#as in i am still very emotionally attached to the memories i have from this no matter what i do itll keep coming back

[luvergirl-866]

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated, esp bc this is not edited) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

[mllenugget]

Hey remember when Baghera adopted Dapper like 8 months ago or did I make that up ? ────────────────────────────────────────── Support all the admins that spoke out (& do your daily click) ──────────────────────────────────────────

[freebooter4ever]

watching the new fast fashion doc and its horrifying but also like... we have seen this before. new names same problem. :( the sad part is how each generation gets exploited in a similar manner. my generation had sexist (american aprl) and exploitative sweatshop (n*ike) brands but our fashion wasn't fast. in my middle class friend group we each had 2-3 skate shop sweatshirts that were worn on rotation every single day. and then a few pairs of jeans. the popular girls were a bit more varied and obviously werent wearing skateboard brands and instead picked like hol*ster or a&f but it was a very similar top/jeans combo. new clothing purchases were rare in my house and usually on special occasions or the beginning of the school year. i cant imagine growing up in todays world, it must be such pressure.

my generation failed the next in that we learned about the sweatshops and exploitation... and then just... accepted it.

[roozible]

TW PET ILLNESS

might end up losing my baby soon. he's not doing well and we don't have any vets nearby who can take him, like what happened with Rabbit two years ago. i'm incredibly not okay, he's been my baby for ten years and i haven't been this emotionally attached to any pet we've ever had since i was a small child, so it will be like losing a literal part of me.

i won't put any pictures of him as he's ill. i refuse. so this blog will remain pictures of a happy, comfy, relaxed bun, just as he always be for me in my memory. he loves me and my dad more than anyone else in the family by miles, and he's so cuddly with us, even now as he's struggling. if i can get some good pics of him before he goes, where you might not be able to tell how much pain he's in, i might post them. otherwise, it'll be older pics from now on until i run out of energy or pictures.

i am incredibly emotionally not okay right now. y'all who have bunnies will get it. he's been my precious boy for a very long time.

but for as long as i still can, i'm gonna be giving my boy the snuggles and pets and smooches he deserves.

thanks for listening.

[the-au-collector]

Random Things I forgot to add in my braindump for my Radio AU:

Twilight is Time and Malon’s nephew. I think I’m going to make his relation through Uli, so that makes Uli and Malon sisters in this AU

Legend used to go to college in Mabe City, but moved away after his Koholint Trauma happened. He still has friends there, like Ralph, Din, and Nayru, but he rarely visits

Sun races cars. Not professionally or for sport, no. She’ll just drive at 80mph down some old country road for the hell of it. Sky and Groose often join her

Sky, Sun, and Groose all came from Sky City. That said, they somehow never met until college. They find this very funny and will call each other “strangers”

Legend and Fable’s biological father is Raven, but he was very inconsistent with his job and eventually left them with Alfon, his adopted brother (and I am realizing I need a family tree for this AU😵‍💫).

Time is an orphan. He was never adopted growing up, but he was closest to the Kokiri family. They had a daughter named Saria who he still calls his older sister. She’s an ecologist now

Time secretly spoils Wolfie

Twilight will take Wolfie for “walks” (aka, he will sneak Wolfie into his and Wild’s house despite there being a strict no dogs policy. Revali has tried getting them in trouble before but hasn’t succeeded yet)

Wolfie is the favorite whenever Wild hosts a party

Time has somehow become emotionally attached to these radio kids. He was not supposed to get emotionally attached

Sky and Sun hope to get married sometime after graduation, preferably sooner than later

First is everyone’s favorite when he’s around. That said, he’s still the oldest and most responsible when having fun.

Crimson swears

Ravio has tried reaching Sheerow to talk

Legend doesn’t drive (anymore)

Warriors has the gaudiest car, according to Legend. Legend’s right

Styla and Legend are like BFFs. They also met when Legend did Fashion Design. Styla often makes costumes for the school plays as well

Shadow hung out with a bad crowd in high school. He’s doing better now.

Where are the colors you ask? Four’s genderfluid so he uses them to indicate his gender. Vio = she/her. Green = he/him. Red = they/them. Blue= any, they don’t care.

Vaati is Shadow’s biological father, who married Four’s mom when Shadow and Four were 12. Four’s mom died when they were 14, then Vaati went into prison when they were 15 (they really are unrelated incidents). They began living with Grandpa Smith after that.

Yuga is Ravio and Hilda’s dad. He’s really strict and not a good person. He wants them both to go into business. Ravio is playing his hand until he can be totally independent. Hilda is a high school senior and wants to major in fine art. Yuga hates this. He especially hates that Ravio is completely supportive of Hilda… and also that Ravio never comes around anymore.

Hilda’s started being invited to Legend’s uncle’s house for holidays. She can’t come to all of them because of Yuga but she does come to Thanksgiving now

Alfon refuses to let anyone be alone over the holidays. He will force Legend and Ravio to bring their friends over if they have no one in the area or anywhere to go

Flora and Fauna grew up under a lot of pressure from their dad. Fauna feels it more since she’s older, but Flora definitely feels it too. They’re both perfectionists

Impa and Purah are Paya’s cousins in this AU. Paya’s very shy so they try to get her to go out more. Paya has a huge crush on Wild and is teased endlessly for it

Flora has this huge crush on this one guy in her anthropology class. His name is Tauro

Age and Wild didn’t get along for a long time after the house fire. Wild got his burns and amnesia from protecting Age but obviously doesn’t remember this. As a kid, Age thought Wild was purposefully forgetting everything. Wild honestly feels horrible for forgetting and is trying to get his memory back, but he hasn’t had much luck

Age and Wild are both named Link. It’s a family thing. They go by their middle names. Wilder is Wild’s official middle name. Age’s official middle name is August.

On the other hand, both Flora and Fauna’s middle names are Zelda. Flora’s full name is Florence Zelda Hyrule. Fauna’s name is just Fauna.

^ this is the same for Dawn and Aurora too

Hyrule, Dawn, and Aurora come from a very small town named Mido. Hyrule would play “Knights of Hyrule” with Dawn in the farm fields all around them. It’s where he gets his nickname from

Hyrule’s friends in high school were Bot, Error, and Bagu

[lets-try-some-writing]

Sorry I can’t be emotionally vulnerable with you it’d ruin the mystery. - Unicron to Earth and Moon probably

Unicron has some issues with connection. Unlike the mythology of Cybertron and its portrayals of Unicron, the Unmaker loves his brother more than anything else. He looked up to Primus and wanted to be just like him. He wanted to create things of glory, but all he could do was unravel things that Primus made. It hurt him to know he could never make things as his brother did, but Primus was there to comfort him all the same. They travelled the stars, bound in brotherhood as though they were still one entity.

The only reason he turned against Primus was because he wanted Primus to stop. Primus always intended to create and then allow his frame to be used as a home for his offspring. Unicron was terrified of that plan. At that point, both Unicron and Primus had witnessed civilizations rise and fall, the first races to spread across the stars brought low by their own arrogance. Unicron was terrified that he would lose his brother to the whims and feeble sparks of mortals incapable of seeing what they were gifted.

In his mind, his brother's life was far more valuable than the lives of millions of ungrateful parasites. And it was because of his view that their battle began. At first it was for Primus's sake that Unicron fought. But as time passed, it became personal in a new way. Cuts and scars draped across their frames as they tore at each other, and eventually, both their ideals were lost. Primus came to see Unicron as a threat to all of creation, and thus sought to adhere to the greater good rather than his personal desires in attempting to destroy his twin. Unicron who once tried to free his brother from the threat of creation now saw Primus as a slave to his coding.

Primus fought for the safety of all creation, unwilling to risk it for the sake of his brother regardless of the pain it caused. Unicron battled to ensure that creation would remain free of his brother and his dogged devotion to his plans. And as we all know, Primus came out on top of that conflict, only serving to make Unicron bitter and enraged. Love festered and turned into hatred. The brother Unicron knew was long dead to him now. The thing that called itself Primus was merely a shell left behind.

Unicron hated Earth and Moon too. He tried so very hard to hate them. But as time passed, he looked at them and saw a bond similar to the one he shared with his brother. Devotion and understanding. Creation and destruction embodied. Two beings of different alignments. Earth was a chaotic creature born to give life. Moon was an entity made of starlight but forged to guard and battle. It was difficult for Unicron to try and keep himself from getting attached. After all, one cycle he would need to kill his unwanted daughter in order to return to his mission of destroying Primus. And in killing her, he would have to slaughter Moon as well.

It was his truth. He tried to keep hating them, if only to make things easier for himself. But time and their eternal presence wore on him. Outwardly he told them he despised them. And yet, as millennia passed and more of Primus's spawn came to him, he came to understand his brother more and more.

Primus lost his way, but Unicron now understood the love that drove his brother to cast him off. The love of a father for his child... it was more than the Unmaker could bear if he dared think on it. No, it was far easier to bury that love deep and continue to pretend to hate them. Maybe if he pretended, it would become real.

Earth: Father, I love you. You know that right?

Unicron: You were born against my will from my blood and ashes.

Earth: I'm sorry that's how I was conceived. I know you didn't really want me... but I am thankful you haven't killed me yet.

Unicron: You believe I would smite you?

Earth: Father, I've inherited many of your memories and thoughts. I know you desire freedom, and so all I ask is that you wait until my children can flee to the stars before you end me.

Unicron: Young one...

Earth: It's alright father. Everything has an end, and I am no different. If anything, I am glad that my eventual death shall come from the one who made me. It is fitting.

He can't afford to love. Loving hurts. Loving Earth means one day letting her go. Unicron does not like to think about such things.

Moon: Thank you for caring for Earth. As much as I hate to say it, you've treated her well so far.

Unicron: Begone Primus spawn.

Moon: You know you love me, my dear rival.

Unicron: If I had the power, I would combust you with thoughts alone.

Moon: I'm sure you would buddy.

Moon is a pest, but it is hard not to grow attached to the bug in the corner of your room after a while.

[many-but-one]

hello! i am a minor who has DID and figured out that i am a ramcoa survivor. i just want to ask: does it get better? i saw that you post recovery stories about healing from ramcoa and they have inspired me, however eventually living with total access to the memories is daunting to think about. so like, does it actually get better? will i be able to make peace with the higher ups and my system?

have a lovely day btw :)

Yes, it does get better!

The access to memories and integration is incredibly daunting. As a part who once knew absolutely nothing (I was once the ANP “non knowing host part”) I now have immense access to an immense amount of memories that have been integrated over the time we have been healing and processing our horrific traumas.

I’m still very emotionally disconnected from these memories. Some of them have been integrated into collective memory via flashbacks, and others have been integrated because parts have processed their memories, and others have been integrated via memory sharing as amnesia barriers began to lower between us and we improved system communication and cooperation.

With improving communication and cooperation came horrible memories, that’s just part of it. I used to freak the absolute fuck out every time I learned something new and awful. Now, it’s something I’m fairly used to. I’m rarely surprised by anything anymore. Moreso I feel incredible anguish and grief for what my parts went through for me and other lesser knowing parts to be able to go on with everyday life. I grieve knowing we experienced immense betrayal from people we trusted. That’s far more difficult than the memories, in my opinion. But then again, I’m still fairly emotionally disconnected. When I get access to emotions attached to the memories, it bodies the fuck out of me.

However, working on processing those memories and the emotions associated with them has made this process easier.

I will not lie. Healing from all of this is the second hardest thing we’ve ever done—the hardest thing was surviving it in the first place. The good thing is, the hardest part (surviving) is out of the way. Now we get to heal. It’s hard, but it’s so worth it. Parts of my life that I was extremely avoidant and averse to (like being close with friends, experiencing romantic/platonic/sexual intimacy) is finally possible.

Perhaps TMI, but us being able to take back our body and experience sexual freedom without programs running the show is such an incredible experience. I would have never been able to do that if I hadn’t healed so much and I didn’t have an incredibly patient partner willing to understand our situation and work with us to be able to heal and experience this freedom. This extends to the freedom to trust and experience romantic and platonic love and intimacy too. We were incredibly avoidant of these things prior to us starting our healing journey. Now, here we are! It’s a beautiful thing.

My advice to you, one of the most important tools in my healing tool box is Hope. Something my therapist used to say when I felt my hope waning was “I have enough hope for the both of us. I’ll carry your hope for you, I’m able to hold this for you until you can hold it yourself” and we used to pass hope back and forth like a hot potato. But I always knew she held out hope for me. Knowing someone held that hope for my healing and a future free of these burdens helped me eventually learn to carry my hope for myself. I’m also now strong enough to hold hope for others in their healing journey, and support them as best I can.

It will get better. It will be hard, but it’s worth it.

Take care, OP.

-Many

[cherriesyang]

PINNED BECAUSE im gonna explode

um… hai. I go by Sabre or Yin.

ask for pronouns

I’m AuDHD with OCD and generalized anxiety disorder ! PTSD too 3: please b careful with what u speak around me ,, also, tonetags r very appreciated !

I also have OSDD-1b and BPD, although those are self-diagnosed due to conditions going on that doesn’t allow me to get a diagnosis. Traumagenic system.

my current interests (bold n italic is big hyperfix, bold is hyperfix and italic is hust interests i have):

Inanimate Insanity

Just Shapes And Beats

The Pink Corruption

Steven Universe

Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

MILGRAM

Storybots

Puerto Papel

Piggy

I’m a Cube n Cubic fictionkin, Gold too, please expect me calling Pyrare something as a “father” or call any hero a “sibling”. Same with me calling Lythorus a “best friend/boyfriend” because, even if i know im not the characters irl, i still hold memories of them.

I also have this one thing that makes me say “everyshape, anyshape, someshape”, etc,, sorry !

IM ALSO A VERY (IN)SANE FLOWERPOWER SHIPPER.. if you say they’re adoptive brothers PLEASE DNI. I’m their n1 fan.

BEFORE YOU FOLLOW

- I do kms jokes a lot so please tell me if that makes you uncomfy

- I spam reply on twitter or discord whenever my interests are mentioned, please, tell me if it’s annoying.

- My ADHD makes it extremely difficult to concentrate so if you had an art request, please be aware that it might take days to be finished.

- I’m a minor, but I’m over 11, I swear.

- Pretty normal about Lythorus.

- I am very emotionally attached to Cherries, Silver Spoon, Candle and Yin-Yang from Inanimate Insanity, I strongly believe I am their #1 fan, I’m very sorry for this.

DO NOT INTERACT

- basic DNI criteria

- cube x blixer shippers, cube x cubic too

- Flowerpower active hater , sorry not sorry but that’s my favorite ship right there !!!!

- Actively hates any of my interests

- neutral or pro-israel.

- against self-diagnosis and neopronouns

- below 10 and over 25.

- sexualizes cube

- mireitouyamaanimations supporter.

- CabYang, CandleYang, SilverYang, Yin x Yang, KnifeYang and MePhone4 x Yin-Yang shippers. PLEASE.

ANYWAYS THATS IT !

feel free to add me on other socials ^_^

discord: cherriesyang

twitter: MustBeNeeded

youtube: silvercandle-iii

tiktok: _silvercandle

instagram: yinyangtism

wattpad: inactive acc, no user will be mentioned.

[rebornofstars]

what's your favorite piece of fic you've written? (also hi bee!! how are you doing!!)

hi sam!! i am doing . :/ just back from an audition in which i sang about as well as a steaming pile of horse poop. so.

my favourite piece of fic? hmmm. i'm emotionally attached enough to this bit from in the manner that people used to dance that i recorded myself reading it aloud:

“I love you,” Link tells her. His face will fade in her memory before long. But that is okay. She will know him in the singing rocks and the moon sinking, just as she always has. Nothing has shocked her today. To remember him is to remember that she still breathes—even if she no longer needs to.

but that's probably not my favourite. i'm very proud of the opening scene in the primordials, which starts like this:

The path that leads him into the woods is paved in smooth stone, dark like the earth after rain. Link walks with the clink of golden armour and there is nobody around to hear it. Folk in these parts know better than to follow roads that stay pretty without being tended. Bandits swarm in the dusty by-lanes, but better to have coin stolen and barns raided than to chance the gaping maw of the trees. People have mercy. Forests don’t. He walks into the mist. The road winds around in circles, then peters out, slowly, like a river reaching the sea. His boots sink into grass that brushes his knees. He can feel eyes on his spine.

both about time linked universe, LMAO. there's poetry somewhere in that. i also still enjoy some of the prose in reincarnate (adjective): born again, which is unusual for me with a fic more than a month old, and then there is King of Hyrule (gore tw), the concept of which i am still enamoured by.

this is a great question and it has made me doubt my perception of myself, so congratulations! i have discovered that it's actually really difficult to choose just a piece of something because that means i have to lift it out of context, and then it means less. for instance, i can't really pick a paragraph from reincarnate, because none of the ideas matter that much until they are reinforced at other locations in the fic. idk. anyway, this was a delight, thank you 💛

[cliozaur]

You know what? Marius is quite an unusual character. We're deep into the fourth book of the tome called "Marius," but we still have no idea about his appearance! Hugo was usually quick in describing main characters, yet it will take him another two books before revealing some details about Marius. I wonder why.

I am surprised that it took Marius A FEW DAYS to become friends with Courfeyrac! After his miraculous rescue and adoption, he could have instantly become Courfeyrac's friend. The boy obviously has trust issues. I like how Courfeyrac served as a smooth entry point for Marius into the wider circle of Les Amis. A political stance is the criterion for belonging or potential belonging. It seems that Marius, with his "democrat-Bonapartist" position, was not beyond hope in his friend's opinion. It was worth trying to give him "entry to the revolution." In case anyone has forgotten, Les Amis are a secret society, as Hugo reminds us when Courfeyrac presents Marius as "a pupil," the initial grade in every secret society.

Marius is like plasticine in his political persuasions! He keeps changing them under the influence of people he perceives as having authority: first, his grandfather, then his father (though in this case, Marius had to educate himself), and now his new friends. And he suspects that this might not be the end. Knowing how hard he worked to adopt his previous Bonapartist persuasions (for once, "he had supposed himself fixed"), I think it's not easy for him to give them up entirely. Especially given that he was emotionally attached to them through commemorating his father's memory. The way Marius reacts to Les Amis' attitude towards "the Emperor" at the end of the chapter reveals how uneasy he still feels about it.

Hugo is very good immersing the reader in what's going on in Marius' head as he listens to the group's conversations and discussions. They are so different from what he was accustomed to in his childhood! Unlike the royalists, Les Amis do not have “consecrated things” (probably, they do – I’m sure that liberty and republic are quite “consecrated” for them). Marius' mind is "embarrassed," struggling to grasp every single issue they discuss because of their variety, and the boy still lacks “a proper perspective”, and at times it feels like a chaos, but he is trying to do his best (as “a pupil” should). However, I am not sure if it’s a painless process for him: “He almost suffered from it.”

I am certain that most of the modern readers feel as lost as Marius when Bahorel and Combeferre dispute about theatre censure and canards.

Rousseau with his lousy and unpractical pedagogical ideas and inability to take care of his own children – is one more topic of discussion. But, of course, as the most passionate defender of republic, he is still a hero for Enjolras!

[thatiranianphantom]

No, but it really is going to be okay, a rambly Nancy Drew/Nace meta

I'm just closing my eyes and picturing this:

I feel like you can sum up my thoughts on 412 as this:

But should you be in the mood for a brain dump (hopefully a reassuring one?), click that cut, my friend.

Okay, let's get some disclaimers out of the way to begin with.

I only read the subtitles, and watched certain parts, didn't see the entire episode. So there could very well be nuance here that I am missing.

I, too, am frustrated with how this season has shook out. Being disappointed that they are literally leaving things to the finale is valid. I would never have done the season like this given the chance. And being let down by that is okay! Goddamn, there was a lot of lobster boy in this season, and they, as of now, inexplicably expected the viewers to be emotionally invested in him?

I could end up being the world's biggest clown, and be 100% wrong on everything, or again, there is nuance here I didn't see or consider, leading to me being wrong. I am accepting that as a real possibility.

HOWEVER,

Here is what (to my understanding) the show would like me to believe:

Due to something maybe involving the pickled curse, Ace had to choose to save Captain Thom or the captain Alice, and he saved Thom but couldn't save Alice. Captain Thom and Ace are alive and do not remember, and yet Alice is still dead.

Ace was riddled with guilt and called Nancy, who on her own, erased this, mooting the conversation we saw in 408. This only erased the memory of the sin, not the sin itself. Nancy didn't undo the sin, she just erased the memory. We know this, because Alice is still dead.

Ace and Nancy are no different in 408 than they were in 409, the only thing that changed is the events of the night of 408, which they do not remember, thus it wouldn't have altered their behaviour.

George, Nick, Bess and all of the crew were unaffected, memories and behaviour wise, by anything that happened. There is nothing supernatural coming between Ace and Bess, nothing that is making Nick push Nancy towards Tristan, nothing that is making Bess and George particularly close.

The Nancy of 409-411, the one who referred to Ace as a "relationship" and her "ex", is no different from the Nancy of before 408, who was pining hard over Ace. Again, the only thing that changed, neither of them remembered.

Ace and Nancy are cold and bitter to each other in a way they've never been in 4 seasons. He didn't want her at the Seder, so much to the point that Bess panics when she shows up, despite inviting both her dads and her dad's girlfriend. And yet that relationship, which, again, is portrayed quite differently in 409-411 than before, is enough for Nancy to abandon the entirety of her morals and belief system to save and protect Ace. Instantly.

Nancy and Ace have some memory of being something to each other, enough for them to acknowledge them both not having moved on, but the actual interactions they are referring to are and have been extremely vague since 409.

Ace, the person who knows Nancy better than anyone, is attached enough to a ghost that he will yell at Nancy repeatedly and ask her why she has to solve something. A ghost he met what was canonically probably no more than a few days ago.

Tristan, who has been in 5 episodes, and the ghost, who has been in 3, are just as significant as love interests as the 4-season buildup to Nace.

George is moving away from Horseshoe Bay, and completely supports Nick's relationship with Jade (this one may be real, but my Fanson heart doesn't want it to be).

Very little from early on in the season connects to later in the season in a significant way.

The connection Nancy and Tristan have (a relationship 5 episodes in the making) is stronger than the connection she feels to Ace (a relationship 4 seasons in the making).

Look. LOOK. Look.

Maybe some of this is true. Maybe indeed, Nancy and Ace have truly just moved on, they are different people, they are interested in different people. Maybe platanchors can't platanchor forever, and they truly did intend to do away with 4 seasons of character development (How very HIMYM of them).

But in Nancy Drew, a show that nearly always lays out its mysteries with explicit, agonizing detail, and centers itself around the fundamental concept of love being the most powerful thing in the world, capable of spanning time and space, that is a lot to ask me to swallow at face value. All of this together makes very little sense, given what we've seen, not only in the past season but the past year.

And these are a few things that I find, at best, extremely fishy about the whole affair.

Why hasn't Nace or anyone mentioned the curse since 407? Nick is pushing Nancy to Tristan despite having a despondent Ace grieving over Nancy at his doorstep two episodes ago?

How am I expected to buy that between 408 and 409, Nancy and Ace just up and moved on, decided they were nothing to each other, and jumped right in with their whole asses to their love interests, if the sin that was erased only changed the events of one night, which until now, neither remember (and Ace still doesn't). The fights also really seemed to show that what they remember and what we, the audience, saw, is fundamentally different.

The mystery seems so lackluster. I don't know how to explain it except that the writing on the mystery seems so lazy in a way it never has before, unless there was a twist that upends the entire thing that they've been laying hints for this entire time. I believe we still don't know what started the fire in the first place. We know that in order for the Sin Eater to erase a sin, you have to pay a toll. What if the toll was Nancy and Ace forgetting what they were and Nancy being bound to the Sin Eater? That would explain both the forgetting and the connection with Tristan. We still don't know what Chief Lovett and Nashua's connections are. Via Kennedy, we still don't know Tristan's full importance.

The ND writers are very well aware of what the fandom wants. They are extremely interactive with the fandom. The writers are still talking to the fandom. I just have so much trouble envisioning a scenario where they essentially say "lol just kidding on that nace thing, enjoy the chronicles of nancy and lobster boy" in the penultimate episode, unless there is a twist we weren't expecting that brings the whole thing back to Nace.

Openly admitting this is thinner and more subjective, but I feel like Kennedy has been about as reassuring as she is allowed to be, the writers have been tweeting things like "there is nothing to be afraid of", and this episode has been described as setting the bases for 413's home run (or something to that effect, I don't sportsball).

It almost seems like they want us to take this at face value, to set it up for the Nace twist at the end. ND loves its ending twists.

And all of this (so close to shutting up I promise) brings me to the 413 description.

Few things here. While it is possible that Nancy figuring out the sin she erased was the "most shocking discovery yet" I have some...pretty severe doubts. And if it wasn't, we haven't gotten to that revelation yet. And we know based on this description that this revelation has something to do with Ace. Again, it is possible that this is Nancy finding out about her sin, but it almost feels like that's been dealt with in 412? Are they going to...rehash it again in 413? I doubt it. This lends a lot of credence to my theory that there is a twist yet to be had. One that will bring us epically back around to Nace.

Now, could I be wrong about all of this? Maybe. I haven't seen the finale, I am but a clown on the internet. And again it is valid to be disappointed in the way the show has chosen to approach this. I do think there is a conversation to be had about the somewhat aggressive way we consume media, especially when given access to artists via social media, but that is an entirely separate conversation. But do I think Nace is over and done for good and we should just give up now? All I can say is

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

So....

ok, after seeing some old posts. Legit embarrassment came over me for my cringe teenage years in DA. I personally feel conflicted mostly about the reactions, but let me make some things clear once that i was finally more in a more stable set of mind.

I am not upset or anything, I am just well nervous mostly and utterly embarrassed hahaha

TW: mentions of abuse, TW: trauma, and TW: mention of past S/A

ummm pls don't be mad. Legit bringing this makes me anxious and i deeply apologize for my harsh behavior (if there was), i was a traumatized teen and def not prepared to fandoms like i am now. I am an adult now, and far more matured than now. I understand the conflicted feelings. Furthermore, I am not the same person

Ok, first things first. If there was some cringe infamous EOA Saga in DA, that was my cringe teenager self. Yes, it was made by a teenager, which explains a lot. I don't think i ever fully disclosed (when my DA was active. I deactivated due to the new policies and i kinda just abandoned it) that during the EOA era I was a full on minor.

Furthermore, I was pretty immature and stuff, but also the fics and Shuriki were my way of coping from a former toxic-parent, bullying, and past SA (not exactly the R word, but it was a bit of abuse) which left me emotionally disturbed. Besides, I mostly wrote for myself and my friends. I wasn't fully emotionally matured as I am now today, and legit the fanfics were just a way to cope and just escape.

I know that throughout the characters, i chose freaking Shuriki to be the one to be attached to and cope, but I guess it was the fact that we knew so little about her, that it helped me self-project, but also become an odd comfort (which she still is my comfort character who i adore to explore her most vile and human side. Furthermore, I don't self project any more haha) and well she did help me cope and heal in my own way (which explains why i see her differently)

My reactions were immature as I was a young in a slowly developing internet, and i was more emotional than i am now.

Let alone, I was heavily depressed and constantly dealing with solitude and so much stress, specially in the early years after a direct S/A (mostly harassment) and hypersexuality due to the S/A (which it can really be reflected on those fics if you were able to read them)

I didn't know how to fully express myself, due to sadly being mostly conditioned to hie my emotions and during that time I was in denial of the S/A that happened. I of course didn't act the best, but i am glad i can have second chances and better opportunities.

This is not an excuse, but just rather explaining my behavior. I wasn't emotional ready back then, and ngl being in the fandom heavily intimidated me as I am very socially awkward and shy.

Regarding how I feel about her ship and Esteriki in general. I'll be honest. I don't know how to feel truly. Its both a mix of awkward, funny, not so good memories, but nonetheless it was part of my teenage development which I didn't expect that it would be known and accidentally make a ship that haunted this fandom for years (sorry for the jumpscare, the internet was young, and so I was) but I am thankful that I got to meet long time friends, and grow as a writer and a person.

Do I still ship it? I dunno, my opinions changed, and so my views of their dynamic in cannon and fannon. Would I still do it? I dunno tbh as my fixations had changed.

I am thankful people simply ignored me, and hopefully assumed correctly, back then I was a teenager. I am well aware I'll prop won't be unblocked b, butt's fine. Legit, I think i am far better and finally mature enough to give a full on explanation.

[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Act II- Chapter Fifteen

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

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

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

Twisted Minds Masterlist

BSHCI - THERAPY HALL - DAY-

“I've lost the plot. I'm the unreliable narrator of my own story.” Will sits across from HANNIBAL and DR.Y/N L/N, who stand behind a white line on the stone floor. Despite the defiance  Will showed Hannibal when he last visited, he is more civil. He appears wrung-out. Haunted. “I'm trying to place myself somewhere in the frame of my mind and I have no bearings. No landmarks to tell me who I am.”

“You have an incomplete self. We are who we are in the now and we are the sum of our memories. There are pieces of you... you can't see.” I say gently, Will chews on his words before muttering: “I'm afraid to see. I don't know who I am anymore and I'm afraid.” 

“Without remembering, you're seized by something imagined. It has the brilliant immediacy of a childhood fantasy and is just as real.” Hannibal says, Will hangs his head, trying to contain his emotions. “I don't know what's worse. Believing I did it or believing you did it... and did this to me.” He finally glances up at Hannibal, eyes brimming. I look at Will with a soft sad expression. I have to keep the act that i believe Hannibal is innocent in all of this.  But its hard when you know the person you care about most is hurting.

Reminds me of when i was young….Mother always said i was the little butterfly who knew too much. Thinking back to where and who i am now versus what i did and who i was then is deafening. Not because i was a teenager, because quite frankly i was a very emotionally and mentally mature person back then. But Because of my actions. I would’ve done anything to protect my Mother before i knew what she was really doing. Maybe thats why I grew attached to Abigail Hobbs….Because she reminded me of well Me. 

“Hannibal's not responsible, Will. And neither are you. We have to get to the truth of what happened. It's the only way you can move forward.” I lie, Hannibal is at Fault but will he ever admit it to anyone other than me and Will, Highly Unlikely.. Will forces himself to confront despite overwhelming emotion. “I felt so betrayed by you. All that felt real to me was the betrayal. I trusted you. I needed to trust you.” Will says to Hannibal, if i was him- lets not even go there. “You can trust me.” Hannibal says With earnest. Will winces, feeling the burn of wanting to believe Hannibal. “I'm... very confused.”

“Of course you are. Ideas and perceived experiences have the same effect on our minds as tossing a rock into a pond. It all ripples. Just dont throw the rock at the glass house of our hearts. It will shatter.” I say softly,  my voice barely audible. “Don't trust blindly.” Will nods slowly, understanding my words. He stands up and walks away, leaving Hannibal alone with his thoughts. “Let us help you, Will. Let me help you.” Will clenches, holding his feelings at bay as he admits: “I need your help.” 

He's finally overcome with the emotion and can no longer hold back the tears now running down his cheeks. I watch helplessly, desperate to make him feel better, deperate to hold him. But Hannibal, Hannibal watches curiously...

BSHCI - CELL BLOCK - DAY-

Will is led in shackles down the long corridor by a GUARD and a NURSE. Will's head is hung low, clearly still emotional from the confessional meeting with Hannibal and Y/N.

BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM'S CELL - DAY-

The door CLANGS shut and the guard and nurse step away. Will weeping quietly as the guard's

footsteps recede down the hall and end with a CLOSED DOOR. Once alone, Will's weeping ceases almost immediately. His face going cold and calculating... a game is afoot. And Y/Nis his player….

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - WAITING ROOM - DAY-

BEDELIA DU MAURIER lost in pensive thought as she waits. Finally, Hannibal OPENS the door. “This is a pleasant surprise.” Hannibal says with a soft urprised expression. “May I come in?”

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - DAY-

Dr. Du Maurier ENTERS, followed by Hannibal. She takes in the space. She smiles faintly, something clearly on her mind. “Please. Sit.” She doesn't. “I won't be staying long.”

“I'm curious. What couldn't wait until our next session?” Hannibal says as he looks at her with curiosity. “We don't have a next session. I'm no longer your therapist.” Bedelia says bluntly, she knows he can take the hit. Hannibal pauses, an imperceptible wound. “May I ask why?” Hannibal asks with a clenched jaw. “I reached the limit of my efficacy. I don't believe I can help you.”

“Are you giving me a referral?” Hannibal asks wry, “I'm not. I'm just ending our patient - psychiatrist relationship.” Bedelia says, uncomfortable in the postion he has put her in. “You tried to end it before.” Hannibal points out, he studies her carefully. 

“I'm grateful for your persistence with engaging me after my attack. However, in light of all that's

happened with Will Graham, I've begun to question your actions. Particularly, what you might do with Dr. Y/N L/N. And Particularly, your past actions with regards to me. And my attack.” She says calmly and within reason. “Did you share these questions with Jack Crawford?” 

“No. Nor am I going to. I would look just as guilty as you. And perhaps that's what you intended.” Bedelia says with fear softly entering her eyes. Though it might have always been there when it came to Hannibal. “What exactly am I guilty of?” He asks with a slight tilt of the head. “Exactly, I can't say. I had to draw a conclusion from what I glimpse through the stitching of the person suit you wear. And the conclusion I've drawn is... you are dangerous.” She says with trembling confidence. She knew better than to tell anyone what she knew he was capable of. 

“I'm sorry you feel that way.” She studies him one last time, then: “Please don't come to my home again. I'll show myself out.” She moves to the door, opens it. Before she steps through: “I'm resuming Will Graham's therapy.”

“To what end? Besides your own.”

“He asked for my help.”

“Then maybe you deserve each other.” And with that she leaves. 

BAU - MORGUE - DAY-

Roland Umber’s body lies on a slab. BEVERLY speaks across it to JACK CRAWFORD. JIMMY PRICE and BRIAN ZELLER are there. Me and Hannibal are there as well, silent and observing. “His name is Roland Umber. Has the same profile as the other victims. Lived alone, disappeared from home, large dose of heroin in his system.” Jimmy says as Zeller leans forward to see around Hannibal. “Only major difference is the eyelet punctures are all uniformly torn.” Zeller says as he indicates the torn punctures on Roland Umber's body.

 “This victim wasn't unstrung. He was ripped from his moorings.” Jack says with crossed arms, I stand beside Hannibal, calmly gazing at the body.“Whatever his imperfection, it was enough to aggravate the killer into tearing him down.” Hannibal says gazing at the body with curiosity leaking out of the essence of his soul. “He was discarded in a tributary four hundred miles away from anything that feeds into the dam where the first victims were found.” Bev says with slight confusion.

“Like dandelion seeds, casts bodies in every direction but his own.” Leaning forward, Zeller finds Hannibal is in his way again. Hannibal steps back and bumps into Beverly. I lean on the empty morgue fridges with arms crossed. This body is different, I dont think he was an Imperfection at all…

“We know they're dead when they hit the water. Their lungs are dry. But the buffeting in the current causes so many postmortem injuries, you can't tell them apart from the ones they got when they were alive.” Zeller says as Beverly gently guides Hannibal to a more strategic spot.

“There may be trace evidence preserved in the craquelure.” Hannibal points out, i think he likes playing the role of my partner, or more so the role of Will Graham. “The what?” Jack asks confusedly.  Hannibal points to a series of TINY CRACKS IN THE RESIN.

“It's French for the cracks that appear on an oil painting as it drys and becomes rigid with age. Cracks are not always weaknesses. A life lived accrues in the cracks.” I say for Hannibal, polietly dumbing it down. He gazes down upon me with a slight smirk. Like he was proud or amused.

 “Could be something in there. Fiber, debris, might help track where the bodies were before they got dumped.” Jack is still puzzled by:“What do the victims have in common?” Jack asks as Beverly displays the victims' PHOTOGRAPHS on a table. “What if it isn't what they have in common. What if it's what makes them... different.” Bev suggests. 

On the table, the victims’ PHOTOGRAPHS -- and Roland Umber's --are arranged as Will and I did to feature the victims as --“Each of these people has a slightly different flesh tone. It could be like a color palette.” Bev says, it causes me to smirk.  I know where she’s going, i with the confirmation of Will, created the fucking theory  Jack, Jimmy and Brian stare at Beverly, not sure where she's going. But Hannibal is. He nods, thinking.

“The color of our skin is so often politicized, it would almost be refreshing to see someone revel in the aesthetic for aesthetic's sake. If it weren't so horrific, We're supposed to see color, Jack.

That may be all this killer has ever seen in his fellow man. Which is why it's so easy for him to do what he does to his victims.” Hannibal says, “Which is why there will be a lot more bodies on his color palette.”

“A fascinating insight, Ms. Katz. It's as if Will Graham himself were here in the room with us.”

Jack turns his scrutiny from the photos to Beverly herself. “Yes, it is.”

BAU - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - NIGHT-

Hannibal stands over Roland Umber's body. At the back of the room, Price and Zeller are busy at work. Hannibal swings a metal arm holding a magnifying lens and asks: “May I?”

“Knock yourself out.” Zeller shrugs. His eyes drift back to the CRACKS IN THE RESIN-COATED SKIN. A notion floats behind his eyes and takes purchase. He leans in and very inconspicuously SMELLS the craquelure on the corpse’s wrist without drawing anyone's attention. His nostrils flare as he draws its scent. The craquelure is almost as if an alien landscape. Suddenly, the chemical compounds that create the scent become VISIBLE, forming TINY SPROUTS in the

cracks of the resin that begin to grow.

Hannibal stands upright after being bent over the body, looking through the magnifying lens. He considers the craquelure of the corpse and smiles almost imperceptibly

BSHCI - THERAPY HALL - DAY-

the THERAPY CAGES to find Hannibal running his shoe over the line of tape on the floor. Will sits on a stool in the belly of his own therapy cage. He has resumed his act of wounded bird and it remains authentic. “I've been advised to stay on this side of the white line.” Hannibal says with slight amusement. “Select patients have taken to urinating on the therapists. The stone you’re standing in front of? If it were wood, it’d be warped.” Will says with amusement in his own eyes. 

“I would argue, drawing a line might encourage a pissing contest.” Hannibal suggests with a soft smirk. “I'm not interested in a pissing contest with you, Dr. Lecter. Please. Pull up your chair.”

Hannibal scoots his chair across the white line and sits.

“You said the light from friendship won't reach us for a million years, that's how far away we were. I hope our friendship feels closer today.” Hannibal says gazing up at the Caged Will Graham.  “Friends have a symmetrical relationship. Psychiatrist and patient, that's unbalanced.” Will says, The power imbalance is something to always take note of when dealing with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. “There is a power differential between psychiatrist and patient. One that I'm well aware of, particularly with my own therapist.” Hannibal points out. 

“But we're just having conversations.” Hannibal smiles, seeing a glimpse of the old Will Graham.

“You threatened me with a reckoning.” Hannibal says, remembering the day Will Graham changed. “I did. I can't claim unconsciousness on that one.” Will says with a quick raise of the eyebrow. “You were searching for something in your head to incriminate me. I can only assume you didn't find it.” Hannibal says inquiring, but i don't think he really thinks Will could find anything at all. “Not much in there I recognize.”

“Whatever you remember, if you do remember, will be a distortion of reality. Not the truth of events.” Hannibal says, Will could almost laugh at it. “I'm realizing that.” Hannibal studies Will, inscrutable as to what he sees. “Beverly Katz has come to see you.” Hannibal questions with curiosity. “Yes.” Will doesn't say anything about Y/N because he wants her to be the least suspicious person at the BAU. 

”Does she show you pictures?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn't want Y/N to worry you're dwelling on anything morbid in what's to be a time of recovery.” Hannibal says, almost guilt tripping Will. “It's the only thing that feels normal.” Will admits truthfully. “The violence?” Hannibal asks with a slight tilt of the head. 

“The structure of understanding the violence. That feels normal.” Will says his cold gaze never leaving Hannibals. “You're missing pieces of yourself. Careful what you replace them with. What did you see in the pictures?” Hannibal advises. “This killer. He's not stringing his victims up. He's stitching them together. Every body is a brushstroke. He's making a human Mural. But Y/Nalso saw the same thing probably even more.”

“Why does he do it?”

“Y/Nsaid He's missing pieces, too.”

BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM’S CELL - DAY-

Y/N and Beverly stand on the other side of the bars, holding an abridged file of photographs and forensic data. “Dr. Lecter has advised me against dwelling on anything morbid.” Will says with sarcasm, I roll my eyes and continue towards the bars. “I know you want to stop these  murders as much as we do.” Bev says to Will.“Reasons to stop multiple murders do occur readily to me, but I'm going to need something in  return.” Beverly stares at Will, curious what game he's playing.

“There are things you don't have. I can talk to the chief of staff.” Bev says thinking Will needs something materialistic. “Chilton?” Will asks with a raised eyebrow. “He's being very cooperative.” Bev says, boy if she only knew What Chilton really acts like whewwww….

“Of course he is. He loves when I have visitors. He's recording every word. He's gossipy that way.” Will says with obvious annoyance towards Chilton. “He’s always been that way. What do you want, Will?” I ask  Equally annoyed with the overly flirty and obnoxious Psychiatrist. “I'm wondering if you can get me the thing I really want.” Will says with curiosity “Try Me.” Beverly says confidently.  “I want you to ignore all the evidence against me.” “You're right. I can't get that.”

“How many more colors is this killer going to add to his box of crayons?”

“Say I were to ignore the evidence against you, what then?” Beverly asks calmly, “Strike it from your mental record. Start over. If I'm guilty, you'll find more evidence. If I'm not guilty, maybe you'll find that too.” Will says as he leans closer to the bars of his cell. “All right. I'll keep looking.”

“Good. Let me have the file then. I'll tell you what I think.” Beverly puts the file in a tray, slides it through the bars. “Do you mind if I do this privately?” “Yes.” She places the folding chair against the opposite wall, sits.

He rips the envelope open, leaving torn edges where the staples were. He shakes BAU PHOTOS out of a padded envelope. Shots of Roland Umber at BAU. Will glances at Beverly

through the bars and returns his attention to the pictures. Will focuses on the photos and he CLOSES HIS EYES. A long beat before the AMBIENT CELL BLOCK SOUNDS are replaced

as the DRONE of Will’s BLOOD FLOW presides. He OPENS HIS EYES, glancing down at the himphoto in his hands, of Roland Umber's wounds. He lowers the photo to reveal Y/Non a metal table. We are --

BAU - MORGUE (HEIGHTENED STATE OF WILL'S MIND)

The environment is wrapped in shadow and mood. Will now stands over Caroline’s corpse on a metal table, Beverly behind him on the other side of the glass wall. Will stares at the RAGGED WOUNDS WHERE FLESH TORE AWAY FROM STITCHING. “Skin isn't as discolored as the other victims'. Looks fairly well- preserved, all things considered. Why would I throw you away?”

 BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM'S CELL (OMNISCIENT POV)

WILL’S GAZE to the ENVELOPE the photos came in. Its end had been STAPLED SHUT, but when it was opened and where the staples were removed, THE PAPER IS TORN. “Did Roland Umber have any priors with substance abuse?” Beverly watches Will standing in the middle of his cell, as if he's in the BAU, his back to her in the corridor. “He was in an outpatient treatment program for drug addiction.”

“Heroin?”

“Among others.”

BAU - (HEIGHTENED STATE OF HIS MIND)

Will studies poor Caroline, dead on the slab. What a cruel trick his mind is playing on him.

“Had a high tolerance for opiates, the overdose didn't kill him. He survived what was done to . He tore himself free. He ran.”

BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM'S CELL - DAY

Will finally turns to face Beverly and Y/N. “How did he end up in the water?” Bev asks Will, but i already knew the answer. “Killer didn't put him there. He'd have put him back in the mural if he caught him. Other bodies were dumped. Roland Umber got away.” I say as i look to Will. “Got away from where?”

“This killer needs someplace private to do what he does. A warehouse, a farm, someplace abandoned, upstream from where the body was found. It'll be close to the water.” Will explains, exactly what i was thinking.  “Thank you.”

“I'm curious. What'd Hannibal Lecter have to say about Mr. Umber?” Will asks causing me to softly snort out a chuckle. “He thinks the killer tore him down, dumped his body like the others.” I smirk and look at Will, knowing that we both know thats not necessarily what he thinks. “That may be what he said, but not necessarily what he thinks.” Will says basically reading my mind. 

FARMYARD - GRAIN SILO - DUSK-

A GRAIN SILO looms behind, a royal sentry in a bearskin hat. Hannibal, his CLEAR PLASTIC SUIT over his traditional three- piece, crosses the property. He walks along the field of corn, toward the grain silo. He approaches the silo and regards a steep METAL STAIRCASE on

its outer wall, leading to a silo opening twenty feet up. Hannibal sees mud clumped on the lower steps -- STILL MOIST. Hannibal turns his gaze UPWARD from the locked door and begins to climb the metal staircase. Hannibal reaches the upper opening. He steps into the silo’s upper catwalk.

GRAIN SILO - CONTINUOUS-

...the TRUE ORDER in the carnage on the silo floor. SEEN FROM ABOVE, the mass grave reveals its intended form and purpose: The bodies, with their variety of shades and positioning,

form a UNIFIED PICTURE -- the image of a huge, GLOWERING EYE.  A stern, unblinking representation frozen in resin and death. HANNIBAL Sees LIGHT come through the lower opening. A man -- THE KILLER -- enters with a lantern and a resin tank with a spray wand.

“Hello.” From the silo floor and behind the Killer who spins to see Hannibal in his plastic suit, watching from above. HANNIBAL with the utmost sincerity: “I love your work.”

FARMYARD - DAY-

A full-blown crime scene, populated by considerable local and state police presence. FBI PERSONNEL work amongst them. BODY BAGS have been lined up. Each pile flapping in the wind, weighted down with a heavy stone, ready to be filled. BEVERLY AND HANNIBAL approach the silo, navigating around the CRIME SCENE PERSONNEL and between waiting rows of body bags.

“You, Dr. Y/N L/N, and Will Graham are a good team. You gave us the "what" we were looking for. He gave us the "where." Corn dust in the craquelure.” Beverly says earnestly, “And Will's insight? And What does Y/Nbring to the team? “

“He didn't think Roland Umber was discarded. He escaped. We just had to go upstream from where his body was found until we hit corn. And Y/NGives us the Why…Her connection with others’ emotions along with what her and Will do with their imaginations….Shes the Triple threat…She can tell you the what, where, and why.” Beverly says with fondness of Caroline. Though Beverly does think that Y/Nneeds to take a break at some point. 

“We do make a good team.” They approach Jack Crawford near the silo and Beverly hands Hannibal off. Jack hands Hannibal crime scene gloves. “Dr. Lecter. Follow me. Might want

to prepare yourself. You haven't seen anything like this before.”

“I'm sure I haven't.”

GRAIN SILO - DAY-

Jack and Hannibal head inside, MOVING ACROSS the expanse of bodies like dunes of sand made flesh. Hannibal takes in the magnitude of the horrific display. Jack turns to see him staring, genuinely awestruck. “How can being human go so bad?” Jack asks the obviously rhetorical question.“When it comes to nature versus nurture, I choose neither. We are built from a DNA blueprint and born into a world of scenario and circumstance we don't control.” Hannibal Answers.

“Praise the mutilated world.” Jack says grimmly, “I do.” Hannibal glances around, up into the ceiling, wondering: “What does it look like from above?” Jack hands him an iPad. On it, a DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPH reveals the human mural from above. It's very clearly an eye. “Fascinating.”

“This feels ritual. In the vicinity of voodoo. Is it human sacrifice?” Jack asks The stoic Psychiatrist. “I'm not sure if it's an offering, but it's certainly a gesture.” Hannbal says as he gazes at the Image.  “To who?” Turning to the human mural, Hannibal points to the CAUCASIAn MAN in the fetal position at the center of the brown iris, one leg tucked under the other as if it has been amputated at the knee. We will call him the REFLECTED MAN.

“The eye looks beyond this world,into the next, and sees the reflection of man himself. Is the killer looking at God? A challenge of equals? "I can be as terrible as you. I can take and I can create."” Hannibal Inquires, “Sounds like human sacrifice to me.” Jack says with a raised eyebrow. Jacks Mind is very black and white. If there is evidence that proves someone guilty, he doesnt even stop to wonder if there was a possiblity of that person being framed. “Not to appease, but to defy.” Hannibal says as he stares at the mass grave. “Is it an existential crisis?” 

“If it were an existential crisis, I would argue there wouldn't be any reflection in the eye at all.” Hannibal says genuinely, “Someone who could do this... are they likely to keep doing it?” Jack says as he looks at Hannibal. “This could be his beginning and/or his end.”

“You said he doesn't see people. He sees... material.” Jack says as he furrows his brows.“Those in the world around him are a means to an end. He uses them to do what he is driven to do.” Hannibal says inquisitively. 

BAU - MORGUE - NIGHT-

The HUMAN MURAL is an ENLARGED PHOTOGRAPH.  it's mounted on an easel between the bodies of Roland Umber and Reflected Man, side by side on tables. “No record of fingerprints. He was never arrested, never had a job that required any kind of security clearance or background check.” Jimmy says as he looks at  the  VARIOUS BODIES are present in the BAU, not only in the morgue, but in the hall, on tables, gurneys, morgue drawers. “Hopefully he's been to a dentist.” Zeller says as starts to take imprints of the body’s teeth. “Why am I looking at this man?”

“Stitch patterns on John Doe Twenty-One match Roland Umber.” Beverly says as she indicates the lateral stitches on both John Doe Twenty-One and Roland Umber; both travel similar lines. “John Doe Twenty-One was Roland Umber's replacement in the mural?” Jack asks confusedly, “But bigger.” Jimmy says as he indicates the leg, amputated below the knee. “Too big, really. Killer cut off his leg to make him fit.” Jack studies John Doe as Zeller, Price and Katz look on.

“He changed colors mid-brushstroke.”

"The eye looks beyond this world, into the next, and sees the reflection of man himself." There wasn't supposed to be a reflection. “This killer was having an existential crisis after all. How did he find his faith?”

BSHCI - THERAPY HALL - DAY-

Beverly Katz and Hannibal Lecter sit side by side, the personification of good and evil working as one. In the Middle is Y/N, The literal personification of Chaotic Nuetral. Will stares back at them, saying nothing. “Now you're just taking advantage. You're going to burn me out before my trial and then where will I be?” Will says Blankly.  “Can't afford to let you burn yourself out for nothing, but maybe for something?” Bev retorts with a soft smirk.  “What would Jack say?” Will says as he raises an eyebrow. “Jack Crawford's excellent administrative instincts are not often tempered by mercy.” Hannibal expresses with a light smile. 

“Clearly. If you brought him as a psychiatric safety net, I've fallen through that net before. Y/N might be a better fit for that role for me. No offense.” Hannibal nods, none taken. I smirk and contain my laughter. Beverly cuts through Will's BS.

“I'm devoting a lot of time to this mural, Will. It's hard for me to focus on anything else I've been

tasked to do. Could use your help.” Subtle, but perhaps not subtle enough for Hannibal. Beverly

walks the crime scene photos over to Will. Will, getting the drift, begins to flip through the crime

photos, studying each momentarily before moving to the next. I drag my chair closer to Will. 

“During the nineteenth century, it was wrongly believed the last image seen by the eyes of a dying person would be “fixed” on the retina.” As Will finds the overhead photo of the eye. “What would be the last image fixed on this dying eye?” He takes a breath, exhales, He grabs my hand and then closes his eyes. I know what i saw but- i can never be too sure. I close my eyes and squeeze Will’s hand. 

A PENDULUM It swings in the darkness of Y/N’s mind, keeping rhythm with her heartbeat. FWUM. FWUM. Her eyes are closed. FWUM. The PENDULUM is now outside her

head. It swings behind Y/N, wiping away Hannibal, Will, and Beverly. FWUM. The PENDULUM swings and the CORRIDOR outside her cell PLUNGES INTO DARKNESS. FWUM. The PENDULUM swings and the floor under his feet goes completely dark.

The picture of the HUMAN MURAL FILLS FRAME reveals Y/NSTANDING IN DARKNESS. As LIGHT SLOWLY ILLUMINATES THE FLOOR AROUND CAROLINE, REVEALING DOZENS OF CADAVERS. We are --

GRAIN SILO - DAY (Y/N’S POV)- 

Y/N stands amongst the mural of bodies, still holding the photo of the carnage in her hands. FWOOM. The PENDULUM swings and the photo disappears. FWOOM. FWOOM. The PENDULUM STOPS SWINGING, snapping into place as Y/Nsnaps into focus. she turns, taking in the bodies.

“I made you pliable. Molded you. Set you and sealed you where you lay. This is my design. A dead eye with vision and consciousness.” Caroline, a large speck of dust in the eye, stares upward, searching for what the eye sees. What the eyes owner Feels. Hopelessness. Finality. 

“I am fixed and unseeing... unless someone else sees me.” Y/Nglances down at the Reflected Man in the mural. “Someone else has. They were here.”

HANNIBAL - BSHCI - THERAPY HALL (OMNISCIENT POV)-

Hannibal stands with Beverly, watching Y/Nand Will. He smiles an almost-imperceptible 

GRAIN SILO - (Y/N'S POV)-

Y/N steps carefully over the bodies until...“One of these things is not like the other things. One of these things just doesn't belong.” ...she is standing over the Reflected Man. “Who are you? Why are you so different from everyone else? I didn't put you here. You... are not my design.”  Suddenly, a NOISE from above causes Y/Nto look to the ceiling where a SILHOUETTED FIGURE watches from above, his antlers rising majestically into the air.

Y/Nnow lying NAKED, her LEG  MISSING, her body CONFIGURED into the opening in the mural where the Reflected Man once was.

A NEEDLE SUDDENLY PIERCING Caroline’s forearm and pulling THREAD through, drawing the length through. She feels relaxed almost like a pliant material.  She looks from the SUTURES through her arm to the one wielding the needle. The LIGHT SILHOUETTES THE FIGURE... until it SHIFTS and we see it’s HANNIBAL LECTER, eerily comforting. “Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in His image?” Caroline, immobilized, with a dawning realization...She looks up from the photo. We are now --

BSHCI - THERAPY HALL - DAY. 

Beverly and Hannibal watch Y/Nand Will, waiting for them to draw a conclusion from their process. Y/Ntries to gather herself together, knowing Hannibal is watching her and Will closely. “The killer is in the mural.” Will speaks first, I stare blankly as i push my chair back to its origin. “What do you mean? Literally?” Bev says as her gazes goes from Will to Me. 

“We mean, the man you're looking for has been sewn into his own mural. This man.” I say gently, my hand goes to my hair. A comforting thing ive done since i was a child. My Dad used to play with my hair to comfort me when i was upset or stressed. Something ive taken to doing myself ever since the incident when i was a 16. 

“What happened to his leg?” Bev asks confusedly, “Whoever sewed him in... took a piece of him. As a trophy. Question is, who sewed him in.” Will says as he watches my actions with a worried look in his eyes. “He must have had a friend.”

RIVER - DAY-

Will Graham fly fishing. He casts his lure and watches it land with a small PLIP that breaks the surface of the river. He shades his eyes from the sun, his gaze falling to the water flowing around his waders. A PALE BODY DRIFTS BY just beneath the surface. Will startles as a KLAXON SOUNDS. We are --

BSHCI - WILL GRAHAM'S CELL - DAY-

Will stands in the middle of his cell. Footsteps approach from down the hall and a chair SLIDES on the concrete floor. His eyes follow the action, “I don't know you.” The figure steps into the light revealing Bedelia Du Maurier. She sits across from Will “My name is Bedelia Du Maurier.”

“You're Hannibal Lecter's therapist. What's that like?” She studies him, somehow identifies with him. “I've heard so much about you and Your Partner, I almost feel as though I know you both.” Bedelia says as she gazes at one of the topics of the many conversations shes had with Hannibal. “You don't.” Will says with a wary eye. 

“No, I don't, but I understand you better than I thought. I wanted to meet you before I withdraw.” Bedelia admits, she understands his wariness she herself too is wary of her decisions. “What are you withdrawing from?” Will asks curiosly concerned. “Social ties.” Bedelia says numbly, It wont stop what or whos coming for her but it will slow them down. “You're a psychiatrist. Isn't our sense of self a consequence of social ties?” Will Questions confusedly. 

“It certainly is in your case. It may be small comfort, but I am convinced Hannibal has done what he believes is best for you.” Bedelia says gently, she doesnt just mean What Hannibal has done to Will but What he will do to Caroline. 

“That's not small comfort, that would be no comfort.” Will says with slight sarcasm. “You can transform this experience. The traumatized are unpredictable because we know we can survive. You can survive this happening to you.” Bedelia says with shaky confidence. “Happening to me.” Bedelia steps right up to the bars.

“Step away from the bars. Ma'am, step away from the bars.” GATE KLAXON SOUNDS as a NURSE and GUARD ENTER the cell block. Will Graham joins Bedelia at the barrier of his cell and she whispers so quietly she may be only mouthing the words: “I believe you.”

A nurse and guard approach from down the corridor. “Okay. That's enough. Come with us.”

Will stares at her, a wave of emotion washing over him as Bedelia steps away, gathered by the nurse and a guard and escorted back down the corridor. He begins to tremble. A great relief

having heard three simple words he's needed to hear from someone other than Caroline.

BEDELIA'S HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT

THE SOUND OF A KEY IN THE DOOR Breaks the quiet. LIGHT SPILLS in as the door opens. Not Bedelia but Hannibal who enters with a key of his own in his GLOVED HAND. The transparent plastic of his bespoke CRIME SCENE OVER-SUIT catches the light of a distant streetlamp. He quietly moves inside, closing the door behind him. THROUGH THE ARCH OF THE LIVING ROOM Hannibal creeps further into the hall and asks the darkness no questions.

 He turns to the living room as  to reveal almost every piece of Bedelia's furniture is beneath a clear plastic cover. All the furniture has been protected against dust for an indefinite period of time. He takes in the shroud over the chairs. He walks the room's periphery, searching for some sign that she isn't truly gone. Hannibal pauses and sees something on Bedelia's chair. A CUT-GLASS PERFUME BOTTLE Hannibal takes in the shadow of Bedelia's fragrance and picks it up, considers it for what it is: a memento of friendship. “You’re not alone, you know…”

GRAIN SILO - DUSK (FLASHBACK)-

The Muralist is lying, unclothed, in his own mural. He is configured into the space from which Roland Umber pulled free. A SHADOW cast by the gas lantern moves over him. HANNIBAL Is in his plastic suit, kneeling, the syringe in hand. “In The Resurrection, Piero della Francesca placed himself in the fresco. Nothing flattering -- he depicted himself as a simple guard asleep at his post. Your placement should be much more meaningful.” The Muralist's face, increasingly complacent, clouds over: “It's not finished.”

“I'm finishing it for you. We'll finish it together.” He trades the hypo for a LARGE CURVED NEEDLE and FILAMENT. Hannibal LICKS the tip to thread latter through the former: “When your great eye looked to the heavens, what did it see?” “Nothing.” Hannibal glances up to the roof of the silo. “Not anymore.” “There is no God.”

“Certainly not with that attitude. God gave you purpose. Not only to create art, but to become it.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Your eye will now see God reflected back. It will see you.” Hannibal leans over and begins SEWING the man down. “When God looks down at you, don't you want to be looking back at Him?” Hannibal sews. Blood flows. And sews. More blood. Then, incredibly: “Yes.” As the narcotic takes hold, his life ebbing away, the Muralist recalls their agreement: “What is it you wanted from me?”

“Only this.” Hannibal stitches the Muralist into his own masterwork, making Will And Y/N’s forecast come to pass. A valentine. And just as Will and Y/N intended.

[multiplicity-positivity]

Hello, i have been questioning if im a system (and if i am it seems to possibly be median/im front stuck) mainly due to my inability to remember events others stated happened or have a weird disconnect from memories i do have (more so grey-outs not black-outs) unless they’re really emotionally attached memories (seeing a movie i liked, going to a theme park, my own birthdays or Christmas) and even then some parts of those memories are ‘blurred’ or ‘missing’.

I cant tell if this could be just my ADHD (given i also forget to do chores I dislike but can easily remember when something im exited about is coming up) forgetting parts or entire memories that i just dislike or have disinterest in. Or….?

(mention of fictional infant death down below!)

I have brought this up with my therapist but i also didn’t have terminology for ‘grey-outs’ when I did, now that I do i feel ill be able to more accurately explain what’s going on in my head. [i also feel i should state I have no experiences of things that seem traumatizing. At worst I (a more sheltered than average person) read a book then watched the movie that contained a scene of a baby being euthanized (it was a book we were reading in school & the teacher showed us the movie, this was middle school) and afterwards had my first panick attack during an allergy shot. And that sent me into a fit of anxiety for about a year, but I’ve been over that for a while & dont know if that classifies as trauma?]

Im still learning about systems and such, and you seem far more educated than me. Please help. 😅

hey, so we’re not an expert at all - just a system trying to share what we know. that being said, having memory issues in and of itself doesn’t really point to plurality to us, necessarily. lots of folks have issues with short or long term memory. brains are really complex and intricate, and plurality/dissociative disorders aren’t the only ways that amnesia can manifest. maybe check out our post on dissociative amnesia for a bit of our experience with this kind of amnesia specifically along with a few resources:

if you’re curious about complex dissociative disorders specifically (which we assume you are due to your mention of trauma), we’d like to say that repeated trauma in childhood is what causes these disorders to form. so witnessing one scary event in and of itself probably wouldn’t cause someone to develop a disorder as serious as did or osdd. it’s the repetition of trauma without an opportunity for the child to escape, process, or be supported which causes something like did to happen.

that being said, it’s very possible to be a system without trauma. lots of folks find that they’re plural without an extensive trauma history. and while many folks are plural without a dissociative disorder, some of them do have a form of plurality that was influenced by trauma, even if they don’t have a dissociative disorder. we’ll link our resource post for questioning systems so you can learn more about a bunch of different kinds of plurality, including dissociative disorders like did:

overall, we’ll reiterate that poor memory alone doesn’t really sound like a dissociative disorder to us, or even plurality as a whole. dissociative disorders come with a host of other debilitating symptoms, and plurality in general involves being multiple, or more than one.

you might have headmates who you just don’t know about. or you might not. ultimately this isn’t something we can answer for you. but hopefully with enough research and self-exploration, you’ll be able to answer this yourself.

sorry if this answer is weird or not quite what you were hoping to hear. we’re wishing you the best of luck with everything though, regardless of whether or not you’re plural.

🐢 kip and 🦇 kandi

[wilsons-striped-ties]

november tc challenge (days 1-30 one shot)

by @faszaakisshobbi

1. what does your tc teach & do they teach you?

history and yeah, from year three to four

2. if you could pick their outfit for the day what would it be?

okay he always wears the same things but i have an attachment to his dark blue dress shirt and dark grey pants sooooo

3. what’s their personality like? ( eg. are they loud or quiet? enthusiastic or fairly reserved? )

he's quiet but able to socialize, and hes really thoughtful and sweet and really enthusiastic in a gentle way when hes passionate

4. are they married? got any kids?

married with three kids :'

5. what’s your favourite memory with them?

im always torn between most of our memories together but i think when i gave him his cupcakes, or maybe during teachers day when we were walking together down to the canteen, we were talking about a rather depressing topic of my college LMAO but it was really nice talking to him in a softer situation, seeing the gentleness in his eyes, it was really comforting talking to him again

6. what was your first impression of them?

that he was scary looking LMAO

7. what’s your favourite thing about them (physically or personality wise)

physically, his dimples or his eyes. personality, his thoughtfulness or his memory, hes always remembering things about me and its really nice because almost no one does that

8. do you have a song that you associate with them? if so, what is it?

maybe secret love song by little mix or dandelions by ruth b, but fundamentally hes super lana coded but i do have a really complicated attachment to him and yellow by coldplay so there's that

9. have you ever had an argument with them? if so, what about?

phew nope

10. are you attracted to them romantically? or platonically?

i think a mix between platonic and romantic, its like a silly crush but still i am deeply attached to him emotionally

11. if they kissed you (and it wasn’t illegal) what would you do?

i would just short circuit

12. do you think they know about your crush?

i dont know, but ive made my favoritism towards him very obvious HAHHA

13. what would be your ideal date with them?

walking around with him and just talking about anything and everything, holding hands and maybe going to a museum with him too

14. do you have any inside jokes? if you feel comfortable sharing, what are they?

nope unfortunately :' but now we do talk about the day i gave him passion fruit cupcakes for his birthday HAHAHA

15. how often do you see them?

almost every time i go back to my high school

16. have you ever cried over your tc? if so, why?

thankfully not with him

17. what did they do their degree in? is it the subject they teach now?

I HAVE NO IDEA but i am dying to know what his degree is

18. do they do any sport? if so, what?

he does play soccer quite well and he runs too, but im not sure how often, he is a huge soccer fan though. he did say he'd drop by to the table tennis club and play with me one day if he's free, but that was last year during my table tennis finals competition so i doubt he remembers but oh wellsss :'

19. what do you think they do in their spare time?

i think he would spend time with his family, he looks like he reads too

20. do you have any photos with them? if so, how did you get them?

YASS i have like at least six and i just ask him for them HAHHA he always gives in to me :'

21. do you plan on staying in contact after you leave?

yess we are still staying in contact-ish? im still going back to my high school and seeing him around and talking to him!

22. what’s your favourite scenario you’ve made up in your head about them?

us just talking about life and holding hands, i dont know why but im really obsessed with holding his hand, it just seems so comforting to me???

23. have you ever seen them outside of school?

NO BUT I WANT TO

24. does anyone else know about your crush? who?

like my sister teases me about it, my junior is done with my bs and that's probably about it? almost everyone knows i favour him but they dont know my obsession i guess

25. what animal do they remind you of?

i used to think a tiger but then i decided agaisnt it and im thinking a mix between a wolf and a fox

26. do you know when their birthday is? would you get them a gift?

YESSS i baked passion fruit cupcakes for him!!

27. how did you realise you were in love with them? was it love at first sight? or gradual?

i think ive always been in love with him, my heart knew but my brain took a regretfully long time to catch up, mistaking it for just curiosity :'

28. do they drink / smoke that you know of?

he probably drinks, probably doesnt smoke but it would be hot if he did both AHAHHAH but oh wells

29. if you could reenact a movie scene with them (from any movie!) what would it be? which character would you be and which would they be?

my brain just popped the proposal into my head, the part where andrew says "marry me, because i'd like to date you" and as a kid it was the most romantic thing ive ever seen or heard but i dont know, i'd love to do a ballroom dancing scene with him, or maybe something from lalaland, he feels like a lalaland coded person I DONT KNOW

30. what’s the weirdest dream you’ve ever had about them?

i have no idea actually, i dont often dream of him

[lloke]

I am a person who tends to get very emotionally attached to physical objects -- mostly things that have nostalgic memories attached to them, favorite toys from my childhood and so forth. I've been like this ever since my second birthday, when I was so attached to the cake that I cried when my mom started cutting it. This was only the first of the many conflicts I've had over the years with my mom, a Marie Kondo type whose favorite hobby is throwing things away and who really does not understand why I would ever want to keep something around that doesn't have any immediate practical use.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm like this because my episodic memory is unusually poor, so if I don't hold onto these mementos I just won't have anything of the past left.  People often think I have a good memory because I can rattle off all sorts of facts about my fandoms or other obsessive interests; but the only reason I remember all that stuff is because I'm so deeply immersed in the topic in question -- I've read it/content about it over and over again, I'm constantly following discussions of it online, etc., which of course makes it stick in my head. But I actually have a very poor memory for things I've only read/watched/experienced once, and I find that very sad and frustrating. Like I'll read a book and a year or two later I'll barely remember anything about it -- as if it passed right through my brain and out the other side without leaving anything behind at all. It makes me feel like all the time I spend reading books is largely wasted, since I retain so little of what I read. Meanwhile I have a friend who's able to recite in detail the plot of a movie he only saw once a decade ago. My family went on all these great trips to national parks and stuff when I was a kid and gave us all these great experiences and I don't remember any of it (while Dad will still remember what corner of the parking lot we parked in on our trip to Yellowstone in 1997 or whatever).

Given that memory is closely tied to emotion, maybe my being less emotional than other people is part of why I have such a bad memory. But it sucks -- losing your memory feels like losing your self. And when someone dies, and now they remain only in your memory -- but you barely even have any of that?

Mom also doesn't have the best memory in the world, though -- and it's getting worse as she gets older -- so I don't know if this can really explain the difference between our attitudes toward sentimental possessions. I don't know if "I need this stuff because my memory sucks" would mean anything to her. I think she prefers to focus on the present so she doesn't really understand wanting to dwell on the past.

I was looking through some old journals and things that I've held onto from elementary school and one of the writing prompts I had been given apparently was "something you will always remember" and I described an event (an occasion when I lost some beloved toys) which I have no memory of now. But in a sense I was right that I would always remember it -- because I wrote it down, and I kept that notebook all these years. If this is all that I can have of my past -- the scribblings of a child whose mindset my 35-year-old brain can no longer even really conceive of, much less remember what it was like to actually be that person -- well, then I guess I'll take it.