she's so odd." You shake your head, giving her shoulder a squeeze, "Her actions are not your responsibility, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"No really, I knew I shouldn't have introduced her," she fidgets with her fingers quickly becoming anxious, "Ten, it's not your fault. I'm fine, I promise." Fine, yes, shocked at her audacity, absofuckinglutely.

Warmth creeps up your neck and soon your whole face feels hot, but you continue the lighthearted conversation with your friend, trying your best to relay how fine you thought you were. You're partial to crashing out in the middle of a party celebrating your best friends but if you could see her undressing Simon with her eyes at that moment, that feeling might just change.

Your ears perk as Danny excuses himself, wanting to mingle with some others Tennessee mutters more apologies as she follows behind her fiancee. "What was that about?" He quickly asks after they've stepped away. Rolling your eyes at the thought of what she said, your hand finds the back of his neck, ushering him down to your height.

"You see that girl over there?" He hums leaning into your touch, "She's your biggest fan, you know that?" another grunt of acknowledgment rumbles against your back, "Said you're nice to look at."

His bottom lip juts out and his brows shoot up, "Oh, really?" You tell him about how she was eyefucking him while you spoke with Tennessee and while you do so Simon's lips meet the exposed skin of your shoulder, his fingers graze over where his mouth just was, sliding the sequined strap of your little black dress down but not completely off.

Public displays of affection like this were few and far between, not due to a lack of admiration but because you loved so deeply it felt too nice to let the negativity of the outside world taint it. Even in the early years of your relationship back in school, you saved it for when it was just you two, now you keep it for when you know there are no cameras to be shoved in your face to capture such intimate moments. At this very second, something within you was staking its claim over him so everyone was aware he was not up for grabs.

"She's definitely watching," his warm breath fans over the place where your neck meets your shoulder, goosebumps rising in the wake of his words. You meet her baby-blue eyes from across the room, watching as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. He speaks up again, rubbing down your sides, to your hips getting dangerously close to the hem of your dress, "Why don't we get out of here?"

You sigh leaning back into him, "Yes please." He laces your fingers together, his thumb fiddling with your wedding ring, keeping you close as he makes his way through the sea of people.

You stop in your tracks unknowingly close to the refreshment table where she was last seen, "Shouldn't we say goodbye before," you cut yourself off at the sight of Emma's manicured hand on his bicep, "Simon, right?" she plays into faux oblivion, "I never got to introduce myself," before she can continue, he removes her hand from his arm stepping back from her.

He doesn't bother exchanging pleasantries, "I'd love to stay and chat, but we've really got to go." Her mouth hangs open before she can rack her brain for some form of rebuttal he's turned, tightening his grip on your hand. You can't help but turn giving her the same sickeningly sweet smile she shared with you earlier, following it up with a wave as you round the door and are out of sight.

[ramshacklerumble]

i get no kick from champagne / mere alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all / so tell me why should it be true / that i get a KICK out of you?

(and now back to our regular scheduled programming)

tag list:

@cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind @tixdixl @winterweary @thehollowwriter @harryinramshackle

@theleechyskrunkly @skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @the-trinket-witch @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @kimikitti

@s-t-y-x @nightwingshero @water-writings @beneathsakurashade @oya-oya-okay @scint1llat3

@twstinginthewind @welcometomypersonalhell098 (dm to be added)

[yuikomorii]

AYAYUI IDOL AU: Chapter 1

// I present to you… MY FIRST EVER FANFIC! It’s inspired by these headcanons and these posts. As mentioned before, in this story, the Sakamakis are simply regular idols with a vampire-themed concept; they’re not actually vampires or related. Since I noticed how much you all enjoy this kind of content and have been so supportive, I thought you might like a fanfic based on it. ☺️

I’m by no means a professional writer, and my style leans more towards the visual novel/otome game format. Even so, I hope you’ll like it! 💕

Voice announcement: Ladies and gentlemen, we have now arrived at our destination.

Before you disembark, please take a moment to ensure you have all your personal belongings with you. For your safety, mind the gap between the train and the platform edge as you exit.

We sincerely thank you for choosing our services and travelling with us. It has been our pleasure to serve you, and we hope to welcome you aboard again soon. Take care!

Yui: ( Eh? Is this…—! )

— eyes widen —

I’m here… I’m finally here!

Yui’s Monologue

I can’t believe my dream is actually coming true! All this time, this seemed like a childish wish but right now I truly am in Tokyo…!

Uuh… I’m getting a bit emotional, but can you blame me? It simply feels… surreal.

I never thought my father would agree to let me join a work exchange program in such a massive and dynamic city.

To be honest, I was half expecting him to say no, but it seems he believes in me more than I thought.

Knowing that he trusts me this much… it really makes me want to work even harder to prove he made the right choice.

Yes, that’s so. I will try my best to make father proud!

— takes big breath —

Yui: Nice to meet you, Tokyo. Let’s make this journey one to remember.

Place: Studio

Photographer: And~… pose! Ah yes, exactly like that! Keep on, keep on!

Ayato: ( Man, this shit is so tiring at this point. )

— smiles falsely —

Photographer: W-Wonderful…! Another one, thank you!

— keeps taking pictures —

Ayato: ( Can this woman stop blinding me with that flashlight already? It’s past 11 pm… )

Photographer: Now, a profile sho——

Manager: Hold on.

Pardon my intrusion, but I believe we already have enough pictures for today. Don't you think so?

Photographer: Eh? But we just got star— Oh my, it’s almost 12 am!?

G-Geez, my apologies. I guess the saying “time flies when you’re having fun” must really apply here.

— winks at Ayato —

Ayato: ( Gross! )

Manager: If more promotional pictures are required, we can extend the photoshoot to tomorrow. Watanabe-san, would it be possible for you to arrive earlier if that is the case?

Photographer: With such eye candy around, who could resist spending more time with him~?

Fufu, just kidding. I'll contact the director and get back to you with an answer as soon as possible.

Until then, have a good night! Bye-bye~!

— leaves —

Ayato: Haa… thanks goodness! One more photo, and I might’ve completely lost it.

Manager: I understand completely. Given your schedule, it’s clear you’re quite overworked. Nevertheless, it’s impressive how you still manage to perform so well.

Ayato: Heh… thanks.

— rubs eyes —

Manager: You look a bit tired, Ayato-san. Rest assured, the limousine should be arriving soon.

Ayato: Right, the limo is on its——

( Fuck! I can’t believe I almost forgot about it! )

Wait! Now that I think about it, I’ve got something else to take care of.

So… don’t mind me! Go ahead and take the limo; I’ll call for another one later.

Manager: Haa… Ayato-san.

You're not planning to do something that could get you into trouble, are you?

Ayato: O-Of course not! It’s just… no, it’s nothing important. Just a silly little thing I remembered I had to solve.

— tries to leave —

Manager: Ayato-san!

Ayato: Huh?

Manager: Do NOT let anyone see you, understood?

— Ayato nods and leaves —

???: You’re late.

Ayato: …!

Man, you almost gave me a heart attack!

Laito: My bad~. You came prepared at least, didn’t you?

Ayato: Yeah, yeah.

— puts cap and mask on —

Laito: Nfu, let’s go, shall we?

Place: Street

Yui: Uuh… come on! Why is no taxi in sight?

( It’s been two hours and I still couldn’t find my way to the Airbnb. )

( I knew Tokyo was huge, but I wasn’t expecting the transportation system to be this complicated… )

— looks at sky —

( It’s already late, huh? )

( I wonder if it’s safe for a girl to roam on these streets at this hour. Well, at least I hope it is, otherwise… )

Place: Private Night Club

Laito: Two Cosmopolitans. One for me, and one for that very fine lady over there, nfu.

Ayato: Another glass of Tequila.

Laito: Heh, another one? Is this the fifth by chance?

Ayato: I had a busy week, okay?

Laito: Ah, of course you did. After all, our Ayato-kun is the IT boy of this generation. Always swamped with brand deals, while the rest of us barely get a crumb~.

Ayato: …Not funny.

Laito: C’mon, don’t take it too seriously.

— pats his back —

I doubt any of us could care less about brand deals anyway. The idol job already pays well enough, and with barely any time for ourselves, why would we want to give up even more of our freedom?

Ayato: ( It’s not like it’s my choice though. )

Well, I can’t deny that the love I get is cool and all, but sometimes… hmm, how do I put it? It feels like people only like me because I’m an idol, y’know?

Laito: That’s to be expected, isn’t it? Fans often form a one-sided connection with idols simply because we’re constantly visible and accessible through the media, without really knowing who we are or what we’re capable of.

On top of that, you’re the visual, the face everyone admires. Who wouldn’t be drawn to someone who's not only stunning but also famous? It’s like the perfect package for embodying every girl’s fantasy.

Ayato’s monologue

Laito… he always knows what to say.

Seriously, this guy is so aware of everything around him to the point that it’s becoming unsettling.

And the worst part? He’s not just talking—he’s right, which is why it almost hurts to hear it.

At the end of the day, we idols are just puppets, carefully crafted to feed into the fans’ delusions. They don’t see us for who we truly are, but rather as a fantasy they can cling to.

And we, caught in the spotlight, are forced to live out that role.

Before becoming an idol, I was surrounded by people who kept me around because of my looks. At first, the amount of attention felt good, but as I mature, I realize just how hollow that really is.

I can’t help but wonder… if it weren’t for my appearance or status, would anyone actually treat me nicely? Would anyone be willing to accept me, flaws and all?

Heh… now I just sound stupid. As long as I’m an idol, I doubt I’ll get my answer anytime soon.

Waitress: Here we go, gentlemen. The Cosmopolitan and the Tequila.

Laito: Hello, earth to Ayato-kun, are you still in there?

— waves in front of his eyes —

Ayato: Yeah, yeah. I was just spacing out a bit.

Laito: Nfu, cheers.

Ayato: Cheers.

— they start drinking —

Ayato: Ngh…!

( My chest… it started aching! )

Laito: Hm, you good?

Ayato: Y-Yeah… I just— Ngh!

( It’s getting worse! )

I need some fresh air, that’s all.

— quickly puts on mask and cap —

I’ll be right back.

— quickly goes outside —

( Haa… Haa… what is happening…!? )

Agh… fuck!

( It hurts…! Could this be…—— )

— eyes widen —

( No… No, don’t tell me this is a real heart attack! )

Hnn… Ngh!

( What… what should I do now!? )

???: Quick! Please, drink this!!

— hands him water —

Ayato: Huh…?

— takes it and starts drinking —

???: A-Are you feeling better? I got another bottle in case you need it too.

Ayato: Haa… Haa… It’s okay now, all good.

???: Are you sure…? You really seemed in a lot of pain.

Ayato: Yeah… no worries.

( This girl… she just saved my life, didn’t she? )

By the way, uhm… thanks for that.

???: A-Ah, it’s nothing, really.

As far as I recall from my father, drinking water after alcohol can help reduce chest pain and lessen the severity of a hangover. I’m glad to see that it actually works.

Ayato: Heck yeah, I’m glad to see that it worked too, otherwise who knows how I would have ended up.

— the girl giggles —

???: You should be more careful though. Drinking too much alcohol can be very dangerous.

Ayato: ( Okay, mom. )

Yeah, yeah, I got it. I’m not usually like that.

Moreover… why exactly did you help me?

???: Eh? What do you mean?

Ayato: ( Could it be that she actually recognized me? )

( My face is practically hidden behind the mask and cap, and we’re in the dark, so there’s no way she could have, right? But if she did… )

???: Uuh… I suppose it was out of pure instinct.

Ayato: Instinct, huh?

???: Yup. You see, I heard you struggling, so there was no way I could brush that off.

Ayato: Hmm… But wait a minute, what were you doing all alone at this hour?

( What if she’s a stalker then? )

???: Ah… uhm… T-That’s a bit embarrassing to say out loud.

Ayato: Oh, come on, you straight up saw me about to drop dead from drinking Tequila. There’s no way this could be more embarrassing than that.

???: Actually… today’s my first day in Tokyo, and I’ve been struggling for almost 3 hours just trying to get to my Airbnb.

I tried taking the subway, but there were way too many lines, and I got lost at some point.

As for taxis, every time I tried to flag one down, the driver just ignored me.

Ayato: ( Nevermind, I’m taking it back. This might truly be more embarrassing. )

Pfft, why didn’t you call for a cab then?

???: I couldn’t find any reliable number…

Ayato: Hmm… Alright then.

I just arranged one for you. You’ll just have to tell them your location and wait for them to get you there. There’s also no need for you to pay.

— lends her money —

???: E-Eh!? Thank you… thank you so much! But I’m sorry, I just can’t accept the money!

Ayato: Nah, it’s fine, seriously. After all, you’re the one who helped me first.

Just promise me you won’t tell anyone about what happened today. Understood?

— the girl nods —

Ayato: Heh, great. Well, I guess it was nice to meet you. Now it’s time for me to return.

???: W-Wait! I forgot to catch your name!

Ayato: …!

( So she really doesn’t know me? )

It’s——

( No… it’s too risky. )

Oh look, the cab arrived! You should hurry up!

???: But—

( He left…? )

Yui’s monologue

As the taxi started moving, I found myself looking back, almost subconsciously, hoping to catch one last glimpse of that boy.

Today had been exhausting, but despite the strange circumstances in which we met, those brief minutes spent with him were oddly comforting.

I wonder who he is and what his life is like. It feels a bit silly, I know, to be thinking so much about someone whose name I don’t even know.

But there was something in his presence that made me feel in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

Whatever it was, it stuck with me, lingering in my thoughts even after we parted ways.

My journey has only just begun, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that meeting him was no coincidence.

I really hope I get the chance to cross paths with him again.

[reasonsforhope]

Book Publishing Resources

Well, since a few people said they were interested and/or that posting about it on here occasionally was a decent idea, here we go!

I'm MC Calvi, a freelance editor specializing in self-help, psychology, spirituality, paganism, workbooks, and LGBTQ books.

You can find out more about me at my website, where I also offer free twenty-minute book/publishing consultations, in addition to regular editing services.

I am also now offering some pay-what-you-can resources on my website and on Gumroad. I'm committed to offering pay-what-you-can resources because the odds are already so stacked against marginalized authors, and publishing shouldn't be pay to win.

I have two new booklets I'm actually super happy with! They both draw on my eight years of experience in the publishing industry to give authors a leg up.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming as I hit "publish" on another good news post!

[justcallme-ange]

@elmhat, @hiding-in-the-vault, @bleue-flora, and @axolotlsandabsolsarethebest have also now joined in (How does a tree boop you?)

Thank you to everyone who played along for this April Fools!! ^^

Sorry to the people who I accidentally gave heart attacks to - me hating Rivals? In this economy?? Never!

Pffft haha - Hi Void @voidpidgeon

Thanks for the boops XD

[jetpolyart]

Now back to our regular scheduled programming. Got to rest after the eventful month.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 85 (Searching for Rafa Bonilla)

cw: mentions underage trafficking, drug smuggling

Conrad looked for Rafa Bonilla between his regular cases at the precinct, following clues and booking suspects to keep his captain satisfied. A few months into his search he finally located one of Rafa's known associates, according to police reports.

He called Heather, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Hey, you've reached Heather's phone. It's either the middle of the night or I'm with a patient, so leave a message and I'll call you back."

"Hey, it's me. I was hoping to talk to you, but I've got to work a little late tonight. I'll make it up to you. I'm sorry. I love you."

He drove outside Brindleton Bay to greet the man who thought he had everyone fooled with his chess mentorship program. It would be less than thirty minutes before his students - mostly children - started showing up for their scheduled lesson in the park, so Conrad knew he had to work fast. He shuddered as he got closer to him, and not just because it was freezing outside.

"Jimmy Stefano," he said, dropping his voice an octave to sound serious.

"Not lately," mused the man with a laugh. "Who's asking?" He turned to face the voice who knew his old identity. "You? They said you were a cop now. No surprise they never let you work our cases."

Conrad knew they had no time for small talk and he whipped out his cuffs. "You're under arrest for aiding and abetting a known fugitive."

"You can't be serious! Who?"

"Rafael Bonilla."

Jimmy's face went white, but he stopped resisting. As Conrad cuffed him, he asked, "Are you taking me in to help San Myshuno PD, or did she call you?"

Conrad scoffed. "She who?"

Jimmy laughed. "She told both of us sweet nothings, old friend. You were just dumb enough to believe them."

"Shut up and get in the cruiser."

Back at the station, Jimmy looked around the interrogation room in his orange jumpsuit once Conrad booked him. "Aren't you going to need the cameras on to record your attempt at my confession?"

"I want you to speak freely, Stefano. Tell me everything you know."

Jimmy eyed him suspiciously. "You're not working with San Myshuno PD at all, are you."

"I didn't stage an elaborate arrest just to scare you. I still plan to file a report after you and I catch up. Just talk."

"She really did get to you. Are you trying to let her ruin your life again?"

"Where the hell is Rafa?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in two years, when the last job we did together went bad. I assumed his sister told him to run since the charges he's facing are so serious."

"She doesn't know where he is."

"I'm sure she told you that. Did she tell you she was done with Los Tigres, too?"

Conrad flinched, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

"I'm happy with my chess students, but I can't get out now. When you walked, I should've joined you, but I didn't have your father's connections at the police station to keep me out of jail."

"I wasn't even there that night, but you gave them my name."

"Yeah, I did, because you walked before you even got started. Los Tigres only let you live because you became a cop and they didn't need the heat. I don't know what she told you, but if you think Ximena's turned over a new leaf and is done smuggling for the cartel, you're an idiot. She just uses new aliases these days."

Conrad breathed in through his nose. "If I turn the cameras on, will you avoid mentioning our history while you tell me what Ximena's still doing with the cartel?"

"What's in it for me, Sargent?"

"If it comes to it and you're telling the truth, I only want Ximena. As long as Los Tigres doesn't get caught up in anything at the Brindleton docks, I've got no reason to open up a window to the past. You should think about moving on, too. Turn that chess mentorship program into more than just a front."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Some of us are lifers, you know."

Conrad hit record while Jimmy told him everything he knew about Ximena's past - how she escaped being trafficked in her teens by offering to run drugs for Los Tigres de Selva, working her way up to running an entire operation moving drugs from Selvadorada to San Myshuno, through Britechester, and back again. Her associates called her The Chameleon because of how often she changed her hair.

She'd been arrested but never did hard time, with those who worked under her often taking the fall, instead - like Jimmy Stefano. Twice. Ximena kept herself just clean enough to avoid prison, and dragged her brother into the same life. "Rafa and I used to pose as Simlandian military to run product for his sister, but he never got caught for that," Jimmy said.

"When was the last time you worked for her?"

"Four months ago."

Conrad led him through several questions, showing copies of Ximena's old police reports. When they'd finished, he released Jimmy Stefano. It didn't satisfy him to send a known smuggler back to the streets, but he'd gained some incriminating evidence against Ximena, at the very least. He was beginning to think he might need it, eventually.

He headed home in darkness, and his mind raced with possibilities. Could Ximena's activities have led directly to her brother's disappearance? Who were her enemies these days?

He tried to call her, against his better judgment, but she didn't pick up her phone. He hung up before the voicemail kicked in.

When he walked in the door, he found six-year-old Ash on the floor, working on a castle diorama for extra credit at school. He knelt down to help him without even changing out of his work clothes. "Can you help me with the small pieces? Mommy won't let me use better scissors, but my kid scissors barely cut anything!"

He grinned. Grateful for the distraction, Conrad pulled out an instruction booklet tucked under the edge of the box. "Of course. What did you need me to cut?"

"Just these windows," he said. "They're too small. And can you measure to make sure my towers are big enough? I want the biggest towers of the whole class! Like the Spire Tower!"

"Tallest towers, can do. Hey, did you want to use this lump of clay for anything?" (Finally, the clay comes out at a sensible moment!!)

"Yeah! Moat mud! And we could use real water!"

"Your mom won't be very happy if we make real mud in the house, buddy."

Heather walked into the room then, kneeling down next to them to play with Gord. "Please don't make real mud. Why don't you use the clay to mould a base for the castle?"

"Good idea, Mommy! Can we have pancakes for dinner tomorrow night? I've been thinking about pancakes all day!"

"I can make you pancakes for dinner, but your mom and I won't be here to eat them with you," said Conrad. "Tomorrow night, I'm taking your mom on a date."

"What's a date?"

"It's when people who like each other hang out," Heather said.

Ash's eyes grew wide. "Is there kissing?"

Conrad grinned. "There might be. What do you know about kissing?"

He paused. "Nothing, I guess. Scotti Holiday says it's like eating faces, but why would people who like each other eat their faces?"

Heather laughed. "Don't worry, Conrad's not going to eat my face. Are you almost finished with your diorama for the night? It's getting late and you should get to bed soon."

"Just a little while longer, Mommy. Please! I'm not tired and I'm almost done!"

When he and Conrad had finished, they displayed the excellent diorama on a kitchen countertop until Ash could take it to school in the morning. Before he went to bed, Conrad went upstairs to check on his sleeping baby girl.

Intuitive to his human's growing stress level, no matter how well he hid it from everyone else, Gord followed him. ->

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[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, chapter 13

chapter thirteen: confrontation

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors or pronouns are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 13, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-12, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

author's notes: this is a bit of a shorter chapter (more dialogue heavy) but i still think you’ll enjoy 😏

A few notes before that, though. First, we’re nearing the end! Woop woop! I plan to write a few more chapters (2+) and two endings. Second, on that note, a friendly reminder that this story will not have nsfw. I think I put that in the notes of this fic over on AO3, but not over here... Oops.

Anyways, on to our regularly scheduled programming! Typical warnings apply.

It’s a miracle you survived the Red Dragon. At least, that’s what everyone’s saying. There are nearly countless theories going around the FBI now, ranging from you simply being lucky to the killer second-guessing himself. As time passes, the rumors only grow more ludicrous—and you’re almost happy when you can finally return to work and dispel them once and for all. You return to holding occasional guest lectures in recruit classrooms (in the advent of your frequent fieldwork, you had fallen away from regular instruction). Things slowly return back to normal, to your relief. 

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take Jack Crawford long to find you upon your return. The two of you had kept somewhat regular communication throughout your hospitalization, with Jack calling you from Quantico. It’s nice to see him in-person again. He looks composed and professional as always, wearing his typical suit and a focused expression on his face as he stands in the doorway of your office. “Agent,” he nods, moving to take a seat across from you. “It’s good to see you.”

“Thanks,” you say, a tired smile rising on your lips. “It’s good to be back.”

Jack nods in acknowledgement, before continuing to speak. The two of you have never been much for pleasantries, so it’s no surprise that he is eager to move things along. “Now, on to business…” he trails off. Then an interesting, uncharacteristic expression falls onto his face. It’s hesitation, you realize. 

“What is it?” you hear yourself ask. Jack rarely ever hesitates. Apprehension is not in his vocabulary. 

He takes a slow breath. “Since your hospitalization, Hannibal has reportedly been acting a bit… difficult,” Jack says carefully. There’s something he’s not telling you. He’s not giving you all the details. But why? Jack and you have always been honest with one another, even when (especially when) it concerns your work. It’s strange, and a bit unsettling, to see your boss being so cautious with his words.

“Difficult?” you question, after a tense silence descends across your office. You cross one leg over the other and tap your fingers against the arm of your chair, feeling restless all of a sudden. 

A pause. “He has been asking for you,” Jack then confesses. Something lurches in your stomach. “I refused to pass along information, which supposedly distressed him.” That doesn’t seem right. Hannibal isn’t distressed by anything—least of all your momentary absence.  

Your thoughts must show on your face, because Jack nods. “You know I’m not fond of this arrangement with Lecter,” he sighs. Yet he continues. “But it may benefit us.” His ambiguity isn’t giving you any confidence. 

“What are you suggesting?” you ask. You fear you already know the answer. 

“I’m suggesting we visit him,” Jack answers, confirming your suspicions. “Wear something that conceals those bruises on your neck. It may do us well for him to see you in good health,” he advises, a brief flicker of frustration passing across his face as he glances at the marks the killer left behind. You self-consciously grab at your collar, despite knowing it’s a futile effort. 

“We should tell him about the interaction between you and the Dragon,” Jack muses. “Lecter values knowledge above little else. It is quite likely that he has been unsettled by your unexplained absence.”

You mull over that statement for longer than you should. “Hannibal doesn’t get unsettled,” you then frown. 

“Perhaps not in front of you,” Jack says, an echo of a wry smile on his lips. There’s that feeling again—the sense that he knows something you don't. “But I’ve been told his behavior was rather ‘uncharacteristic.’”

“I will be accompanying you, of course,” Jack continues, after you can’t seem to find the words to say. “The doctors would not be happy with me, if I were to let you strain your voice too much. All I ask is that you remain at my side. I can handle the talking.” You blink at him in surprise, before a strange sense of gratitude washes over him. He’s not sending you by yourself. You will not have to face him alone. 

There’s a question that’s been lingering on your tongue for minutes now. Jack looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to voice your concerns. “Do you think he knows anything else?” you ask halfheartedly. You suspect Hannibal may grow uncooperative soon, if he hasn’t already. Besides, there’s a limit to his knowledge—what with his confinement. 

“Hannibal may very well be reaching the end of his utility,” Jack admits. You nod, trying to fight off the stewing feeling in your chest that’s been accumulating since the beginning of the conversation. “We will have to see.” He leaves you with that ominous remark, promising to return soon upon securing visiting hours. 

The drive to Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane is far quicker than you’d like it to be. 90 minutes pass in what feels like a blink of an eye. And of course, the sight of the building is enough to bring back all the negative thoughts you’ve been suppressing. In light of Frederick Chilton’s death, the building has fallen under new administration. The security detail has grown a bit lax, which you pretend not to notice to save yourself stress. Even the building itself looks a bit… grimier than normal. Jack and you don’t end up meeting the person who took on Chilton’s role, instead being swiped in at the security desk and then taken through the halls immediately. 

Jack leads the way and you follow after him like a shadow. You’d like to think that you can go relatively unnoticed, but the thought is exceedingly unrealistic. You can only hope Hannibal has miraculously lost interest. Upon entering the space, you find the killer in question sitting at his writing desk, reading a book. Jack closes the door after you enter, impatiently staring at the man until he decides to break the silence. “Hannibal.” 

Hannibal blinks and looks up, seeming surprised. “Ah, Jack,” he says. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you. It’s been some time.” He places his book down and gets to his feet, standing across from Jack. 

“I suppose it has been,” Jack responds amicably. In a less stressful situation, you’d be amused at how unenthusiastic he sounds. But you can’t quite get yourself to forget your anxiety. It’s not just your imagination: the air is incredibly tense, almost charged. 

It is only inevitable that Hannibal’s gaze drifts to you. You’ve shoved your hands in your pockets, a false notion of security beneath these blinding fluorescent lights. You’re not sure how long you stand there, a mere subject to Hannibal’s fervent attention, before he finally speaks. “It is nice to see you.” Hannibal is looking at you when he speaks. You get the inexplicable urge to smoke again, despite quitting months ago. It must be the uneasiness brewing in your chest. 

“You too.” You can’t summon more than a tired quirk to the edge of your lips and a brief nod. 

He regards you for a moment, a thin but knowing smile on his face. “You are unusually quiet today.” How he’s able to conclude that based on one sentence is beyond you.

“Apologies,” you murmur. The sentiment feels slimy and wrong on your lips. Your voice is audibly raspy and you can virtually see Hannibal digesting that information, puzzling it out in his mind. He needs more. 

You helplessly glance at Jack, who sighs. “Yes, well,” Jack breaks off, seemingly struggling to find the right words. “There was an unforeseen complication.”

“Oh?” Despite his attentive response, Hannibal’s eyes still haven’t left your face. From there, Jack recounts your conversation to him. Hannibal nods along during the appropriate moments, but it almost seems as if he isn’t paying attention. He’s practically tearing you apart with his eyes—his gaze extremely scrutinizing. You just barely manage to keep still, instead of fidgeting restlessly. “We decided it would be worthwhile to see the painting in-person—to meet with someone and discern its significance,” Jack finishes. 

“The Brooklyn Museum,” Hannibal recalls. Jack nods, not appearing surprised that Hannibal knew where the painting was being kept. Then his gaze slides to you. “What delayed your return?”

“We encountered some unexpected opposition,” Jack answers. It’s vague, but it answers the question nonetheless. 

“We?” Hannibal hums lightly. “Forgive the discourtesy, but you seem unscathed, Jack.”

A tick in Jack’s jaw is the only visible sign of his irritation. Hannibal should know that Jack’s position requires him to be at headquarters virtually every day. It is exceedingly rare for him to leave the office, since he supervises the entire Behavioral Analysis Unit in addition to many other recruits. You struggle to fight off a frown at Hannibal’s unusually acerbic remark. He almost seems angry. The source of that anger is exceedingly unclear. 

You’re ready to diffuse the tension by giving him an explanation, until you find Jack firmly shaking his head at you. You frown. Wasn’t that the entire point of this excursion—to taunt Hannibal with the information you gained and see if he revealed anything else in its wake? Why is Jack changing his mind now? 

Hannibal does look rather impatient and irritated. This may be the first time you’ve seen his emotions written so plainly across his face. He’s staring at you hard enough to melt your skin off. 

“If you wish to waste time, I can make an educated guess,” Hannibal offers. His eyes are dark, his smile is overwhelmingly fake, and there’s a noticeable venom to his voice. Jack stiffens at your side, before taking a slow breath. It’s clear he’s accepted the futility of the situation. You can’t waltz into a lions’ den with fresh prey, only to deny them the meal. 

“Very well,” Jack says. He turns to look at you; you’re not sure what your expression is, but it must betray some of your confusion, because Jack’s lips only fall into a tighter line. Is there something he’s not telling you, here? “We—or, more accurately, my agent here—came across the killer.”

Hannibal is silent. He’s waiting for more detail. Jack won’t give it to him. You stifle a sigh. “He consumed the painting, like you said he would,” you add. 

“Ah,” Hannibal says. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised, nor does he seem satisfied by your answer. “I’m afraid that doesn’t explain your silence, dear.” The pet name is an unwelcome jolt in your chest, even when used sarcastically. Jack’s expression darkens as he glares at Hannibal. Hannibal doesn’t care to notice. It’s as if the two of you are the only ones in the room. 

“And I can’t help but notice you’ve fastened the top button of your shirt today,” Hannibal continues. It’s a casual comment, nothing more than a harmless observation. Or, at least, it would be—if you weren’t hiding your wounds from the Red Dragon. “A rather uncharacteristic choice for you. I’m curious as to why you would make that decision.” 

You want to keep quiet, knowing anything you say will betray you. But Hannibal’s gaze is insistent and expectant. There’s an ugly feeling rolling through your body. Every fiber of your being is telling you to run, to escape this trap he’s sprung. 

“Agent—” Jack warns you, suddenly breaking his static posture and turning to look at you. There’s a wary expression on his face and it’s clear he doesn’t want you to reveal anything more. But it’s too late. As if possessed by a foreign urge, your hand has already met the edge of your collar. You’re forced to watch as you pull the material down from your neck, wincing as the effort drags the fabric along your still-healing wound. If Hannibal’s attention was intense before, it’s utterly ravenous now. You’re not sure why you’re so compelled to tell him the truth. All you know is the rapid drumming of your heart in your chest, pushing you to take action. 

You’re sure the achingly bright fluorescent lighting does nothing to aid the yellow-brown bruises scattered across your throat. Hannibal’s eyes trace the marks with clinical scrutiny; your heart steadily pounds in your chest as he resumes his silent investigation. For a while, there is only quiet as he examines you. The glass wall between you is rendered obsolete. You can feel the weight of his gaze over the dull headache you’ve been sporting; in the goosebumps along your skin; and across your shoulders. 

When Hannibal finally tears his eyes away, you’re fooled into thinking his inspection is over. But somehow, he seems to know you hid the bite mark from him. “There is more,” he states with deceptive composure. There is nothing composed about the look in his eyes or the tension firmly pulling his shoulders. Hannibal is standing closer now, steadily approaching and rendering the barrier between you entirely inconsequential. “At the edge of your neck.”

Jack seems to feel just as overwhelmed and helpless as you do. Because although he looks at you and fiercely shakes his head, there’s a perplexed fear glimmering in his eyes. Both of you are unsure about this course of action—and about Hannibal’s uncharacteristic mood swing. 

“Show me,” Hannibal demands. There is no politeness in his voice. There is no pretense written across his face. This is not a request—this is a demand, an order. 

You obey and tug the material over with a shaking hand, revealing the base of your neck and the edge of your shoulder. His eyes leave no stone unturned, as he follows the teeth marks scattered across your collarbone and crawling up your shoulder. Otherwise, Hannibal doesn’t verbally react: he is frighteningly silent. You can’t even hear him breathe. He never displays his emotions—you know that. And yet, there is no sign of his characteristic restraint now. There is only violence in the lines of his clenched fists; anger in the firm pull of his lips; tension in the furrow of his brows; and something far darker glittering in his eyes. 

You lock eyes with Hannibal Lecter and, for the first time in several months, you remember to be afraid of him. His sudden presence at the very edge of the glass is all you need to take a cautious step backwards and enforce the distance between the two of you. And he latches onto that fear with frightening speed. It almost feels as if the walls around you are caving in; in the blink of an eye, you can see Hannibal swiftly stepping out of his transparent prison and reaching out towards you—

Jack’s hand on your shoulder brings you back to reality. You just vaguely hear him say something to Hannibal, before whispering to you as he leads you out of the space. He’s speaking, but you haven’t the faintest idea what he’s saying.  You don’t have the energy or wherewithal to resist, instead remaining pliant in his grip as he ushers you through the hall. You expect Hannibal’s voice to travel across the hall, but he remains silent. And your heart begins to calm, with the distance you gain on him. 

A stiff breeze greets you upon exiting the building. Jack takes you to the car, and the two of you drive back to headquarters in complete silence. It isn’t until you arrive at the headquarters parking lot under the cover of night that Jack sighs, before rounding the car and coming to a stop near you. You can hardly understand what’s happening, forced to watch in confusion as he brings a hand to rest on your uninjured shoulder. There’s a quiet fury in his eyes—not unlike Hannibal’s rage. You feel slightly sickened and ashamed that you’re the cause of this emotion, that your weakness is provoking such a reaction from those around you. 

Jack seems about ready to pull you into a reassuring hug, but he stops himself. You’re both brutally aware of your roles as employer and employee, mentor and mentee. Jack looks torn, his eyes searching your face as if waiting for you to give him a clue as to how you’re feeling. His right hand falls to his pocket, a restless tell that you almost never see from him.

“This won’t happen again.” The stormy expression on his face suggests that Jack will ensure it. Maybe the sincerity in his eyes should alarm you… but you only feel grateful. You nod jerkily, pushing your tears back and swallowing past the burning feeling in your throat. It’s the best the two of you can do. Neither of you can promise a happy ending, but you can strive to do better in the future. 

Then Jack nods and the moment is mercifully terminated. He glances up at the flickering streetlight across the lot and seems to come to a decision. “I’ll take you home,” he says. You try to object, but your protests fall on unwilling ears. You soon find yourself in Jack’s car once more, relegated to that tense silence once more. You’ll leave him with a word of gratitude as you exit the car, before heading up to your front door as your fingers restlessly trace the outline of your key. You’ll spend the rest of the night subconsciously tracing the marks along your throat, remembering how they provoked such a visceral reaction in Hannibal. It will be hard to sleep that night, as you toss and turn under the covers with an unfounded conviction that you’re being stifled and subdued. 

Meanwhile, Jack will remain parked in your driveway until he’s certain you’ve gotten inside safely. Then he’ll wait until he’s down the street to clench the steering wheel in a tight-knuckled grip that betrays his frustration.

next chapter

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