#i only have myself to blame but ey its the truth

[hoshigray]

MAPPA gave Nanami such beautiful hands that they never fail to make you feel things.

a/n: Bye, the trailer JUST came out, and I can't get over how good they made Nanami, so I'm writing out this to put myself together. @satoruhour pushed me on to write this so ty swee-T-pie, love u sm 💓 this is just like when they released that hidden inventory trailer and i drooled over Toji's hands help 💀 so yeah this is just me writing a short smthn for kento's hands, sorry not sorry. also tysm for 1.9k!!!

cw: Nanami x fem/afab! reader - first soft then smutty, so minors DNI - h@nd h0lding - soft dom! Nanami bc yes - fingering (f! receiving) - hand kink (ig?) - fingers in reader's mouth - pet names (angel, love, sweet girl) - praise - clitoral play - you and Nanami in a cute domestic relationship ♡

wc: 950

You love Kento Nanami's hands. It's no secret to yourself because it's the truth. But you can't blame yourself; you can't help it! There are so many moments with him where you can't help but admire the man's big hands, and honestly, it's embarrassing at this point. It's a guilty pleasure that makes you feel such pleasant emotions, makes you want him more and more.

Even before the two of you expressed courtship, there were days when you'd encounter and have idle chitchat with the stoic man, and those were days that were hard to go through when you had such a tremendous crush on the guy. So much so that you'd drift your gaze away from his feline mocha eyes masked by his eyepiece. Instead, you'd look at his hands, admiring how beautiful and big they are. Aside from his face, they were the only thing visible from his dapper suit. Not that you complained, though. The more you saw and talked with Nanami, the more you marveled at his hands in your thoughts.

And when you two finally started dating, things were going slow and steady. Just as the two of you wanted — no rush at all. But a memory you hold dear to your heart was when the two of you walked home in the cold winter. The chilly breeze sent shivers down your spine, and your nose found breathing tricky in the extreme temperature change. Not to mention you forgot your mittens at home. Just my luck...

However, it wasn't all that bad. After all, your boyfriend (it felt a little weird calling him that) offered to walk you to your place, sticking close to your side, which was a rarity back then. Heat finally found its way up to your cold cheeks when Nanami took the initiative to grab ahold of your hand with his, the size difference making it easy to exchange warmth. "Here," he said so nonchalantly it almost felt like a dream. "Don't want the wind to blow you off the sidewalk." It was such an airy gag from the usually silent man, yet you chuckled and held his hand tighter, the cold overlooked throughout the rest of the walk.

Even watching him doing the most ordinary things is a sight. Whether he's washing dishes, making the bed, or cutting vegetables for the next meal he was cooking for you two, your eyes would always find their way to his deft hands. Rugged palms moving swiftly and gracefully, veins that stem from the back trail upwards to his forearm, and thick fingers with scars so faded with time that you'd have to be very close to see them. You're so in love with him — with his hands. They make you feel safe and secure, warm and loved. Specifically in times when you two are close to each other. Whether it's you resting on his chest as he reads a book while rubbing circles on your back or holding hands with you two walking around the vicinity, it couldn't get any better.

...Well, perhaps now as you're lying on the bed with your back to his chest, succumbing to his touch as one hand cups your cheeks while the other burrows inside your panties — his fingers intruding between your folds and playing with your leaky entrance staining the underwear with your come.

"Ooooh, Kentooo..." You moan to his thick digits in your vulva, scraping your spongey walls that result in high wails. He rubs your cheeks and maneuvers your face to the side so he can lay kisses on your neck, and you melt under his lips with a blissful hum.

"Open your legs a bit more for me, angel." His command is hushed to your ears. You follow his instructions and spread your legs further apart, and he rewards you with another finger added to your chasm. Now both the fore and middle digits slide deep into you, and the brush of his thumb on your clit results in sudden wails. "Good, that's my sweet girl."

His fingers graze your insides expertly, having you writhe on him with how good he's making you feel with just his fingers alone. The speed of his digits increases by the second, and you can feel the wave start rising in your body. Your body jolts with every scrape of his fingertips, pornographic whines fly out your mouth, and your face gets hotter and hotter.

"Haaaah!! Mmnnn...Kento, I'm so close. 'S so close, I'm—Mmmph!?" You don't get to finish that sentence when Nanami stuffs his free fingers into your mouth, your tongue immediately coating the two digits with your saliva.

"Go on, come on me, love." His sweet words were what it took for everything to come crashing down, the fingers in your cunt quicken in pace, and his thumb flicking on your clitoris — causing you to grab onto his forearm. Scratching the clothed limb and heavy pants drawing inward, your cunt clamps around on his fingers as your orgasm comes to pull you in for a euphoric release.

And Nanami lets your body experience the shocks on top of him, laying precious kisses on your temple and cheeks. He slowly removes his digits from your satisfied cunt with a whimper from your puffy lips. "Did so well like always, angel." In your daze, you still share a smile and welcome his lips on yours.

Like you said before — Nanami's hands are your guilty pleasure in more ways than one. And it feels so good to know he reciprocates those desires with mutual love. If such a gorgeous and attentive man can have you under him with just his sheer touch, then so be it.

[ariseur]

hi!! could i request ignis with a reader who's super flirty? i just think iggy is so attractive and want to know how you think he'd react to being told that lol

the crickets around you chirped in tune with the inner melody playing in your head, a soft song muttered under your breath and a tap of your fingers left you satisfied while you watched ignis work. his back was facing you; his sleek, dark grey button-up hugging on him while he made another dish. after the day you guys had, he couldn’t help but make some more food per your request— especially since gladio and you had gathered some herbs nearby. observing the man in front of you some more, you stared at him with no shame. after all, it wasn’t everyday that ignis didn’t gel his hair.

the brown color of his hair now parted with an acacia orange as it accentuated even the tiniest strands of hair. pieces of it covered the back of his neck and what you presumed was the front of his face. silently, you prayed for some water to come his way so you’d see more of this side of him. he looked so content, ignis always did when he was cooking.

you couldn’t stop the next words tumbling from your mouth. “have i ever told you how pretty you look with your hair like that?” even through the distant crackling of the camp fire and the chattering of gladio and prompto talking about only astrals know what, your voice cleared its own pathway throughout the faint noises and wiggled its way into ignis’ head, hoping his soon heating cheeks would be covered with an excuse of the fire.

he still faced away from you, hand languidly stirring the pot in which contained a stew from whatever ingredients were able to be gathered in the seas surrounding the galdin quay, provided to you guys by noctis’ skilled fishing. ignis cleared his throat, swallowing thickly before responding, “thank you, although i wouldn’t have thought that ‘pretty’ was the right word to describe a man such as myself.”

getting up to help him clean up, you watched him out of the corner of your eye; his glasses glinting with the warm glow of the nearby fire. you hummed mindlessly, almost dismissing his claim. “nonsense, anybody can be labeled as pretty.” and to that, he chuckled—brushing off his pink ears. “i suppose.”

letting out a giggle, you made ignis’ heart flutter once more. his head turned towards you, an amused smile resting on his face. he admired the way the auburn flames lit up your face as it highlighted your features; he sunk in the way your eyes crinkled when you beamed, along with the way your shoulders shook with your soft laughter. looking back at him, you pointed at his face. you paused a bit, turning your attention back to cleaning the cutting boards and cutlery which had been used by the brute of food known as noctis. always such a messy eater, you recalled. even gladio ate cleaner than noct did.

blinking up at him, you huffed again, “c’mon iggy, you know it. you’re even heating up— at the truth, might i add.”

and if ignis wasn’t dead already, he was now. hearing the familiar nickname laced with your sweet tone of voice fall from your lips made his heart beat a little louder— ( even if he’s heard it plenty of times before from his friends, hearing it from you felt different. almost strange. )

he scoffed amusedly. “it’s quite hot out here if you haven’t noticed. not to mention i’m stirring a pot of stew as we speak.” blaming his pink cheeks on the vennaugh haven you lot had made yourself comfortable in, he brushed off your comments as you rolled your eyes at him with a mumbled, “whatever you say, iggy.”

“don’t start with that now.”

“what? what’d i do this time?” you grinned, tilted your head at him with a tone intertwined with feigned coyness. he sighed, shaking his head. “oh,” you said, dragging out the vowel perhaps longer than you needed to, “you just don’t wanna give into my super charming character. i get it.” putting your hands up in a defensive manner, you pushed more. he groaned, eyes still focused on the pot. “yes, quite the charmer.”

you scoffed dramatically, “why did that sound sarcastic?” he hummed in denial, shaking his head at your silly questions. “admit it,” you said, “you’re just salty i made you blush.”

“i did not.”

“you did, too.”

and before you could keep going on with this foolish game of who’ll crack first, a voice cleared their throat behind you. the two of you turned your heads only to see noctis with a hand on his hip and cocked head. ignis and you exchanged a glance as you both paused your movements. noctis grinned lazily as he teased, “what’re you guys talking about?”

[httplilyyy]

𝐆𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐊 | 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: it all comes down to this

warnings: descriptions of violence, gore, blood (lots of it), knives, guns, swearing, scream vi spoilers, bad writing as i wrote this with a broken hand so i apologise if there is any mistakes

word count: 3.2k

a/n: due to the original chapter nearing 8000 words, and due to your feedback, i’ve decided to split this into two parts, so after this there is only one more to go. i also wasn't planning on writing an epilogue, but if it's something you want, i’ll write one :)

scream masterlist | prev. part | next part

006. goo goo muck - the cramps

‘you better duck, when i show up.’

“Are you sure calling Sidney was a good idea?” Tara questioned, watching as you rounded the counter to stand behind it.

“Well, I didn't tell her to come here. I just informed her about what was happening.” You shrugged, picking up some old milk duds and shaking the box.

“But what if she does come here?” Tara wondered, leaning against the counter, her fingers drawing shapes in the dust.

“She won't.” You said, turning to face Tara. “She needs to keep her kids safe.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Tara said, not fully believing you.

“What, you don’t think I can handle myself?” You said, tilting your head to the side, a small smirk making its way onto your face.

“I mean, you have been stabbed twice...” Tara trailed off, a smile of her own forming.

“Okay, smartass.” You chuckled, moving back round the counter to stand in front of Tara, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m only stating the truth.” Tara replied, a small laugh bubbling from her stomach.

“Oh really?” You hummed, walking closer to her causing Tara to take a step backwards till she felt her back hit the counter.

You placed your hands on either side of her waist, pulling her close to you so your chests were touching. You leaned your head down, your lips hovered over hers, unsure, a million thoughts running around in your mind.

“I thought you were waiting for the perfect moment to kiss me.” Tara teased, her lips almost touching yours.

“Who gives a shit about what I said.” You whispered, your grip tightening on her waist.

You leaned down, just a little more, closing the gap between the two of you. Tara’s eyes fluttered shut as your lips grazed hers, melting into the kiss. Her lips were soft against yours and when she pulled away, you found yourself leaning forwards, chasing after her for more.

“You’re eager.” Tara muttered, moving her hands up to your chest.

“Can you blame me?” You smiled, resting a hand up to cup her cheek.

She stared at you, her lips quirking into a small smile. When you leaned in again to kiss her, Tara felt her body erupt with butterflies.

You poured in every pent up emotion into the kiss, and she gave you everything and more back. Your brain short-circuited as her hands went around your shoulders, playing with your hair.

After a few seconds, you slowly pulled away, your noses touching as you looked into Tara’s eye’s deeply.

“I could kiss you forever.” You whispered, your foreheads resting against each other.

“So do it.” Tara replied, leaning back in.

Just as your lips were about to touch, Tara let out a loud yell. You pulled away with wide eyes, seeing a Ghostface behind her, pushing a knife into her shoulder.

“Shit, Tara!” You shouted when the masked killer pushed Tara into the counter causing her to fall to the ground.

You looked at the Ghostface with a new found anger bubbling up inside of you. They charged towards you, swiping their knife haphazardly, hoping to hit you.

Dodging another attack, you stepped back before punching the Ghostface in the jaw, sending them falling to the ground. You ran over to Tara, helping her up from the floor with a supportive hand around her waist.

The two of you rushed towards a door when Sam and Chad came bursting through, startling you both.

“Come on!” Sam yelled, eyeing the Ghostface on the ground, helping you pull Tara out of the room.

Chad closed the door behind you, running back into the main theatre. The four of you stopped, looking around trying to find a way out.

“It’s Kirby,” Sam spoke up, “she’s the killer.”

“No shit!” Chad yelled, going to run out of the theatre.

“That’s locked!”

“Fuck!” He exclaimed before running back to you, Tara and Sam.

“She made this whole theatre a kill box for us.” Sam said, disbelief in her voice.

“Hey, how about that? There's an exit door! Maybe it leads to the roof or something” Tara said, pointing up, causing everyone to follow her finger.

“There’s only one way to find out.” You shrugged, looking back at Tara.

You each ran towards a ladder, but you spotted the Ghostface running towards you out of the corner of your eye. You pulled Tara behind you as the Ghostface jumped off the stage, landing in front of you.

The Ghostface swiped their knife at Sam, the woman dodging the attack. Chad tackled the masked killer to the ground, quickly getting up, grabbing a camera from a table and swung it at their face.

“Smile for the camera, mother fucker!” Chad knocked the Ghostface down and followed as You, Sam and Tara ran onto the stage to find another way out.

“Over there!” You pointed out, seeing a hallway.

Sam nodded, taking the lead as you all ran through the hallway, the Ghostface hot on your tail. Tara yelled when she bumped into the wall, trying to run as fast as she could.

Chad threw the camera he was still holding back at the Ghostface, slowing them down slightly. You had done a full circle and you were back in the room you and Tara were in together.

You waited for Chad to run past you, pushing a popcorn machine over to stop the Ghostface. Standing face to face you waited for the Ghostface to make the first move.

They tried to stab you with their knife but you dodged it, stepping back as you calculated their next move. Sam and Tara took a hold of the Ghostface’s arms, pulling them away from you.

Chad ran forward and punched the masked killer, sending them to the ground once again. Tara kicked them in their face, making sure they wouldn't get up.

“Tara, come on.” You pleaded, taking a hold of her hand and pulling her away.

You walked back to Sam when Chad picked up a small bubblegum machine, stalking over to the Ghostface, going to throw the machine down.

When Chad went to throw the machine another Ghostface came up behind him and stabbed him in the back. Chad let out a scream causing everyone’s heads to snap towards him.

Tara gasped, going to help him, but you held her back by the waist. The Ghostface on the floor got up and started to stab Chad in the stomach too, the boy telling you three to go.

“No!” Tara shouted, fighting against your grip.

You watched as the two Ghostface’s pushed Chad’s body to the ground. The two killers stood beside each other, swiping their knives at the same time, getting rid of Chad’s blood.

“Go!” You said, handing Tara over to Sam as you pushed the sisters towards the door.

“No, y/n!” Tara screamed, watching helplessly as she was pulled back by her sister.

You gave the younger Carpenter one last look before you closed the door and faced both the Ghostfaces.

“Hello, fellas.” You said, waving your hand.

They looked at each other before looking back at you. One of them walked back, exiting the room as another stalked towards you.

You held your ground, watching as they got closer and closer but they walked past you, exiting through the same door Sam and Tara exited only a few moments ago.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself.

Sam and Tara tried to get away, heading onto the stage when a Ghostface appeared, jumping down, pointing their knife towards the sisters.

The two turned around to go the other way but the other Ghostface blocked them, moving their knife from side to side as a way of saying ‘no’, the two killers blocking them from going anywhere.

Sam took a hold of two bricks, handing one to Tara and keeping the other to herself. They stood, watching as the Ghostface’s made their way closer to them, the sisters tightening their grip on the bricks.

“Sam.” Tara sobbed, looking around frantically.

“Ready?” Sam asked Tara but she didn’t get a response. Sam turned around to face her sister, taking a hold of her shoulder gently. “I need you to be ready. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.” Tara nodded, closing her eyes for a moment before turning around to look at a Ghostface with her sister doing the same thing.

The two sisters took deep breaths in, calming their nerves before putting on their game faces.

“Come on, mother fucker!” Tara shouted.

As the Ghostface’s were about to attack them a gunshot rang out in the theatre causing them to scatter away. Tara and Sam ducked, covering their heads.

The two thought they were alone when they heard footsteps coming from the stage. Kirby appeared looking rugged as she held her gun in her hand.

“It’s okay!” Kirby reassured, walking down the steps to Sam and Tara.

“Stay the fuck back!” Sam warned, pulling Tara behind her.

“We know it’s you, Kirby.” Tara said, taking a step forward.

Kirby shook her head as she limped forward, pointing to the stage as she tried to not let the tears fall.

“One of them knocked me out.”

“Kirby, stop!” A voice shouted, causing Sam and Tara to turn around to see Bailey, his gun raised at Kirby. “Get away from them.”

“What are you doing?” Kirby asked the man, pointing her own gun at him.

“Did you kill Quinn? Did you kill my daughter?”

“Jesus Christ! Whatever he has been saying to you, don’t listen to him. He’s probably the killer!” Kirby muttered before pointing her gun behind him, seeing the Ghostfaces reappear. “Behind you!”

Bailey didn’t look all that surprised and he pulled the trigger, shooting Kirby in the stomach. Sam and Tara watched as she fell to the floor, their mouths dropped open in shock.

Bailey smirked, the two Ghostfaces coming to a halt behind him.

“Great job, both of you.”

“You?!” Tara gasped, looking at the man.

“Eh, of course me.” Bailey replied, tilting his head as he looked at the two sisters. “Frankly, I expected more from the two of you after what you did to us!”

“What do you mean ‘us’?” Tara asked, confusion written on her features.

The taller Ghostface took a hold of their mask, pulling it over their head, revealing themself.

“Mindy was right.” Ethan laughed, a manic smile on his face. “It was easy to juke the roommate lottery. I mean, all I had to do to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named Chad! Fuck, it felt good to kill him!”

Ethan held up his mask beside him, tapping his knife against it as he looked at Sam.

“This was your grandmother’s Sam, Nancy Loomis. It really runs in the fucking family, doesn’t it? Speaking of family…”

“Wait for it.” Bailey smirked, bouncing on his feet.

“My name’s not Ethan Landry!” He laughed, looking over at the man beside him. “Isn’t it, dad?”

“Dad?” Tara questioned.

“Wait, if it’s you two, then that just leaves… Mindy?” Sam wondered, looking at the second Ghostface.

They grabbed their mask, slowly pulling it off to reveal themself.

“Hey, roomies.” Quinn smirked. “Didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

“Yeah because you died!” Tara exclaimed.

“I kinda didn’t.” Quinn shrugged. “Though it was a good way to get off the suspect list. Stabbed Gale Weathers, and y/n, and stabbed Mindy on the train. That sort of thing.”

“Yeah. I just made sure I was first on the scene so I could switch her body out with the fresh one. A little fake blood and prosthetics, you’d be amazed at what a grieving father could get away with…”

Sam and Tara looked at the Man with shock and hatred but their gaze soon turned onto something moving behind the three.

“Oh and one more thing.”

Another Ghostface came out from the shadows and stood behind him. The two sisters soon realised who that person could be.

“Y/n.” Tara whispered out, heart breaking as she looked at you.

“What?” Bailey questioned, tilting his head to the side.

“Boo!” You said, from behind them. Quinn, Ethan and Bailey jumped out of their skins, turning around to face you.

You swung a knife at Quinn, slicing her arm causing her to real back in pain. You kicked Bailey in the chest and he fell to the ground, not getting up as he looked at you in shock.

Ethan threw a punch towards your cheek but you took a hold of his arm, twisting it till you heard a loud pop, the boy letting out a scream of agony before kicking him to the floor too.

Your chest heaved up and down, when you took off the Ghostface mask. You looked up at Sam and Tara and when you were about to walk towards them you heard a laugh along with slow claps coming from behind you.

“Well, well, well. Look at my baby sister following in my footsteps.”

“Wha- what are you-? But-” You stuttered, turning around to find the source of the voice.

“You’re all grown up.” They said, finally coming out of the shadows to reveal themself.

“Jill.” You gulped, watching as she walked closer to you.

Everyone else stopped to look at you. Tara and Sam held expressions of confusion and sadness whilst Ethan, Quinn and Bailey had looks of mischief and glee.

“I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What the fuck?!” You finally managed to spit out, backing up from the woman only to come in contact with Ethan’s chest, the boy holding you still as Jill continued to walk towards you.

“Surprise, y/n.” Ethan whispered in your ear, tightening his grip on you.

“What a lovely family reunion.” Bailey chuckled as he got up from off the floor, making his way over to you.

“Get away from them!” Tara shouted, trying to get to you but Sam held her back.

“How?” You questioned, looking at Jill. “Sidney shot you. She killed you!”

“I guess I'm in the clear.” Jill shrugged, stepping closer so she was only a few millimetres away.

“Mhm, great.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Oh come on, y/n. That’s no way to greet your sister after a decade.” Jill said, pouting as she lifted a hand to touch your shoulder.

“You are not my sister.” You said, hardening your grip on the knife in your hand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Jill shook her head, her gaze tilting to the knife.

“Do what?” You asked, faking innocence, your knuckles turning white as your grip tightened.

“I think you forgot who I am.” Jill said, her hand shooting out to your forearm. “You’re not going to get away this time.”

Jill pulled you from Ethan’s hold, tugging you so your back was against her front. She took the knife from your hand and held it against your throat.

“One sudden movement and I slit your throat.” Jill whispered in your ear, pressing the knife harder against your neck, not enough to draw blood but enough to halt your breathing.

“Now I wonder why Sidney was the favourite.” You muttered sarcastically.

“Watch your mouth.” Jill said harshly, nicking your neck as a warning.

“Where were we?” Bailey asked rhetorically. “Oh yes…”

“I got Stu Macher’s mask.” Quinn said as she moved around the theatre and over to the mannequins. “He was my favourite.”

Ethan placed the mask he had been wearing on a mannequin. “That’s number three.” Bailey explained, holding up three fingers as he slowly made his way towards Sam and Tara, sparing a glance at Quinn who placed her mask down as well. “That’s two.”

“Which leaves your fathers.” Bailey said, pulling out Billy’s mask from his bullet proof vest. “This is what we’ve been counting down to, Sam. I'm gonna need you to put it on.”

Bailey held out the mask to Sam, slowly making his way towards her.

“Fuck you!” Sam exclaimed, slapping the mask out of his hands.

Ethan leaned over and swiped his knife at Sam’s arm, creating a large gash where blood immediately poured out.

“Ooh.” Ethan taunted as he heard his dad laugh at his action.

“You stay the fuck away from her!” Tara sneered, placing a protective arm around her sister.

“What- what is this?” Sam questioned, looking back to Bailey. “You did this as a family?”

“Oh yeah, bitch. You should know better than anyone.” Quinn responded angrily, walking closer to the two girls, standing next to her brother.

“They’re still not getting it.” Ethan chuckled.

“Look, I don't know what you believe. But I didn't commit those murders in Woodsboro, it wasn’t me.”

“Oh we know that.” Bailey scoffed. “Of course you didn’t, what d’you think this is based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? Come on, who do you think started the rumours about you in the first place?”

“You know how easy it was to turn Sam, from the hero of Woodsboro, into the villain.” Quinn said, raising her knife. “How easy it is to convince the world to believe the worst in people, rather than the best.”

“Because it’s not enough to just kill someone these days.” Ethan spoke up, going into further detail. “You have to assassinate their character first, so when dad here discovers your horribly mutilated bodies, posed with Sam wearing her fathers mask. He'll say some poor dumb bastard read on the internet that you’re the real Ghostface and took matters into their own deluded hands.”

“Exactly, that’s why it’s a perfect alibi and all the best lies are based on the truth.” Bailey said, pointing at Sam. “You’re the killer, just like your father.”

“No I'm not!” Sam shouted, her voice breaking with anger.

“Yes you are, you mother fucker!” Quinn yelled, anger pouring out of her. “You killed our brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said your brother died in a car accident.” Tara pointed out.

“No, no, no you sweet dumb thing.” Ethan said lowly. “He died in woodsboro, in the hands of your bitch sister.”

“You're Richie's family.” You said, as it all finally clicked inside your head.

“Well done.” Jill chuckled, moving the knife up from your neck to trace the side of your face. “I always thought I had the brains in the family.”

“I’m not nine anymore, Jill.” You scoffed, moving your head away from the knife.

“What did I say, hmm? Shut. Your. Mouth.” Jill tutted, adding a little pressure to the knife, cutting along the side of your face.

You let out a toe curling scream, the pain being unbearable but Jill just laughed, enjoying the way you squirmed in her arms.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Jill said condescendingly, “did I hurt you?”

You didn’t respond, gritting your teeth as you created a fist with your hands, trying to push through the pain.

“I asked you a question!” Jill snapped, creating another cut through your eyebrow.

“Stop!” Tara shouted, watching as you shook in Jill’s arms, tears welling up in your eyes, immediately feeling as if you were nine again.

“What was that?” Jill questioned, tapping the knife to the back of her ear, acting as if she couldn’t hear. “Keep going? Well, if you say so.”

“She said stop.” Someone said but it wasn't from anyone you could see.

Jill turned her head around, her grip on you faltering as she saw who the voice came from. You stumbled out of Jill’s arms and looked in the same direction as her.

“Sid.” You said breathlessly, looking at the woman in shock.

tag list: @andsoigotabutterfly @dksjskx @dreifhraniquo29 @karsonromanoff @btay3115 @bananasplits-world @youralphawolf72

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Two

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Warnings: Use of French from someone's whose ability extends to that of the primary school level! Hints of past encounters with substance abuse, but not really.

Authors Note: Part two baby!! I'm really so glad that you all seemed to enjoy the first part of this and can only hope you'll like this one too! I can't believe I've actually decided to give this series a go, already onto starting part four! But I loved seeing all the reactions to it in truth and felt like I couldn't not. Hope you like it x

Masterlist

Adi @/AdelineWells_ 2m ago

Coffee acquired and headed into the studio! Who’s looking forward to today’s show?? #MouseOnAMic

“Did you see it then!” Adi exclaimed breathlessly as soon as I trudged in through the loft door, not even giving me the chance to settle in and perhaps start on a brew before she was invading my personal space.

“Well, have you?”

I dropped my bag onto the settee and then followed suit by falling heavily into my favoured armchair, the yellow one which sat happily amongst the rest of the sitting area we’d first set up in the studio. 

“Seen what?” I questioned Adi, the sigh I added muffled by the tired hand I dragged across the lower portion of my face, before I then knuckled the edge of my jaw.

It had been an extremely long morning, what with Teddy not having wanted to leave my side since waking up and then deciding to throw an massive all-mighty fit when I’d had to drop him straight off at nursery instead of Finn’s like usual.

Finn had actually gotten a last minute project thrown his way, one he hadn't been able to say no to, being an commissioned artist and all, which had resulted in him being unable to take Teddy off my hands like planned and me running more than a little late.

That, plus the trains had been a complete and utter nightmare!

Another strike was set to start soon and so the trains were in constant delay. Not that I blamed the workers specifically for it all, to each their own and all that crap. But still, it took me a half an hour longer to get into work this morning than it usually should have done.

I let my eyes slip close at the very thought of it, merely hoping for a moment’s peace, but then heard Adi sigh dramatically somewhere to the left of me, seemingly oblivious to the weary state I was already in. 

She was growing impatient with me and I could feel a headache brewing, the steady throbs of it pulsing high in my temples. I noted then how much I was in dire need of a rather large coffee, or maybe even something stronger, but simply resigned myself to the knowledge that the headache would probably only worsen throughout the day, seeing as though I’d forgotten to grab my migraine medication out of the cupboard in my haste this morning.

I didn’t even get the chance to centre myself before a phone was being shoved into my face. Immediately, I blinked my bleary eyes open at the intrusion and winced at the onslaught of unexpected bright light it gave as I lurched as far back as the shoddy armchair would allow me.

“Christ, Ads.” I muttered, but the woman only persevered and I was forced to squint and try to make sense of the many words she was presenting to me on the screen of her mobile. My eyes widened in disbelief.

Without a second thought, I snatched the thing out of Ad’s impatient grip and straightened in my seat, reeling. “Shit.”

The Sun

Tuesday, 08:23am

Drunken truths- or rather, tweets!

After yesterday’s whirlwind, caused by a recent segment on an up and coming radio show based in London, Mouse On A Mic, where the host shedded their honest opinion on the behaviour of none other than The 1975’s lead singer, Matty Healy, the online world has been divided. Since the show aired there has been a massive show of support for the presenter, many agreeing with the comments made, but also, and rather unsurprisingly, there has been the expected backlash from the band’s rowdy fanbase.

Mouse, a pseudonym used by the show’s host, managed to make it onto Twitter’s trending page in the early hours of yesterday evening, after the segment on the singer blew up, and it was there that many came to battle over the honesty of it all! 

The award winning artist himself later touched upon it, hours after everything had actually occurred and some of the heat had died down, in a tweet of his own! In it Matty seemed to back the radio host’s claims, stating that we really should ‘listen to the radio’ and that he is an evident ‘liar’ as he’s been labelled many times before. He even went as far as to say that he was indeed very ‘sad’, which caused a mass hysteria of both confusion and emotion to spread throughout the media, some of it relating back to Healy’s previous stints in rehab and the many times he’s been caught in the firing line. Whilst others showed no sympathy at all.

No one from Matty’s band or team has yet to comment on it, but the tweet has since been mysteriously deleted! Our question is, where do we go from here?

“I know, right! How mad is this?” Adi gushed unabashedly as she threw her weight into the spinning chair beside my own. The wheels whined beneath her weight but Adi paid the noise no mind, either beyond used to the crappy furniture we’d procured since moving in or just too enthralled in the phone she’d since snatched back.

I figured it to be the latter.

“He was obviously so gone when writing it, but do you reckon it’s the truth then? That he’s probably getting shit for it right now?” She further queried, her voice filled with a childlike excitement that had me frowning.

“If so, why do you sound so pleased about it?” I shot back, tilting my head over towards her, “The whole thing’s more than a little messed up, Ads.”

Adi merely groaned at me in response, letting her head lull against the back of the chair before she then cast an exaggerated glance, a cheap look that clearly stated, ‘are-you-fucking-joking-me?’

I didn’t care much for it, in all honesty, and widened my own eyes in a mocking response, waiting for her to give me an actual answer.

“God, Mouse! Have you even seen the amount of subscribers the show has gotten since Healy’s tweet? We’ve already got a dozen calls lined up and we don’t even air for another hour!” Adi blew out excitedly as she pushed herself further up in her seat, the tight miniskirt which hugged her thighs rode up slightly but she made no move to tug it down, too caught up in her rant.

“We’ve gained over twenty thousand followers, babe! Twenty thousand! And it’s only grown since his tweet was deleted! Can you believe that?”

I scoffed. “It’s hardly something to be proud of, is it? Gaining traction off some guy who’s already got the world quick-firing at him. He needs help, not more fucking media attention. I mean, you said it yourself, he was clearly hammered whilst writing it.”

I got up to turn my back on her then, figuring it’d be best if I just got a start on setting up for the day seeing as we were already running behind. 

In all honesty, I really could see what had Adi so ecstatic. The show had never received this much notice before and twenty thousand followers was a game changer for people like us. It would boost ratings and help garner the wider audience we’d been chasing for ages now. But I still felt guilty and was far from proud of the fact that we’d earned all of these so-called ‘followers’ off the back of somebody else’s torment.

Matty clearly had his demons, that much was evident. But in my opinion, he really didn’t need any more publicity. Especially on a topic which surrounded old habits and seemed so blatantly sensitive. At this point, I honestly wished I'd never opened my fat gob.

Messing about with the console, I silently wondered why I cared so much. Yeah the evident culpability was there, but the guy had it coming with the way he’d been acting. I’d just been doing my job. Right?

I withheld a frustrated sigh at the question, but then jumped an inch out of my skin when I felt a gentle touch brush against my shoulder, pulling me swiftly from my thread of chaotic thoughts.

Spinning around, I was met with the face of a guilt-ridden Adi, who’s glossy lips were pursed and deep brown eyes downcast.

“Sorry,” She said and then paused, “Didn't think of it much like that.” Her mouth twisted uncomfortably for a second before she finally smiled at me, clearly apologetic. “We should probably say something then, right? To the viewers?”

I dipped my head in a surprised nod before slouching into the booth’s chair with a defeated huff. “I mean sure, but what would we even say though? It’s all so fucked up. Thanks for following us but fuck you if you think we’re gonna chat shit about some band?”

Adi snorted, but her typical catty smile didn't quite reach her eyes, “Guess that could work. Sounds effective enough.”

I chuckled around a smile of my own, then hummed for a moment.

“Not really the big break we were looking for, is it?” I commented aloud, not really looking for a response. Then added, “You reckon he’s alright?”

“Who?”

A brief silence settled between us then as I scanned Adi’s bemused face, and she moved to settle against the edge of the table.

“Healy.” I murmured softly.

And Adi, apparently taken back by my answer, locked her jaw in thought before her eyes shifted towards something just over my shoulder. “I’m not sure.”

--

Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 22m ago Highlights of today's show! 

>Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 21m ago Mouse opened up today's show with ‘an oldie’, in her words, and played 'Morning Glory' by Oasis which seemed to please a lot of us! She also asked how everyone was today, briefly mentioning her long morning.

>Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 19m ago The first topic was based around the Kardashian's newest season and was brought up by a listener who had messaged the show. "F*cking old news! We should have gotten rid of that show ages ago, I really have no idea how people can just sit around and watch it all honestly! So much unnecessary- and clearly fake- drama going on. Just seeing the influence that it has on so many young girls, as well as how much time people are willing to spend on that entire family, is just something I can’t comprehend or get behind, but have been very conscious of. I'm so lost on what it is exactly that has people feeling so drawn to them. It's mental!"

>Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 17m ago The show played this week's top 10 hits! Mouse making a very special shout-out to her son, who's current obsession is blasting Taylor Swift's new release through the speakers! (Don't worry, Mini Mouse, we're obsessed with it too!)

>Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 14m ago The famous "Call Us!" segment makes a return this week! Mouse dragged Adi into the booth, as per usual, and the pair spoke to a few excited callers. The duo answered questions on the newest single’s out right now and what upcoming films they were excited to see! Adi even ended up calling out Ed Sheeran?! Of all people, after a fan phoned in to rant about their need for a new album!

>Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 13m ago A competitive game of "The Impossible Quiz" broke out, which of course was won by our ever merciless Adi, and Mouse followed through on the losing dare! (Check it out on the Show's website to see! Link in bio.)

>Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 11m ago Lead vocalist and guitarist to Only The Poets, Tommy Longhurst, Facetimed the studio to talk about his band’s newest single, 'Every God I Pray To'. He's been a fan of Mouse and Adi since his first appearance on the show about a year ago now with the rest of the guys and it was so great to see the three of them together again! They ended up doing a Fan Q&A (which is up on the show’s Youtube channel now!) before they played the single for everyone listening in.

>Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 8m ago When Adi headed out of the booth, Mouse decided to touch on the topic of yesterday's show. This is what was said, "I just wanted to bring up what went down during the last show, as it- I don't even know at this point, really. It just spread like wildfire across social media and has since been taken a little out of context. The topic of Matty Healy did come up after he'd made a recent headline, having been pictured again after taking a couple weeks away from the spotlight whilst on tour. I gave my honest opinion on the subject, simply shared my thoughts, and I do stand by what I said at the time- as all our longtime listeners will already know! But with that being said, on this matter I do feel as though I probably should have held back a tad and bitten my tongue. I don't know Matty well enough to dub him as this or that, or to comment on his life choices- I've never even met the guy! But it is my job to speak out on current topics and I was just doing what I'm paid to do. (Cont)

>Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 6m ago

"… Adi was actually the one to show me the tweet Healy sent out last night, as well as the incredibly insensitive articles that were paired alongside it, and I see now that it's caused a bit of drama and sparked a few more unwanted rumours for him. I feel largely to blame. To all the new listeners, I just want you all to understand that, here and now, I do not intend on milking this particular cow, and I won't be saying much more on the matter. I only hope that he’s doing okay. And Matty, if you are somehow listening, I really do apologise for all the shit I said and for the crap I've probably caused you since. It wasn't my intention for any of this to blow up, but you seem like a good sort, so. You're welcome on the show or at the studio anytime, no judgement here. Now! That's enough said on that topic, I’m-" And with that, Mouse soon moved onto wrapping up the show.

--

[HOMESCREEN] 17:18

Facetime now Mam Incoming call

Messages 4m Finnleyyy Listened to the show on the drive home, you okay?

"Bonsoir, mon belle fille!"

I smiled softly at the warm and familiar sound of my mum’s voice, even through the phone it was always so tender, a massive reminder of home. Her accent was gentle but brought me an undeniable amount of comfort and reminded me of days spent just the two of us, stowed away in our tiny cottage by the coast.

Before I could even offer her a greeting in reply though, the soft smile I wore immediately brightened upon having a much smaller figure settle down onto my lap to grab at the screen.

My mother laughed when a set of familiar eyes and chubby cheeks took up the tiny box in the tophand corner and I couldn't stop myself from chuckling along quietly with her when Teddy greeted her buoyantly.

“Mémé!” Teddy exclaimed happily, full of excitement as he proceeded to crawl closer to the camera, all knees and elbows whilst he tried to better see his grandmother.

I honestly really did try to stifle every groan that wanted to escape me as he went, but I must've looked pained because I didn't miss the flicker of mirth that glossed the older woman’s ageing eyes once Teds had finally settled.

"Bonjour chérie! How have you been? Behaving, I hope." My mum spoke, her sharp gaze lingering on me for a second longer than necessary before she finally shifted her full attention back onto her already babbling grandson.

I let the two of them chatter back and forth for a while, tired from where the day’s antics had worn me down, but still listening quietly as I focused on my mum’s sweet smile.

It was days like these that I wished I could do more than simply phone her. I wanted to walk through the front door after a long walk by the harbour and see her standing in the kitchen. I wanted to hug her and smell the same flowery perfume she’d worn since I was Teddy’s age. I wanted to lay on the grassy fields which sat behind our cottage and talk about nothing until the sun finally set.

But just seeing her face would have to do, for now.

"So you have been good for your maman, non?" I heard my mum ask, and all of my problems suddenly seemed so trivial at that moment, especially in comparison to the beaming grin Teddy gifted the woman as he nodded his head vigorously in response.

I raised a hand to run my fingers through the toddler’s hair, fingertips tucking stray stands behind his tiny ears. "He's been fine- well, we had a little tiff this morning, didn't we Teds?" I alluded to and then laughed, closed mouthed and breathy, at the way Teddy's head snapped up to gape at me. "When a certain someone didn't want to leave the flat..."

Teddy's lips curved into an unhappy frown at my words and his eyebrows dipped to show how displeased he was with the fact that I had ratted him out. To his grandmother of all people. 

I snorted to myself.

“Oh is that so?” Came my mum’s voice and Teddy’s eyes widened at her tone. Immediately the little boy whipped his head back around so that he could pout in the direction of the camera.

"No!" Teddy tried and I snickered, which only seemed to earn me a narrow-eyed scowl in retort. I had to, quite literally, chew at my bottom lip to hide my amused grin then. "I just tired, mémé! Need sleep! And Fin say no come over t'day. Gots to work. And I was sad."

“Ah, I see! So you were in a mood.” My mum hummed, eyes twinkling now. “And here I thought you adored mornings, Teddy! Or has it just been too long since you last visited me?” She gave me a pointed glance then, one I knew all too well.

Teddy, oblivious to his grandmother’s unsubtle attempt at chiding me, sat up straighter to once again grab at the phone I held. I sighed in reluctance but let him have it, trying not to linger too long on thoughts of grubby fingerprints and a broken screen.

Only recently had I had the stupid thing upgraded, not long after Teddy had violently destroyed the last one. The horrified expression of the young worker I’d shown it to in the shop still haunted me to this very day, as well blu-tack and parcel tape which had been the only two things holding the phone together.

"I do, I do!" Teddy rushed to reassure the woman, bouncing to further accentuate his point. I settled a hand on his shoulder to still him, grimacing lightly at the way his knee had suddenly been forced into my lower stomach. "Mornin’ I'm good! Mum makes soldiers like you! An' I see an'mals in the park when we walk to Finny's."

"That sounds like fun, mon cœur, and I'm excité to hear more, but that does not explain your tantrum." The older woman replied, and I felt the moment Teddy slumped against my chest, eyes downcast. "Alors pourquoi?"

Teddy shrugged silently at her, chin tucked into his neck. I tried to bite back my smirk and my mum gave me a sharp look for it, but it did nothing to dim the mirth I felt. Actually only encouraged me further, enough that I had to angle my face away.

The one thing I loved most about living in London was the fact that my mum could only scold me through the phone. 

"Just didn't wanna leave, mummy." Teddy admitted, rather sheepishly in fact, which instantly caught my attention. But before I could get a word in edgeways, my mum was already there, saving the day. Like always.

"Edward. Your maman is there for you whenever you need her! You call and she will come running." 

Her voice was gentle, face full of concern and assurance, so much so that I had to suck in a tight breath.

"Has there ever been a time that you have needed her and she wasn't there?"

Teddy shook his head, woeful eyes trained on the screen now, and I couldn't stop himself from wrapping an arm around him, desperate to have him closer. Teddy went without fuss and leant into the familiar gesture, resting his head against the small crook at my neck.

"See? She’s so wonderful, so very good to you, and she can only do her best, comprendre? So when she is not with you, when you are with Finn or at the nursery school with all your friends, she is working hard to make sure you have a happy life. It doesn't mean she loves you any less, chéri."

"And I do love you, Teddy." I added thickly, chin buried in Teddy's hair, "So, so much."

"I know. Just miss you."

My heart constricted tightly in my chest when Teddy tilted his head far back enough to peer up at me, his long lashes brushing against the line of his brow. I leaned in closer to press a kiss into his nest of messy curls.

“Miss you too, little man. Always. Things are never any fun without you around.”

"Really?" Teddy gasped loudly, as though he'd just that second heard that the Amazon rainforest had upped itself and decided to invade the UK.

"Big time." I faintly whispered, smiling when Teddy's face lit up.

He turned then, far too quickly for my liking, his entire mood having shifted upon hearing those simple words. "You hear mummy, mémé! You hear?"

"Oui, oui, chéri!" My mum replied with the same amount of emotion, tittering quietly to herself as she observed Teddy's catching excitement, "So lucky to have her, non?"

Teddy nodded vehemently and I just rolled my eyes at the pair, half in exasperation and half fondly. 

"I think it's the other way around, I'd be beyond lost without this little monster." I quickly countered, tickling Teddy's sides and then laughing when the toddler squirmed in my hold, unable to escape.

"Stop! Stop!" Teddy pleaded in a fit of hysterics as I continued my attack. "Help, mémé! Tell!"

"D'accord, d'accord!" Came my mother's merry laugh, seemingly coming to Teddy's rescue even though she was more than two hundred miles away. "Le laisser. My poor baby!"

I relented but only pulled away once I had smattered a sloppy trail of kisses down my baby's flushed cheek. Teddy whined unhappily at the invasion and wiped lazily at his face with the back of his hand whilst I simply laughed.

"Silly babies." My mum scoffed without any heat, her smile radiant.

She looked just about ready to say something else but Teddy was already twisting in my lap. "Hafta go loo." He divulged to me in a not-so-quiet whisper, wriggling in his seat now with a strained smile.

I blew out a breathy chuckle in reply and immediately pulled the phone from his grasp, placing it on the arm of the settee so that I could swiftly pick him up and plop him down onto the floor. I nodded my head in the direction of the hallway and Teddy hurried on, but not before he kissed the phone screen goodbye.

I returned to the sound of my mother's sweet laughter. 

"Je jure, il est une bénédiction."

My mouth pulled up at one side whilst I lightly shook my head. "A menace, more like."

"Ah! Do not speak ill of my gorgeous grandson!" My mum was quick to retort, wagging a finger at me, and even down the phone she could make menacing work. "He is magnifique, made up of all your best parts!"

I simply snorted in turn, rolling my eyes as I let my head fall back against the settee cushion. "I don't have enough of those to configure an entire being, even one that small."

It was my mum’s turn to snort then.

"Don't make such jokes." She scoffed, waving me away, "They forever fall flat.” Ouch. “You are beautiful, my love. Anyone with eyes can see that, and Teddy is so lucky to have you as his mother."

I couldn't really bring myself to reply then, instead I inhaled slowly and let my eyes slip close. It had been another long and tiring day, but then again, most days had me at the brink of exhaustion, in truth.

"Joli, talk to me." The woman murmured softly, her voice rang out into the now empty room, rousing my attention back to the phone. "I can see how tired you are, amour."

With another deep breath, I tried to give her the best smile I could muster. "I'm fine, mam. You don't need to worry so much."

My mum scoffed again, rolling her eyes with it.

"It's my job to worry about you! And you make it so much harder when you do not tell me what is going on. With you so far away, I can do nothing but call and pester until you talk to me!"

I sighed distractedly and raised a hand to rub at my cheek. I knew that she had a point, understood that she was always there whenever I needed her, but it was so hard to allow her that intimacy. She had spent the majority of my childhood caring for me, constantly worrying and fretting, so much it still often made me feel like a burden.

Moving to London had meant to be a fresh start for us both, somewhere far enough that I could give her the much needed space away from me and my many issues. But then I'd gone and cocked everything up by getting myself pregnant, and I’d only made things worse for us when Teddy had come along. It had taken weeks for me to finally admit to her just how terrified I had felt. How desperate I’d been for help.

But not once had she complained about my ability to open up, or lack thereof. Deep down, I knew that she probably understood my inner torment, my desperate need to not be a bother, but it didn't make anything at all easier.

Thoughtlessly, I threaded a hand through my hair, already feeling the knowing tell of a migraine that was starting to form just behind my eyes. I made a quick note to take something for it before I went to bed, otherwise I would be in utter hell come tomorrow morning.

And as I carefully mulled over the words that dizzied my mind, thinking on my mum’s own, I thought back to the last few days, about how hectic everything had been.

“Just a bit mental at work.” Was what I settled on, but couldn't quite stop myself from huffing as I knuckled at the inner corner of my eye. “I said something on the show that I probably shouldn’t have, and next thing I knew it was all over the news. Headlines and everything, can you believe that?”

Still in disbelief over it all, I just shook my head. 

“I saw nothing. It wasn't anything bad, was it, should I start worrying?” My mum pestered with a telling expression, because we both knew just how quickly my mouth could get me into trouble. We’d had one too many experiences tucked under our belts with that, but what can you do really?

Instantly I waved her worries off, laughing lightly, “No, nothing too extreme. Well, not anything too vulgar or offensive, just shared an opinion on this guy.”

“Souris,” My mum dragged out the nickname lowly, a warning or maybe a plea, telling me not to add anything stupid to the rest of my explanation. “S'il te plaît. Do not tell me you said anything rude.”

I shrugged, “Not really.”

“Not really?” She quickly retorted, utterly exasperated it seemed as a hand flew hurriedly through the air. “Not really, she says!”

I had to muffle the snort I made in my palm, “I’m telling the truth!” 

I blew out a breath and started to toy with the frayed hem of my jumper's sleeve, peering down at it. “Just, I’d been asked to talk about this one singer- Matty Healy, you might know him? From that one band.”

My mum merely blinked at me, before she ultimately shook her head, the name not ringing any bells.

I wondered, very briefly, whether that was a first for Healy.

“Well, I- I ‘spose I made an assumption on air, spoke before thinking really-”

“The usual.”

Barreling on, I ignored the sly dig of her interruption, “And probably didn't hold back. Apparently he has a rather large fan base though and a few of them heard what I’d said online, started talking about it. No wait, arguing is probably the better word.”

“Oh mon Dieu. Please don’t tell me you started arguing with these people! It’s not good for the show, for you! And what of Teddy, what if he hears the gossiping?”

“Maman, you sound almost as bad as me!” I chuckled, unable to hide my amusement at her worrying, “Stop assuming!”

She clucked at me in return, then signalled for me to continue with a roll of her eyes.

“See, the singer, well he must have ended up hearing it all because he replied to us on Twitter.” I revealed, peeking up to garner her reaction. “Reckon he was probably a bit drunk when he did though, and ended up admitting that what I’d said was mostly truth.”

My mum worried at her lower lip, letting a silence stretch between us before she broke it with a faint hum, “What else happened? Did you reply?”

“I spoke out about it a little more on today’s show; apologised.” I answered with a one-armed shrug, voice much quieter now. “But I don't know, I felt horrible. And I've never even met the man!”

“Try not to stress too much. I’m sure it will all work out. Besides, you have bigger things to fret about, like whether or not you’re coming to see me for Noël.”

I beamed at that, but still had to shake my head at her incessance. The woman really did have a way of rationalising everything though.

Just as I was about to add to that, I stilled and my eyes flickered up to the notification that had just come through at the top of my screen. An email. It wasn't too unusual to be receiving one this late, I supposed, and so I squinted my eyes at the notification box as I let my soft chuckles die out.

To: Mouseradio@/gmail.com From: Clientteam@/Primarytalent.org Subject: Scheduling/Meetings

Good evening!

Apologies for the late email, we simply wanted to write to you in regards to the recent claims made on your radio show, Mouse On A Mic, both yesterday and today, regarding the topic of one of our high profile clients.

We see it fit that all agencies involved should come to an agreeable arrangement now that the media have become more involved in the subject matter. Our team has since come together and written up some viable solutions, we believe it would be in both parties best interests if a time slot could be scheduled on your show within the upcoming days, in which we can gain an advantage and shed the right amount of light on the sensitive topic at hand.

We hope to hear back from you shortly and are wishing you all the best. Please do reply with a response and some available dates to this email address as soon as possible!

We are looking forward to hearing from you, the Primary Talent Team.

“Mum? I’m gonna have to call you back.”

[shrenvents]

Haunting Fear of the Dead

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, implied (small) age gap, survivors guilt etc

Pairing: Rick Grimes x reader

Summary: Negan’s aftermath served as the last straw to instill in you, the belief that nothing lasts forever.

Word count: 1k

...

The conversation rings in the back of my mind, and your face dominates my thoughts. That despairing, lost expression still makes me wonder whether I crossed the line.

Life is moving too fast, and the overwhelming concept of inevitable death, and her vivid memory haunt me.

The idea, that you may see her in my eyes...

Things fall apart, and I'll never be her.

I knew Lori for no more than a week before she died. And now I've known you for several years, yet she hasn't left my side. Has she left yours?

Your wife and I couldn't be more different.

A troubled, younger girl, who can't help how unloveable she feels. How vulnerable I am. How susceptible I am to doubt. Versus the mother of your child. Your woman before the fall.

How can I compare? How can you love me? After this tragedy and loss, how can I return your love?

Maybe these are all the things I should’ve conveyed, but the moments gone, and I’ll never get you back Rick.

…

"If ya sigh one more time girl, I'll smack you," Daryl intimidates passively, and I snap my obscure stare at him below my post. Then, looking at the world outside these metal walls, one last time, I turn to the ladder. "Call Rosita, I'm tired."

"Nuh-uh, if I'm here all night, so are ya," He challenges, catching my gaze. He holds it before scoffing in defeat, obviously feeling guilty, after viewing my sorrowful appearance.

As I pass him, he grips my forearm. "I know things are bad right now, but yer a survivor," he murmurs, full of pity. "And if ya ain't gonna believe in yerself, believe in Rick." He trails off, and I nod to make him loosen his grip, so I may walk away.

Things just blew over with the Saviours, now that Negan is behind bars. But regardless, death plagues my conscience. How can I think my happiness is important, or everlasting when my survival is just dumb luck?

Ending things with Rick rang so much truth to that.

Now lonely and isolated, I only have myself to blame. Since confusion and indecision left my bed empty, my head is full of profuse distress.

To this day, after weeks, I'm still unsure of what I was trying to achieve -what I was running from, and why was it him?

No, I know...

I feel it again, her looming behind me. Lori. Whispering stories of their pleasant life together before Walkers existed.

Her ghost regularly tells me how life would be different if it wasn't the end times. She remarks how Rick wouldn't look my way if I wasn't his only option.

My rapid imagination slows to silence when I pass his house. I picture Carl on his porch bouncing Judith to sleep, and misery brutally latches onto me, forcing me to remember what is lost.

'You left him when he needed you the most...' Lori breathes.

Tears prick my eyes, and I bite my bottom lip to reduce its trembling. Then, a call of my name drags me out of the dark, and I seek out its source.

"Rick?" I reply, swallowing my cry and straightening my back. Blinking frantically, I assess him as he marches towards me, seeing concern playing across his features.

'Good things aren't meant to last...'

"How are you?" I croak.

"Fine," he stammers slightly, "you?"

"I'm well," I lie pathetically, and even though he clearly doesn't believe me, he accepts my response nonetheless.

"Shouldn't you be patrolling the wall?" He questions hesitantly.

"Yeah, but Rosita offered to take over, to let me rest you know?" I murmur with a shrug like I'm asking him to confirm my lies. He nods again, seeming just as awkward. "Need me to walk you back?" Rick proposes, motioning his pointer in the direction of my place. "No," I utter flatly, far too fast. He gulps, unable to hide his dejected manner.

A beat later I wordlessly amble away, but he hollers my name again, and I freeze, whirling around, brows furrowing. "Can I walk you back?" He urges this time, and his dilated pupils hold such fervour and desperation, that I give in. "Okay," muttering, I look to the ground as he jogs to my side.

Walking closely together, we're uncomfortably quiet. I peer at him and see his eyes squeezed shut as he inhales, expanding his chest to its limit.

"Rick?" I mumble. His eyelids pop open, and he swivels his head to mine, brows raised.

"Why are you," exhaling, "forcing yourself to-" I cut myself short, and he grasps my meaning. "I'm not forcing myself to do anything," Rick rasps. "If anything, I'm forcing you, to be with me," he drops my befuddled stare. "I'm sorry," he grunts.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I splutter as a wave of grief, racks through me. "I'm the one with problems," my meek voice gets choppy.

The pace of his legs falter. "Problems," he echoes, puffing a soundless laugh in disbelief. "Problems I want to hear," he more or less pleads. I faintly shake my head.

When I stagger, Rick stops moving completely, and captures my hand, yanking me squarely to him. I take in how alarmed his features appear and again, wish I was alone so I could cry.

"C'mon beautiful, talk to me," he begs, cupping my hand in both his palms, and when he utters my name of endearment, I finally break.

Liquid flows down my cheeks, and Rick, with his thumbs, hopelessly tries to sweep them aside. But the more his rough pads graze my skin, and he pulls me closer, adorning me with such affection, the more tears stream.

He wraps his sturdy arms around my smaller frame, tugging me tightly to his chest, and I collapse into him. He holds me upright when my knees buckle, and simply lets me cry.

"I broke up with you, why on Earth are you consoling me?" I sob, words escaping my mouth in messy bundles.

Sighing, "Because I love you," Rick's voice grows rocky, "and I hate to break it to you," he chokes up, "that isn't gonna change, just 'cause ya don't feel the same."

His statement makes a louder cry erupt. But, I struggle to muster the courage to dispel, the third lie told tonight.

Of course I love him.

"I'm here, always," he soothes, nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck, and I feel water drip onto my nape.

As my arms encase his shaking body, Lori materializes behind me.

Reminding me, for the hundredth time:

I don't deserve Rick Grimes, and I never will.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Strange - Neuvillette

Author Notes: Happy MerMay Genshin Impact! I cheated a little and used Neuvillette this year. (Honestly using Dottore was a bit tiring last year so I decided to play nice with myself and not go with someone quite so challenging). This fic didn't really have any specific inspiration beyond being a MerMay fic. As per usual, reader is gender neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender Neutral reader/ MerMay/ Mermaid AU/ Merman Neuvillette/ fluff/ romance implied/ sfw

Word count: 1097

Neuvillette was widely accepted as an oddity. This was something that had been the case ever since he’d first shown up at my home. Washed up on the beach, supposedly from a shipwreck.

It had been alarming when I’d found the beautiful young man who went solely by his surname and had always struck me as not entirely normal. And he’d immediately become the talk of the town. And even today, it was that way. Everyone had some sort of story about the mysterious Monsieur Neuvillette.

Rumors continued to fly around about how he was an escaped noble, because apparently only that could explain the easy grace he carried himself with, or that he was a tragically amnesiac sailor, since that would supposedly explain why he seemed to speak of his home.

No matter the rumor though, it was a simple truth that Neuvillette, despite his strangeness, was well-respected.

Deemed both reliable and sophisticated, everyone trusted the strange man who’d washed up on the beach and whom I’d shared my home with until he’d gotten himself settled in town.

I wasn’t quite sure that Neuvillette would continue to be regarded as quite so reputable if the townspeople could see what I was currently staring at in silent shock.

To be fair, I did have to admit that judging a person solely based on the presence of a tail did seem wrong. Especially when Neuvillette had always proven himself to be unfailingly courteous. But there was the town’s seemingly infinite number of folktales about merfolk to contend with.

Simply put, most did not look kindly on the people of the sea. And, with all the stories about merfolk drowning the innocently curious or raising storms over petty grievances, I could hardly blame anyone for their less-than-kind view of merpeople..

At odds with all the horror stories, Neuvillette gazed at me with that calm expression of his that seemed to be almost constantly present as his less-familiar tail curled idly under him and his webbed hands rested calmly on the rock that the tide gently parted around.

In no way did he look like a monster, and in no way did I really fear that he would hurt me, even despite the horror stories of his kind and the shock that he, himself, was in fact a merman.

Neuvillette was a great many things, but cruel or evil was not any of them.

He was strange, quiet, gentle, kind, and surprisingly patient with the incessant rumors that circulated about him, but never cruel or evil.

If the merfolk in all of the stories mirrored the ocean at its worst, with violently destructive waves that hurled ships against sharp, unforgiving rocks then, Neuvillette was the sea at its most gentle, as it quietly flowed along the shoreline in the most perfectly inviting fashion.

I sighed slightly before walking forward, wading through the cool water that lapped at my legs until I reached the large rock he sat on, looking exactly like something out of a storybook that warned its readers about how the beauty of merpeople hid their darker, more malevolent intentions.

But despite such warnings, I sat down next to him with little to no concern. Glancing at him quietly and noting how his strange, slit-pupiled eyes no longer seemed quite so odd now that I knew he was a merman.

“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll tell someone?” Instead of reacting in surprise or panicking to the revelation that he was one of the finned creatures I’d been warned about since my childhood, my voice was utterly calm as I watched the man next to me.

And as if he were mirroring my lack of reaction, he was seemingly unperturbed despite the risk my seeing him could easily cause him.

If I were to decide to tell others, it would no doubt devolve into a witch hunt for the once-respected Neuvillette, and those who praised him would quite likely be loudly filling the air with chatter about how they’d always known he was horrible.

But despite all that risk, he simply shook his head. The motion causing the droplets of water that had been clinging to his long, pale hair to fling out around him, “I do not think you would endanger someone that you once saved.”

I felt my eyebrows lift at his words before I shook my head with a fond smile, “I hardly saved you, you could have easily crawled back into the safety of the sea if I hadn’t found you. And no one would just leave some poor person washed up on the beach to die. I just happened to be the one who found you.”

He let out a slight hum, his gaze continuing to rest on me in the same steady way that it always had, “But few from your home would choose to sit next to a merperson.”

I shifted, twisting so that I could better meet his gaze as I met his question with one of my own, “Would many from yours choose to come on land?”

A smile flickered across his face, gentle and amused, before he shook his head once more, “No. Few would.”

I hummed, laughing slightly as I nodded. Wholly unsurprised by his answer.

I didn’t know much about merpeople beyond the folktales, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all to learn that they were just as wary of people on land as we were of them.

I felt myself smile as I met his gaze once more, “I guess that means we’re both strange then.”

And it was true. He was Neuvillette, the man who’d washed up on a beach, remained an enigma to everyone in my town, and hid the secret of being a merman. And I was the person who’d found this strange man, brought him home despite the risk of who he may or may not be, and now I was also the person who would be keeping the secret of his true nature from my entire village.

A smile crossed his face again, this time staying there as his eyes closed in an amused manner as he nodded. Silently accepting the strange position we both shared and even seeming to welcome it as he responded in that easy tone I was so used to, “Perhaps so.”

And, as I sat next to him on the sea-beaten rock, I supposed it was fitting that it was me, the person who’d taken in a mysterious man whom everyone had regretted as strange yet respectable, who sat next to the strange yet respectable merman.

[icarusignite]

Master Post

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House of the Dragon

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ An Eye for an Eye Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen x OC)

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Oneshots

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(Soldier! Aemond Targaryen x Nurse! Reader)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I hate you I love you (Cregan Stark x Fem! Reader)

The five times you told Cregan Stark you hated him, and the one time you actually meant it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I want to fly with you on dragonback (and eat only cake) (Alicent x Rhaenyra)

Basically the title. Rhaenyra finally gets to take Alicent on that dragon ride and eat cake....and maybe kiss the girl she loves.

After years apart and with several misunderstandings between them, you meet Prince Daeron at what is meant to be his betrothal feast. When secrets and unspoken desires come to light, you and Daeron are faced with a choice: to let go of the past and embrace a love that has always burned between them or allow your tumultuous history to keep you apart.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Like an old melody, my heart resumes (Daeron x Fem! Reader)

Parts: 1 / 2  / 3

The Last Kingdom

Oneshots

You are a prominent scholar from Baghdad, visiting Wessex to learn more about English culture and try to help its ailing monarch with your medical expertise. However, conflict arises when you find yourself falling for the Catholic king, knowing he cannot give you what you deserve.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

(King Alfred x POC! Fem! Reader)

Parts: 1 / 2

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During the ransacking of Rumcofa, you save Osferth thus exchanging his fate for yours. aka you die and Finan's reaction to that

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Sihtric has a nightmare, and he accidentally snaps at you. What comes after is the most awkward confession of his life and you are oblivious af.

You are Earl Ragnar's youngest daughter and the boy you've spent many pleasant afternoons with as a child was none other than Sihtric Kjartansson. Reunited after years apart, will the two of you be able to face the truth of your feelings or will it all end in heartache?

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(Sihtric x Fem! Reader) 

Finan and his friends witness a bar fight during their night out and Finan feels a magnetic connection to the hero of the fight. This can be read on its own but it can also be seen as a continuation of my earlier fic Valhalla Bound where you died and now your reincarnation meets Finan's in another world and that's why you seem so familiar.

In this labyrinth of time, our souls entwined

(Modern AU Finan x Fem! Reader)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Go ahead and cry, little girl (Aethelstan x Fem! Reader)

You are Sihtric’s daughter from his first wife. Your mother dies after he leaves her for his current wife and you blame him for his death. Aethelstan is yoiur dearest childhood friend.

Ateez

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Percy Jackson & the Olympians

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Exam season brings you a lot of stress and Spencer Reid is there to walk you through it. Established relationship, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks.

Lockwood & Co.

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The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes:

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[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Act II- Chapter Twenty-One Su-zakana

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Implied Death, Death, Attempted Murder, Cannibalism, Framing, Guns, Animal Death, Psychopathy

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 - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

Will sits next to Y/N and Jack Crawford sits across the couple as the fish is placed between them. Hannibal pours wine. “Truite saumonée au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side. Beautiful fish, Will.” Hannibal comments with delight. He’s Back.

“It was my turn to provide the meat.” Will responds and I take a deep breath. This man obviously doesn't care for his safety, but I guess I don't either if we think about it. “More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzsche-ian fish. Trials  of his wild existence find their  way into the flavor of the flesh.” Hannibal serves food onto each of their plates. Then: “I hope "providing the meat" doesn't  mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table. As Hannibal sits. Will doesn't answer; Jack answers for him.

 “No doubts, Dr. Lecter. Only the wounds we dealt each other before we got to the truth.  Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness. Chilton has many victims besides the dead.” Jack looks at Will, nods at this. “We will absorb this experience and it will change us. We are all Nietzsche-ian fish in that regard.”

“Makes us tastier.” Hannibal considers Will. “None of our actions were personal.”

“I tried to have Hannibal killed. Isn't that personal?”

“You thought I was a killer. a very Nietzsche-ian fish. Trials of his wild existence find their

way into the flavor of the flesh.” Hannibal serves food onto each of their plates. Then: “I don't blame Miriam Lass for shooting Frederick Chilton. I wanted to kill him myself.“Jack looks from Hannibal to Will. Unwilling to commit.

“Greatest crime now would be to walk away from what we've shared and suffered. In many ways, we need each other. We're the only ones who will know what this feels like.” Hannibal says with looks towards me and Will. 

“This fish is delicious.” I eat my Food and hold Hannibal's gaze.

HORSE STABLE - NIGHT-

Hannibal studies the dead horse's face, running a hand across its neck, almost unconsciously. Jack standing over him. “I agree with the pagans. The horse is divine. All beasts of burden are sacred animals.” I walk over to them,  “This kind of mutilation often presents as cult activity.” Jack says as he watches as  BRIAN ZELLER unpacks his kit next to the WOMB WOMAN, now lying on a sheet of plastic. JIMMY PRICE stands over the horse, photographs the sutures and incision. He cranes his camera, trying to get a good angle in the abdominal cavity. “When an animal's sacrificed, it's presumed the power of the beast will be psychically transported to whoever's offering up the goods.” says Jimmy.

“Which is why sacrificial animals should be healthy, without any defects. This horse was dying.” I say in my approach. I greet everyone with a smile as I sip my coffee.

“Its womb was more or less intact.” An ULTRAVIOLET LIGHT suddenly shines down on her revealing a constellation of SMALL BRUISES on her throat. Brian Zeller is holding a PORTABLE ULTRAVIOLET LAMP. “Victim was deceased before she wasenwombed. Ecchymosis of the subcutaneous tissue is consistent--She was strangled.” Zeller tucks the lamp away, grabs a flashlight and peels back an eyelid to find the whites of the eye are BLOOD RED.

“She was scrappy. Put up a fight.” Y/N, Jack and Hannibal watching and listening nearby.

“The horse is a chrysalis, a cocoon meant to hold the young woman until her death can be transformed.” Hannibal comments, “Transformed into what?” Jack looks at Hannibal with curiosity. I blankly stare at the poor woman who was taken too soon. But the person who carefully sewed her into the womb of the horse is not the same person who killed her out of rage.

“Life. A new life. This is a birth. Or it was intended to be. This is every bit as much about giving life as it is taking it.” I say as i finish my coffee. “What's the thinking?” Y/N studies the macabre madness laid out before her.

HANNIBAL LECTER’S OFFICE - DAY-

Hannibal sits in his chair, observing Margot by the window. “Mad dogs are put down.”

“That what you hoped to accomplish when you attacked your brother?” Hannibal Inquires “Apparently, I went about “putting him down” the wrong way. He’s still alive. Should have waited until my arm was healed.” Margot says turning her head towards him slightly

“Doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good. Did you feel good trying to kill your brother?” Hannibal tilts his head slightly. “Trying wasn’t terribly satisfying.” Margot blinks. 

“What’s your relationship with your brother now? Has it changed?” 

“I think he thinks I’ve calmed down.”

“Have you?”

“Oh, I’m calm.”

“Are you going to try again?” Margot stares, studying Hannibal. “This is where therapy gets tricky.” 

“It doesn't have to be tricky.” Hannibal says calmly. Margot snorts. “I could confess to a murder and you can’t say a word. I could’ve killed someone this morning and you can’t say a word. But if I’m planning to commit a murder…”

“I am ethically obligated to take action to prevent that murder. Be that as it may, if there’s no one

else to protect you, Margot, you have to protect yourself. It would actually have been more

therapeutic if you had killed him.” Margot considers Hannibal's loyalties –

 BAU - MORGUE - DAY-

Jack observes as Zeller and Price hover over Sarah Craber on the examination table.

“She was a horse groom at the stables where her body was found. She was reported missing last week.” Jimmy explains, then Zeller continues. “Her throat's obstructed. Soil. Someone packed it down there pretty deep. There's none in her teeth.” He uses a small tool to remove a CLOD OF DIRT from her throat. There's a RUSH OF AIR as Zeller unplugs the clog. Jimmy leans across the body with an evidence bag, collecting the dirt clod Zeller pulled out and fishing for others.

“I'll check the pH levels, see what organic matter or trace elements we come up with. Should be able to find out where it came from.” Suddenly, Jimmy jumps back, a frightened look on his face.

“She has a heartbeat.”

“She was in rigor–”

“There's no pulse.” Zeller feels for a pulse on her carotid. “She has a heartbeat.” Jimmy swears as he points to her chest. “She has a heartbeat. We have a hand-spread on her neck, but we haven't found anything on her but horse uterus.” Zeller says as he feels her chest.

Zeller opens the victim's mouth. Shines a light inside.

“The uterus isn't always such a safe, nurturing place. Shark fetuses cannibalize each other in

utero. And chances are very good that everyone in this room has absorbed a twin. Mine survived. She has a heartbeat.” Jimmy says as Jack steps forward, feels the woman's chest.

“Something's beating.”

He cranks the rib spreader and CRACK. Zeller continues to crank the rib spreader, cracking the ribs as they spread. A moment as he leans in for a closer look at the chest cavity. A still moment, then: FWUP FWUP FWUP FWUP FWUP A ROBIN flutters out of the corpse's chest cavity and flutters wildly about the room. As Zeller and Price cover their heads, Jack stands his ground, unfazed.

HORSE STABLE - DAY-

Horses in the stable stalls. Nervousness communicating between them like an electric current.

WILL GRAHAM Walks backward from FRAME right across the stable in front of the horses, their heads turning to follow him. Will holds a thick case folder under one arm. WILL STOPS. Looks down at the folder. It is open to a CRIME SCENE PHOTO of the barn. The dead horse and Sarah Craber's body. Will closes his eyes. 

The ORGANIC HUM of his CIRCULATORY SYSTEM is loud in his ears. A PENDULUM swings across the blackness behind his eyes. FWUM. FWUM. It clicks into place. WILL'S EYES OPEN. He now stands --

HORSE STABLE - NIGHT-

Deep rural darkness. Will looks to the horses in the stalls. Nervously moving and stamping.

“I don't want you to see me. I don't want you to see what I do. I want to calm you, comfort you.”

He slides cloth hoods over the horses' heads. Strokes their necks. Murmurs gently. Calming them.

“There's so much comfort in darkness. But not for one of you.” Now Will is leading a horse from its stall. The dead horse to-be. It too is hooded and stands calmly as Will strokes its neck. And then slides a large needle into its neck. Will holds the horse's head lovingly.

Will stands over the now-dead horse. WIDE on the open stable doors framed like a proscenium arch. Centered within them is Will Graham; the dead womb woman in his arms. He bears her gently, like Lear carrying his beloved Cordelia. Will carries her to the dead horse. Places her gently on the ground.

next to her, a small, DRAPED CAGE. Will pulls away the drape to reveal the robin which immediately begins to flutter inside. “I took your life and then tried to give it back to you.”

The robin flutters in its cage. Sarah Craber stares, her face smeared with dirt, mouth full of soil… Will takes a KNIFE and begins to slice open the horse's abdomen. It's hard work and takes real effort.

“I find its womb, place you inside.” Will's back to the birdcage. It is now empty. Sarah Craber is gone, too. TIME HAS PASSED and Will is now stitching up the wound in the horse's belly. “I hope that the forces of death and biology will bring you rebirth.” Will stands and stares at his handiwork.

HORSE STABLE - DAY-

Will holds the open file in his hands. “It's a coffin birth.” Y/N and Jack standing nearby. “I thought it was, Decomposition builds up gasses within the putrefied body and pushes the dead fetus out of its mother's corpse. It's really more of a prolapse than a birth.” 

“Not to whoever did this.”

“Whoever did this knew the horse. Knew she was dying because her foal was born dead. Knew Sarah Craber. He's familiar with the stables. He knew when he wouldn't get caught. He works here or maybe used to. He has medical knowledge of animals, but isn't a veterinarian. He considers himself a healer.” Will says he walks over next to me.

“How is this healing?”

“Sarah Craber was reborn. And a mother and her child are finally on the same side of life. This wasn't murder, Jack. This was grief.” I say to Jack as he is considering our next move –

ANIMAL RESCUE - DAY-

Two weathered buildings stand in a rustic setting, the animal rescue and, beyond it, a LARGE-ANIMAL BARN where the black horse looks out over its stall door. The SUV pulls up and stops. Jack and Will in the front seat.

Will and Jack approach the doors and find them open. Share a look and then Jack pulls the door aside and they enter. It is dark inside, but full of low noises...

SCRATCHING, SKITTERING, SQUEAKS and BREATHING. Like the room is somehow alive.

Jack KNOCKS on the doorframe. And the room explodes with NOISE. On every wall, floor-to-ceiling metal cages contain small WILD ANIMALS in different stages of medical care. Raccoons, skunks, squirrels and birds of all kinds. All now going crazy with AGITATION.

“Scare them when ya' knock like that.” Y/N, Jack, and Will turn to find PETER BERNARDONE, a weathered, lean man. Wild-looking himself. A scar on his forehead. “Peter Bernardone?” Jack asks as Peter moves past them, his focus on the animals as he lowers DROP CLOTHS over the cages, immediately quieting them.

“You don't seem curious who we are.”

“Who are you?”

“Agent Jack Crawford. FBI. This is Will Graham. And Dr. Y/N L/N. We'd like to ask you about someone you might have had contact with when you worked at Blackbriar Stables. Sarah Craber. Her body was found recently in very unusual circumstances.” Jack explains as he approaches the wary man. “I heard.” I notice that Peter doesn't like to make eye contact. He’s fidgety, but not erratic.

“There was a bird in her chest. Did you hear about that?” I ask softly, Peter stiffens slightly: “Is 

“Yes.” A flicker of relief flashes across Peter's face. “Who's taking care of it?”

“How well did you know Sarah Craber?” Jack asks, not entertaining any talk of the bird. “I didn't know her.”

“Would you mind looking at a photograph for me?” Jack pulls out a picture. Peter shakes his head, turns and murmurs to his animals. “I know who she is, I just didn't know her.”

“Just to be sure.” Reluctantly, Peter takes it. Will is watching him closely.Taking a deep breath, Peter turns his line of sight away from Jack. Reaches for the photo. Looks at it closely, then

repeats the same pattern. Looks away from Jack. Then hands him the photo. Under this, Me and Will exchange looks.

“Peter, you had a head injury when you worked at the stables.” I ask Him gently. “I was kicked by a horse.” Jack looks at Me. “It's an atypical motor response. Peter's ability to look and touch can only happen as separate events. Aggravated by stress, isn't it?” Peter glances at Me, exposed and somehow understood.

“Are you feeling stressed?” Asks Jack. “I'm worried about the bird.” He plays with his fingers anxiously as he looks at the animals. “A woman is dead, Mr. Bernardone. And you're worried about a bird.” Jack says, frustrated. “I'm sad for her, I'm sad for the horse. But I can't help them. I can help the bird.” He turns away and goes to the cages. 

As We walk back to the car: “He knows the victim. He knows the animals involved.” Will says logically. Jack nods. “We'll need a warrant.”

“I don't know if he's the killer, Jack. If he is, he never meant to be. If he isn't, he knows who is.” I say knowingly and usually I am right. Peter might not be the one who killed her but he definitely is the one who sewed her body into the horse's uterus.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - DAY-

Will sits with Hannibal. Mid therapy session. “You were able to reconstruct his fantasies. One dead creature giving birth to another. The bird, his victim's new beating heart. Her soul given wings.” 

“Rebirths can only ever be symbolic. en reborn. en reborn. Wasn't that the goal of my therapy?” Will adjusts himself in his seat. Manspreading. “How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI? Last time it nearly destroyed you.” Hannibal Tilts his head.

“Last time you nearly destroyed me. At least I still have Y/N.” Hannibal sighs. “After everything that's happened, Will, you still believe–”

“You can stop right there. You may have to pretend, but I don't.” Hannibal stares at Will, smiles, then: don't. Not with me.

“I don't expect you to admit anything. You can't. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter. Don't lie to me.”

“Will you return the courtesy? Why have you resumed your therapy?”

“Can't just talk to any psychiatrist about what's kicking round my head.” Hannibal gauges Will thoughtfully, then asks: “Do you fantasize about killing me?” “Yes.”

“Tell me. How would you do it?” Will considers that a moment, then: “With my hands.”

“Then we haven't moved past apologies and forgiveness.”

“We've moved past a lot  of things. I discovered a truth about myself when I tried to have you killed. And another when I heard Y/N almost died”

“That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good?”

“Yes. And that I would do anything to keep Y/N safe.”

“I need to know if you're going to try to kill me again, Will.”

“I don't want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter, not now that I finally find you interesting.”

on Hannibal as He slides a FBI file towards Will, The Intitials, C.E.B. on the tab. Y/N Elizabeth L/N. “What’s this-?” Will asks confused. “You should know who you're protecting.” 

FIELD - NIGHT-

That the grave is at the center of FIFTEEN other graves. Nowwe see POLICE VEHICLES. BAU TECHS move in and out of FRAME. Large SPOTLIGHTS turning night into day. Brian Zeller stops his work as he sees Will Graham approaching in long strides towards Y/N. A long beat. Then he approaches Will.

“I owe you an apology.”

“You don't owe me anything.”

“I thought you were a killer. Didn't want to hear anything else. So I wouldn't consider anything else.”

“The evidence was compelling.”

“Didn't stop Beverly questioning it. If she thought we'd listen, maybe she'd have come to us.” She didn't. And there is the pain for all of them. Brian Zeller holds out a hand. Will shakes it. As they part, reveal Jack Crawford and Y/N standing behind them, letting them get it done. He looks at Will. “We tracked the soil in Sarah Craber's mouth to this vicinity. Methane probes did the rest. Found her empty grave. Then found fifteen others that aren't so empty.”

“If Peter Bernardone knew about Sarah Craber's grave, then he knew about all of them.” 

“Still think he's not a killer?”

WILL GRAHAM’S CAR - DAY -

I get into the passenger seat of Will’s car. We sit there for a moment in silence, watching the FBI personnel vehicles leave. “Y/N…..” I turn my head and look at him. What's that look on his face? Why is he looking at me like that? What does he know? Will sighs deeply. “Why didn't you tell me you killed your mother….”

My eyes widen. No. Those files were sealed. Jack assured me- “Will- I- How-” “Hannibal had the file” My brows furrow. “He shouldn't have had access-” “Y/N just tell me-” I look down at my Hands, flashes of the gun, bodies and blood splatter comes back. “I had just come home from cheer practice…..I was sixteen and I was the oldest of 7 children…..” I tear up remembering my Brother's Faces. “I was the only girl ...When I got home that day…. I didn't expect to see my Brother's bodies on the floor……” I hear Will take a deep Breath. I've told this story many times…but it's never easy.

 He grasps my Hands. “I tried to look for a pulse on any of them but ...they were all gone. Even my dad. When i saw my mom i was holding my youngest brother Peter. Mom was covered in blood but didn't have a scratch on her….”

“She Had Killed my family, and she was going to kill me too” Will lifts my chin, “I’m so sorry….” He hugs me as I cry in his arms.

ANIMAL RESCUE - DAY-

Will sits on one side of the examination table. Peter sits on the other side. The bird is between them, acting as a buffer as Will coaxes conversation out of Peter. “Said you're worried about the bird. Thought you might like to see it.”

“Isn't this evidence?”

“I'm not FBI. I used to sort of be FBI. But now I'm really not.”

“What are you?”

“I'm figuring that out. You might say this is some kind of therapy.”

“I've already got a social worker.”

“Therapy's not for you, it's for me. The agent I was here with. He's coming back with a warrant. He'll arrest you, impound your animals. And it will break your heart.” Will says 

“I didn't kill anybody. I didn't, but that's not always relevant. What did you do, Peter? They found Sarah Craber's grave. How did you find it?” Will says  Peter's attention drifts from Will, focusing on the robin. “Funny how you can develop an individual language with an animal only you can understand. No one else knows, not even other animals. This one's already speaking to me.”

“This one's spoken to you before. At some point, almost every culture believed birds carried our souls the afterlife They can't all be wrong” “You think I think this bird is Sarah Craber? She's gone, she's everywhere and nowhere.”

“Tell me who killed her.” Peter goes still, thoughtful. He regards the bird. “After something so ugly, I just wanted something beautiful for her.”

“You were grieving her. You couldn't save her, but you could bring poetry to her death.” Will says calmly.

“I wanted you to find me. If you could find me, you could find him.” Peter says as he watches the bird. The caged bird. Maybe Peter himself is the caged bird, trapped by his shadow. “Do you have a shadow, Peter? Someone only you can see. He's someone you considered a friend. He made you feel you weren't alone. Until you saw what he really is, and it made you even lonelier.”

“No one will believe me. He'll make sure no one will believe me.”

“I'll make sure they do.”

BAU - INTERROGATION ROOM - NIGHT-

Y/N is with CLARK INGRAM, late 30s, neat, smiling. The TWO-WAY MIRROR is at Y/N’s Back. Mid conversation: “Every social worker enjoys some aspects of the job more than others. There are cases that you reach and cases you don't reach.” Clark regards, “Your notes on Peter Bernardone's file are drastically different than the ones from his last case worker.” I say as I go through his reports and look up at him. 

“The social services system is far from perfect. It's common to omit certain information on difficult cases to clear a path in the world for those stuck in the weeds.”  I nod my head softly,“His sort of traumatic brain injury can make someone more vulnerable to psychological disorders.” 

“Post-concussion syndrome. He's had persistent cognitive problems. Confusion, paranoia, rage. Would have refused his case if I'd known.” He says his eyes are emotionless. Hello shadow…..“You don't seem to feel sorry for your client. A surprising lack of empathy in a social worker. “ I say looking into his eyes.

“Bernardone has accused me of murdering sixteen women.” He says with a clench of his jaw but his composure never breaks. “How does that make you feel?” I write down his actions, and what I observe. “Right now I'm feeling inconvenienced. I'm being detained on the word of one very damaged individual.”

“You're not being detained, you're being interviewed. The FBI is just being thorough.”

I bend to scribble a note. Ingram's smile falls. When she looks up, he smiles again. Automatic. A mask. “What are you writing down?” “An observation.”

“About me?” I smile at Ingram and seemingly instinctively reaches out to touch Ingram's hand on the tabletop. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He pulls his hand away. His face changes, eyes become still and cold. Then he smiles again, forcing charm back through.

“Did you know Sarah Craber?”

“No. Peter talked about her extensively during my house visits. I'd say he was obsessed with her.”

“You think Peter Bernardone is capable of murder?”

“I'm not a psychiatrist, Dr. L/N.” Y/N nods, makes another note.

“I'm curious, Mr. Ingram. Why did you become a social worker?”

“Society needs caring people.”

“It also needs a few psychopaths to  keep the rest of us on our toes.”  He leans forward, the smile gone now. “There is no evidence I did this. It's a statement of fact for him, not of innocence. And if you want to know how I feel, I feel like I don't want to be here anymore. If I'm not being detained, I'd like to be on my way.” I watch him without speaking.

ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT-

Oddly quiet and still. Dark inside, but the low noises we've heard before are absent. Peter walks inside and senses something is wrong. Turns on a light to find – THE WALLS OF CAGES Are all empty. Their doors thrown open. The food and bedding tossed haphazardly about.

Peter moans deep within himself. Turns and exits --

Peter comes out running and heads for the large-animal barn. He rushes inside.

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT-

The horse lies dead on the floor amidst the pens and stalls. Bleeding out from a head wound,  next to a bloody hammer. Peter drops to his knees and strokes the horse's head. A shadow falls across him and he turns to see Clark Ingram standing behind him. Incongruously, Ingram holds a bloodied hammer, a tuft of black horse hair stuck to the blood.

“What have you done, Peter? I'm worried about you. You've been expressing a lot of rage recently.” Peter stares at him as if he were mad, tears welling.

“So often in my line of work, I see people take out their resentments on those closest to them. It's a sad fact of human nature. And your brain injury leaves you prone to extremes of emotion. The way you think is compromised. Peter, you're destroying your life.” Peter is realizing how realistic this version of events sounds. Shakes his head. Agitated. Hating the kernel of truth behind these lies.

“Sarah was a sad reminder of all the things you'll never have. And that's the very horse who

kicked you in the head.” Peter looks at the horse. “She was scared, she didn't mean to.”

“Some will say this was a long-time coming. I know I will. Already have. Sixteen women, Peter. You killed the first shortly after your accident. You killed them because you weren't worthy of them.” Clark sounds so plausible. He smiles at Peter, suddenly his eyes are so cruel. “You Killed them”

“If I had killed them, it's because I decided they were worthy of me.” His cruelty and malice are too much for Peter who quietly eyes the hammer in Clark Ingram's hand .

 ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT-

Hannibal's car comes in and Will exits. Will rushes toward the shelter with a now awake Y/N trailing behind him. Will and Y/N enter. Scan the room. Realizing the place has been ransacked. Will stares at the devastation. Hannibal appears behind him. Will draws his gun, turns and rushes back past Hannibal.  Y/N and Will run across the yard to the large-animal barn.

“Peter?! Peter Bernardone?!”Will enters the barn.

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT-

Peter Turns and looks at Will and Y/N. His face is streaked with blood. A cut on his head. Peter is kneeling before the dead black horse, a pool of blood spreading around him from the terrible wound in its abdomen which he is fin Hannibal appears at Will's shoulder. Will lowers his gun.

Will and Hannibal are still looking at Peter on the floor by the dead black horse.ishing stitching. The horse's belly is horribly distended. “Peter….is your social worker inside that horse?” I ask softly. Peter nods.

“We are hardwired to see human beings everywhere. Every animal. Every life. We're all human.”

“Even God is personified.” Hannibal says softly. “He couldn't see that. He forfeited his humanity. I forfeited mine. I used to have a horrible fear of hurting anything. He helped me get over that. Feels so abnormal.”

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal  situation is normal behavior.”

“He deserves to die.” WILL, sad for Peter. “But you didn't deserve to kill him. I want you to come with me, Peter.” Peter nods, stands and allows Will to lead him from the building and out into the darkness beyond. HANNIBAL Taking in the scene, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air as he sniffs it. He turns away and considers the night sky.

the dead horse in the background. The flesh undulates. Guts spill. And then, as a BLOODIED HAND forces its way out, grasping for ground.

ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT -

Peter Bernardone moves sadly through the wreckage, righting things, picking up cages, etc. Like a bereft mourner in the space of a lost loved one. The absence pains him  “Cowbirds lay their eggs in other birds' nests. Tricks them into raising their chicks. But a robin knows when it's being used.”

“Did you know?”

“I didn't want to know. If a robin removes a cowbird's egg from its nest, the cowbird will destroy that nest, eggs and all.” “Out of spite?” “It's not spite. Spite is uniquely human. We just don't understand why the cowbirds do it.”

“What was done to you was cruelty for cruelty's sake.” Peter opens empty cages, as if to coax the animals home.“Some of them will survive on their own. Some of them won't. Some of them will come home. But I won't be here when they do, will I?”

“No.” “I hate him.”

“I envy your hate. Makes it much easier when you know how to feel.”

“Makes what easier?” “Killing them.”

“I didn't kill him. I wanted him to wake up in death and choke on it.”

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT -

the black horse's body to reveal Clark Ingram as he stands, fouled with blood and slime. Hannibal has his back to Clark. Smiling as he feeds a handful of meal to a PIG in a stall.

across the floor, past Hannibal, toward Clark. As we get close, we RACK FOCUS from Clark's nightmarish slick face to the steel of the hammer still clotted with gore… He bends and picks it up. Reveal Hannibal watching, bemused and impressed.

“Mr. Ingram.” Clark stands still, momentarily thrown by this polite greeting.

“Might want to crawl back in there, if you know what's good for you.” Hannibal turns his head and Will Graham steps out of darkness, coming INTO FOCUS as he enters the barn, gun raised before him. Hannibal steps to one side. Watching, fascinated. Will approaches Ingram.

As Will approaches with the gun, Ingram sees murder in his eyes and drops the hammer. it drops into the dirt and falls sideways. Clark holds out his arms and drops to his knees like a

penitent. Smiles up at the advancing Will. 

“Officer, I'm the victim here.”

“I'm not an officer. I'm a friend of Peter's.” His face falls as Will cocks the hammer. “Peter's confused.” the barrel of the gun to the cocked hammer and then Will's face beyond.

“I'm not. Pick up the hammer.”

“Will.”

“Pick it up.”

Will's finger tightens on the trigger. His gaze and expression become steely and inscrutable.Hannibal moves to Will, a devil on his shoulder, whispers: “It won't feel the same, Will. It won't feel like killing me.”  “It doesn't have to. I know what it will feel like. It'll feel good.”

“You did the best anyone could do for Peter, but don't do this for him. Not for Mr. Ingram's victims or their many friends and relatives who would love to see him dead. If you're going to do this, Will...You have to do it for yourself.” I say as I kiss him on the cheek softly. My hand stroking his arm.

“Please don't.”

“You would be wise to remain silent, Mr. Ingram.” I say firmly. To see him dead would make me glad. Wish i could do it myself, but not today…not right now. I want to see what Will would do.

“This is not the reckoning you promised yourself, Will.” His finger so tight --the trigger CLICKS -- the hammer FALLS -- HANNIBAL'S FINGER, between the hammer and firing pin. Will looks at Hannibal as Hannibal slides his hand around Will's and pulls the gun away. Hannibal talks quietly to Will and I: 

“With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict either of you. I can feed the caterpillar, whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me. You truly are a Butterfly Y/N.”

[the-insomniac-emporium]

SWORDTEMBER '24, DAY 7: FLOW

{Late because I got a terrible migraine out of the blue yesterday. Very happy with this one, and it references not only one of my main OCs, but the overarching plot of one of my original stories. Please enjoy!} -----

Item ID: 6O-2407 Item Name: Timekeeper’s Cutlass Category: ERROR://CLASSIFICATION INVALID://MANUAL USER INPUT: ARTIFACT Origin Point: Time Immemorial, Voided Owner: ■■■ ■■■■■■■■ (C), Triampheus ■■■■■■■■ (O) Description: A blade of a traditional Earthen design, reminiscent of the age of pirates. Approximately ■■ cm length, with a ■■ cm handle, ■■ cm at the widest point. Samples taken from the blade, hilt, and the guard overloaded the analysis unit. Scans were inconclusive upon repeated testing. Visual assessment indicates the item is most likely made from seaglass and driftwood. In place of a central fuller, there is a hollow middle filled with grains of sand, endlessly shifting from one end to the other, chased by a slow moving strand of water. An hourglass is carved into the bottom of the hilt. If alone with the item, one will hear the sound of rushing water (this sound is not picked up by any recording devices). Touching the item with bare skin induces hallucinations based on whoever previously touched it, regardless of whether or not one has met the previous individual. Cataloger’s Notes: I’m not bothering with any pretenses today. Truth of the matter is that we never should have gotten hold of this, I want nothing to do with it, and nobody is ever going to read this file other than myself (and even then, it will only be as a reminder to myself). As soon as I’m done recording these notes, this item is getting handed off to people far more qualified than myself. Every other record of this item will be wiped from FPA systems, even the backup servers. Nobody needs to know we had our hands on an artifact of this importance… nor do they need to know we unwittingly used it. May the Ancients forgive my sins, and the sins of my partner. We did not know. ERROR://FILE NOT UPLOADED TO PRIMARY SERVER://ERROR://PLEASE SYNC LOCAL FILES WITH CLOUD://ERROR://FILE SYNC CANCELED BY USER C.DELA://

-----

Cynthia should have known better. By now, she’s catalogued over a thousand items in the span of a decade, from weapons to ancient art, from contraband pharmaceuticals to exotic pets. On three occasions she has encountered items known as artifacts: Relics, both old and new, infused with terrible power. Each one has only briefly been held by the FPA, before being swiftly taken to those with higher authority. But even a minute in the presence of an artifact can change one’s life.

The Timekeeper’s Cutlass is not as obvious of an artifact as most. Whoever tried to mail it must not have known what it was, and those who handled it in between must have worn gloves. As soon as Cynthia was alone with the item, she felt its power, and heard the sea-song in the air. She knew, then, what thing lay on her desk. It was the first time she had ever been this close to an artifact, and her heart raced at the prospect of cataloging such a find. Who could blame her?

She did not forsake her duties, did not set out to play with it. Immediately, she made the proper phone calls, arranged the item’s retrieval first. Only then did she set out to log the details, knowing sooner or later Naomi would be stopping by to take her out for dinner. That was her excuse, maybe, that she’d only work until being interrupted. A foolish thought.

Artifacts set the time of all who touch them.

It only takes a single touch of her bare skin against the seaglass to “activate” the item. An accidental brush of her wrist against the material, a microsecond of contact, and Cynthia is no longer in her office. Now she is falling, falling, flying until she is in another body entirely, seeing through another’s eyes. Feeling what they feel. Voices whisper in her ears, overlapping until one word becomes clear: Triampheus. A Goddess, for one, but a common enough name among worshippers. Once the voices cut off, suddenly, Cynthia is free to witness glimpses into the life of another.

There is war. Long did it brew, across countless planets, at last stirred up by the atrocities of a few madmen. Flashes of combat, of death, a mentor laid to rest when a truce is broken. Rage. Sorrow. Desperation in the hearts of the viewpoint. It has to end. They will end it. Threats are made, are ignored, a display of power is taken too far. An entire planet held between their hands. One last warning, time for innocents to evacuate. Finally they are taken seriously.

But their control is not strong enough. They never wanted it to end this way. Blood from their eyes, their nose, their ears. Too much power- a Goddess channeled in mortal flesh. Either they break or the planet does, there is no letting go. The choice is made for them… and an entire world collapses in on itself. There is no more war, not anymore.

There is only a manhunt.

“Cynthia, please, please wake up,” Naomi’s voice cuts through the end of the vision, breaks away from what might be the future, draws her back into her body. Instantly she’s all but throwing herself into her girlfriend’s arms, pressing her face against Naomi’s neck and sobbing. There are no words to describe what she has seen.

“Don’t- don’t touch the sword,” Cynthia chokes out between sobs. For a moment there’s no sound other than her crying, Naomi going stiff. Was it too early in their relationship for this level of intensity? A few months was hardly enough time for Naomi to grow accustomed to the sort of things Cynthia has to inspect, but surely- her anxious thoughts are cut off by a gentle kiss to the forehead.

“I… I touched it. And I think- I hope- that we didn’t see the same thing. Because I… I really liked what I saw,” Naomi admits, in a reassuring whisper. One hand rubs gentle circles into Cynthia’s back as they sit together, and soon enough the crying slows, then stops. Finally, the archivist pulls back just far enough to look up with questioning eyes. Her curiosity overwhelms. “Telling you what I saw… I’m worried that it might change things. If… if that is the future. So, please, let me say no more than that there will be boundless joy. You will be safe, and happy, and you won’t be alone.”

Nothing could fully soothe Cynthia, not yet, but the words bring her a sense of hope. She may have dreamed of a stranger’s war, but Naomi had dreamed of the life that would come after. A life that would be shared with her.

[sunshinekindof]

My Guiding Star

To say that life on Arrakis is not easy would be an understatement. But I did not complain, really. Despite the constant heat, the problems with the Harkonтen soldiers, the constant struggle for every drop of water and life itself, I was the happiest woman in the world. Because I was next to the man with whom I had decided to share my life. To whom only a few months ago, standing before the altar, I said "yes" and became his wife. The wife of Paul Atreides. Even if it sounds like a cliché and no one believes me, I do not care at all. Even hell can be endured if there is someone who is ready to share all the hardships with you.

For the first time in our long stay on Arrakis, among the Fremen, Paul and I found time for ourselves. Not far from the sitch, in the middle of the night, we lay on the sand near the tent and looked at the starry sky of Arrakis. Just him and me. Moments of happiness in the constant storm. We didn't need to talk. I don't know how, but we seemed to sense each other. I felt when Paul was worried, when he was again overcome with doubts and fears about his future, our future. And the prophecy. Which, on top of all the problems, hung over our heads like the Sword of Damocles.

- Paul..., - I began, trying to distract him from what was happening in his head now.

- Mmm..., - he muttered.

- You know that I love you, right?

- Of course. And I love you. But why are you asking?

- He turned his head in my direction and I saw in his eyes, which were already clouded with blue.

- Because I thought you needed to be reminded of it. You've been distant from me lately. But I don't blame you. Considering everything that's been going on, it was the truth. I really did think so, despite the aching pain in my heart that appeared every time I thought about it or said it.

- Do you feel like I've distanced myself from you? - he asked with anxiety in his voice.

- Yes, but, as I said... - I didn't have time to finish, because I felt his lips on mine. Paul kissed me tenderly, as if he was afraid that I would break.

- I'm sorry that you got that impression, my love. Maybe I've distanced myself, yes, but that's only because... - he lowered his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was about to confess to a terrible crime or sin - sometimes in my visions I see that you die by my hand or because of me. No matter what I do. No matter how I try to save you, - he fell silent, closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to mine. There was only silence around, and then I heard his whisper "I can't lose you."

- Paul, look at me, - I asked tenderly. When he opened his eyes, it seemed to me that all the weight of the world that had fallen to him was reflected in them. He looked at me and did not look away for a second, - Paul, you are my husband. My beloved. The man I chose and will continue to choose forever. I know that you are afraid. You are afraid of jihad, afraid to go south, but I want you to know that you are not alone. I will always be on your side. Just... do not close yourself off from me, okay? Please, - I pressed my lips to his for a moment, and then continued, - always keep an open mind. You said that the future can be changed by any action, any word, right?

Paul nodded tensely and continued not to take his eyes off me. I felt that with each of my words his hands on my waist were squeezing tighter and tighter, as if he was afraid that I would disappear.

- So you and I will try to find the scenario of the future that will lead us to victory. To the prosperity of Arrakis. We will take revenge on the Harkonnens, the Empire, and all who have hurt us. And then we will turn Arrakis into a green paradise, we will become parents, and our children will be our continuation. And we will restore House Atreides to its glory.

- Will you be with me? Until the end?

- Of course, my love.

- And if I lose my way?

- Then I will be your guiding star, - I whispered and kissed him again.

[rosie-b]

Centuries Overdue

Summary:

Long ago, an evil Darkness spread across Europe, claiming the lives of many in the magic community. Trained by Plagg himself, Adrien made it his mission to stop the Darkness before it snuffed out the lives of more Mages and Talents, as it did to his own parents. Though he seemed to succeed in his mission, the pages of his old journals tell a different tale.

In the modern world, Marinette is a fashion student, working at a small library for the summer to earn extra credit. She’s never believed in magic before, but when she finds the old Agreste journals in her library, her beliefs about reality begin to crumble. Determined to find the truth, both about magic and the unsolved death of one Adrien Agreste, Marinette begins on a journey that will eventually lead her deep into the city’s catacombs, where an ancient force sleeps, but is ready to awaken once more…

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or below! I hope you enjoy 💕

Excerpt from the eighth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at Sassolungo Castle in Italy, on the first of November 1809.

There are times when I think myself unfit to be called a Traveler, much less an Adventurer, for my Heart longs for the feeling of Home above all these foreign cliffs and castles. Still, at times like this I am reminded of how necessary my Travels are and why I must continue them.

At first, my only desire was to honor my Parents. That was the Feeling, the unabating Urge, which drove me to the treacherous Forests of the Harz Mountains, to the Supljara Cave, and to even the farthest reaches of Europe, but with Time’s passing a new Desire grows within me.

There is something wild growing in the Darkness; when I close my Eyes I can feel it growing. It is a most disturbing Feeling, and one I am not alone in noticing. The Mages of Tikki and Plagg have felt it also, and have noted its Growth. It cares not for the Moon, nor the Stars, nor the Sun, but its Presence continues to spread unchecked at all times.

I fear if we do not find its cause ere the spring festivals’ start, it will prove too powerful to be Destroyed, and so I have made it my business to uncover its Secrets. This Darkening is surely a sign of a stronger, more sinister Magic, and I fear that there are things darker and still more guileful to come of it. I must make all Haste to prevent its growth, which is why I must journey to the edges of Light, to the place where my parents died…

_-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_

It was Marinette’s first day at work.

The small library was much bigger than Marinette had expected, or at least it felt that way. In half an hour’s worth of shelf reading, she’d only gotten through four shelves, not nearly as many as she’d hoped to check. She had decided to blame it on the call numbers; the way they were printed on the books varied depending on when they had been added to the collection, and she was finding that made older ones difficult to read. Those numbers, written in fading black ink directly on the books’ covers, were the hardest to make out, and she’d wasted several minutes trying to tell 8s and 6s apart.

But it was almost time for her lunch break, so Marinette jotted down her progress on the chart the head librarian had given her and returned to the circulation desk, where an old man was insisting that the new computers did not work, or if they did, they were far too confusing for an eighty-year-old to understand.

“I’m just trying to log into my email account, but I can’t even find the right button to turn the thing on,” the man said, tapping his cane on the floor emphatically.

“I can help with that!” Marinette folded her paper and set it down. “If you’ll just lead me to the computer you were using, I can get you signed in, no problem!”

The other library intern, whose lunch break came just before Marinette’s, smiled gratefully at her. She grinned back. Some people didn’t like this part of the job, but to Marinette it didn’t seem so bad. Then again, it was only her first day as an intern.

“Oh, thank you!” The man seemed very relieved, and he slowly began making his way over to the computers. He lowered himself into the third chair from the left with a heavy sigh. “I’ve already tried jiggling the mouse, but I don’t know if it’s even connected, because nothing’s happening.”

Marinette frowned and glanced at the monitor. The power button was hidden at the back of the screen, so she carefully turned the monitor around to check. As she thought, the button wasn’t glowing. She pressed it once and waited for it to turn green, and within seconds, the monitor was displaying its login screen.

“There you go, sir. Log in as a guest and let me know if you have problems getting to your email. Okay?”

The man smiled and clapped his hands together, knocking over his wooden cane. “Thank yo— oh! Thank you again, miss,” he laughed as Marinette picked up the cane and handed it to him. “Don’t know why they’re hiding the important buttons behind the screen these days. Made me look like a fool, didn’t it?”

Marinette smiled. “It just takes a while to get used to. And don’t worry, I was happy to help!”

The old man waved as Marinette turned to walk back to the desk.

That wasn’t so bad, she thought cheerfully. At least I’m doing some things right at this job.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not a librarian, nor did she have any intention of becoming one. But it was summer break, and she wanted to get a head start on internship credits for university. All the fashion houses in Paris had already chosen interns; luckily, it didn’t matter where the internship was as long as it provided some of the same skills working at a fashion house would, which this position did. It wasn’t even hard to get, since most people looking to work at a library applied to the François-Mitterrand Library, ignoring this smaller location, which was a mere municipal library not part of the BnF. The position paid decently well, and it guaranteed Marinette the extra credit she needed to give her a boost at university.

I already have a robust resume anyway, she had told herself when she’d been debating whether to apply to the little Bourgeois Library or not. Being Jagged Stone’s favorite costume and album designer has to count for something! And my designs have been featured in Style Queen a few times, too. Next year, I can have my pick of Paris’ fashion houses to work at.

It was time for Marinette’s lunch break, so she clocked out and grabbed the lunch her mother had packed. Normally, she would have gone somewhere else to make the most of her break, but she wanted to explore the library a bit more. There were lots of rooms on both levels of the renovated building, and she wanted to be able to guide patrons to the right section of books when they asked without getting lost.

With this in mind, Marinette finished her reheated croque monsieur and ventured off to explore. There were still forty minutes left of her break according to the new watch on her wrist — plenty of time to acquaint herself with the building.

The children’s area was downstairs, a colorful section full of picture books, games, movies, audiobooks, and bright-colored bean bag chairs. It wasn’t as full as it usually was, the children’s librarian said, but on weekends especially there were dozens of children and parents at a time filling the area.

On the far side of the basement was the young adult area. It hadn’t been renovated along with the rest of the building, and the gray shelves of books, old video games, DVDs, and three comic books looked unappealing to Marinette, and apparently to the rest of the young adult population, as there was only one person in the area. They sat in the lone, wooden chair by the poster advertising the youth group’s fall meeting schedule, looking at something on their laptop.

Marinette squinted as she made out the lone tuft of white hair on top of the visitor’s head. At least they’re young at heart, she thought with a shrug.

Back upstairs, there were three big rooms and one smaller one, with a central area where the laptop and computer desks sat, as well as the circulation desk, several sofas, and wood tables with cushioned chairs. Then, the three larger connected rooms — the North room held the nonfiction area, the West held fiction, and the East room had everything from large print to a kindle station to an open dictionary.

The last room Marinette visited was the smallest. It had a red carpet, large south-facing windows, a wooden globe atop a low shelf of foreign-language books, and a small, one-sided shelf of old, leather books facing the sun. On the other side of the shelf, there was a lone, wooden table in front of one red velvet chair.

Marinette walked around the room, gave the globe a couple spins, and stood by the central shelf to examine the books. A golden metal sign on it read that these were part of a special collection, and were not able to be checked out, although anyone could read them while within the library. They’d been donated by the Bourgeois family at the start of the library’s usage, and had remained there ever since.

But there weren’t any more librarians in the Bourgeois family; they had moved on to politics halfway through the last century and hadn’t looked back. Marinette supposed they were happy being richer, but a single library donation in the 1800s wasn’t enough charity work to persuade her to vote for Mayor Bourgeois in the upcoming election.

Marinette looked closer at the collection of books. Was it just her, or did it look like the old books were rusting? Small piles of red dust sat at the edges of the shelves, and the spines of many of the books were cracked, allowing her to see the threads that were binding them together.

She gingerly picked a book off the shelf, noting the cloud of dust it created; the way the spine threatened to crack in two at her touch; the brittle, yellow pages; and, with a look of disgust, the way it seemed to instantly suck all the moisture from her skin.

She immediately put the book back. Her hands were now covered in red dust from the cover.

Marinette rubbed her fingertips together, trying to get the dust off, but it seemed to have sunk deep into the lines of her skin.

Wonderful.

Marinette headed to the bathroom and washed her hands (and then washed them again when the dust didn’t come off the first time). Her break was almost over, anyway, so she might as well head back to the desk. Before she did, she stopped in the South room one more time, looking for the name of the book’s publisher so she could know who was responsible for her mishap.

The Journals of Adrien Agreste, vol. 3, read the half-attached spine of the book, which apparently had no publisher and was more of a diary than anything else.

Well, who would put that in a library? Marinette wondered. No wonder you can’t check it out. The first thing anyone would do with it after they left the building would be toss it in the trash just to spare future patrons.

And she walked back to the desk, taking long, confident strides and silently cursing this Adrien person for writing in books that would fall apart so easily. She wouldn’t be returning to that room anytime soon.

_-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_

Excerpt from the eighth journal of Adrien Agreste, written in Munich, Bavaria, on the fourth of November 1809.

Being an Orphan is less tragic than one might expect. It puts me in good company, and it guarantees a kind of Sympathy from most people I meet. Emphasizing the sorrowful Look of a young Orphan helped me secure many a meal when I was younger and traveling, often Alone, back to Plagg’s cave after my parents’ death. Nevertheless, when I am by myself, I am struck by the Guilt and Sorrow I felt on the day I lost them… Some wounds take too long to heal.

Since to the best of my Memory I have never written about the Disaster before in these journals, I suppose I should put it here. It wouldn’t do to let it be forgotten, after all, and it may aid me in recalling the Dangers of Blå Jungfrun, the destination of this journey.

My mother’s Spirit was more adventurous than my father’s; the voyage to Blå Jungfrun was her Idea. There used to be a circle of Mages on the island, but an inhospitable Darkness drove them out. My mother wanted to see if, since much Time had passed since then, the island was safe once more, and she planned to do this using her Talent. My father was against the idea at first, arguing that neither of them had the ability to use Magic, only to detect and defend it through their Talents.

At that time, it was unknown to me that I had a Mage’s Gift, not the simpler Talent my parents had. They were afraid of the dangers Mages face, and tried to spare me from Harm by holding the knowledge of my magic back from me. Untrained as I was, I could not even sense Magic, and I was completely dependent on my parents to sniff out Curses and other Evils for me. My father mentioned this, too, but my mother was unswayed.

To her sensible mind, the Talents of my parents were more than enough to protect themselves and me from lurking Dangers. And no-one had visited Blå Jungfrun in nearly a century. Whatever Darkness once lived there, it had nothing to sustain it. Surely, it must be dead, she told my father.

Wanting to please his wife, and trusting in her own trust, he agreed to take me to Blå Jungfrun, island of the Blue Maiden.

The journey through Sweden was pleasant from what I remember. There are two groups of Mages in the South of that country, Ravlunda’s group being the largest. I plan to stop there on my own journey, which I pray will not be as ill-fated as my parents’ was.

Departing for Blå Jungfrun from Oskarshamn, my parents took a small boat, protected by Charms given to them by the Mages of Ravlunda. I went with them, and my clothes were similarly protected by Charms for extra safety, while my parents did not wear charms on theirs. There was one Mage from Oskarshamn who came with us, and she had the foresight to wear already-charmed clothing. That is how she and I escaped from the Dark Island.

The Island itself is nothing special. There are trees and rocks covering a large hill, which is otherwise barren. The locals have long feared that place, and call it the Mountain of Witches. They are not far off, except in time, since the Mages have long abandoned it.

The Ocean’s strange waves had floated the Boat a little way from the Shore; since there was no dock to tie our boat to, this had been expected. My parents and the Mage waded out to the boat where I still was, having spent less than five minutes on Shore, and that is when the Darkness struck.

It had sensed our Presence, and gathered into a Storm, fully visible even to me, and too powerful to be banished by the Mage. It was all she could do to keep the boat, and me in it, afloat as it threatened to capsize and was pulled still further out. By now my parents had to swim, their feet unable to touch ground under the water, and the Mage as well. I was frightened and did not know what to do, though I strove with all my might to row the boat back to my parents, and all the while the Darkness was growing until at last a Tendril reached out from the storm and dragged my mother fully under the waves.

My father dove in after her, thinking to save her, as the Mage climbed into the boat and cast a protective Spell just strong enough to create a sphere of safety in the Storm. We searched and searched as the Storm raged on, hoping to find my parents resurfaced, or to see their forms in the water and haul them into the Boat. But they were forever lost to the Darkness. We never found them, and for our own safety, the Mage determined that we must head away from the Island, which was the only place the Darkness seemed to draw power from.

I went back to Plagg’s cave, which is hidden in the Harz mountains, and stayed with the Mages there until I was old enough to take up my parents’ mission and travel again, recording the Darkness, keeping peace between Mages as their countries went to war again and again, and eventually learning of the Magic that was hidden inside me.

I have been lucky enough to take lessons from Plagg himself during his visits to the Cave, however impossible to understand and often of little help to a peaceful traveler like myself said Lessons are.

But now, if the Darkness is spreading, then I will need all the spells he taught me and more.

As I set out to the Blue Maiden, I plan for my journey to be a slow one. This is only in part due to the Ocean not being safe during winter. I will stay in Bavaria for a while and take lessons from the Mages of Mullo. Then I will move on to Leipzig and Berlin, should the fighting (for there is always War now) allow it, and finally to Świnoujście and from there to Sweden. Along the way, I hope to gather a small group of stout-hearted Mages to aid me in my Fight.

I must take the Time to carefully prepare to face whatever twisted Mage is at the heart of this Darkness, for I grow ever surer that there is one. Darkness does not move on its own, but it relies on Servants to work for it.

Let those Servants beware, for if I find them, I will not show them Mercy.

Author’s note: This is the first chapter of my fic for the @mlbigbang!! There are eight chapters total and I’ll be updating weekly, on Thursdays. I’d like to thank all the mods for helping this event go smoothly, my three beta readers (Angel, Helios, and my sister @poorschilpad) for keeping me on track, and my two amazing artists, @acise and @nireu-art for their crazy cool work. You guys are the best! 💕

[merganalogy]

Part 4

Parts 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

This one takes place in the 60s (Part 1)

Her hesitation was palpable. The timbre of her voice pulled him from his reverie, evoking memories long buried within his mind’s depths. He shook his head, dispelling the ghosts of the past. Now was not the time for nostalgia.

Yet, he found it impossible not to study her. She remained unchanged, as beautiful as that fateful night forty years ago. But beneath the surface, darkness lingered—a truth he should have recognised. After all, Morgana excelled at hiding it.

“Merlin?” Her call drew him fully into the room. His day had already been wretched; it was about to worsen.

“I must insist you vacate the premises,” he said, his anger simmering since he learned of her presence. “Immediately.”

Morgana tilted her head, her green eyes searching for something no longer present. Still, she smiled, as if he jested. “You’re mistaken, Merlin. My stay at this hotel has been paid in full.”

“I care not,” Merlin snapped. “This is my establishment, and I determine who stays. You, Morgana LeFay, are unwelcome here.”

“It’s Pendragon,” she corrected, surprise flickering in her eyes. She hid it well, his newfound aggressiveness marked a shift in their dynamic—one that she concealed adeptly.

But he knew better than to believe her innocent act, years of relentless pursuit had led him to the spell Morgana had employed for her salvation. Its discovery shattered his very existence. No longer the smitten servant, he now faced her as Emrys, resolute in keeping her at bay.

“I confess, Merlin, I harbored suspicions over the years. This land never remains barren. Castles, palaces and mansions torn down and rebuilt over the years where Camelot's castle once stood. And now, a hotel. An peculiar choice.”

“For Arthur,” he replied curtly.

She hummed, unimpressed but that, "Did you have to name it Camelot?" Her disapproval evident, she twirled her hand in the air, gesturing around her. " It lacks creativity,” she declared.

His patience waning, Merlin asserted, “I will not ask again, Morgana—”

She cut him off. “Then don’t.”

Ignoring her, he continued, “You shall collect your belongings and leave at once.”

Morgana shook her head. “What’s the matter, Merlin? If this is about that night—” then realisation dawned on her, “I see. I am not allowed in Camelot.” The irony, the symbolism. “It was once my home too, you know.”

“Not anymore,” Merlin replied. “It stopped being your home a long ago.”

“Did you decide that?” she challenged.

“Yes.”

“I won’t leave,” she held her head high, arms crossed like a defiant child.

Merlin’s resolve remained unyielding. “Then I’ll have you removed.”

“I won’t be threatened.”

He glared, closing the distance. “Without magic, how will you retaliate?”

Morgana’s humourless laugh echoed around them. “Millenniums later, and you’re still stuck in the past? You started all this, Merlin, remember? If only you’d trusted me, if only you had explained before handing me that waterskin, we would not be here."

I blame myself for what you've become.

“I, too, once believed that. Yet, as the Millenniums passed, contemplation became my companion. I bear no responsibility for the path you treaded or the malevolence you wielded. You got what you deserved."

From this list, send me a prompt if you’d like.

[son1c]

festival time :3c

falling stars fic masterpost

The construction zone was long and winding. Sonic and Shadow's race took them all the way through it, and the farther in they got, the more metallic their surroundings became. Green steel dominated everything, and hazards were abundant. Whatever they were building here was still far from finished.

The motobug swerved around cones and barriers, and even weaved in and out of stray beams whenever it felt like Sonic could fit. They had lost sight of Shadow awhile ago, but his dusty footprints were illuminated by the tall street lights lining their path, so they knew he wasn't far ahead.

After leaping over a small gap in the lattice floor, Sonic spotted something crumpled on the ground up ahead, and made sure to snatch it as the motobug drove past. It was a poster.

Eventually, the construction zone came to an end. Shadow was waiting for them at the foot of a flashing billboard. In big, shimmering letters, it read: WELCOME TO STARLIGHT, THE CITY THAT SHINES IN THE DARK.

"You certainly took your time," Shadow said, his smirk from before still on his face.

"Hey! Not my fault Buggy wanted to do a little sightseeing." Sonic stuck his tongue out at Shadow, teasing him. The race had put him in a good mood, even though he had lost.

Shadow rolled his eyes. "Blaming the robot for your defeat, hedgehog?" His smirk faded, and his attention fell to the poster in Sonic's hands. Then, he asked, "You picked up a souvenir?"

Sonic shrugged. "Eh, it's not much. Just figured it shouldn't be left around as litter." He smoothed out the poster, looking it over curiously. When he read through it, a smile appeared on his face. "Looks like we showed up right on time! These guys are having a festival right now!"

"Let me see that," Shadow said. Sonic handed him the poster, and then Shadow confirmed the blue hedgehog's statement. "The Starfall Festival?" he murmured. It didn't ring a bell, but according to the advertisement, this would be the 100th annual celebration.

"Can't go wrong with a festival," Sonic said. "There's always food, drinks, and fun! Sounds like a real bash to me--we should totally check it out!"

Shadow rubbed his thumb thoughtfully over the poster. Sure, it sounded like fun. However, "Fun isn't my priority," he said. "I'm more concerned with the truth. About myself--and about you, as well."

Sonic considered this. The motobug beeped, also considering. Sonic reached down and scratched its cheek, causing the motobug to beep again, happier this time.

"Well," Sonic began, "if there's one thing I know about parties, it's that most people like 'em. So, there's bound to be a bunch of people at the festival, 'specially one as big as this. Maybe someone there will know something about what happened to us?"

Shadow was satisfied with that answer. He figured that Starlight City wasn't too far from where they had originally woken up, and so the likelihood of them encountering someone who had information about their situation was non-zero. At the very least, that crater they had found themselves in and the damaged forest that surrounded it was sure to have made a lot of noise. Enough noise to have been heard from the next city over, if they were lucky.

But first, they would need to get inside the city. And that proved to be a problem when, after walking up to the security checkpoint, the lady at the counter paled at the sight of them. She pointed a shaking finger at the robot Sonic was riding on, and said, "No, no! I won't allow it!"

Sonic and Shadow looked at each other. The motobug chirped nervously.

"You got a problem with robots?" Sonic asked, raising an eyebrow.

The security officer reeled back. Only her eyes were visible now, peeking out from over the top of the counter she was hiding behind. She seemed unwilling to take her eyes off the motobug. "Yes! Yes, when they're… those robots."

Sonic made a face. Then, he looked down at the motobug. The robot looked back up at him with its wide electronic eyes.

After giving the little robot a reassuring pat, Sonic asked the lady, "What's wrong with them?"

The security officer's nostrils flared. Her fear retreated to make room for anger, and she stood up to her full height--though she remained behind the safety of the counter. "Those little beasties are the reason why I can't sleep at night!" she spat. "They're like locusts! If they'd never come to our town, I wouldn't have to deal with all the jackhammers trying to rebuild everything!"

Shadow remembered his reservations from earlier. He frowned at the motobug before turning to the lady and asking, "Your town was destroyed by robots like this one?"

The lady's eyes flashed. Her wool, which was already very puffy, puffed up even more at the question. "Destroyed?" she repeated, her voice dripping with hatred. But then she sighed, and her death grip on her clipboard loosened slightly. "No, no," she said, sounding tired now. "Not destroyed… but almost. Pest control took care of it--or so I thought. Guess they missed one."

Shadow's eyebrows furrowed. That would explain why they had found the robot alone, deserted in the middle of the construction zone. And why it had been terrified at the sight of them. It was probably thinking they were there to finish the job, and exterminate it.

The motobug tapped its claws together anxiously. Shadow saw this, saw Sonic still riding on its back and as such, able to rest his broken leg, and decided to drop whatever reservations he still had about the little robot.

"It won't do you any harm now," Shadow said seriously. "We will make sure of that."

Sonic flashed the lady a thumbs up. "If you guys can rebuild, so can this little guy. Turning over a new leaf starts with being given a second chance, right?"

Pressing her lips into a hard line, the security officer looked down at the motobug. It spun its antennas in a slow circle, its eyes pointed at the floor. It looked so different now from how she remembered it--all caught up in a swarm of hundreds, thousands of them, their sharp metal pincers smashing through windows and breaking down doors.

They had almost ruined the festival. Almost.

"You hedgies better not make me regret this," she muttered. Then, she set down her clipboard, and pulled out a big yellow sticker from a drawer behind the counter. It was in the shape of a star. "Put this on it," she said, holding out the sticker to Sonic. "It's a pass. For the Starfall Festival."

Sonic grinned. He took the sticker from her eagerly. "Thanks!" he said.

Shadow watched as Sonic peeled the sticker off the sheet, and then stuck it on the motobug's forehead. The little robot looked up at it curiously, and to itself, it wondered what Eggman would think of the sparkly new decal. But it was best to reserve its meager processing power for the blue hedgehog, so it quickly stopped wondering.

Gesturing towards the city, the security officer said, "Head to Main Street for the directory, we've got a few extra events this year for the anniversary. There's a bulletin posted around somewhere too. Oh, and"--she cast a cold glance at the motobug--"if I hear anything about your beastie, I'll get pest control on the phone before you can say 'vermin.'"

With that threat in mind, the motobug drove Sonic to Main Street with Shadow walking alongside them. The city unfolded in front of them, big and bright and exciting. There were twinkling lights strung up on every corner, guard rail, and street lamp. More than that, there were people everywhere; some of them were holding sparklers, some of them were enjoying a yummy treat from one of the festival's many vendors, and some of them were painting murals of the night sky on the ground.

It was a welcome change from the oppressive emptiness of the ghost town. Even though the abundance of noise set Shadow on edge, it felt good to be heading towards a goal again. This time, the goal was a vendor, and the hedgehogs had the straightforward mission of finally getting some food.

The directory in the middle of Main Street showed them the way. And after turning a corner, they found themselves in the middle of a grassy pavilion.

The pavilion was filled with games, rides, and most importantly, food. Sonic urged the motobug towards the closest one, a chilidog vendor. The smell wafting from the cart enamored Sonic and made his empty stomach growl loudly.

The vendor chuckled at this, his blotchy red cheeks softening with a smile. "Enjoy," he said as he handed Sonic a fresh chilidog. He didn't ask for payment--the festival goodies were always free.

The gooey cheese, the tall stack of chili, the perfectly toasted bun… it all came together to create the most beautiful work of art that Sonic had ever seen. He was sure that it would've tasted amazing even if he wasn't starving, but his empty stomach cranked up the deliciousness factor to 11. He barely held himself back from eating it all in one bite--but he knew it would be really embarrassing if he choked on it. So, he ate it in two instead.

"Stripes, you gotta try this!" Sonic said, his eyes sparkling like a hundred million diamonds. Yes, he was really that excited about it.

Shadow looked uncertainly at the chilidog the vendor was holding out to him. He wasn't smitten with it like Sonic was. He was finally starting to get a little hungry, though. So, he took it, and took a single mousy bite. Sonic waited intently for his reaction, and was somewhat disappointed when all he could say about it was, "It's edible."

Sonic's disappointment was forgotten, however, when Shadow handed him the chilidog.

"I must admit," Shadow said, the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice, "I wasn't expecting to uncover a truth about your past so soon."

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" Sonic asked, already done eating the second chilidog and looking happier than ever. His face was a disaster, his cheeks covered in cheese and chili.

Shadow grabbed a napkin and dropped it on Sonic's head. "You're a mess."

Sonic snorted. "I was hungry!" came his indignant reply. He still took the napkin, though.

They continued on through the pavilion. There was a vendor for everything from spaghetti to ice cream to spaghetti ice cream, but none of them appealed all that much to Shadow. That was, however, until they came across a stand selling cakes. The irony was not lost on him, but when he cut into the slice of coffee cake and saw no green slime pour out, he figured the joke ended there. And it did--the cake had a bitter edge, and he found he liked the taste.

Meanwhile, Sonic tried his own slice of coffee cake and hated it. He had better luck with the more savory cheesecake.

By now, a few people in the pavilion had started staring at the motobug that Sonic was using as a scooter, and so Shadow quickly threw his plate away and ushered his companions out of the pavilion. The street they stepped onto was tighter than the wide open pavilion, with booths set up on both sides of the street. Festival goers had to squeeze past each other to get to the more popular booths.

It was when they passed by an unpopular booth that Shadow's ears perked up. He heard the woman at the table mention something about real shooting stars. He motioned for the motobug to stop, and it did, parking itself in front of the woman's ornate golden table.

The woman flashed a dazzling smile. "That's odd," she said, her big glasses catching the festival lights like a kaleidoscope. "I know everyone, but I don't know you. Are you folks new in town?"

"Brand new," Sonic replied. "Gotta say, I wasn't expecting all this fanfare, but I'd never flake on my own welcome party!"

"Ha!" The woman leaned forward, her eyes glittering. "Funny guy. I like you." She slid over a photo album from where it was sitting on the other end of the table. Then, she pushed it forward, in front of Sonic and Shadow. "This festival has a lot more history than you might think. See for yourself."

Shadow flipped open the album. Inside, there was an old black and white photograph of the night sky. Although it was grainy, the focal point of the photo was clearly the white smudge in the middle--a shooting star? When Shadow turned more pages, he saw that every page had a similar photo, one for every year from the past 100 years.

And the one from this year…

"Weird, right?" the woman said. "Every year we've seen a falling star, but this year we saw two."

Sonic and Shadow looked at the picture. It was in full glossy color, so the details were easy to pick out, like how the two stars seemed tangled together. Their twin tails streaked across the sky in an array of colorful fire, plummeting down to the forest below.

The two hedgehogs shared a look. Then, Shadow asked the woman, "When was this taken?"

With a long, bejewelled fingernail, the woman tapped her chin. "That one? Hmm… Three days ago, maybe four." She sighed wistfully. "It's a shame you folks didn't get here sooner. It was quite the sight to see! And right after that hubbub with the moon, too."

Sonic's ear twitched. He looked up at the clear night sky, and stared at the broken moon. It stared back at him silently.

"The sky's been a busy place recently," the woman continued. "First the moon, then the space station, and finally that pair of falling stars. It makes me wonder if that little planet will pay us a visit soon, too. I guess only time will tell!"

Shadow was quiet. He was thinking about what the woman had said. It caused one of the echoes to get louder in his brain, bouncing down the empty hallways of his mind until it was all he could hear. The space station… he knew it. He could picture it. See himself, pressing his hand up against the window. Looking down at the pale blue planet below.

Gently, Sonic nudged Shadow's shoulder.

The dark hedgehog snapped out of the memory instantly. "What happened to the space station?" he asked.

The woman blinked. "Oh, I'm not sure. I think it's still up there somewhere." The strange look on Shadow's face gave her pause. Then, she added, "They've been talking about it on the news for awhile. I just don't care to listen, since most of the reports are sponsored by G.U.N."

Shadow frowned. That uncomfortable acronym again…

The woman placed a small sack on the table. "Well," she said, "thanks for listening to an old crow squawk. In honor of the centennial celebration, please take this."

Sonic grabbed the sack with interest. Inside were two golden earrings shaped like stars. Grinning, he clipped one on immediately. Then, he held the other one out to Shadow. Shadow, however, wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about the jewellery, and was about to say as much, when Sonic asked slyly, "What's the matter? Afraid of a little bling?"

Scowling, Shadow snatched the earring from him and clipped it on with a huff. "Of course not," he said. "Don't be ridiculous, Blue."

Then, Sonic waved goodbye to the woman at the booth, and the two hedgehogs continued down the crowded street. They were now headed towards the tallest building in the city, the one with the bulletin board posted on it. They could see the screen glowing bright white as they approached it, but it wasn't until they were directly under it that they could read what was on it.

Make a wish for the hero, Sonic the Hedgehog. Late, but never slow.

There was a blurry photo under the text. It was of a hedgehog, but his features were unclear thanks to the low quality of the picture. Shadow couldn't help but wonder why they chose that one. Maybe every photo of the guy was a blur of motion?

Sonic turned to Shadow. Then, he looked back at the bulletin board. "Hey, Stripes," he said slowly, "that guy looks kinda like you."

[lavampira]

kiss prompts!! what about 46 for alia & minfilia?

ty sydney mwah!! 🖤

46. a lingering kiss before a long trip apart | ffxiv. d'alia liveq/minfilia warde. vaguely set during the post-2.0 patches. 895 words. [prompts]

The Solar greets D’alia with the all-encompassing warmth of the fireplace as she steps past the heavy door. Her eyes skim the stone room for the Antecedent, gliding past the armchair where she has spent many a late evenings dozing with her nose in her grimoire and a low-stoked fire for comfort, and settle on the familiar braided blond updo belonging to the woman hunched over a spread of parchments on her desk.

A testament to her focus, Minfilia doesn’t even look up at the reverberating footfall of her boots on the hard floor. At least, not until D’alia comes to a halt right in front of her desk and leans on splayed palms, rosy hair falling around her shoulders. Her lips twitch in the hint of a smirk as the other woman’s head snaps up at the realization of company.

She does not allow herself to dwell on an older fear, one rooted in bloodshed and kidnapping amidst their last headquarters, knowing it to be illogical to be vigilant at all bells while simply attending to her bureaucratic tasks. Nay, she suppresses those thoughts—they would not do when she is soon to depart on a task of her own. Instead, she releases a shaky exhale before widening her teasing grin.

“Minfilia, you wound me. What must I do to earn your attention before I leave?”

“Oh!” Eyes widening and a flush of pink blooming over her cheeks, Minfilia meets her gaze. “Forgive me, Alia. I seem to have lost myself in all this correspondence.”

“Naught to forgive. I know full well how busy you are, too.”

Minfilia grimaces as she rises to her feet. “An unfortunate truth.”

Weaving around the corner of the wooden desk, D’alia moves between her and the source of her distraction, and hoists herself onto its surface. As always when she does this, Minfilia’s laugh echoes light and airy through the room before she covers it shyly behind her hand. D’alia reaches for it, unfurling her fingers to lace with her own and place into her lap, and glances up at her with an unbidden smile.

Her hands have roughened with her years of adventuring and felling primals, but Minfilia doesn’t seem to mind as her thumb rubs idle circles into her bare skin. A soft sigh escapes her, enclosing D’alia’s hold with her other hand as well, their own entangled form of comfort in spite of the knowledge that they must part for a time. Again.

“It pains me to let you go,” Minfilia admits softly, squeezing her hand.

D’alia bites back the I despise leaving you that threatens to spill past her lips. ‘Twould only add to Minfilia’s guilt in having to remain behind in Revenant’s Toll, she knows, and the simple fact is that duty pulls them in separate but necessary directions, as oft the case and such as they have known since fitting themselves into each other’s lives this way. But in the deepest part of her very being, D’alia loathes to disappoint her.

“I shall return in no longer than a moon,” she assuages, dragging the hand still in hers to the silky pink ribbon that she had opted to tie around her thigh that morning, and she can’t entirely blame the warmth spreading across her skin on the nearby fireplace. “And you’ll be the first I see when I do, darling.”

And this, too, is a confession: Minfilia releases her only to cradle her face between her palms, an earnest and open desire in her gaze, and presses her lips against hers as she closes the gap between them. D’alia arches into her and her tail winds around her lover’s leg, stricken with fervent need to have her close with the deepening kiss. If she could hold onto this moment, and merge them together to carry in her heart on her journey, she would without hesitation.

‘Tis a crueler truth that her heart will remain in the Rising Stones when she departs.

D’alia allows her hands to roam, finding purchase on the soft curve of her waist and back of her neck to draw her nearer. She’s rewarded with a low hum that she feels more than she hears, and Minfilia breaks away with the quirk of her lips into a shadowed smile, leaning her forehead against her, almost as if unwilling to completely part, drawn by sheer magnetism. Their noses brush with the movement to prove the point, but it bothers neither, content to sit with the lingering breaths between them.

“Pray return to me hale and whole.” Minfilia’s lips ghost over hers when she finally speaks again, still not quite able to fully pull away from her, even as her fingers rake the rosy hair away from her face. “And spare me no details of your latest adventure.”

“As you wish.”

Another kiss to the corner of her mouth follows, her lover’s gratitude for granting her the boon of her promise, for she has never broken her word to her. And another, this one meeting the curved line of her jaw, hands gently tilting her head, and D’alia follows her guidance, pliant to her touch. Every lingering kiss trailing lower threatens to make her late, but she finds it more difficult to care.

For she would much rather cling to the phantom of Minfilia’s lips on her skin in the days to come.

[arttrampbelle]

Shang tsung doesn't need to be a "good guy" to be sympathetic or do nice or "good" deeds.

Y'all should understand that not everyone needs to be a hero to be redeemed.

That's some bullshit propaganda that y'all tend to fall for.

It's like that feeling of "if you pray to jesus,all you're sins in OUR eyes will be forgiven" type indoctrinated shit. Like no shade thrown,even as someone who is spiritual myself. I find people thinking that a villain in a story should become a hero in order to be redeemed,kinda suspicious.

Shang tsung,to me,has ALWAYS BEEN NUANCED. And already had benevolent qualities and traits. Y'all just only see one damn part of it because the writers suck at showing them properly.

Not to mention if a character isn't obnoxiously nice or mean,y'all don't pay attention to them.

It's like most of mk fans I've noticed,at least as of late. Feels like I'm talking to 3yr olds in media literacy.

So no. Shang tsung needs to be a NEUTRAL CHARACTER. not good,not evil,just self serving and even quite helpful as a tournament master as he is supposed to fucking be.

He is supposed to be that "keep your friends close,keep you enemies closer" type. He is the "the enemy of my enemies are my friends" type. He's scary intelligent,cunning,a master martial artist,a brilliant alchemist,and one badass mofo you do not wanna cross.

But most of all,he is courteous,a gracious host on his island,and his punishments are as great as his rewards. He does keep his end of the bargain,but he also gets compensation.

If anything you need to worry about earthrealms warriors more than him. Half of them now(due to piss poor writing) are hiding behind heroic deeds and false statements of peace yet they have unclean hands too.

With Shang tsung you know what you are dealing with,it's on the table. If you cant read the obvious,you are indeed a foolish one.

No matter what iteration of shang tsung you have. One thing is clear,made clear,and that is when you deal with him. You deal with the devil so to speak.

So if you're not smart nor prepared. That's on your ass honey. Not his. Do not blame him for your stupidity.

But if you know how to play the game,play chess with the serpent. And know these archetypes. Then you may have a better shot. But that's all on you.

Either way,in your favor or not. Do not blame him for telling you exactly what is needed to be said,not what you wanna hear. Honeyed words or not,there's always a sliver of truth and bitter pill of truth in his words. And he's good at making either people hate his guts or bow and worship him.

THAT IS WHY HE'S DANGEROUS. not because of magic,or experiments and other trival bullshit.

Nah.

It's because shang tsung is good at talking. Good at trades and making you believe whatever is what he wants you to see.

Even if it may go against him. He wants you to fuck up,get angry at him,attack,be unbalanced,so he can fuck your shit right up!

Holy shit this mans whole ass moveset is zoning and keeping you in a certain place in the stage even!

It's part of his whole damb character.

I could go on and on. But do not blame to serpent for telling you information for questions you ask him. You're the one who chose to bite his apple of enlightenment and knowledge so to speak.

Which is why the gods,titans,etc want these kombatants,warriors to be stupid. So they are easy to control,to get what they want.

Like it's glaringly obvious that mortal kombats story has these type of tropes and symbolism in it. But people are too blind,for various reasons. To see it.

I could get deep. It's a videogame,i know. It is what it is.

But the more i look at mk12/mk1 shang tsung. The more i feel its a missed opportunity to showcase these themes better for him.

Like holy shit dude. Shang tsung pointing out the hypocrisy of the gods. And whispers in our earthrealm warriors ears. And maybe convincing a few to join his side. Or even better. Our heroes,kung lao and mortal raiden to question liu kang and not blindly follow like fucking idiots. Sure just trust this dude right? Bruh.

Shang tsung is the only one with a brain once again. And i hate them making everyone else so stupid to make him seem better in the shithole plot of theirs. If you can call it a plot.

It burns me,that it's a waste of potential.

But i digress.

Anyways. Shang tsung,way more than an evil conjurer of tricks my dudes. Waaaaaay fucking more.

[bisexualiteaa]

A Dance with the Devil

Pt. 1

CW: Raphael x F!Tav Reader, established relationship, soft Raph, smut, unprotected P in V, body worship, teaching Raphael love, maybe slight ooc and potential grammar/spelling errors. 18+ content MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Sensual music played throughout the boudoir as your bodies moved in rhythm to the tune of the complex tango you two had been practicing for weeks, your elegant dress sashaying and swaying as you moved. Your one hand was in Raphael’s larger one as the other rested on his collarbone as your feet moved expertly together with ease. You smiled as he picked you up and twirled you around in his arms before grabbing your hand and twirling you once more. As he dipped you, his hand came to rest at the middle of your lower back, your thigh hiking up to rest against the side of his hip. His free hand held and squeezed the back of it as the song came to its end whilst you were intimately pressed against one another. A smirk plastered both of your faces as you looked upon one another, your fingers coming up to toy with the collar of his doublet as a similar intention filled your minds wordlessly. “I see you’ve gotten better since last time. Good” he said, making you hum with delight at his praise. “What can I say? I have one hell of a teacher. I’d hate to disappoint when the gala for your ascension as archdevil supreme takes place” you said in a seductive tone with a grin at your own joke, making him chuckle as your lips rested just inches apart in this position, both of your eyes wandering to each other’s lips. “How I thrive upon the idea of all the other devils watching in awe with their tinges of jealousy written all over their faces” you mused.

Your pupils were blown wide, eyes nearly blackened with lust as your heart slammed in your chest. You wondered if maybe it was loud enough for him to hear it since you were in such close proximity. “I know that look you’re giving me quite well, you devilish little minx. Has my wife once again found herself wanting of me?” Raphael spoke, making you chuckle darkly. “Well I find it hard to truly blame myself. We are in quite the…ever so enticing position. Having a handsome devil of a dance partner and husband has those consequences I’m afraid, love” you replied, making him hum. “Do continue, I do love how you paint me with your words” he said, making you bite your lip as your fingers toyed with the buttons of his doublet as you tried your best to suppress the giggle bubbling in your throat. “I can think of a few ways, and with a certain something, that you can paint me with” you insinuated, making him chuckle before his tail swatted at your behind, making you give a surprised yelp as the crack resonated through his boudoir. In truth he was only making things worse, and you were willing to bet that he knew that. “Tact sweetling, perhaps I should educate you where you lack it” he answered, making you grin. “Can’t blame a woman for knowing what she wants. I take claim of what I want, holding one’s self back is a hinderance I very much enjoy to do without. And I for one, think you love it more than you like to let on” you replied coyly. “You did marry me after all” you added, making him chuckle as he pulled you up, your chests touching now but with him still slotted between your legs, only fanning the growing heat between you from small embers into roaring flames. “Indeed I did. You do manage to keep even life eternal ever so entertaining and lively when you are present, so I suppose I’ll humor keeping you around” He teased, making you giggle. “And what kind of husband would I be to not help with your needs? Your holes are rather delightful to fill after all” he added, making you gasp in fake shock. “Tact darling!” You teased with a wide grin, making him roll his eyes despite one of his large, clawed hands slinking to your ass, groping the plush fat tightly and bringing you impossibly closer. A quiet moan left you in response, one that made a low groan rumble through his chest, stroking the growing fire in your belly. The tension in the air was thick with intention, anyone looking in could tell upon even one quick glance that you were ready to jump one another’s bones. You both leaned in to kiss one another, your eyes half lidded and tails wrapping around each other’s leg in a possessive manner to keep you close.

Your lips were just millimeters away from touching when you were interrupted by the voice of a familiar incubus. “Well this is an interesting sight” spoke Haarlep with a devious chuckle as they happened upon you both. “My, you can surely cut the tension here with a dagger” they teased with a grin, making you glare daggers in their direction to have interrupted such an intimate moment. You shouldn’t be surprised by now that time alone with Raphael hardly ever happens, between patrons signing their souls away, to his servants and Haarlep being around 24/7, yet it never fails to upset you when the moment is interrupted. “Your look is quite delicious, little mouse. To anyone else I’m sure that’d send a shiver down the spines of mortal kind, but to me you look like a pouty little pet. Someone upset that I ruined their moment? Don’t stop on my account, please by all means, do continue” Haarlep spoke, and rather than indulge them with any means of verbal retaliation, you instead turned back to your husband before shamelessly pulling him into the passion filled kiss you were going to just a moment prior. “Good girl. My, the lady of the house sure knows how to take what she wants, doesn’t she?” They teased, tail swishing around in the air behind them in delight. “I suggest you cease your pestering, lest you lose your tongue” Raphael warned, making his incubus laugh. “Please, you would never. Not when it brings you and so many others so much pleasure” Haarlep responded with a cocky tone. “It isn’t me you should be weary of” he answered, making Haarlep scoff and roll their eyes at the thought. “Begone, I wish to share in time with my wife intimately. Alone” your husband said before they could come up with another quip to his warnings, waving off the incubus who disappeared to some place else in the house with much attitude in tow.