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amongemeraldclouds · 2 months

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Things I’ll Never Say

Why say things out loud when you can write them all down in a journal? No need to inconvenience everyone else with silly declarations of love that’s only guaranteed to break your heart. So what happens when your enemy - of all people - finds it?

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

Thanks to @thatdammchickennugget for the prompt. Here's my official entry for the Hogmarch challenge, prompt one. 1k words.

Author’s note: The way I screamed when this idea came to mind! Journaling is such a big part of my life, I’ll take any and every chance I can to incorporate it to my stories.

Indented text are journal entries.

Warning: Cursing, no use of y/n, slight angst but it’s kinda cute. Fluff express coming through!

✿ Masterlist

“Stop copying my notes!” I hiss at Lorenzo, moving my arm to cover my parchment.

“Come on, I missed class today. I need to catch up,” he says, tugging at the arm of my sweater.

“Go ask your friends,” I retort, moving my arm away from his grasp.

“You know they’re not in that class, just you,” he insists.

“Oh we’re not friends,” I deadpan.

“It won’t take long,” he tries again.

“If you weren’t busy sleeping around with everyone, Berkshire. You would have made it to class this morning.”

He leans in to my ear and whispers, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

I grab the nearest hardbound book and swing it in his direction. Thwack! It strikes his shoulder.

The librarian looks at us sternly. “Your final warning was just given five minutes ago. No noise in the library!” She points her finger to the exit, “You two, out!”

“Great. Thanks for that, Berkshire. Good luck with your notes.” My face gets hot with embarrassment as I gather my things and rush off to the exit.

Enzo spots a black leather bound journal in the area you just vacated. He takes it with him as he exits the library. She’s always writing in this notebook. I’m sure she won’t mind if I take a peek, I’ll give it back to her anyway.

He damn well knew you would mind. When he reaches a quiet corner of the hallway, he proceeds to turn the cover anyway.

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to like Lorenzo Berkshire. Why the fuck did I just draw a heart over the “i”! That’s it. I’m losing my mind! I can’t be caught liking the boy who spewed the word mudblood in my direction our first year. Like it’s my fault I was born into my family. And screw him okay, muggles are awesome. I can break my own heart with my misguided affections, but I’d rather die before I ever let him break my heart. So before I check myself into a mental asylum, I need to just say this somewhere. Anywhere. A last ditch effort to save my sanity.

He’s the intrusive thought I love to entertain in my head.

As a dare, he took off his shirt at the party. My toes curled. I pretended not to notice him.

I heard him laughing with his friends. I love the way it lit up his face.

I saw him enter his dorm hand in hand with a girl. I never wish to be her, another one night stand. Once would never be enough.

I nearly kissed him again.

He helped me pick up the pile of books I dropped at the library. He seemed kind and concerned. Ha! Who am I kidding?

I count down the hours until I see him again.

Maybe in another lifetime it wouldn’t matter: bloodlines, social status, and hierarchies. So unnecessary.

I noticed the veins in his arm at quidditch practice. I tried not to bite my lip. What must it be like to be wrapped in those arms?

And there he was again with his stupid hair breaking my stupid heart.

Enzo hears determined footsteps approaching and he shuts the journal, hiding it behind him.

“Fine, Berkshire,” I sigh when I reach him. “Here, take my notes,” I say, handing it out to him.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“Weren’t you so desperate to get them earlier?” I fold my arms. “I will not be part of the reason you fail in class.” I point at him, “you and your dumb ass can very well do it yourself. I have more important things to worry about.”

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

My brain short circuits, the fire freezing in my veins. How the hell does he know?

He smirks, pulling out a familiar black journal. My eyes widen.

“On second thought,” I say, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter,” I turn around and walk away. “Fail class for all I care.”

I’m yanked back when I feel Enzo’s grip on my wrist. “Wait.”

My heart thumps in my chest. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. He knows!

“I’m sorry,” he says. What? I turn back, my confused expression directed at him.

“That I called you a mudblood,” he explains. “I was a dumb ass when we were younger.”

“Finally, we agree on something,” I state, trying to mask the tremble in my voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you back then and I was prejudiced. Over the years, I enjoyed watching your passion for magic and studying. How you light up when you talk to your friends about a book you just read. And how you’re always the first to volunteer when someone needs help. You have this fire and warmth in you and I just need to be around it all the time. I’m reduced to being a moth to your flame and I don’t mind it at all.”

I blink, speechless.

He takes a step forward, voice softening. “Why do you think I tease you all the time?”

“Well how the fuck was I supposed to know?” The anger not quite there in my voice.

“I just wanted a chance to talk to you and I thought you hated me.” He brushes the hair from my face and cups my face. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

I roll my eyes, “Oh no, I do hate you.” I falter, “but maybe I kind of, just sort of, like you too.”

He grins. “It seems there are things we need to talk about. Will you go on a date with me?”

My heart stutters. “You already know my answer.”

He laughs, “stubborn as always. I’ll take that as a yes.” He pulls me in for a hug.

Oh. Being wrapped in his strong arms is even better than I imagined. I rest my head on his shoulder when a thought occurs to me.

“You’re sure this is not just some elaborate ploy for me to keep giving you my notes?”

He sighs, “of course not, just enjoy this moment."

He moves his mouth to my ear, "But if you do, I solemnly swear I will make it worth your while.”

I don't hit him this time.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: For those who get the Avril Lavigne title reference, here's a tight hug for you! ♡

I may or may not have also had a place where I wrote down love confessions for someone I couldn’t have. Some of those may or may not have been included in the journal entries.

Two fics published in one day? Who is she?

#hogmarch challenge #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire #enzo x reader #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fandom #slytherin boys #wizarding world #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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spooky-holtz · 4 months

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I'll Be Home For Christmas

Melissa Schemmenti x reader

Genre: fluff (possibly alludes to smut at one point? If you squint?)

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: I know Christmas was almost two weeks ago but this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks. So enjoy, even if my timing is a little off :)

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December. Quite easily the best and worst month of the school year. As another calendar year winds down, so do rigorous lesson plans, with most teachers at Abbott choosing to give in to the growing excitement among the students as the holidays draw nearer.

Less time is spent actually teaching and a lot of allocated lesson time is spent watching movies on huge, outdated TV screens, students gathered around the devices on Eagles rugs that were so generously ‘donated’ by Melissa earlier that year.

As the month goes on you find yourself spending more time inside your classroom, herding the group of preteens that make up the school choir as successfully as you would herd cats. Needless to say, it’s been a stressful few weeks of carol singing and rehearsals, trying to convince a group of kids that it’s not ‘lame’ or ‘cringe’ to appreciate music the way you do.

As the resident music teacher at Abbott Elementary, you find it incredibly difficult to get young people inspired in the way you so desperately want them to be, often having to let go of the talent you see among some aspiring young musicians for reasons outside of your control. Though the budget doesn’t stretch to allow much in the way of extracurricular activities, choir practice is the one activity where you have your greatest tool already at your disposal; your voice.

As much as you adore these kids, getting them to concentrate after a full day of learning is no easy feat, with them often choosing to sit around in groups gossiping or scrolling on Tik Tok rather than join you around the old piano that stands in place of a desk in your classroom, where you sit on your creaky stool, waiting for them to join in with you.

After a particularly difficult lunchtime choir practice in the middle of December, you find your feet carrying you to the sanctuary you often retreat to during your breaks: the teachers’ lounge. You trudge along the hallway, the heels of your sneakers squeaking slightly against the polished concrete floor as you struggle to find the motivation to get you there, dragging your feet along the floor.

As your hand wraps around the handle and you pull the door toward you, you’re instantly engulfed with the scent of burnt coffee and the sound of chatter as the little groups that sit around the room carry on their conversations, entirely too distracted to notice the door opening.

Jim Gardner addresses the room from the small TV that sits on the opposite end, his newscast largely going unnoticed by the audience as they munch on leftovers or pore over today's newspaper. Much like Jim, your entry into the room goes unnoticed save for a pair of emerald eyes that you can’t help but glance toward.

Melissa is already looking back at you over the rim of her glasses, phone in hand, the slight frown on her features already telling you that she’s noticed the lack of energy you carry. You can’t help but be drawn toward her, almost as if being pulled in by an imaginary force. She’s already pulled the empty chair by her side out by the time you reach her, and you collapse down on to it, sighing heavily, leaning your elbows forward onto the cold surface of the table in front of you for support.

“Choir practice really that bad today, huh?” she asks, sympathy laced across her face.

“I swear, these kids are turning me grey even faster,” you groan, bringing your hands up to cradle your forehead, “I mean, seriously, how hard is it to get through ‘Silent Night’ without laughing at the word ‘virgin’?”

The silence that comes from the redhead is deafening as you turn your head slightly in your hands to catch a glimpse of her expression. Her lips are pursed slightly, and her eyes are a little too focused on your hair, doing everything she can to avoid eye contact; a telltale sign that she’s fighting back a laugh. When she finally reaches enough composure to meet your eye line, she can’t help but snicker.

The sound makes you take your head out of your hands and throw her the most unimpressed look you can muster, though it’s a halfhearted glare.

“I’m sorry,” she begins to apologize, “but that word was probably the funniest thing ever when I was that age too. Cut them a little bit of slack.”

Great, so not only do your students think you’re a ‘nerd’ for making them sing carols but Melissa does too. Because having the woman you have an enormous crush on think that is exactly what you needed to round out your year. Almost as if she can sense your descent into overthinking, Melissa breaks the silence.

“Hey, I’m just messing with ya,” she says. She reaches forward, pulling you out of your spiral, and rests her hand on the thigh that sits closest to you, patting gently. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

Your eyes dart to hers at the comment and you’re met with a wink. The simple move turns you into putty, melting you to bend to her will. Her hand burns through the material of your slacks where it still lays against your thigh, her thumb rubbing gentle circles in an effort to soothe you. You’re sure your face is matching that same level of heat that radiates from it.

She smiles back softly before turning back to her phone, leaving her hand resting against the patterned material you wear. The contact grounds you and helps you to think a little more rationally. While she’s distracted on her phone, you reach forward onto the table to grab Melissa’s worn Stanley Tucci mug and steal a swig of the steaming black coffee that sits within. The harsh flavor makes you wince, with you preferring your coffee with milk and an obscene amount of sugar to make it even barely drinkable. The expression you wear causes Melissa to giggle, the redhead having looked up almost knowing that your face would be a picture of extreme disgust.

As she laughs the hand on your thigh squeezes and she leans into you, the lines around her eyes accentuated by the deep laugh that’s taken over her being. You decide that this is the most beautiful version of Melissa you’ve ever seen. Carefree, happy, and relaxed.

The moment comes to an abrupt end as Barbara enters the room, both you and Melissa turning to the creaking door as it opens. Her eyes naturally fall to your table, much as your own do when you enter the teachers’ lounge, and her gaze lingers on you before she speaks up, barely giving herself a chance to sit down.

“Oh sweetheart, you look terrible,” she says, concern laced across her features. She’s not wrong. You know the bags under your eyes are worse than ever, having forgone sleep to choose which Christmas carols are least likely to make a room full of elementary schoolers insult you. You wish you had just chosen to sleep instead because every option you threw at your group of angels ended with nicknames being thrown right back at you.

“See, I told you that you looked bad,” Melissa says, the playful glint in her eye accompanied with the squeeze of your thigh letting you know she’s kidding.

“You look like you need this Christmas break,” Barbara adds, “Actually, why don’t you come to the little shindig Melissa and I have here on the last day? Get that break started early for you.”

It’s worrying how quickly you accept the invitation but Melissa’s hand on your thigh paired with the musky smell of her perfume makes it impossible to decline.

“Of course, I’ll come! Do I need to bring anything?” You ask.

“Nothing at all, we’ve got it all covered,” the older teacher replies. “Just bring your dancing shoes.”

You’ve visibly relaxed at the prospect, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your company. While you’re distracted taking another, albeit smug, sip of Melissa’s coffee, Barbara shoots the redhead a knowing look, quirking her eyebrow as she does so. For a split second, Melissa turns the same shade of red as her hair, caught out by Barb and the confession of a pretty obvious crush she gave a few weeks ago. She quickly manages to regain her composure, hand still resting on your thigh and phone still in hand.

You would think that a full week later, after hours of Christmas songs later, that you would be sick of carols. But you still find yourself sitting in the teachers’ lounge long after the rest of the faculty has left the building on the final day of school before winter break, with your usual duo and the addition of Mr Johnson. The room is filled with a warmth that doesn’t just come from the school’s subpar heating system, but instead from the situation you find yourself in.

You feel a slight buzz from the copious amounts of wine you’ve consumed since the end of the school day, your stomach lined with Melissa’s incredible cooking and sweet treats brought in by Barbara. You feel that Mr Johnson is in the same boat as you as he mills around the room, plastic cup filled with what you can only assume is even more wine, swaying by himself to the record that plays from the relic of a radio that sits on one of the many cabinets in the room.

Your attention is immediately drawn elsewhere when Melissa’s cackle fills the room, her and Barb sharing stories that they’ve no doubt already told each other a few dozen times over the years. You completely miss the anecdote, but you still can’t help a smile from breaking out on your face at the sound of laughter, the noise acting like music to your ears – it’s far better than anything that could possibly be played on that radio right now.

Almost as if by cue, the pair finish their story and the older of the two decides to rise from her chair, beckoning to you as she does so.

“Come on, I wanna start to shake my groove thing,” says Barbara, already swaying slightly from the few glasses of wine she’s consumed herself. You raise your eyebrows, incredulous, matching her action and standing from your chair yourself, moving further from the security of the table as a swing version of “Jingle Bell Rock” continues playing. “I need a dance partner and you’re the perfect height so get yourself over here.”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond before her hands quickly mold you into shape, moving one of your own to her hip whilst the other grips your open palm.

“Wow Barb, at least buy a girl a drink first,” you grin as she swats at your shoulder, giggling along herself. The bells on the front of her extremely festive bright red sweater jingle as she does so. The swaying of your ‘dance’ lasts for a mere few seconds before Barbara interrupts it herself.

“Melissa, I think we may need to swap places,” she says as she glances at where Mr Johnson stands, eyes still closed and nursing his plastic cup of wine. “I have a feeling Mr Johnson may need some assistance.”

Melissa mumbles her response as she comes nearer to you, seamlessly swapping places with the elder woman. You completely miss the wink that is thrown her way from Barb, eyes still focused on Mr Johnson’s one-man party.

When you turn your head back to face in front of you, you’re naturally drawn to the bright green eyes that sit slightly below your eyeline. You feel your heart stutter in your chest at the sight, rarely getting to see them this close. It always baffles you how many shades of green, blue and brown come together to create a colour that can only be described as ‘Melissa’. You realize you’ve been staring a little too long when a change of song and her words break you from your thoughts.

“Come a little closer, you can’t dance properly if you leave enough room for Jesus and the 12 disciples,” she says, her tone playful and smile wide. You can’t help but throw your head back in laughter as her hand snakes from your hip to the small of your back to bring you in closer. There's no mistaking who is leading who.

When you bring your head back Melissa is considerably closer than before. She’s so close that you can see each individual eyelash under her thick layer of mascara and eyeliner, along with the slightly smudged edge of her lipstick, the deep red of the wine making the colour even richer. The smell of her musky yet floral perfume invades your senses as she looks up toward you. You move your hands from her shoulders to link together behind her neck, her red curls tickling your wrists.

You can feel every slight movement she makes as Frank Sinatra croons at you both as you sway slightly in place, too scared to move too quickly in case you scare each other. Her thighs almost touch yours and your chests are almost entirely pressed together. You hope she can’t feel your heartbeat; the speed and intensity of it would almost instantly give away your feelings toward her. Her body this close to yours makes your head spin, your mind racing with possibilities of other situations you may find yourself this close to her in.

You can feel every breath she lets out against your lips, making you aware of how little it would take to connect them with her own. You’re pretty sure she’s noticed too because of the way her eyes keep flicking down to look at them every few seconds. You can feel her hands burning a hole through the material of the shirt against your back. As if she can hear your thoughts, she moves them slightly lower, coming to rest against the waistband of your trousers and dangerously close to your backside. What you wouldn’t give for her to just bite the bullet and slide them into your back pockets to pull you impossibly closer to her.

“You know, I, uh, never wished you a happy Christmas,” she breaks the tense silence, almost whispering as if anything too loud might startle you. “So Happy Christmas, Hun.”

She wears a slight smile on her lips, suddenly dropping the hard exterior she always carries to become the softer, more vulnerable version of herself you’ve come to fall madly in love with.

You can’t help but melt at the sight, your head dropping forward to lean your forehead against hers. She welcomes the move with ease, closing her eyes as you both sway slightly to the music, never moving from your position.

“Happy Christmas, Mel.”

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #reader fanfic #self insert #fluff #writing #wlw #reader fic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti self insert #melissa schemmenti x y/n #melissa schemmenti fluff #lisa ann walter fanfic #lisa ann walter x reader

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searchingforakeythatdoesntexist · 3 months

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Day 17: "Bliss" - Good Omens, AziraCrow

(Ineffable Smut War entry, very light NSFW)

Pure hearts stumble In my hands they crumble Fragile and stripped to the core I can't hurt you anymore

The sunshine trapped in our hearts It could rise again

When comfort And warmth can't be found I still reach for you

But I'm lostCrushed Cold and confused with No guiding light left inside

You're my guiding light When there's no guiding light left inside When there's no guiding light in our lives...

Please. Let them be together again.

Completion time: 3 hours

Today's theme chosen by me: after almost 3 weeks of daily sketches, I am slowly gaining confidence in both this new “Red Art Style” and drawing smut / sensual scenes. For now, I am searching the perfect balance between a neat, proper way to colour my usual wings (black wings, white wings, etc…) and a way to express motions – and emotions – like I usually manage to show them in my early rough sketches.

Sometimes I feel like these two goals are incompatible.

And sometimes it just goes perfectly the right way while I am colouring…

Final goal: being able to colour and shade this "RichardII Kiss" WIP , and make it even better than the rough sketches.

Wanna help me? Come to Reddit and leave an upvote right here! :-)(Reddit Link)

Or consider joining my Ko-Fi page as a follower for more HD artworks, previews and unpublished content – all my art is free there, though all any tips are greatly welcome! (Ko-Fi link)

[Previous] [Next Day] [First Day]

Don't forget to 💕/ reblog ;-)

Buy me a coffee? ♥ https://ko-fi.com/elenthya ♥

(My "personal Daily Challenge" Rules reminder:

Personal challenge: a simple sketch each day

Goal: forcing me to keep things simple - inking, shading, just a few sashes of colour

Improvement pursued: to get the movement, the emotion, finding how to add depth, learning how to leave things barely finished

Max time allowed: 2 hours instead of 8-20 on my previous projects – more like 3 hours here, as usual when I decide to draw wings in this challenge)

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eshoeteric · 1 year

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🍓 style analysis: nana komatsu / hachi (NANA)

welcome to the first entry in my style analysis series- where i take a different fictional character for each entry and take a look at their fashion sense, as an exploration on how fashion plays a role in forming a character's personality & overall identity. in other words, it's a deep dive into the intersection of story & style. today we're starting off with nana komatsu (who we'll be affectionately referring to as hachi from here on out) from NANA, my favourite character from my favourite manga of all time.

NANA is a manga very near and dear to my heart. i could spend all day talking about why, but i'd say one of the biggest reasons is for how ai yazawa (the creator of NANA) uses fashion as a means of storytelling. in NANA, clothes are not just a typical character design element, but are instead a visual narrative tool used to convey a characters' personality, as well as to express their traits and feelings. today i've chosen hachi for the style analysis because i'm fascinated by the subtle changes to her style syncing with her character development over the course of the story. also, i think her style is just super cute. so let's get into it! (⚠ anime & manga spoilers ahead)

🍓

overview

if i only had one word to describe hachi's style, i'd say feminine- think frills and lace details. she's all about babydoll silhouettes, pleated skirts, knit cardigans, ballet flats, and generally embodying shoujo fashion from the early 2000s with a good balance of cute and classy. hachi's fashion sensibilities lean more towards the modest side, as her dresses and skirts are usually around midi-length, and mini skirts are often paired with extra layers like tights or leggings underneath. it's a very good girl chic look, which fittingly leans in to her innocent personality. hachi is very stylish and clearly puts a lot of thought into picking her outfits everyday, as she's not afraid to occasionally experiment with different styles every & to use fashion as a key means of expressing herself.

in terms of colour palettes, hachi's wardrobe has a bit of everything- warm hues, earth tones, soft pastels, which all work together to capture the warmth and sweetness of her character. she's definitely more attuned to light colours than dark. this suits her personality better too, as light coloured clothing is said to convey feelings of friendship, fun, compassion, and approachability. fabric-wise, hachi likes to keep it light and airy with materials like chiffon and tulle; switching to warmer fabrics like cashmere and wool for cold weather, giving her outfits a vintage feel.

we can see that hachi pulls fashion inspiration from various aesthetics and fashion trends across different decades. she definitely incorporates her love for vintage fashion in her style, particularly with elements we've seen her wear before like mod dresses, neckerchiefs, pearl necklaces, long fleece trim coats, and brown platform boots. you can also see it in how some of the pieces she wears feels so unique, like a surprise gem you would find in a vintage boutique while thrifting. in dressier looks, hachi's girlish charm and allure is slightly reminiscient of 1960s it girls, like twiggy and sharon tate. she draws from a lot of 60s-inspired elements- the romantic parisienne style, and a bit of vintage preppy chic.

scarves and bandanas are a vintage essential as well as one of hachi's signature accessories. they have tons of versatile styling options, plus the potential to be dressed up or down. we've seen her wearing one scarf (exhibit A) multiple times over the series. the babushka scarf version has to be my favourite, it's very hepburn-esque, who i 100% i could picture hachi having a poster of in her childhood bedroom. i also think that having characters re-wear pieces we've seen before is generally just a cool subtle styling detail, which adds to the realism of NANA's 10/10 worldbuilding. the scarf's many appearances styled in different ways also goes to show how hachi enjoys being creative with her outfits, loves the pieces she owns and wants to get as much use out of them as possible.

hachi's style also incorporates a touch of influence from the kawaii lolita subculture, particularly modern offshoots like larme-kei. lolita is french rococco-inspired with a focus on cuteness, and has its origins in early 2000s harajuku street style- which is also where mori/kogyaru fashion originates from; hachi's go-to style during her high school years (see: her modified school uniform, miniskirts, fuzzy legwarmers). both of these movements were heavily pioneered by j-fashion magazines of the time like FRUITS, Olive, Larme & CUTiE, which were mainly popular with teenage girls and young women, and hachi is no exception. her fashion sense is also heavily inspired by famous japanese celebrities and style icons like risa nakamura.

if we had to really narrow it down, i think hachi's style can be best described by otome (lit: maiden) fashion. known as one of the predecessors of lolita fashion, this style was very popular among young girls in the 70s-80s and is heavily centered around embodying all things traditionally feminine. sweet, cute, girly, and romantic are all common descriptors of the style, which pulls influence from 60s mod fashion (which, as we've seen, has prevalent elements in hachi's style). think tons of layering, pattern mixing, longer hemlines, and mary janes/flats, all of which we frequently see in hachi's outfits. we also see that she takes elements from modern lolita fashion like frills, bows, ribbons, lace, tights & stockings, and incorporates them into her own personal style as more understated outfit details; making it more wearable on a daily basis while still being a tribute to one of her sources of style inspiration.

now that we've explored what makes hachi's personal style unique to her character, let's dig into how her style is influenced in relation to how the story progresses and how her character develops. and just for funsies, i'll also be styling a casual everyday outfit that i could picture hachi wearing for each story arc. let's go!

🍓

i. art school

i'd describe hachi's style here as the most youthful, which makes sense considering she's freshly moved to tokyo to study at an art school. we see her sporting a face-framing pixie cut, which gives her look a bit of edge, but not too much as she still retains her signature soft girl style to balance it out. also, can i just say: super farmer's daughter vibes when paired with a bandana! jeans were having a moment too- during this era, hachi was often seen wearing a pair of bellbottom flares or baggy jeans, creating a casual and easygoing look which really leaned into the artsy college student fashion. this would also mesh well with her then-best friend junko's more bohemian/indie, woodstock-inspired hippie style. the short hair paired with her experimentation on androgynous silhouettes definitely accentuates her gamine facial features, lending to a cute boyish look.

all these style elements are in direct contrast with the hyperfeminine looks of her high school years, back when she'd opt for skirts over jeans and long, styled hair; showing how hachi underwent a pretty drastic style change whilst adapting to the new environment in tokyo. at the same time, it could also hint at hachi's approach to self-expression & using fashion as a coping mechanism to deal with major life changes. dressing more casually to blend in with the college crowd is one of many indicators on how easily influenced hachi can get, which is pretty on-brand behaviour for someone with a tendency to seek validation from others instead of oneself.

so let's get into the first look i've picked out for her: layers on layers on layers baby! for this outfit, i took a lot of inspiration from hachi's first day of class outfit. i tried to be consistent with her theme of 70s-inspired prints and silhouettes during this phase, but also wanted to incorporate a modern y2k touch since we know that younger hachi (before fully developing her unique & personal sense of style) is more of a trend chaser, and what could be more early 2000s than a blouse + dress + jeans combo? accessories-wise, i wanted to pick out unique-looking pieces that had a lot of charm, as i was really going for that 'flea market finds' vibe since she obviously wouldn't have been able to afford any designer yet on a college student budget. also please notice the gorgeous vintage floral print ballet flats- i was so excited when i found it, i thought it screamed hachi!! they look so comfortable to walk in on top of being cute, it's the perfect shoe to slip on for a long day of classes without sacrificing style.

🍓

ii. apartment 707

during this time, we see hachi start to embrace feminine styles again. she lets her hair grow out and we see her back in skirts, dresses, and all things girly, which is why her otome fashion influences shine through most here. she wears tons of pieces in floral and polkadot print, as well as flowy babydoll tops which are very y2k-girl-next-door-reminiscient. we also see her starting to wear vivienne jewelry (the pearl choker, the dainty silver orb earrings), likely as a result of nana's influence (who she heavily admires and looks up to) & wanting to emulate her style. hachi's outfits here seem to have more colour and print, which i believe is reflective of her mental state here; happy, confident, and surrounded by support. good vibes all around, her environment at this time encourages her to take more risks in not just decision-making but also in her fashion choices.

in general, this era is where hachi seems to be getting a better hold on growing into her own personal style. she's still open to trying out different styles every now and then, but we can see there are some style elements that really stick and appear most often in her outfits. she's also seen here experimenting with all kinds of different hairstyles- french braids, pigtails, twin buns, the half-updo. to me, i think all of this signifies how hachi's style development runs parallel to her identity formation and how she grows as a person. at this point of the story, hachi believes she's finally found a place where she fits- within this ragtag but loving cast of unique characters.

so the second look was a little more of a challenge to work with- that's because hachi's style during this era doesn't subscribe to any one specific aesthetic or subculture, but more like a bit of everything, and her outfits can differ a lot between episodes. the goal here was to go for a casual daytime outfit, and i ended up super proud of the colour coordination in this one! i've styled hachi in a frilly vintage floral print chiffon slip dress that's almost reminiscent of the strawberry dress of 2020, but with unique details that give it much more character. i gave hachi a cream-toned vivienne crossbody purse, a scarf to balance out the salmon pink of the dress accents, styled as a neckerchief, some strawberry hair clips to match, and of course i had to include her much-spotted pearl orb necklace too. the highlight of this look are definitely the shoes, which are maison margiela tabi ballet flats- something i could 100% picture hachi wearing if NANA were set in the context of modern day fashion trends.

🍓

iii. motherhood

as time passes, we also see how hachi's fashion sense has slightly evolved into a classier, more refined version. more adult, if you will. this occurs when hachi decides to move out from apartment 707 and starts getting serious with takumi. not only did her living situation change, but as did her lifestyle, and with that, her fashion sense too. her style here simplified and took on a more mature look. she started prioritizing function over form as she cut down on layering and accessorizing. she would also opt for longer, flowier silhouettes and comfortable styles, often wearing simple dresses or aprons over a basic shirt-skirt combo. i really like how the change in style here - which pulls a lot from the 50s-suburbia housewife trope (think frilly aprons, puffy dresses, flared skirts, modest hemlines) - feels like a sublte detail to show how hachi settles into her new role of motherhood, expressed via clothing choices.

as a whole, this period of her life signifies the drastic 180° change from spending carefree days of young adulthood, to taking on the role of mother/wife in a nuclear family unit. it's the most major life change she's ever had to experience at this point, and it's expected that her style evolves alongside this. she's seen wearing noticeably less patterns or colour during this time, which could hint at possibly representing her inner feelings- the bleakness of spending her days in a mostly-empty home, and the isolation of being separated from the friendships she once surrounded herself with daily. thankfully, we do eventually see her return to dressing fashionably again after the timeskip. however, it's extremely important not to gloss over this period of her life as it portrays how she must have felt having most of her agency taken away overnight, with her style being all she had left as a form of control.

so last but not least is the final outfit, which was tough styling as there was comparably less material to go off, but i based it on the few going-out looks we get to see hachi wear post-takumi. rolling with the 50s-inspired looks, i've styled her in a coral short-sleeve button down dress. for the outerwear i picked a long checkered overcoat, which nicely complements the dress in addition to being a going-out staple for classy ladies everywhere. since the outfit is mostly harsher silhouettes, i decided to keep the colour scheme light to balance it out. while i was going for 'stylish mature woman', i still wanted some youthful elements in there to maintain hachi's signature girlish look. i balanced it out by accessorizing with a headband (a prep chic essential) and dior saddle bag, both lime green for a pop of colour and contrast. and of course, i had to incorporate the iconic neckerchief too as it doesn't get any more vintage-looking than this. the final piece to tie it all together are a pair of classic miu miu ballet flats- chic and comfortable!

🍓

final thoughts

all in all, hachi's fashion sense is super girly and sweet, which i'd say directly reflects on her character's personality. hachi is an outgoing girl who wears her heart on her sleeve and has a lot of love to give. she's warm and approachable, which she expresses through her clothing choices by embodying the cheerful, down-to-earth girl next door look. her bubbly style is youthful and fresh, which personality-wise is in character with hachi's innocence and willingness to trust others. this is shown through how much hachi cares deeply about her loved ones & often (unhealthily) prioritizes their feelings over her own. however, this naïveté unfortunately leaves her a lot more vulnerable to others seeking to exploit her emotional attention.

hachi's fashion evolution over the series shows how she uses fashion as a coping tool to help adjust to life changes, capturing her emotional growth and how she matures over the course of the story. the way that hachi's sense of style develops alongside her character is so realistic. her style development tells the story of a girl who finds herself and loses herself over and over again, frequently changing jobs and wardrobes in a constant struggle to find an identity to latch onto- until she does. hachi's style story is one of self-expression & identity formation; a story that speaks to all the young, unsure girls out there who see a bit of themselves in her, trying to figure out their place in a world in a world that often decides for them.

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crushedsweets · 3 months

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hey sucker! 😋😋

what would the creeps do for valentine’s day?

like yknow, would some be given small treats or do others treat it like a regular day?

happy belated valentines day! hope you guys had fun and shared some love with everyone around you! this is the closest youre gonna get to x reader content from me.

AGAIN THIS IS SET IN MY AU!!! MY AU IS PRETTY DETAILED AND HAS AN OVERARCHING STORYLINE WITH PRE-ESTABLISHED FRIENDSHIPS, SETTINGS, JOBS, CHARACTER ARCS AND WHATNOT....... so :3 yeah.

Tim and Brian probably don't do much. They'll totally grab some chocolates/candy and eat it, but just cuz its there, not as a gift. if they had a partner, they'd just go get some dinner.. flowers, basic stuff. put on an unironed button up and pick their partner up LOL.

toby might do something depending on where he is in the story. early on, he is not doing SHIIIIT. deep into his friendship with nina(who opens up a lot of his emotional vulnerabilities n stuff), he might feel a little inclined to pick up some flowers for some of the girls in his life (nina, clocky, kate, lazari) just cuz he used to do something small for his sister/mom when he was younger (cuz frank never did shit). if he had a partner, he'd def wanna do jewelry and classic flowers. he likes necklaces and rings and piercings and stuff, doesnt wear them much cuz they get in the way, but likes seeing people wear stuff he got. he's the type to make them turn around so he could put the necklace on them, but if they even slightly laugh at him trying to be sweet, he's getting mad HAHA. "ok nevermind im returning this you fucking suck" (jokingly.. but he is embarrassed). would just wanna stay home though, no nights out or anything

clocky would paint stuff. she'd give nina a portrait of herself cuz nina loooves being someone's muse, do some nice art of forest creatures and leave some notes for toby. she'd feel pretty awkward about it just cuz even when she was with her highschool boyfriend, she wasn't good at giving or receiving affection. if she's gifted any flowers (which she will be getting), she's absolutely pressing them and either sealing them in some paintings, or putting it in frames that hold her old art/art she picked up at thrifts. if she had a partner, she'd obviously paint them or something. i could see her spending a long time working through a journal to gift them, making every 3 pages a painting, drawing, or journal entry expressing something. "today you and i went to get lunch. i think the place was way too expensive, but you liked it." and then empty pages for her partner to fill in with whatever they want.

nina. ok come on. lets be serious. its nina. she's gonna buy everyone(as in toby, clocky, kate, jane, liu) one expensive gift (cologne, watches, shoes, jewelry, makeup) and then throw together mini bouquets, notes, and probably shop lift other smaller stuff cuz 'IM BROKE I SPENT TOO MUCH I HAVE TO' LOLLL.. she's the type to literally decorate her house for it, putting up some of clocky's more romantic paintings (cuz she has a collection of clocky's work), setting out heart-shaped coasters, bringing out heart shaped pillows.... honestly she probably already had those.... she'd absolutely plan galentines dinner for her friends, bake cookies, everything. if she had a partner, it would be really similar. she likes to spoil people, gift giving and acts of service are her ways of showing love - buuuut she does want to be spoiled in return, so physical affection and quality time is what she wants to receive. she wants to be treated like a princess, be picked up, have her doors opened for her, told she looks beautiful, etc.

jack is even less likely to do something than toby. before the sacrifice, he'd grab a cheap bag of individually wrapped chocolates and give them to people he knew around campus. i could see him buying the same chocolates and leaving it in his cabin. telling whoever visits him to take some. nina would leave him some flowers too(say its also from toby) and he'd be really grateful, cuz she'd be very sure to get him whatever he thinks smells the nice. that way he can still appreciate it. if he had a partner, YOU KNOW HE'S COOKING THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DINNER AT HOME. he's cleaning up, very awkwardly trying to dress nice. black button up, slacks, slick his hair back(or he'd just do whatever his partner says looks best, not too concerned with his own preference). he'd feel sooo fucking embarrassed and very nervous but he just wants to make it special. he'd write a long love letter, too

jeff isnt doing shit for anyone. he'll go steal some chocolate and mind his own business. if he had a partner, one that he ACTUALLY loved and wanted to keep around. maybe he'd pick up some flowers and chocolate, mainly cuz he knows thats the bare minimum sort of gift. he'd let them demand that day from him, which takes a LOT for him to let anyone feel entitled to HIS time. if he knows they have higher expectations (dinner, a letter, etc) he'd probably bitch and moan and be like "ugh you already know im into you why do i gotta do this shit" but if theyre serious, he'd probably do it. half assed though...

kates also not doing anything unprompted. she wouldnt even know the day is coming around. her only memories of valentines day would be passing out some candy and cards around class in elementary school, but once she was in the forest, nobody gave HER shit. she might pick some flowers and wrap it in some paper for people , but ONLY if she KNOWS they're getting something for her. like, she'd pick nina some flowers cuz she knows ninas doing something regardless, but she wouldnt get toby anything cuz she wouldnt have expected it from him. then shed feel bad. if she had a partner, again it'd be similar. she KNOWS she needs to put in the effort, but she doesnt exactly have the resources... the farm does pay her some cash since she works with the animals, but she mostly just gives it straight to toby so he can buy stuff for the cabin. but she'd keep it this time around, and quietly ask toby if he could come with her to get some stuff for them. some sweets, a necklace, scribble out a little letter. smth sweet.

janes married. and she goes all out of her wife. buys her like a 3dozen bouquet of red roses, sets reservations at nice restaurants, makes mary breakfast the morning of. all of that. i dont even know how to go into detail on this because thats just how it is for her, theres not some turmoil for her to work through. she'd also start getting sally some stuff. plushies holding hearts, balloons, sweet things like that. if she had a partner...WELL SHE ALREADY DOES!!!!

if liu knows nina is going to gift him something expensive, he's doing the same. he's going to grab her flowers and maybe some shoes or something he knows she's had her eye on. he wouldn't be really subtle about it, just text her "whats on your wishlist right now" LOLLL... he just appreciates nina's presence (after they get over the jeff situation) and likes having a little sister to spoil. he'd probably send jane a bouquet of flowers with a thank you note, since jane did a lot for him. if he had a partner, it would also be very stereotypical. date plans, picking them up, flowers, etc. he'd LOOOOVE to make one of those big baskets filled to the brim with random shit. would wanna come home and draw a nice bubble bath and have some wine. stuff like that in general...

ben, lulu, ann, and dina wouldnt do anything and wouldnt get a partner. lazari would draw some pictures for her friends! sally will draw something for jane and mary

#creeped #not everyone gets equal love cuz...idk #uhh #ticci toby #clockwork #nina the killer #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #jane the killer #homicidal liu #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta fandom #i like when u guys call me sucker im like :D HAYYY

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theredofoctober · 7 months

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MANNA- CHAPTER FIVE: OATS

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink

This is chronologically the fifth chapter in the series

---

The day after the failed feast Dr Lecter enters your unhappy chamber to find you already awake, greasily feverish in the maelstrom of narcotic hangover. Moaning under the dripping cloth of your bedsheet, you wince from the light that punctures the room as Hannibal draws back the curtains with a determined flourish.

"This is what happens when you do not eat and drink enough, I'm afraid," he says, putting a lusciously cool hand to your brow. "The excitement around the table certainly didn't help matters. Had you been receptive, then you would have been hydrated, full-bellied, and ready for the day ahead. Alas, your mulish nature is the portcullis that refuses you entry into better health. I cannot raise it for you."

You haven't the life in you to retaliate to such sanctimonious jibes, and he well knows it.

Humming a strand of Vide Cor Meum, Hannibal glides about you, first plumping your pillow, then holding a glass of water to your lips until you must either drink, or drown. In fractured gulps you salve your chapped throat with it, then part your lips again for a spoon of porridge; to your surprise, the portion spilled from cutlery to tongue is slim, a suggestion of treaty, of a temporary kind.

"I will never make you eat more than is reasonable, little one," says Hannibal, meeting your narrowed stare so frankly that you are almost abashed by the look. "It would do you no good to upset your stomach any further. I will minimise your intake for a few days, at least."

The suggestion is so unbelievable that you search his plain expression for the merest taint of trickery.

"You're not... angry with me," you observe, at last.

Dr Lecter's head inclines.

"Any ill feelings between us were settled at dinner, were they not?"

He helps you to the bathroom, stepping politely outside the door as you list at a sloppy port-wise angle, gripping either side of the bowl with preventative force; you may fall should you let go, humiliate yourself in the necessity of further care.

That Hannibal reverts to a veneer of nurturing aid after an episode of violence with such undisturbed ease frightens you, as does your instinct to accept that profferred assistance. Too many years span from here to the last time you allowed yourself to do so, and though you know well Dr Lecter's malign in having manufactured such frailty, you may never regain the position to resist it without him.

As with Will, your way out of this house is to drive yourself further in.

"I'll return home early today," says Hannibal, as he eases you back into bed in stops and starts to accomodate each shimmer of nausea. "I can reschedule my afternoon appointments for another time."

"Don't bother," you mutter, against your pillow. "I want to be on my own."

"I'm aware of that. Nevertheless, I will be here to monitor you. If you're feeling better tonight, then I will conduct your next therapy session."

Fear flowers at your core, all thorn tipped leaves.

"I won't be better," you say, your lips still crushed to starched cotton. "That promise I made to you about trying— I can't stick to that. I can't be the person you need. And I can't eat. It's too hard for me."

Hannibal lays a hand on your back, soothing you as he might an infant with colic.

"I know," he says, simply. "Relapses are to be expected. Neither Will or I will admonish you for that. What I will not tolerate is rudeness. I have demonstrated what will occur if you do not keep your tongue in check."

At this your head snaps upright against the pull of sickness.

"Aren't you rude?" you ask, sharply. "And Will?"

Hannibal pats down your coverlet, quite unoffended.

"One might argue that is down to interpretation. I pride myself on cultivating elegance, which includes manners, as a matter of course. Will, however, is— unique. I overlook his cruder moments for the complexity layered beneath them. As for what we have done to you, it is unfortunate that you cannot observe the act through our eyes, and perceive its beauty, as well as your own."

To this, you have no answer. You can think only of snaring hands, of Will's stubble scarring your cheek, and the blood broken like bottled wine across your inner thighs, so much ugliness paraded as glory.

"Please drink the water I've left out for you," says Hannibal.

You do, for he will know, if you do not.

There was something in that glass, or the oats, you comprehend, for when you are next conscious you are propped upright in a leather chair, only part returned from witless repose.

A metronome clicks at your ear, back and forth.

Lights flash and cease, white and black their blinking through the timeless night in which Dr Lecter has you drown. You sit, or swim in it; you cannot tell. The fungal spell of Hannibal's cooking robs you of both voice and tether to the earth. You could be foam in a Homerean ocean, where men become pigs on its alien isles.

You too might be such a beast, or a child, or some sylph of amorphous matter trapped in such hampering skin.

The sound of your breath comes, shuttered and sharp.

A warm hand cups your chest, and your lungs seem to open to its gesture as though by unknown magic.

Then a voice murmurs from a face before you, its shape without edge, an orb.

"You are safe. You are cared for. You belong."

Like a switchblade across your eye the light comes again, and you are part of it, an impulse that is all life, all one.

Hannibal speaks your name, grounding you to him, as to a stack in some wild sea.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now," he tells you. "They may be difficult. Try to answer them honestly."

There is only a man here, there is only light; you cannot refuse them.

"Okay," you mumble.

Hannibal's pleasure in your answer is a current timed to the swishing metronome.

"How did your eating disorder begin?" he asks. "What did it look like, then?"

"Just a diet, at first," you say. "The meals got smaller and smaller. Then a lot of food scared me. I started counting calories. Throwing food out. Being around anyone eating was like I was being tortured. That's when I knew that something was really wrong with me."

You hear the scratch of a pen on an unseen pad.

"I see. And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Nothing. I didn't care. Then I started to like it. Challenging myself. The compliments— feeling like I had something nobody else did, that I was so good at— It became everything I was. My identity, kind of."

How easy it is to speak, when you cannot see the expression of the listener before you.

"Trauma frequently shapes us in our formative years," Hannibal comments. "It is a natural response to build oneself in its image. So, let us retreat to older memories. Tell me of a time that you recall being afraid."

The flashing light numbs to an ebbing glow.

"There was this guy," you say. "A guy that my dad was friends with. Still is. His name is Leland Frost. He used to come over to our house all the time. He was always so friendly, but I knew that there was something wrong with him. There was something in his eyes, the way he laughed too much, or stood too close to me. Like he was putting on a rubber Hallowe'en mask of a regular guy, and everyone was just pretending it was fine, but they really weren't pretending."

"Elaborate."

You gnaw at your lower lip until you taste warm iron, and consider spitting out the calories.

"I tried to tell people about it," you say. "But Dad could never see it. He'd just say, 'oh, that's just Lee. Silly old Uncle Lee. That's just how he is.' But I knew. I saw him. I smelled the cheap rubber mask."

"Did this Uncle Lee ever hurt you?" asks Hannibal, softly. "Touch you in an inappropriate manner?"

This memory is dusky, a cobwebbed photograph.

"I don't know," you admit, at last. "I always thought he wanted to, though. I always thought the minute my parents left me alone with him something bad would happen. The waiting was always the worst part."

A pause, in which you sense rather than see Dr Lecter watching you through the dark-light-darkness.

"But maybe it wasn't Uncle Lee that I was waiting for," you say, at last. "Maybe it was you and Will."

The gloom becomes further marred by tears, and you feel a box of tissues being pressed into your loose hand.

"That's enough for today," says Hannibal, rising from his seat. "You've done well for me. This calls for a reward."

He crosses the room to pick up a telephone, glancing at you with an unintelligible heat in his eyes.

"Good evening," he says, into the receiver. "I hope this is a convenient time for you. Yes, that is correct; I'm calling about your daughter's progress. I am very satisfied with her cooperation today. We are approaching some early milestones."

Hearing the tinny, distant voices of your parents, you struggle towards a lucidity that feels so desperately out of touch.

Hannibal crosses the room towards you again and turns the phone away from his mouth to murmur, "I will allow you a few words to them, if you will be sensible."

By this he means: if you do not give the game away.

You nod your head jerkily and extend a fist as Dr Lecter introduces you into the conversation.

"She is here, now. Somewhat tired, but all is well."

You clenched the receiver to your ear, tears coming in such a quick patter that, at first, you can only sit in hyperventilating silence as your parents babble at you, their voices sharp with an underlying guilt.

"How are you, honey? It's so good to hear from you! We love you! Is everything okay?"

Each day you've been parted from them you've missed them as you would your most vital structures, with a sore and deathly strength, yet your love is not so stark as your disappointment in being so abandoned by them.

"No," you say, at last. "I'm not okay, Mom. Dad. How could you send me away and not even warn me?"

The babbling rises, panic in male and female iteration.

"We had no other choice. It was all we could think to do! We tried everything. But Dr Lecter's helping you, isn't he?"

Hannibal's stare is, itself, a warning.

Pressing your knuckles to your anguished mouth, you pass the telephone back to him, not trusting yourself not to scream for help and damn yourself to the harshest punishment that such an executioner of free will might hand to you.

"She is overwrought," says Dr Lecter, apologetically. "I'll call again next week."

He hangs up, and leans across to clean the tears from your face himself, ensuring the tissue is discarded in a wastpaper basket; even in this he must be perfect, organised and pristine. You hate him for it, this performance he makes of his life, preserving such details as no one would be likely to notice but him.

"I wish you hadn't let me talk to them," you whisper. "Now I feel even worse."

"Of course you do," says Hannibal. "Your family betrayed you. It would be much more unusual if you held no resentment towards them at all."

You squint up at him in accusation.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Leaving a wound open may sometimes allow it to dry, and subsequently heal. You will not advance without acknowledging the harm your parents have done to you, whether through dispatching you to me without consent, or by ignoring your justifiable fear of Leland Frost. The map to your mental injury is unfurling before us: the continents take shape, as do the names that mark each turn in your unhappy life. In time, I will know them all."

Weeping, you slip down in your chair, not wanting to see the truth that thrusts itself up from the outcrop of evil.

"I will help you to your room," says Dr Lecter. "More sleep is in order, I think."

Will Graham enters the house some time in the night; you hear his low voice through the floorboards as you lie in swaying wakefulness, wondering what brings the professor here at so late an hour. He stays for so long that he accepts an invite into one of Hannibal's spare rooms, a fact that you discern from the voices passing your door in the hallway.

Again you sleep, though not pleasantly, your psyche disturbed by the third presence in the building, and by the lasting bruise of Dr Lecter's relentless torments.

In this sleep you dream of an antlered thing burying you in a terracotta wood, its face so darkly passive as soil smothers your airways that you might well be a bone, stored there to be gnawed at some late and starving hour.

When you emerge from this haunted slumber you still feel the threads of it still noosed around you; dream-sick, drug-thick, you stagger across your bedroom and, finding the door unlocked, tumble on into the hallway beyond.

By chance you find Will's room, letting yourself into quarters that smell of night-sweat, and pine, and male musk. You scarcely know what you do as you climb into bed with him against his salty heat, nor why it is he, of your abusers, that you seek.

Will starts awake, wild-haired and horrified as he senses your body beside him. Your name bolts from his lips, scarcely recognisable, the utterance of an animal groomed to speak a human tongue.

"What are you doing here? You should be in your own room."

Keeping your back to him, you drowsily reply.

"Had a bad dream."

Will breathes an ironic laugh.

"And you think you'll sleep any better in my bed? I destroyed you, remember?"

Self-blame, self-loathing, all jagged and tail-swallowing teeth.

"No," you mumble. "He did. Not you, Daddy."

You feel Will sit up behind you, scratching a hand through his unruly curls.

"You're not in your right mind," he announces, gruffly. "I'd better tell Dr Lecter to stop giving you whatever medication you're on. It's not good for you. No wonder you're having nightmares."

Still, he doesn't attempt to turn you out of bed, or to call Hannibal to eject you on his behalf. He only slouches, gazing at you, until you turn on your side to look back at his pretty, troubled face in its nest of brindled shadow.

Will's shoulders still droop in a mode of shame, yet the black of the room deepens the blue of his eyes into a yearning colour through which many a woman would gladly fall. He wants you here, you realise, perhaps likes the power he holds in having you soft and needful beside him, in his lair, after all he's done.

You should detest him for feeling it, and you do.

But recognising that craving within him reawakens the understanding of that power you may yet hold over him, in return, the mistress of a cur that bites all but those that direct the leash.

It is a long way off, this control, but the taste of it will do, for now.

"Let me stay," you implore, fluttering sodden eyelashes in a coquettish attempt to convince him. "Please? Just for tonight? I don't want that dream to come back."

You'll loathe yourself for this, in the morning, but now all you care for is the night. Will seems to be having the same thought, for he lies back down on the mattress again, taking care to leave ample space between you.

How does he compartmentalise his violence—his taste for it—from his revulsion towards you, and further still from the empathy that stirs in him like a stamped out fire?

"Just one night," says Will, sternly. "I don't know what Hannibal is going to say about this."

You pull the quilt up under your chin, almost giddy with your achievement, and with it the comfort that pours over you like a September afternoon. This strange happiness you will remember, and wonder at, when all you should have known were the tatters of despair.

"Dr Lecter left my door unlocked," you say, as Will moves in restless, settling motions at your back, still refusing to make contact with your skin. "So it's really his fault I'm here, you know."

At this Will half-rises again, but whatever question or comment he murmurs is lost to your abrupt slumber.

By morning he is gone, and you are alone again, only the scent of the monster remaining about you to mark out your miserable self-treachery.

He is not there to see you thrust the sheets against your face and inhale their bitter stink, if only to claw back the triumph of having made vulnerable a man so very closed to contact of the most human kind.

He is not there, and he is everywhere.

Will is as part of this house as Dr Lecter, now.

#ao3 writer #manna fic #yandere will graham #yandere hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #tw darkfic #tw eating disorders #tw anorexia #tw abuse #tw drugs #tw noncon #dead dove do not eat #hannibal lecter fic

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charliedawn · 11 months

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What if the slashers kept a journal ?

Bo was taking care of one of the employees' car—which had a flat tire—when you decided it was the perfect time to do a round check of all the bedrooms. All of the slashers had to keep a journal and you thought it would be alright to just give it a quick look to see their progress.

However, Bo's journal seemed very well hidden and then, you found out that his desk was slightly off-centred. It was by palming haphazardly the underneath of his desk that you found the journal—hidden inside a secret compartment he had surely crafted himself.

"You clever clock.", you whistled admiratively with a proud smile. You then opened it and frowned as you noticed that the first page was blank...and the second...and the third. Why was it empty ?!

"Can I help ya ?"

You were surprised to hear Bo's voice behind you and quickly turned around. He eyed the journal in your hands and looked up at you before blinking several times. He seemed to catch up quickly on what you were doing by how guilty you looked.

"Anythin' interesting in there, nurse?"

However, instead of replying, you threw the journal on the bed scurried off of the room as quickly as you had entered it. As soon as the door was locked, he smiled and walked to his desk. He checked that his real journal was still there—hidden underneath some mechanical engineering book—and smiled when he realized it was...

He chuckled knowingly.

"Noisy lil' darlin'."

In Vincent's journal, there were merely animal pics and various unreadable scribbles. You couldn't possibly read the things written, so you focused on the photographs and smiled at the various subjects...until you arrived to the last days' entries. Now, you knew Vincent to be easily obsessed. He had once followed a bird for hours—only to draw a sketch of it. However, you had never seen him get obsessed over an actual human being—until today.

There were only photographs of you.

You. Eating.

You. Talking.

You...Sleeping.

Oh...You blushed and promptly closed the journal before hiding it back underneath his pillow. However, when you turned around—you fell face to face with Vincent.

He looked successively between you and his pillow and finally, it clicked. He tried stop say something—but by then, you were already gone. You had snuck past him. He stood still for a second or two before re-opening the diary. He gently stroke the last photograph he had taken of you—smiling at him.

It was his best one yet...

Sex jokes. So many sex jokes. You thought that man would take the time to write profound meaningful things ? Ah ! Joke's on you.

However, he smiled when he saw you reading his diary. He stayed there for a moment before creeping his way in and surprising you by suddenly pulling your head back.

"Haven't you heard the expression curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart ?", he asked with a threatening grin and you shrugged.

"Haven't you heard bastards usually get cooked ?", you shot back.

At this point, you didn't give a toss that he had caught you—with the amount of garbage you had read. His whole brain needed to be purged in holy water.

"It doesn't make any sense.", he snarled and you offered him a sweet smile before taking a lighter on the table.

"Yes. It means let me go, Krueger...before I burn you somewhere that REALLY hurts.", you his in-between meaningfully—but it didn't seen to be efficient. It only spurred him on as he closed the door with his foot.

"Hmm...Nah. Don't think I will."

No need to say...Freddy got more than one additional burn that day.

Brahms was so discreet—you didn't notice when he approached you from behind. He glanced at what page you were on and realized it was a part when he described you.

Curious. Nice. Beautiful...

You smiled at the compliments, but realized that he had missed the point of the exercise. It was to focus on himself and reach deep. However, Brahms didn't like people reading his secrets.

His chest heaved heavily and in a matter of seconds, your back was against the door and he had removed his mask. You wanted to read all about his secrets ? He would make you sing yours.

Jason mostly wrote random words he learned. He couldn't make full sentences yet—but he mostly tried to write words and various emotions or actions of the day.

Cutting. Eating. Cooking.

He didn't like making sentences—so he usually only writes down random words. He described people he met, places he went to and his feelings.

You smiled.

He might be the only one who had listened to you and tried to fill their journal with what they felt. You flipped quickly through the different entries until you reached the final one. You were then pleasantly surprised by finding a few sentences. But that pleasant feeling quickly disappeared when you read.

'Hello, mommy. I have friends now. I think you would like them. And I...I met someone. I think you'd like them too. They like us. They take care of us. I miss you. But I...I think I'll be alright.'

You let out a few tears as you imagined Jason writing those words. He had learned so much and you weren't afraid to say that you were proud of him. And you were sure his mother would be too if she could see him.

Michael could smell you. He knew you had been in his room and every single thing you touched. The scent lingered on his diary and on one page in particular—one he didn't think was that important.

It was a photograph. A photograph of all the slashers reunited on Christmas. It was also the only day Carrie and Sadako were allowed in the facility.

Jason had taken that photograph before giving it to Michael as a present. He is completely forgotten about it, but smiled faintly at the realization that you had chosen this page in particular made it special.

He sighed before sitting on his bed and closing the journal. He looked out at the garden where you were helping Freddy with the bad weed.

You looked so...perfect. And that made you precious in Michael's mind—but also dangerous. He had this urge to protect you clashing with the need to kill you. It was exhausting to keep that last urge at bay, and he was afraid of what he might do if you were to ever know about his feelings...But, he wasn't worried.

You would never feel the same...right ?

Jack writes down everything—and I mean everything. He can fill an entire book about his day. He also has a big memory and can remember the tiniest of details.

That was the reason why you had decided to read his entries—in case he would have written something you had missed.

What you found inside made your eyes widen.

He had studied them all. And it wasn't just moments. It was fully-detailed portraits. Physical. Mental. Psychological...He had recorded ever trait, every change...And not only about the slashers or the other patients.

But the staff as well. And of course, you. You learnt that he had memorized everything to you taste of cake and the type of clothes you wore for every occasion. It was impressive—but also rather worrying.

"Well well...Wasn't expecting any visitors."

You turned around swiftly add found him standing there with a smug look on his face. He didn't seem to mind you reading his journal. He simply tilted his head with a knowing smirk and you let the journal fall to the floor before slowly backing away.

"I was just..." His eyes didn't leave yours before he stepped out of the way.

"Here you go, nurse. You can go."

You eyed the door suspiciously. Could you...really ? But, you didn't want to stay and ask—so you walked out. Jack's eyes followed you until you were out of view before smiling and picking his journal back up.

New entry: Nurse Y/N doesn't seem to be very happy about being the studied subject for once...

Pennywise hadn't written anything. You were partly disappointed, but not that surprised. Pennywise didn't like sharing—and that was even with himself. He was complicated and he refused to acknowledge his own feelings.

But, that was okay.

You closed the diary and looked at Pennywise who was sitting in his favorite rocking chair and was staring ahead at things you couldn't fathom.

Maybe were there ghosts of his past ? You didn't know. Maybe would he open up some day. But, you'd wait until then.

They ran. They all ran. And I chased after them. Their little hearts pounded loudly in their chests as I trapped them. Their wide eyes fixed on me.

You had mainly a lot of notes on his time when he had to face the Losers' club. Penny was oddly specific on the gore details of his past kills. But, you needed to understand him—so you digged dipper.

You read everything—everything until you found something truly important.

I'm losing my memory...Pennywise says it's normal. But, I can't even remember who I was before. What was my name ? I think I was a clown...But, I don't know anymore. I think I had a daughter. But, I don't remember her name.

Penny was...losing his memory ? You looked up and saw him playing with the other younger slashers in the garden. He was smiling and carelessly chasing after them. But, what if...there was more to him than you had initially thought ?

Ghostface had refused to show his face to anyone. You had simply wanted to get to know him better. You knew that searching though his personal entries for answers wasn't really nurse-worthy...But, he refused to open up. However, before you could read as much as a few words—he had grabbed the diary from your hands and pressed his knife against your throat.

"Now now...nursy. Spying ? That's not very ethical of you.", he teased and you closed your eyes.

He seemed pissed by the way his voice became slightly more high-pitched and you knew that you should be afraid—but something else crossed your mind.

"What is you favorite scary movie ?", you muttered and Ghostface tilted his head quizzically.

"...What ?"

You slowly turned around to face him fully and he didn't stop you.

"That is the question you ask to all the patients. The question you always ask to everyone you meet. Are you...", you looked up—even though you couldn't really judge his reaction. "...searching for someone ?"

Ghostface stayed uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before clenching his fists.

"Leave. Now.", he uttered in a quiet whisper and you didn't dare defy him—as you knew by the way he had suddenly tensed up that you weren't welcome anymore.

The moment you were out, he slammed the door and locked the door before removing his mask and throwing it to the ground angrily. He was was conflicted. He was ashamed that you had succeeded in seeing right through him so quickly. And, he couldn't tell you—not yet. He opened his diary and sighed. He couldn't tell you that the answer he was searching for was Psychose. 1960. His father's favorite scary movie.

It was the only information he had—that and that he was a patient in St Louis. He looked up at the ceiling and suddenly threw the diary in the fire heating up the room.

No one would know. He wouldn't risk it.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 2017 #pennywise 1990 #pennywise x reader #slashers #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #jack torrance x reader #ghostface x reader

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inc-immigrationnewscanada · 1 year

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Latest Express Entry Draw 2023 Invites 699 PNP Profiles

Today, Express Entry Draw sent 699 invitations to apply (ITAs) for permanent residency (PR) targeting profiles having a provincial nomination from one of the Canadian provinces. Express Entry profiles having a Comprehensive Ranking System (CRS) score of 791 or above received the invitations. This is the second Provincial Nominee Program (PNP) only Express Entry draw since June 2022. The…

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maniculum · 4 months

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Bestiaryposting Results: Raggfong

This week's beast was the Raggfong, much to the dismay of everyone who is sick of birds. Again, sorry, there are a bunch... and the random distribution put a clump of them in December/January, so it's going to get worse before it gets better. If it helps, imagine it's some kind of ritual to empower the birds currently eating the Gävle goat. Or maybe a "Twelve Days of Christmas" sort of thing -- we've already had the partridge.

Also again please forgive me if I fail to string sentences together properly -- still sick. Covid, actually, turns out. The brain fog is difficult; almost forgot I was supposed to do this today.

Anyway, here is the link to the entry that our artists are working from:

(Why did I redact the Greek and Latin names for the coot? I'm not making any effort to hide its identity... baffling choice on the part of Past Me.)

And if you have no idea what this is about, you should take a look at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting for an explanation and previous entries.

As usual, art will appear in roughly chronological order under the cut.

@elodieunderglass (link to post here) responded days before anyone else with this image, which successfully conveys a lot of emotion in my opinion. Those are some very communicative facial expressions on the birds. I particularly like the coot, and how it's positioned to shield the chick from the sun. The real gem here, however, is the text of the post linked above, which I would describe as a prose poem about the bird depicted. I'm genuinely a bit blown away by it -- go click the link and read it for yourself.

@embervoices (link to post here) has got some kind of effect going on here that I don't know enough about art to describe, but I like the way it looks. Her post mentions the phoenix connection, which I think comes through pretty clearly in the design and pose. The linked post explains some design decisions, including which real-world birds were the inspiration for this one.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) helpfully specifies that this Raggfong is resting on a bed of sea kale. The design of this bird is very good, I think, conveying a certain gravity one does not always associate with seabirds. I also like the effect created by the background; it kind of looks like it's the cover for something, you know? The linked post explains the various birds from which the artist borrowed features and why, and also discusses the evocative nature of the entry this is based on -- I'm glad people are enjoying that aspect.

@rautavaara (link to post here) has made the executive decision that this bird is actually a frog, and the drawing is frankly too pretty for me to have any kind of problem with that. Look at that border. And the wonderful color palette. Also there's a flying frog, which is very cool.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) notes an emerging theme in these entries that birds (except coots) are jerks. I honestly can't remember how consistent that theme is across all the birds... I know there are some the author likes, but there are also definitely going to be additional Birds That Are Jerks in future. I like the crown-like crest on the Raggfong, and I'm impressed by the dedication involved in doing all those little body feathers with a fountain pen. Also, if you look closely, you'll see that one of those chicks the adult Raggfong is carrying has been shown staring off in the same direction as its parent, while the other has its head turned and its eyes closed, meaning we can expect it to join the coots off to the right... and there's already a young Raggfong there, too. The linked post contains a detailed explanation of design decisions, which you should go check out. (Also, thanks again for providing alt text.)

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has employed her usual medieval stylization to depict a Raggfong inspired by an albatross (on the grounds that they are a seabird with "judgy" eyes... you know, I can see it). I am absolutely delighted by the scrungliness of the chick being shown here, which does indeed have the "muppet made from dryer lint" quality of a real albatross chick. They have also included a series of pictures that show the whole life cycle, which I've decided (after substantial back-and-forth) to not copy over here as there's a certain color-of-the-sky quality there, but which I strongly encourage you to click on the link and look at for yourself. I particularly like that the coot in the "life cycle" picture appears to have a couple Ilyechams in her flock in addition to the new Raggfong.

@moustawott (link to post here) describes their Raggfong as a gannet mixed with an eagle, and it looks pretty majestic, honestly. The background really enhances that effect, and I think it makes a much more entertaining contrast with the two little chicks being carried below. There's a certain severity to the design that I think is fitting.

@pomrania (link to post here) has ditched the whole "coot" thing for a more direct interpretation of the Raggfong's "common counterpart", which they deem the "Ritchfong". I kind of like the idea of two related species of bird that the human observer has interpreted to have class divisions. The crest on the Raggfong is also a very appropriate touch, I think. The linked post contains additional detail on design decisions, and links to some process images, so go check that out.

@treesurface (link to post here) has decided that the Raggfong should actually be a sort of insect that people mistake for a bird, which I think is quite clever. They explain their reasoning for that a bit more in the linked post, along with some other notes on design and execution that I think are worth reading. I really like the concept that the "unmoving wings" are elytra, and the kind of glittering quality that they suggest here. (I also appreciate that they provide their own alt text.)

@karthara (link to post here) has drawn a Raggfong in several scenarios to express the behavior described in the entry. I really like the overall design here, with the feathery tufts on its head. Also charming is that one flying up near the sun -- it looks so happy to be on fire. The linked post explains the design decisions and the real-world birds from which karthara has taken inspiration. They also mention they included the coot chicks after looking them up and seeing how colorful they are, so I did a quick google and found this great headline:

(Tl:dr coot parents show preference for more colorful chicks, so the later the chick hatches, the more colorful it is, allowing it to compete with its larger, older siblings for food and attention.)

And finally, the Aberdeen Bestiary depiction:

The one diving into the basin just looks so goofy to me, sorry. Anyway, as I'm sure everyone has guessed, this is the eagle.

Yeah. I know. The whole "fiery rebirth" thing sounds like it should be the phoenix, but this bestiary has an entry for "Phoenix" and it's not this one.

Regular listeners to the Maniculum Podcast may recall this particular eagle behavior coming up before, in the quiz-show episode we did for the second part of "Sidrak & Bokkus". I still don't really know where this idea comes from, but there you go. Eagles.

I feel like there's some kind of comment that could be made over the lack of compassion shown by the medieval eagle here and, you know...

... but I can't quite formulate it, so you'll have to write your own.

Anyway, see y'all next week for our next beaſt.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #raggfong

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tenebraevesper · 3 months

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Shatter Me, Entry 1: Ambivalent

''Always, you are fearless, like a cat absorbed in what it loves. The reason you feel dazzling is surely because I was looking at you. A circuit of stimulating thought, it draws me in. Blue, blue, I'm still not reflected in those eyes, you are the same as always today. Swaying, swaying, these feelings remain somewhere, now I'm just looking at your profile here.''

– Ambivalent by The Apothecary Diaries

xXxXxXx

Sonic ran across Green Hill, simply taking in and enjoying the lush scenery and the familiarity of his home. Sure, going on adventures, exploring new places and meeting new people was something he absolutely loved to do, but after his experience in the Shatterverse, he wanted to enjoy the comfort of the place he called his home just a little bit longer. Besides, Dr. Eggman had just attacked them once again the other day, so he and his friends needed to deal with that. Fortunately, they beat the mad doctor once again and decided to take a well-deserved break.

However, Sonic felt a little restless. He still hadn't told his friends about the Shatterverse, thanks to Dr. Eggman's attack literally interrupting him just as he started his story, and when things had calmed down, he forgot about it. But now that it was on his mind, he wondered whether he should come clean in regards to accidentally shattering the Paradox Prism, the whole adventure through New Yoke City, Boscage Maze, No Place, The Grim, Ghost Hill and The Void, and how he had managed to fix reality and save the world once again.

''Admittedly, I didn't save it by myself. I had help,'' Sonic said to himself as he ran through Hedgehog's Pass. He still remembered how all of the Shatterverse Variants of his friends and even the Chaos Council united to help him to get to the Paradox Prism, their own homes being slowly destroyed by the rifts in reality. However, there was one person Sonic had to give credit to, as without him, he didn't believe that he would ever make it home. He skidded to a halt, looking around and then leaning against a nearby palm tree. ''Speaking of which, where is Shadow?''

Sonic hadn't seen his rival since the battle at the cave that contained the Paradox Prism. He was genuinely happy to see him, having understood Shadow's plan of using the Chaos Emerald to keep the Paradox Prism safe. However, after the battle was over, Sonic actually wanted to invite Shadow to the picnic on the beach, but he couldn't find him. Admittedly, that wasn't unusual, since Shadow usually kept to himself unless the world was in danger, but Sonic had hoped that he would at least stay around for a little bit longer.

''I wonder where he is,'' Sonic said aloud, talking to himself, then chuckled. ''Maybe he decided to pull a Knuckles and become the Guardian of the Paradox Prism.''

''Who are you talking to?''

Sonic's head snapped towards the origin of the voice, his heart leaping when he saw a familiar figure standing on the elevated bridge-like road of Hedgehog's Pass. Shadow the Hedgehog was staring back at Sonic, his arms folded across his chest, his black and red quills fluttering lightly in the breeze.

''Shadow!''

Sonic suddenly rushed up to Shadow, a wide smile spreading across his lips as he pulled the ebony hedgehog into a tight embrace, nuzzling his cheek. Shadow's crimson eyes widened for a moment, having been caught off guard by Sonic's sudden and unexpected action. However, he didn't step away, just standing awkwardly as he let Sonic hug him and hoping that the azure hedgehog wouldn't hear just how loudly his own heart was beating as it picked up the pace. Finally, Sonic let go of him, instead placing his hands on Shadow's shoulders, still having that wide grin on his expression.

''Dude, where were you? I wanted to invite you to our victory lunch at the beach!'' Sonic asked, stepping back to give Shadow some space.

''I've been busy with finding a proper hiding place for the Paradox Prism, so it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands again,'' Shadow explained.

''Figures,'' Sonic muttered, only to give him a curious look. ''So, where did you leave it? In a cave? A shrine? Oh, I know! In your basement!'' Shadow furrowed a brow, rolling his eyes at all the guesses. Sonic pouted. ''Aw, com'n, at least you could tell me…''

''Have you forgotten that you were the one who shattered it?'' Shadow responded, feeling a sense of satisfaction when he saw Sonic frowning at that reminder.

''Hey, it's not like I'm going to shatter it again-'' he protested, only to shut up when Shadow rose an eyebrow, giving him a non-verbal 'Really?' look. ''You know, I did learn my lesson about listening to others. I promise that me shattering another magical crystal won't happen ever again.''

''I'm not telling you anything,'' Shadow responded in a firm tone. Sonic deflated, giving Shadow a pointed look.

''Right, trust issues.''

Shadow narrowed his eyes, glancing aside as he lowered his gaze. Sonic was a bit surprised by his reaction, tilting his head and clasping his hands on his back as he bowed over to meet Shadow's gaze. The ebony hedgehog seemed to be bothered by something, but as usual, it appeared that he wasn't going to share what was on his mind, choosing to keep it to himself. Sonic faltered, realizing that Shadow wasn't going to respond in the usual manner.

''Hey, you know that I didn't mean to hurt you… Shads?''

Shadow just sighed in response, giving Sonic a rather indifferent look, as if to say that it didn't matter. ''I'm fine.''

''Thanks for saving my life back there. I wouldn't have survived without you.''

Shadow gave Sonic a surprised look, having not expected the azure hedgehog to thank him for saving his life. ''I was simply settling a debt. You have saved me from The Void.''

''Riiiiight, but you gotta admit that would be really boring for you if I wasn't around anymore.'' Sonic smiled cheekily. Shadow narrowed his eyes, staring at him for a moment.

''Hmph, I suppose I wouldn't have you constantly bothering me,'' he replied, feeling a slight sense of amusement when he saw Sonic giving him a displeased look. ''Or cleaning up the mess you create.''

''Yeah, yeah… I get it,'' Sonic replied, although he had to admit that he was glad to hear Shadow bantering with him. ''Hey, how about we go for a race? Maybe have a sparring match? I'm kinda bored.''

''So, you want me to beat you up again?'' Shadow asked in a snarky tone.

''Again? I recall winning our last battle,'' Sonic boasted, not really caring whether his statement was true or not. He was issuing a challenge to Shadow here and he hoped that his rival would accept it.

''Maybe I should remind who the real winner was,'' Shadow said, now taking a step towards Sonic, who felt quite excited.

''Sure,… but you first have to catch me!'' Sonic responded, before quickly dashing down the road. Shadow immediately followed him, taking note of the smile Sonic had flashed at him, followed by a laugh, showing that the azure hedgehog was having a lot of fun.

As for Shadow, while he wouldn't admit it out loud, he did enjoy a good challenge, and chasing Sonic fit the bill. He still had the green Chaos Emerald on his person, making that he could easily warp ahead to get as close as possible to Sonic, but he wanted to test his own limits first before going all out.

Sonic was still ahead of Shadow, but he did notice that the rival was getting closer and closer, so he leapt from the road and onto the soft grass below, deciding to speed between the palm trees to shake Shadow off. Unfortunately for him, his ears picked up the familiar sound of Shadow warping through space and time, having used to the Chaos Emerald to get in front of him, only for Sonic to dodge him, managing to keep the momentum.

''I don't recall agreeing to using the Chaos Emerald, but I guess this makes things even more exciting- Woah!''

Sonic's eyes widened when he glanced back, having to bow to dodge Shadow almost kicking him in the head. He skidded to a halt in a tri-point stance as they entered a clearing, and turned back to his rival, grinning. He dodged another punch from Shadow, then did a sweeping kick, trying to knock the latter of his feet, but Shadow did a backflip, before leaping back at Sonic, trying to punch him in the gut. However, Sonic managed to catch his fist, and attempted to kick Shadow, only for the latter to catch Sonic's leg and swing him around, throwing him towards a nearby palm tree. Sonic felt a painful sensation in his back, but he smirked as he saw Shadow getting closer, getting on his feet and landing a punch in Shadow's gut. Shadow backed away, but a smile spread on his tan lips as he saw Sonic giving him a taunting look, only to quickly speed away.

The chase resumed, with Sonic narrowing his eyes in thought. He knew that Shadow was a difficult opponent, especially with him being a better strategist and more focused on his task. Nevertheless, Sonic was quite creative in battles, trying to think outside the box… and then he realized what he could do. He glanced back at Shadow as he warped closer. ''You gotta do better than that, Shads! You'll never be able to catch up to me otherwise!''

This seemed to have struck a nerve with Shadow, furrowing a brow as he suddenly sped up, but Sonic was actually glad to see Shadow putting more effort into the chase. The azure hedgehog then turned his attention to the mountain above them, the one once hid the Paradox Prism deep within its cave. He wondered if Shadow had also noticed where he led him, but figured that Shadow already knew. Therefore, he had to make sure that Shadow won't realize what Sonic's true plan was.

As for Shadow, he was a bit puzzled when he realized where Sonic was going, but he still followed his rival, as he knew that, even if they get into the cave, Sonic wouldn't be able to escape him. It was a scenario where he could win easily. Once again, Sonic, you're not paying attention. Huh?

A cloud of dust was kicked up when Sonic sped into the cave, with Shadow quickly getting inside, squinting and placing his arm over his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of vision. ''You have nowhere to go, Sonic! You might as well give up now!''

Suddenly, there was a flash of blue, with Shadow feeling a grip on the arm that held onto the Chaos Emerald, and in the next second, he found himself pinned against the wall of the cave. His gaze turned towards Sonic, who used his elbow to keep Shadow pinned against the wall, while holding the green Chaos Emerald in his other hand, grinning widely.

''I wouldn't think so, Shads. I got you cornered,'' Sonic replied. However, instead of feeling frustrated to have lost to such an easy trick, Shadow just smirked back in response.

''So, you actually are thinking things through this time,'' he replied, with Sonic stepping back. He still kept the Chaos Emerald out of Shadow's reach, throwing it and catching it with one hand, before balancing the tip on his finger.

''I'll take that as a compliment,'' he responded, only too look around the empty cave. ''Man, this place really is something.'' He then fell silent for a moment. ''I wonder how Nine and everyone else are doing…''

The smirk on Shadow's expression vanished, and his gaze fell. It was clear to him that, even if Sonic had moved on to his next adventure, he still thought back to what had happened within the Shatterverse. It was no surprise though, as those events were still fresh on his mind, and given how he had to leave in a hurry, he never got the chance to make sure that all of his Shatterverse friends would be fine. It was no surprise that he would still be worried about them.

Unfortunately, Shadow couldn't share the sentiment, as he had his own thoughts of what happened to the Shatterverse and the Shatterverse Variants, but he still could understand how Sonic felt. These were the people he bonded and fought with to restore their homes, and he would never see them again.

''Do you want to take a break?''

Sonic was surprised to hear this suggestion from Shadow, but then nodded in agreement. Both walked outside the cave and sat side by side on the cliff outside, observing Green Hill below them.

''You know, even though visiting the Shatterverse was an interesting experience, nothing beats being at home surrounded by your friends… at least until the next adventure,'' Sonic said. Shadow just raised an eyebrow, glancing at Sonic.

''So, you're claiming that destroying our universe and sacrificing your life to restore it is an 'interesting experience'?'' Shadow asked in a deadpan tone, with Sonic giving him a sheepish smile. ''Of course you do. I suppose I forgot to whom I was talking to for a moment.''

Sonic just chuckled in response. ''Nice joke, Shads!''

''That wasn't a joke. That's literally what had happened,'' Shadow replied in the same deadpan tone. Sonic just kept smiling, with Shadow taking note that, even if their Shatterverse adventure wasn't anything to smile about, he still understood why Sonic saw it as something he had thought about fondly. Nevertheless, it didn't make him feel less puzzled. Just when he thought that he understood Sonic, the hedgehog found new ways to surprise him.

''Yeah, that's true… and I'm glad that you could tag along for the adventure,'' Sonic replied, his tone still light, but also a bit more thoughtful. ''I guess I really needed you back there to…''

''I needed you too.''

Sonic trailed off, his ears flicking and his heart skipping a beat when he heard Shadow's response, his green eyes darting towards the dark hedgehog. Shadow was just staring ahead at the lush greenery below and the blue sky above them, showing no reaction to what he had just said. Sonic could feel his heart beat loudly in his chest, but chalked it up to the residual adrenaline from their fight. A sly grin spreading a cross his lips, he scooted closer to Shadow, almost leaning against him.

''So, when did you finally decide to admit that you need me?'' he asked. Shadow didn't dignify this question with a response, trying to ignore it. His expression did change in a subtle manner, and it was obvious that he was already regretting telling Sonic that, because the azure hedgehog now refused to stop pestering his rival about it until he got a reaction from him. ''Com'n, Shads, you can talk to me about it. I promise I won't tell anyone.''

''You won't leave me alone until you get the answer you want, will you?'' Shadow asked, arms folded across his chest in the typical fashion. To his grief, he was met by an eager look bordering on puppy-dog eyes from Sonic. Shadow then sighed, well aware that he could just stop this conversation then and there, but for some reason, he didn't want to leave. Despite his reservations, he actually felt comfortable in Sonic's presence. ''I thought that it was obvious.''

''Obvious?'' Sonic blinked in surprise.

''You were the key to restoring the Paradox Prism. Obviously, I'd have to rely on you to save our home,'' Shadow replied. Sonic let out an amused huff, aware that it wouldn't be so easy to get Shadow to admit anything in a direct manner. Shadow then fell silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he clearly thought about something important. He then turned to Sonic, giving him a resolute look. ''One thing is certain. I won't let you tease me anymore about my friendless background or lack of trust in people.''

Sonic was genuinely surprised by this sudden response, wondering what was going through Shadow's head. He then smiled joyfully as he realized the implications. ''Wait, so you actually started to trust someone? That's great! Who is it? Do I know them?''

''It's you.''

Sonic felt a strange sense of warmth spreading through his chest, a sense of happiness and pride bubbling inside him, but there was also something else, something he couldn't quite understand. He wanted to respond, but for once, the words couldn't escape his mouth. He didn't even know how to respond to this confession.

Shadow, in turn, felt weird for admitting this secret to Sonic. Over the course of their adventure, he found himself drawn closer and closer to his rival, having found himself becoming very protective of Sonic, especially after finding out about Nine's scheme and the fate that awaited him if he relinquished the Prism Energy. Any anger the had initially felt after being warped into The Void had completely vanished, and instead was replaced by a strong desire to not only save the universe, but to make sure that Sonic would return back home in one piece. Despite his immature and careless behavior, he had learned, or rather, re-learned, that Sonic was someone he could rely on no matter how dire the situation was. Therefore, Shadow decided to affirm this trust to Sonic, even if it left him with a strange warm sensation that made him wonder if was getting sick or something. But, he was the Ultimate Lifeform; he couldn't get sick now, could he?

''I heart you too, Shadow.''

Shadow's attention snapped back to Sonic, who finally decided to respond with a wide smile and a heart shape he formed with his fingers. It wasn't the first time he heard this response, having heard it during their banter in the middle of a battle against the Chaos Council, but unlike last time, where he just let it pass, he felt that he could no longer ignore it this time. Well, at least he could try to pretend to ignore it for the time being until he fully understood why he suddenly felt like this.

''Hmph.''

Sonic gave Shadow a curious look when the dark hedgehog suddenly turned away from him, wondering if he had said something wrong. Fearing that he somehow offended his rival, he decided to drop the topic for now. ''Hey, do you want to go for a sea dog? I had figured out the recipe from when I was with Captain Dread's crew and I can guarantee that it is 100% the most delicious thing you'll ever try.''

''I guess that's fine,'' Shadow replied, turning his attention back to Sonic only to catch the green Chaos Emerald that was thrown into his lap.

''Great! I'll meet you at the beach for a picnic, since you couldn't be there the first time!'' Sonic replied, waving at him before rushing down the mountain.

Once Sonic was gone, Shadow let out a deep breath, pressing his hand against his forehead, sincerely hoping that Sonic did not notice the initial shade of red that had spread across his tan muzzle, as well as trying to calm down his rapidly-beating heart.

''Why… Why do I feel like this?''

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#Shatter Me #Sonic Cyber Revolution Analyzer #sonic prime #sonadow #sonadow prime #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog

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damedechance · 1 month

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𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌 (pt 6/12)

𓇢𓆸 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 || 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

Pairing: Gwynriel Status: Ch 6/12 (Read from Pt 1) Rated: E (Explicit) Summary: Three years ago, Gwyneth Berdara became the ward of the Night Institute, a band of hunters led by Rhysand who work to rid the world of vampires. After one fateful night where Gwyn unwittingly welcomes one such creature into their home, she strikes a deal with Azriel, one that is just as likely to condemn them as it is to save them.

Massive thank you to @climbthemountain2020 for beta'ing this chapter, and for overall being amazing and sweet and kind!

𓇢𓆸 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑠𝑛𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡

VI.

Today, the sun blared bright and relentless in a powdery blue sky, and the unexpectedly pleasant winter day has rendered the inhabitants of the Night Institute lethargic, and to a hopeless degree. The three Archeron sisters–having appeared no more disturbed by Gwyn’s sudden and frantic entry than they might an errant fly–lie strewn about the music room in various states of inertia.

Elain, having stirred only to flutter her fingers in a half-hearted wave upon Gwyn’s arrival, naps in an armchair by the entrance. Both of her legs dangle over one end, while her hand is flung delicately over her face, blocking out the midday sun which stretches lazily across her upper half. A crumpled up ball of paper lies on her stomach, slowly rising and falling in time with her dozing breaths.

The ball of paper–and its numerous companions–can be traced back to Feyre. She sits cross legged on the ornate persian rug with her sketchbook propped up in her lap and her pencil scratching furiously over the pages. In fits of irritation, she groans before tearing a page from her sketchbook and tossing it carelessly onto the rug, the settee, or the low table placed in front of it. One of her trashed drawings has found its way into a bowl of fruit on the table, and another rests beside a crystal vase on the fireplace mantel.

Gwyn tracks the iridescent refractions scattered by the faceted surface of the vase. Notices how they cast soft colors over the sleek mahogany finish of the piano, or how they slant across Nesta’s pensive face–the prismatic effect softening the eldest Archeron’s usually sharp and angled expression. Blurring the edges, almost.

Nesta sits on the piano bench with her back to the keys, and stares down at a velvet dress lying across her lap. One of the many things Gwyn has ruined, the bodice is marred by a gruesome stain.

Fidgeting once more, Gwyn swallows against a lump in her throat and watches as Nesta scrapes at the stain with a fingernail. Dried mud flakes off, illuminated by the sunbeam that Gwyn avoids, and drifts to the ground. Gwyn’s foot slides forward, grinding it into the carpet with the toe of her leather boot.

“Is that all?” Nesta asks finally.

“Yes,” Gwyn says, her voice rising in unnatural inflection. She tugs the edge of her sleeve even further down. “I’m so sorry, Nesta.”

Nesta hums, nodding contemplatively down at her lap while Gwyn fails in repressing memories from this morning. The sun hanging low, practically scalding against her back as the mud seeped cool into the knees of her skirt. She kneeled in that garden, rubbing filth into the fibers of the most beautiful dress she’s ever worn, until even the smallest dot of blood was obscured. The pungency of the wet earth clings to her skin even now, despite an hour spent scrubbing her skin raw in a hot bath while she rehearsed this apology over and over–each iteration proving more and more inadequate than the one that came before.

She told Nesta she fell in a mud puddle while walking home from the gala. And now that the lie has left her mouth, all that remains within is a tongue pressing heavy and useless against her teeth, and lips groping for a suitable explanation that will never come.

Finally, Gwyn forces out, “I can take it to be laundered.”

Gwyn flinches, not only at how shrill her voice sounds, but at how the words ring so hollow. Gwyn has not left the Institute in all the nights she’s lived here, save for the one she wishes never happened. She certainly would not leave the house to see to a dress being laundered.

“What?” Nesta, usually so stern, lets out a small, incredulous laugh. “Laundered?”

Nesta’s stare is cold as ice against the side of Gwyn’s face. Gwyn swirls her tongue in her mouth until it is pressing against the inside of her cheek, and she stares vacantly at the crystal vase. The center of her palm feels like it is burning, and surely Nesta can see it. Gwyn’s transgressions, playing so blatantly across her face.

“Gwyn,” Nesta says finally. Firmly enough, that Gwyn reluctantly flicks her gaze back to her friend. She watches Nesta shake her head and set the dress beside her on the piano bench. “Truthfully, I don’t care about the dress. The stain will come out, or it won’t. You’re the one I’m worried about.”

Gwyn voids her lungs, feeling them shrivel up in her chest as tears begin to sting at the corners of her eyes. She lifts her chin so that she is looking at the overhead light fixture, and allows it to spot her vision instead of looking into the forgiving face of her only and greatest friend.

Tightly, Gwyn says, “Are you?”

“Yes,” Nesta says, pushing up to stand.

Panic constricts Gwyn’s veins, her blood running cold as Nesta snatches Gwyn’s hand out from behind her back. Gwyn is so sure that Nesta is about to turn it over, will shove the sleeve back to reveal the bandage wrapped around her wrist, that the panic does not recede even when Nesta surprises her by clasping Gwyn’s hand in both of hers.

“You disappeared,” Nesta says, anguish flashing briefly in her expression. She presses a glancing kiss to Gwyn’s knuckles, and smooths it away with the brushing of her fingers over Gwyn’s rings. Nesta continues, “I looked for you all over. I worried something might have happened, or that you were scared.”

Gwyn flushes, unsure whether it is from embarrassment or the sight of the cuff of her sleeve slowly slipping down her wrist. She can see the edge of the hastily wrapped bandage visible through the lace, and she swallows.

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” Gwyn breathes through a clenched jaw, barely restraining herself from tearing her hand out of Nesta’s grip.

“Nevermind that now,” Nesta says dismissively. “If falling in the mud is the worst to have happened to you, I am glad for the stain. It means you must have had a splendid night.”

“I did,” Gwyn says, stretching her mouth into a smile in the hopes it will sufficiently convince Nesta before any more of her wrist is revealed. Of all the members of the Institute, Nesta is the one Gwyn wants to keep it from most.

“Good,” Nesta says. “It’s settled.”

Apparently satisfied, Nesta finally releases Gwyn’s hand, and it is promptly replaced behind her back once Nesta returns to the piano.

“Any requests?” Nesta neatly slides herself onto the bench.

Gwyn allows for a moment to pass before she answers, her heart still thundering in her ears and all of her focus attuned to forcing her breaths out evenly. Every passing moment serves to wind her nerves tighter and tighter, a festering coil at the center of her belly–and she wonders just how much of it she is expected to endure before they snap completely, their ends fraying.

Gwyn steps forward, that poor imitation of a smile still plastered on her face, and watches Nesta listlessly strike a few discordant notes at random.

“Beethoven,” Gwyn murmurs, tucking her hand into the folds of her skirt. “If you have any prepared.” From the armchair in the corner, Elain suddenly emits an uncharacteristically loud and very beleaguered groan. “Beethoven is all she has prepared,” Elain gripes.

˖⁺‧₊˚⸸˚₊‧⁺˖

#gwynriel #azriel #gwyneth berdara #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #gwyn berdara #vampire au #gwynriel fanfic

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jerzwriter · 4 months

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It always starts somewhere...

This is my entry for Day one of @choicesjanuary2024 January Challenge. I hope you enjoy it!

Book: Crimes of Passion (post book 2) Pairing: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose Category: Fluff with a dash of angst Rating: Teen Words: 1,200 Summary: It's a tradition. A day Carolina always looks forward to, even if it's filled with bittersweet memories. But tonight, the tradition starts anew, with Trystan by her side.

Darkness had already enveloped the city as Carolina drew the curtains. Her face bright with anticipation, she gazed out her bedroom window onto the street below. There was only one thing on her mind as she mindlessly twirled the crystal flute of Chardonnay in her hand, nearly forgetting it was there. But the moment she remembered, she eagerly brought the glass to her lips, savoring the rich, oaky flavor as it swirled over her tongue, warming her more than the roaring fire ever could.

Despite the dipping temperature, she slipped off her cardigan and tossed it on a nearby chair. Eyes still focused on the freezing pavement, and she couldn't help but smile. This wasn’t the first time she had practiced this ritual; it was practically as old as she was, even its practices had been amended over the years. The ceramic mug her father bought for her when they saw Annie was no longer in her hand. The delicious aroma of the hot cocoa that had filled it was also gone, just like her father, who once sat at her side.

The unwelcome visitor was drawing near. Sadness, reaching in and gripping her as it often did made her eyes flicker away, but she turned back with determination. No! Sadness and despair would not win today; not on a night as special as this. Her fingers traced the rim of the crystal chalice that her father had used years before. The only one she’d consider using today.

“Ves eso, Papi?” she whispered into the deafening silence. “Any moment now.”

He must have entered quietly, or perhaps she was too distracted to hear him because his breath was warm on her neck and his arms gently encircled her waist before she heard a sound. Then, she had to laugh. Was she even a detective after all?

“What will be any moment now?” Trystan whispered, brushing her hair to the side and placing gentle kisses on her freshly exposed skin. She leaned into him, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaping her as she melted into his arms. Just like that, all was right with the world.

“Mi Vida,” she smiled. “This is a very important night.”

His eyes widened for a quick moment... concerned he had forgotten an important date. Then, his expression softened as he recalled the stormy forecast.

“That’s right,” he grinned. “The first snowfall of the year.”

“Mmm hmm,” she nodded. “More importantly, our first snowfall together.”

“I see you have your father’s wine glass,” he smiled. “And the curtains are drawn, so you have everything you need.”

She gently placed the glass on the table beside her and turned to face him; her eyes lingering on his moonlit features. “At least I do now." Her lips moved toward his, claiming them as her own in warm, comforting kiss.

“Mmm-mmmh,” he simpered before playfully pulling away. “Oh, no, Lina. No way. I’ve been waiting to participate in this ritual for some time, and I will not allow you seduce me away from it.”

She strolled toward the old mahogany sideboard with a chuckle. "Oh really," she said, pouring another glass for her love. A playful smirk tugged at her lips when she placed it in his hands. “Then you’ll need this... if you plan to do it right."

He nodded with approval upon taking a sip. “This is quite good; I suppose the seduction could wait.”

“How noble of you!” Carolina teased.

“But, of course! I am a prince, after all.”

Shaking her head with delight, she fell into his arms and and Trystan tried to determine if that sound of her laughter had become his favorite melody of all. It was undoubtedly in his top three, each spot now claimed solely by his Carolina. But his body tensed as he realized her laughter had turned to tears that dampened the crook of his neck. He clasped the sides of her face, worry weighing on his features.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, gazing into her tear-filled eyes. “Are you all right? I thought this was a happy tradition?”

“It is,” she sniffled, wiping away her tears. “But it’s different now, and it’s my first time sharing it with you.”

“Is that OK?” he asked. “If you’d rather be alone...”

“No, no!” She grabbed his hand and held it against her heart. “I’ve done this alone for years now, ever since my father died. Honestly, I never thought I'd share this with anyone else again, but now... I can't wait to experience this with you by my side.”

He pulled a chair closer to the window so they could sit without missing a thing, then motioned for her to sit on his lap. “I’m glad to hear that,” he assured. “Because there is no place I’d rather be.”

“So, how does this work?” He asked, getting down to business. “Do we do anything special while we wait?”

“Nope, we just keep watch. Whoever spots the first snowflake has to yell, ‘Look, it’s a blizzard!’ and then we share a toast.”

“A blizzard?” Trystan chuckled. “Carolina, a flake of snow does not a blizzard make.”

“Of course not, but it is how each one begins. Everything has to start somewhere, and that’s what makes it so remarkable. We watch one single snowflake fall to the earth, so innocent, so insignificant on its own, but when we wake up tomorrow the city will be blanketed in snow, and you and I will know, that it all started with that one little flake we watched together.”

She could feel him swallow as he gently turning her chin his way. “Everything starts somewhere,” he whispered. “And we never know what beautiful places it might lead.”

The world fell into slow-motion as their lips came together. The familiar, sweet taste filling their sense as everything else fell into the shadows. He pulled her closer, as her fingers ran through his hair, and the rest of the world was lost. Neither knew how long they stayed like that, but they couldn't forget Trystan's childlike gasp when he briefly opened his eyes.

“Look," he pointed with exasperation. "It’s a blizzard!” A solitary silver flake glistened in the streetlights as it slowly twirled down to the street below. They jumped to their feet, foreheads pressed against the cold glass, unwilling to miss a moment as it descended to the earth.

“It is! It’s a blizzard!” Carolina squealed, grabbing their wine glasses to propose a toast. “It’s our first snowflake, Trystan! The first snowflake has fallen, and with it, a new chapter begins.”

“To new beginnings,” he smiled, reaching out to caress her cheek one more time before they emptied their glasses. Side by side, they watched as more flakes fell, one by one, until a whispy, barely there sheet coated the sidewalks.

“You see, it’s happening!”

“It is," he smiled. "I dare say that we will wake to that blanket of snow tomorrow."

“We will,” she beamed. "But until then, I was thinking I'd like to get under the blankets with you. Are you in?"

Trystan took Carolina in one arm, as the other hastily pulled the drapes closed, a devilish glint in his eyes.

"I am so in," he smiled. "Look at us, sharing new things every day."

"Yep," she agreed. "One day this will all be old hat... we'll be some old couple boring those around us with stories of all the blizzards we've watched begin together. Hopefully, you won't grow tired of it by then."

"Are you kidding? Each snowflake is different, no snowstorm the same... and every day is a new discovery because I fall in love with every little thing you do."

A/N: Incorporated all 3 parts of @choicesjanuary2024 Day 1, though, I cheated and didn't use the sentence as the first line! Also participating in @choicesflashfics, prompt "I fall in love with every little thing you do."

@choicesficwriterscreations Tagging others separately.

#choices fanfic #crimes of passion #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x mc #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices stories you play #january challenge #writing challenge #trystan x carolina

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