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lyinginmeadow · 2 days ago

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Breakaway | hockey!Azriel × reader

Summary: You're not a fan of a kiss cam. And neither is your boyfriend.

Word count: 1,8k

Warnings: swearing, miserable knowledge of hockey (sorry yall), Rhys being a protective asshole over his sister

A/n: Anyone a hockey fan? No, just me? Okay. Another thing is, that I described university as I know it in my country haha. I hope no one will be confused

Also yes, I did take inspiration from tiktok. I just loved that scene <3

Leaves started to fall which meant your favorite season was starting. You loved anything and everything that came with autumn. The pumpkin spice, moody weather, sweaters, and books. With autumn knocking on your door, the new semester has begun. You didn't mind studying, you actually enjoyed it to a certain degree, but the stress is what always got to you during exams. You were just starting your second year of university, so you knew what to expect. To many that was all. Just endless studying and partying to get their minds off things. You? Not really. Ever since you could remember, fall meant the hockey season started. Were you a hockey player? No, not at all. Ice skating was your passion, just not hockey. That didn't matter, because your brother was the golden child. Rhysand played because your father used to. You would never say it out loud, mainly because it would inflate his ego even more, but Rhysand was a star player. He was so much better than your father and you knew that if he wanted to, he would make it far.

Rhys never acted towards you with any malice other than just a bit of sibling rivalry. He was actually quite protective of you, given the fact you were his little sister. But whatever you did was never good enough for your father. You might study medicine, but Rhys was finishing law. You might figure skate but you were no hockey player. And most of all, you were a woman. And your father despised you for it. You were expected to make it to every game, but no one ever wanted to attend your competitions. You enjoyed watching the games, especially when Rhys met his best friends and teammates at university. The games became so much more interesting when Azriel entered the ice. Rhys might be the captain and the center, but Azriel was a force to be reckoned with, the fastest player in the rink. You became friends with both Cassian and Azriel quickly since you often visited their house to get away from your parents. Rhysand of course was glad but you knew you were off-limits to his friends. Not only was it obvious in how he glared at both of them whenever they made a comment he didn’t appreciate. But the first time you met, Cass basically undressed you with his eyes. From what you heard he reminded them often to not mess with his sister.

It did not stop you from developing feelings for him the moment you laid eyes on him. For a while, it did seem he viewed you only as his best friend's little sister. Which you had a hard time accepting. Your relationship changed when you sneaked into a party they had thrown in celebration of a victory last year. You were a first-year, and your first semester at university had been hectic, but living close to your brother and away from your parents was a long-awaited blessing. Having a taste of freedom made you bold. Azriel couldn't take his eyes off of you, you had been like a magnet. He hadn't been the only one as you attracted the attention of another freshman. Azriel might not have acted on his attraction towards you before but seeing you with another man changed that. One thing led to another and you were sneaking out together whenever you found time.

It had been a year and your brother still had no clue. And you intended to keep it that way. You loved your boyfriend, you didn't want to worry about his teeth off the ice as well. Cassian on the other hand suspected, thankfully as you introduced him to your friend, Nesta, he became preoccupied and dropped the matter.

''So who do you think will win? And be honest, they're not here, you can't hurt their fragile egos.'' Nesta disturbed your train of thought. You laughed shaking your head. You loved hanging out with her because of how direct she was, always saying exactly what was on her mind. You met Nesta when your university did a charity ballet on the ice of Nutcracker. You got the role of Clara and she was your ballet counterpart. You did not expect to establish a friendship with her, but she was exactly who you needed in your life. You knew she would call you out on your bullshit anytime and you liked her for it. She also happened to be the first person you told about Azriel. She was not surprised, saying that you weren't being as secretive as you thought you had been.

''You know I am still biased since I really want our team to win. The Cavaliers are good and they play dirty. But Cass will probably try to kill Eris on the ice. Given the history and all.'' You gave her a pointed look. Shifting your gaze to the rink, you tried to find number 38.

''They’ve got no chance against VU.'' Said a guy next to you. You hated when someone butted their way into a conversation. But given the fact, that you would be spending about two hours in close proximity, you had decided for a polite smile. ''I guess so.''

''So how come you've got such good seats? Know someone on the team?'' He chimed in again.

''You could say that. My brother is the captain.'' You answered keeping your eyes on Azriel as he warmed up.

''Rhysand is your brother?''

''Unfortunately.'' You nodded, and his eyes grew in size. ''That's so lucky! I wish I was a hockey player or just knew them. You see, I got these seats because I'll be writing an article about the game.'' You smiled politely again shifting your gaze to the rink when the puck was just about to hit the ice.

As the game progressed, the crowd became electric. All the fans were shouting and your ears began ringing. Velaris Bats were in the lead, but only by one goal and everyone was nervous. To make the game even more enjoyable, there were games for the fans as well. Students competed against one another to win points for their university and win the competition of the tribunes.

The competitions were fun and good entertainment during breaks. But while the game continued the camera was turned on. You laughed at a random do a meme moment, but quickly turned your head back to the ice. You didn't want to miss a second of Azriel's game. Fully focused, you didn't realize that the camera switched to a kiss cam. A guy sitting next to you turned his head to face you and pointed to the TV earning your attention. ''I mean when in Rome, right?'' He laughed as he tried to close the distance. ''Yeah, no, thank you.'' You laughed nervously shifting in your seat.

''Oh come on, it's just a kiss.'' He pressured, and you gave a panicked look towards the ice. You heard Nesta taking a sharp inhale to give the guy a piece of her mind. You were interrupted by shouts of the fans and loud banging on the glass.

''Back the fuck off.'' You couldn't hear Az properly, but the message was quite clear, making the guy shift his gaze between the two of you uncomfortably. Az got two minutes for stalling the game which made the crowd boo and your brother yell obscenities as he often did when one of his teammates was sent to a bench. Thankfully during the power play the Cavaliers didn't get a goal in, but it was close. It only enraged Rhysand more which was abundantly clear when he almost broke his stick as the second period came to an end.

Azriel was sending daggers to the guy sitting next to you who looked like he wanted nothing more than to leave. He relaxed when the players left for their locker rooms. You just hoped Rhys didn't look much into Azriel's possessive behavior.

''What the fuck was that?'' Roared Rhys as he entered the locker room.

''I don't know what you're talking about.'' Azriel continued to take off his gear.

''Do not play with me! You could have cost us the game.''

''I was thinking I did you a favor. He had no right to touch her like that.'' He finally faced Rhysand.

''It was a fucking kiss cam.''

''She didn't want to be kissed. And he didn't back off.''

''So what? You made it your mission to help her while you were supposed to pay attention to the puck?'' Spit Rhys. Everyone in the locker room was silent watching the two stubborn players go head to head.

''Yes! And I would do it again.'' Azriel retorted.

''I could have you off the team for this.'' He hissed.

''Rhys-.'' Cassian signed. ''Be my guest.'' Azriel interrupted starring Rhysand down. He wouldn't back down. He couldn't. He knew you could have handled yourself back there. Hell, Nesta was there, too and she wouldn't let some guy do anything disrespectful. He just acted on an impulse. When he looked up and saw your panicked gaze, something shifted inside him. Rhys kept watching Azriel, staring right into his soul when suddenly his eyes grew larger as if recognizing what he should have seen from the very beginning.

''You've got to be kidding me.'' When Azriel didn't answer, Rhys continued, ''Tell me you don’t have a thing for my little sister.’’

''Azriel, I swear to everything that is holly, I will fucking punch you if you don't give me an answer.''

''We are together. Have been for almost a year.'' Azriel never saw anyone have an aneurysm. But if he could guess, Rhysand was a textbook example of how it looked like.

''I take it back, I will punch you anyway.'' And he might have if Cassian wasn't there to catch Rhys. ''Easy there killer. The game is still on. And you might not like it but Az is an asset.''

''I don't want to see you anywhere near her, understand? I know how you are with girls!'' Rhysand snarled.

''You know I can't do that.''

''Then you're off the team.''

''Fine.''

As they returned to the ice, the tension between Velaris Bats was palpable. Cassian was looking between his teammates probably trying to find a quick solution to the problem at hand. Azriel wasn't paying you any attention keeping his gaze on the ice only. You frowned slightly. When you looked at Rhys you found him staring back at you anger oozing out of his every move.

He knew.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acotar hockey au

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eddiethebrave · 15 hours ago

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secret admirer part twenty-five

1043 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three twenty-four

That morning…

Eddie it really sucks that you’re the only you other than the fact that two eddies would be amazing on it’s own, i realized that you don’t know how it feels to have your attention it’s so intense dude you’re so intense in the best way, of course i can only hope that i get to experience that feeling more in the future maybe in the present, too p.s. i got your book again yesterday, here’s hoping second time’s the charm -H

Yesterday, Eddie thinks, he should have been more present and paid attention to what H’s note said. He’d sort of gone into tunnel vision when he’d been - however jokingly - accused of not understanding one of his books. It kind of made him wish for the first time that he could talk back. He’d contemplated just walking up to Hagan during lunch, but decided not to. He wouldn’t want to make anyone suspicious of the guy, no matter how much of an asshole he tends to be to everyone else. Eddie just isn’t that kind of person.

The audacity of a jock who’s admitted to only reading books for school - and for Eddie - to allege that Eddie needs to read a book more than once in order to understand it.

Has he read all of his favorite books more than once? Yes, but that’s only because they’re his favorites!

And does he notice something new nearly every reread? Also yes, but he chooses to believe that’s what Tolkien intended. It’s like a scavenger hunt of foreshadowing and little things to get excited about even when you know the ending.

Anyway, Eddie is decidedly less preoccupied today and he’s been wondering what book H is reading.

His curiosity leads him to venture into the school’s library before he heads to the lunchroom.

He tries to recall which books he’d checked out the last couple of months. Once he’s compiled his mental list, he tracks them down one by one. Eddie checks the card that’s in a pocket inside the front cover of each book on the off chance that Hagan’s name is logged on any of them - it’s not.

Eddie does find it interesting, though, to see a pattern in a few of the names he does see. Those that pop up multiple times are mostly people he recognizes from Hellfire.

He slowly eliminates each book until he’s left with one that’s not on the shelf. The Return of The King. The last book in the The Lord of the Rings series.

Most staff - like the students - at Hawkins High aren’t very happy when they see Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson approaching them. The school librarian isn’t one of them, though. Eddie’s been traipsing through this library for the better part of four years.

Before he’d procured his prickly personality and style as a defense mechanism to the hostile environment of high school in rural Indiana, Eddie found shelter among the creaky furniture, shelves lined with books, and Ms. Hewitt.

She’s seen his sorry face more times than you can count and has always greeted him with a smile. Today is no different.

He asks her about The Return of the King.

“Someone beat ya’ to it. Nice young man, he was.”

And while Eddie wouldn’t necessarily refer to Tommy Hagan as nice, he would for H.

Eddie thanks and bids her farewell and then he’s off to lunch.

He’s still having trouble conflating Hagan and his better half as the same person.

So, H read the last book of an already complicated series without any backstory. No wonder he was so fucking confused. Eddie laughs to himself just imagining it. Against his better judgment, he’s hopelessly endeared.

He’s late to lunch, but it’s not as if he was planning on paying for what the school thinks passes for food, anyway.

When he takes his seat at the head of the table, Jeff places an apple from his homemade meal in front of him without even looking his way or pausing his debate with Gareth (the freshman who’d flipped Eddie’s world upside down by unknowingly revealing H’s identity as the one and only Tommy fucking Hagan).

Eddie absentmindedly munches on the fruit as he takes up his usual lunchtime hobby of gazing at a certain jock’s table. He finds it sort of odd when Harrington - Steve - forces Hagan to play musical chairs or some shit, but Eddie’s not intrigued enough to care, really. He does catch sight of Hagan’s red face and clenched jaw, though. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the guy was pissed.

The change of seats provides Eddie with something more worthwhile to look at, so he’s not complaining. Steve seems in high spirits, and Eddie feels his own mood brighten in return.

When their shared elective comes along, Eddie finds himself jittery as he awaits the boy’s arrival. It makes him feel sort of silly, but not enough to lessen the excitement when Steve finally arrives.

The jock takes his seat between Eddie and Carol and turns to greet the latter.

“Carol, Robin.”

“Steve,” the girls say simultaneously without looking in his direction at all. Eddie doesn’t pretend to know what’s going on there, and he honestly doesn’t want to.

Steve then turns to his left to face Eddie, and the last thing he needs is to be limited to the same dry conversation - if you could even call it that - so he cuts him off once he starts.

“Ed-”

“Steven Harold Harrington III. How now?” Eddie has never been the best at English accents, but he figures it gets the point across just fine.

Steve’s face splits into a grin before he forces his expression into a stoic one. He continues to adopt the most heinous English accent Eddie has ever heard - including his own. “That’s His Majesty Steven Harold Harrington III to you, Edwin,” he says snottily.

Eddie can’t help but break into his own grin. Never mind the fact that Eddie’s name isn’t fucking Edwin, but Edward. Few people embrace his antics, let alone engage in them.

Eddie is so gone on this boy. He was kidding himself thinking he could stay away.

Steve Harrington might just be the end of him.

tag list (closed)

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#cuties #eddie is so easy to please #he's so oblivious #i love writing his pov #i tried to make this one a bit longer than usual bc i was starting to piss myself off a teensy bit #also #love that i'm the only one who knows what's happening behind the scenes in the bubblescoops universe #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #tommy hagan

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cemetegee · 1 day ago

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Dying as a Skill Issue

I just made a post about Ianthe's "Dying is for suckers." quote and now I realized that "Dying as a skill issue/dying as failure" is actually an essential part of her character.

In the psychogram story The Unwanted Guest she talks about it even more. She presents several deaths of known characters to Palamedes and tells him why they have died in her opinion:

Ortus did not die because Crux was an asshole and killed him, but because he was too sad.

Abigail did not die because Cytherea murdered them, but because she brought her husband to Canaan House as her cav. (This point is especially random. As if Cytherea wouldn't have slaughtered Babs as well...)

(It's by the way interesting that she doesn't mention Jeannemary and Isaac here. Maybe even she knows that that would be hella tasteless. Ooorrrr she has a different reason.)

Dying is for suckers in her opinion and dead people died because of a lack of skill.

That even partly explains why she wants to become a Lyctor (and likely a God or even more than a God) so much: Dying would be a personal failure to her.

#it's amazing how much I re-discover the joy of books lately #Fun fact 2: I updated my phone system and it took me an INSANE amount of time to re-find the color I used to use for marking #ianthe tridentarius #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb #the unwanted guest

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pricesprincess · 1 day ago

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from this ask | fat fem! reader | asshole oc for story purposes

simon riley really did live up to his nickname ghost with the way he followed you from place to place and any obstacles didn't matter to him, not when it came to know if you were safe or not.

he knew your schedule like his own and after years of being together it was just natural and simon couldn't just give up on the notion that you weren't his wife anymore so that's why he calls you everyday.

it could be about the weather, if things around your apartment need to be fixed, or if any men are hitting on you at your job because the idea of you moving on makes him sick to his stomach with dreadful pain.

but the first thing he always asks is are you okay love? because he wants to know if you are doing alright, perhaps without him and it seems that you're struggling with it all as well.

so when you ask simon to crash your date when you're halfway through dinner because he keeps making odd comments that put you on edge the moment you two sat down from each other there was no way he wouldn't help you.

your date was polite at first but something in your gut was warning you to text simon a simple word. red. he knew what it would mean.

"i'll be right back, i just need to freshen up." you murmured with a fake smile as you grabbed your purse and stood up knowing that if you were to be honest he could flip out and do something crazy.

your date nodded looking you up and down with a slight lip curl. "you could've dressed better and sprayed more perfume." his words were said so nonchalantly like they couldn't hurt a person's feelings.

you couldn't get away from his faster.

once in the bathroom you leaned against the wall pulling up simon's contact, the picture was of him and the cat you had custody of, princess q-tip who you had to beg him to do it but gave in quickly.

white with blue eyes and spoiled since you weren't too sure on having kids with his job, while you would love to have a baby with him it was the practical thing to do right now.

instead of texting you called him.

hearing simon's rough voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand. "hello? everthing ollright love?" the use of your nickname had your mouth going dry knowing you only had so much time.

"i'm on a date and its in the red, if you're busy i know i can always call the guys too and one of them can save me." your words tumbled out in a rush you were nervous he didn't hear and you'd have to repeat it.

in the background you heard the television click off and simon grunt as he stood up to get dressed. "send me your location." he hung up giving you some time to prepare yourself before going back out.

when you came back your date was flirting with the waitress, his eyes undressing her as she stood there until she finally saw you and smiled awkwardly before leaving you two alone.

"don't worry about her, your rack is a lot bigger." he told you with a wink and tipped his beer back all but chugging the thing as you watched with a slack jaw, you weren't offended when insults came from people who were clearly miserable with themselves.

the moment you leaned down to grab your water cup to splash him with it you smelt him before you felt his hand on your hip giving it a squeeze as he towered over the table casting a shadow over it.

his intense gaze cut through the air like sharp daggers intimidating the man who looked up at your ex-husband who pulled on his mask for old time-sake. "she's coming home with me." simon told him.

there was no arguing from your date which only made you laugh mentally as simon guided you away from the table and prying eyes, his lips brushing against your ear. "you deserve a lot better than that."

his words were laced with a profound sense of sadness and his sentence had a double meaning. "thank you for saving me, i don't think i'm going to date for a while after all that." you murmured and let him walk you to his car and open the door as usual.

almost like you were both on autopilot.

simon listened as you told him about your date and you both laughed and joked about everything which was really what you needed and then when the porch light flicked on as simon pulled his car up into the driveway he knew he shouldn't ask but did so anyway.

"can i come in for a nightcap?" he asked turning to look at you before tugging his mask off, it was a rare sight that he never let anyone see.

without saying anything you leaned over and kissed his scarred cheek. "of course, i'll make your favorite." you told him with a grin feeling your heart ache at being so close to him again.

#honeywrites #simon x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n

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musings-ofthe-unamused · 2 days ago

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Hate It (Boku no Hero Academia)

Pairing: Hawks x Reader

Wordcount: 442

Warnings: NSFW, hate sex, rough sex, dirty talk, Hawks

A/N: I hate Hawks, love writing hate sex... so the answer of what to do was obvious!!

If you want full version of this, please comment to let me know!

Request Status: Open

Reblogs welcome <3

You hated Hawks with your entire being. He was cocky, an asshole, and never knew when to shut up. Even if he was the number two hero, you thought he was a great example of how shitty the world is and how everything caters to heroes and not the people. You could rant for hours about the corruption into today's hero society. About how people like him do nothing but-

"Pay attention."

You let out a yelp as Hawks yanked on your hair, pulling you up against him. He was currently pounding into you relentlessly, one arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand was wrapped in your hair. What had started as an argument had spiraled into you being railed in the office of his agency.

"Look at you. Not so mouthy now, are you?"

"Shut… shut up." You hissed as you pressed back against him.

He chuckled. "Why? You seem to be enjoying this. You're practically squeezing me to death, baby bird."

You hated this. You hated how you couldn't stop moaning. You hated how you loved feeling his breath against your ear, his arm holding you securely to his body. You hated that with every thrust, you craved more and more. You wanted nothing more than to yell at the bastard, but you didn't want him to stop.

Hawks could tell how much you loved it. You spasmed against him, milking him with every deep thrust into you. His cock felt like it was made for this. For making you moan for him, for making you crave him. He was gonna go insane from how good you felt. He had always loved how you hated him. And now he had you squirming and wanting more.

"Such a good little bird." He hummed. His hand went from your hair to your throat. "You love this, don't you? You just love getting fucked by the man you hate."

You whimpered and shook your head. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "N-No. I hate it."

His lips ghosted against your ear. He squeezed his hand around your throat and started to thrust his cock harder and deeper into you. "Really? Are you sure?"

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head from the sheer pleasure. You loved getting fucked by Hawks. If you'd known he'd be this good, maybe you would have started more arguments earlier. Even if you did hate him, you loved getting fucked like this. You loved the way that he seemed the exact right spot to hit, the right words to say. You hate to admit it, but you were starting to like him.

#x reader #fanfic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha hawks #mha x reader #mha #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #hawks x reader #hawks #keigo takami #mha takami keigo #bnha keigo #keigo x reader #takami keigo

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aychama · 1 hour ago

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Bearer of the Red Crown's Birthday

"These pompous assholes." Narinder opened the door to escape outside and take a breather.

"They were never taught to shut the hell up were they?" He rubbed his temples and wondered why was their birthday gift to him was a headeache.

The calm but obnoxiously loud people inside the greathall had gathered to congradulate the King's birthday. Of course it was a big event and many of the nobles were attending. Some even travveled from the other kingdoms.

But to Narinder it was just a nuisance, just like how it was every year.

They had gathered to make connections, threaten eachother covertly or simply suck up to Narinder. He had to put up with these people and act like they wouldn't turn on him with the twirl of any one of his siblings finger.

He was just looking for a place to hide now but it seemed his hiding place was occupied by a slouched figure.

"Lambert?" Narinder noticed the figure in the corner next to the flower bushes.

"BAH!" They shout out a short bleat and turned towards him. Their funny noise and freaked out face was like a cold fresh water being splashed on Narinder's hot and aching head.

"My King! Please, you need to stop sneaking up on me..." Lambert sighed and got up.

Were they getting away from people too? That wasn't good. He had specifically told them to use this oppurtunity to make connections so they could have people helping them with their new lands troubles.

Just as he was about to start his lecture he noticed the neatly folded fabric in Lambert's hands.

"Is this..." he saw the little bow it was wrapped with.

A gift.

Lambert looked at the item in their hands, hesitated a little and presented it towards him.

"For you, yes."Narinder's fingers brushed Lambert's as he took it and started examining it. It was a red and white scarf.

"Aym and Baal said that you get cold easily so... I was actually going to knit it myself but it was way harder to do than I thought it would be. Haha..." They let out a defeated sigh hidden with a tired smile.

"I-it's not an expensive item I know but I-"

"It's made out of your wool." Narinder cut them off as he took off the bow and ran his fingers through the fabric. It was so, oh so soft. He didn't even have to bring his nose closer to it to know it smell like them.

"You can tell?" Lambert's face looked horrified, their smile dropping down as they looked up at him.

They suddenly reached out towards the scarf and started to pull it out of Narinder's hands.

"That's just weird isn't it? I-I knew it would be weird argh stupid Berith-"

"Wh- No!"Narinder did not let go of the scarf and it stretched between the two."Lambert no it's not weird." He looked at them hoping he sounded genuine.

"It's no secret that I like wool and this is perfect." Lambert stopped pulling and looked at Narinder, unsure.

He had gotten many presents today. So many that he lost count. So many things that he did not care. Jewelry, expensive items, some magical crystals, decorative weapons. Presents that were given to a King so that they wouldn't lose face or even worse, so that the noble families could look at eachother and say 'Look at how rich I am. The King surely likes me more than all of you so I can use him to scare you and get my way'. It was all so obvious and so shallow that he thought the amount of jewelry and necklaces were going to stuf his throat so much that he could drown without water.

But this,

This was from Lambert.

And it didn't have any underlying intentions.

Narinder slowly pulled the scarf from Lambert's hesitant hands.

"I remember reading a book when I was young."

He wrapped the scarf around his neck.

"It was about the culture of our folk."

He adjusted the scarf and both ends hung over his shoulders lovingly.

"And I remember reading that sheep-folk would give eachother gifts made out of their own wool to show their appreciation for eachother." He adjusted the scarf and looked at them to see the curiosity color their pretty face.

"Really?" Lambert asked and he nodded softly.

Narinder knew that Lambert wasn't taught of their own culture. It was...sad... but not unexpected. There wasn't really any sheep-folk in the 5 kingdoms other than them.

To think Shamura's old books he randomly decided to read would have a lot about sheep-folk in them. Too bad that wretched younger brother of his burnt down Shamura's library just because he was jealous Shamura would read books with Narinder... Narinder wishes that Shamura would have killed Leshy right then and there but they didn't. Soft hearted fool who went easy on all of their siblings but not on their enemies. And that included Narinder too.

Narinder shook his head to get rid of the hatred starting to boil up in his gut and focused on the scarf and Lambert. Their smell and their soft wool was all around him, quickly calming him down as he lowered his head to bury the bottom half of his face into the scarf.

He heard the softest giggle.

"You look silly."

Narinder opened his eyes, he didn't even know when he had closed them, and looked at Lambert.

They were smiling so soft and warmly at him. His throat clogged up again but he wasn't feeling bad this time.

"It's clashing with the rest of the jewelry badly."

He couldn't take his eyes off of Lambert's smile as they talked.

He thanked God that he always had his veil because he didn't think he could explain why he was looking at Lambert's smile like it was the only thing in the world.

"And it looks funny with your fancy clothes. Maybe I should have told Berith to make it look more expensive." Lambert laughed. If he could eat their voice he bet it would taste like fluffy candy, he thought.

The two heard some people talking about where the king has gone from inside and Narinder sighed.

Lambert reached towards Narinder's neck and tugged at the scarf.

"You need to go back in right? You can't just look like this in front of everyone. I'll put it next to the pile of gifts-"

He grabbed their arm and stopped them from taking the scarf.

"No." He said firmly.

"But-"

"Who said I would be going in alone? I remember telling a certain someone that they need to make connections because their poor decisions while ruling their own land had left them in a troubling state." He turned the conversation towards Lambert seemlessly to cover up whatever he was feeling right now.

"A-ah that! I have a little bit of a-no actually a big headache from talking with so many- soooo many people yknow?" Lambert stumbled over their words.

Narinder let the silence fall between them to show them he did not believe them.

"Let's go. I suppose I have to be the one to intruduce you to people." Narinder pulled Lambert by the arm that he had grabbed and walked towards the door.

"I'm- My King! You shouldn''t- you don't need to pull me!"

#narilamb #royal au #writings #cotl #cult of the lamb #aychama #cotl lamb #cotl narinder

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beef-brisket · 20 hours ago

Note

Lucifer moved closer to Adam and hugged him.

He hated that he felt this way. And for what? Because a woman lost her baby one hundred or so years ago? Amd she was forcing innocent people to become hosts for her?

It was all a waste in the end. All of those people who got hurt or died weren't even close to being able to being a host for Eva.

Lucifer: I don't think you're a freak. Actually, you're one of the most normal people I've met in a long time.

Adam: ...Seriously?

Lucifer nodded: When I first got mixed up in this shit, I went to look for my wife, who had been missing. Turns out she's been held captive in some fucking house in Louisiana.

Adam: I've heard you mention that.

Lucifer: Yeah, well... you're more normal than those... that family. The mom was a bug nest. Literally. Right on the puss was a fuckimg wasps nest or some shit.

Adam: What the fuck?! That's disgusting!

Lucifer: Imagine being the one to fight her!? She was crawling on the ceiling! Shooting her puss bugs at me! And don't get me started on the dad. He wouldn't fucking die. I mangled his fucking brain and he still got up. The worst was their son. He was completely normal. He pretended to be under Eveline's control. But be wasn't. And... his dad... forced him to merge with him, to become something so... monstrous. Kid was an asshole, but I felt bad for him. Having to pretend he was one of them. Having to watch his family die and be replaced by what Eveline thought a family should be... it's sick. All of it.

Lucifer continued to talk about what he saw and killed those years ago. How it changed him. Changed Eve. Adam listened to all of it.

Adam: Do you think that's what's made Charlie different?

Lucifer: Hm? What do you mean?

Adam: Well... Eve was possessed by Eveline. That could affect Charlie's whole dna. And who knows what happened to you when you were knocked out on that boat. Besides, didn’t mom chop your hand off? And my sister and I stabbed you through the leg.

Lucifer: Wait- what? Do you think I've... got a parasite?

Adam laughed: No! No! There's two types of forms that the parasite can take. One looks like mine, a physical thing under the skin, affecting the nervous system and the brain. But then, there's the mold. It can't really survive here because it's too cold. But it's completely takes over the body. Till there's nothing left. It mimics everything. Blood, organs, the brain, memories- everything. Seems a bit weird that your hands fine after being cut off, don't you think?

Lucifer looked down at his hand. He's never thought about it. He just thought that the healing aid was just that good.

Lucifer: I... just thought that medical stuff was good?

Adam: Oh yeah. Really fucking good. I think Michael should do tests on you and Charlie. Especially you.

Lucifer rolled his eyes: He'd jump at that fucking chance...

Adam: Good. You're very interesting. So... he should test you. Like, for everything. Colonoscopy and everything!

Lucifer laughed and pushed Adam.

But this gave him something to think about. He never thought his healing was weird. He had a lot on his mind that he had never thought about it.

Lucifer: Yeah... maybe I'll get him to run some tests... I'm sure he'd love it... he's a real nerd for that shit...

Have you seen Resident Evil: Village? All I'm saying is Adam and Emily as two of the three sisters and Sera as Lady Dimitrescu.

Lucifer is Ethan trying to find Charlie.

At first, Adam was on his mother and sisters side- but because they have a weird thing against dudes, he eventually helps Lucifer.

Trust me, it feels illegal not to make Adam the stunning Lady Dimitrescu, but for story reasons, he'll be one of her kids.

I mean, their hot. What can I say? Adam would look great like this 🤷

Adam: Mmm- man flesh~.

Lucifer: ...Kinda gay, man.

Adam: It's not gay.

Lucifer: It is- man flesh? Really?

Adam: ...

Lucifer: ...

Adam: *stabs sickle into his leg and drags him away* Mother!

I have seen it! Ha I love this. ((Yes he'd rock being the Lady of the house 😩))

Lucifer: Ow!! What the fuck!?

Adam: It's not gay! Mother was right.

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unsoundedcomic · 2 days ago

Text

Whumptober 2024 - 23 - “Forced Choice”

((First part here))

When first the Lady whispered to me of a cache of forgotten wisdom hidden in the heart of Mmatont Anchert, the image of a library had blossomed in my mind's eye: dusty parchments, fat worm-eaten tomes, crumbling scrolls crowding each other for space on warped and collapsing shelves.

What I had not envisioned was what Rahm and I found when our gruff guide opened the Living Wood door.

A breeze colder than ice assailed us from a chamber of unbroken blackness. I could see no ceiling and see no walls; only a rectangle of floor smeared golden before our feet by the light of the Soud's torch. I stepped into it. My boots crunched over the fragile granules of ancient insect carapaces and layers and layers of… bird droppings?

The door closed behind us suddenly - very theatrical, pissmop! - and Rahm and I were in the dark.

"A moment, a moment," he muttered. I imagined him smacking his lighter against the heel of his hand and yes, it cracked suddenly to life with a muted blue burst. Despite the chill, Rahm's face was shiny with sweat, eyes wide, nostrils flared. I imagine my expression was similar, though more handsome of course.

"It stinks like Juste," I whispered.

"Birds."

Aye. Birds. I hooked his elbow with my own and we moved deeper into the room. Rahm thrust the wee pymaric light before us, but it made few inroads through the ink: no walls, no structural planes to catch the glow and reveal themselves; only an empty void where we had expected so much.

"I hope that boy is all right," Rahm said suddenly. I yelped a nervous laugh - I could not help it! - and he tensed against my arm.

"You know they have killed him. Let it go. He was nothing to us. Perhaps he touched children or worse! Licked his fingers at the supper table! Put your mind on why we've come."

My arm was colder and the room a bit blacker when he pulled away from me. "You're an asshole, Bastion. I know where your mind is."

"My mind is fixed firmly upon obtaining the algorhythms needed to chase the pieces of the scattered human soul, I have never hidden this-"

"In order to bring your sister back!" Rahm sounded triumphant, as though he was exposing to the light some long hidden and grimy secret. I always did love my self-righteous friend. And so I hated to scoff at him, but I cannot control my ego when it is in control. Which is often. Daily. Hourly.

"I had to pick SOME deceased subject, Rahm. She is as good as any other. I knew her well, I can identify whatever mind that reconstitutes as either belonging to her, or evidencing too aberrently. Should I have chosen that lovely young soprano who threw herself off the Spire last year, bashing her pretty brains out all over Rue Jonovan? I didn't even know her favourite colour."

Rahm's lips worried over his teeth with unvoiced emotion. I frankly did not give a whore's fart whether he believed me or not. I continued: "You? Your mind? You are after the resurrection of your dead son. And not for the good of us all, not to overcome the gods' crime, not to raise us from the muck that mortality condems us to; you wish it to apologise to your wife and to mend your cracked heart. Well, I think that is a WASTE - a disgraceful WASTE of a spellwright's intellect and a great man's mind!"

A strange expression passed over Rahm's face. For a moment I was fearful he would weep. But that was not quite right. It was sorrow yes, but… why, if I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was sorrow for ME.

What a fool that Rahm Ripa.

"What is here!" he suddenly challenged the emptiness, and wheeled away. He spun about, blue light feebly punching at the black, dust motes wildly bobbing. I saw a single small feather catch, then vanish again. "We were told of this place by Lady Ilganyag, Eldest of the Old! Who heard the First Words spoken and saw the Arbiter Khert take hold!"

No response.

"Try it in Tainish," I suggested. Rahm glowered deeper. Understandble. Dreadful bother to translate and localize verse, you always lose something. One really must learn Continental to enjoy the written works of Gari Fiat at all.

"Look onto the khert," he bade me sharply.

"Ach, very well, but you watch my back while I am vulnerable." I felt the Lady stir in my thoughts but say nothing as I complied. With a steady inhalation, I imagined my breath sweeping the flesh and blood and baggage from my bones; my bones themselves crumbling like ash behind me as I stepped forward through myself, and opened my eyes to the khert-lines.

I stumbled. Rahm caught my arm. A fool, but a friend.

Cutting golden through the blackness, the khert-lines here were thick as hawsers, knotted and twisted around themselves, Aspects and ghosts both sluggishly pulsing through them as though as cold as we were. Phantoms fitfully fluttered in the far, far corners of the room, and still more spiraled against the ceiling far above, skittering blind ghost fingers for some khert-line to follow towards freedom. Feeling Rahm watching me, I dropped my gaze and squinted through the gilded slashes, leading him deeper in.

There. An undefined void against the golden glow of the khert, I saw a Shape. It was a well-known shape to any son of Juste and follower of the Lady. The lines skittered around it, unable to intersect, and the ghosts themselves seemed repulsed. I heard Rahm gasp. A familiar belch of panic gripped my midsection when I tried to return to my fleshly eyes and found them sluggish. Then I steeled myself and with a moment's concerted effort the khert was blinked away, the blackness was returned - burning with no after images, no scintillation of pupils dilating - and I was immediately able to see the blacker black that loomed before us.

Every filament of Silver throughout my body burned hot. The torc at my throat clenched enough to leave me breathless.

In crackling old Tainish, the great Agib asked: "What do these Humans desire."

Oh, what a creature! Imagine a great avian raptor as tall as two men, of ebon plumage and silver razor talons. Now stretch its neck out to thrice the length of its body, give it the beak of a crow, golden human sclera, and irises red as fresh blood.

Rahm gibbered a moment and grabbed his own collar. Then our torcs relaxed, leaving us panting in tandem. Distantly sexy. The bird cocked its head to the side, then level again, then back. It was looking at Rahm's wee lighter. It occurred to me that a creature such as this must not often see such devices. In fact this was a newer design out of the Fluirstadt workshops, using starfly lymph and mirrors, and likely completely revolutionary to such a Mmatont shut-in.

"Give that to Agib," croaked the bird.

Rahm moved to comply and I snatched at his arm. I swear to the dead gods these Crescians do not know how to negotiate.

"We are come for knowledge," I interjected, making the lighter my own. I crushed the shiny bargaining chip to my chest, afraid he'd snatch it. "Lady Ilganyag sent us. She-"

The agib exploded into movement! It drew up on its claws, extended its legs, and shook open its dusty wings! They reached to the ceiling, embers of red burning deep at the roots of the primary quills. "Not the Lady of this Agib!" I think it said. The words were so garbled, the vocabulary so archaic. "Not the Lady of this Agib!"

Inside my head, my own bird was still.

"She wants not a thing from you!" I called, "My compeer and I wish only discourse with a brother scholar, one that I recognise has a savvy appreciation for pymary and pymarics! We have more than this lighter; we have an entire collection with us - in our luggage - of the most modern devices in use today. More than I can say of these savages keeping you prisoner."

"Agib is no prisoner," said the bird. Indeed, I realised suddenly there were no chains on this creature. But what a black, sad room it had been crushed inside. How was this more than a cage of stone, the floor a morass of shit and feathery down-

Oh, shit. SHIT. It had been shitting. Eating. Senet beasts only eat to repair wounds.

"Great injury," the bird lamented, folding its wings. Looking closer, I saw gaps in its primaries, and grievous half-healed fissures in its breast and legs.

"You fought with something," Rahm guessed politely. The monster shifted. All its plumage puffed suddenly, throwing off dust and muck in a choking cloud. It shook, then settled, its down sinking and skirting over its fearsome First Silver talons. Red eyes swung between my face and Rahm's.

"What do these Humans desire?" it asked again, "Humans of Ilganyag. Agib will give you single thing. You will all your precious creations give. Give to Agib all your precious creations. Single thing will Agib give."

Doubt nibbled at me. I knew that these creatures had for all time been the keepers of pymary, for they were the keepers of Old Tainish, the first language of the world. They alone fluently spoke the first words, and had taught them to men when they had thought them ready. If there were secrets, these testy great squawkers would have them. Having had one nesting inside of me since I was a boy, few know them as well.

But this monster did not seem as… put together, as my Lady Ilganyag.

Rahm must have had similar thoughts for he asked: "Who are you, my Lord? How can Humans know what it is Agib… Agib has to give?" It was charming to hear the Crescian try to modulate his Tainish into the old cadence, and use the older words.

"Agib knows," it replied simply.

"Agib knows words," Rahm agreed, "And Agib… knows that words can be spoken to… mirror reality, or to conjure a reality that is not real."

The beast twitched and threw its head, frustrated with the pair of us. I think it had grown accustomed to its solitude. "Humans," it said, "Humans invented the thing that is lying. Ilganyag lines her nest with it! Agib do not lie. Agib love the garden, admire the garden, protect the garden; never is there cause to speak untrue words about the garden!"

"But how can we KNOW?"

The beast puffed its breast and throat again, weaving its long, long neck in a serpent pattern. Rahm extended mollifying hands, his rings flashing in the soft blue light. The sight of them captured the bird's wandering eye. I chuckled. Apparently it loved shinies just as much as my mistress.

Without looking away from the glinting jewellery, in hisses and croaks it recited: "The garden is the garden, paths and stones fixed. Motive and movements determined. The world is in this garden grown and for this garden meant. To change the garden is to KILL the world. Agib alone know how to plant, to prune; the tools are of the Agib and the Agib alone have the tools. To lie is a tool to shape humans; a lie cannot shape the garden. Human tongues never can twist the heart of the garden; only the hearts of humans."

"That was true once," I said, not caring for its arrogance, "But there is a reason Agib have become passing rare, isn't there? Humans have surpassed you and taken your tools-"

The Agib's terrible eyes flared. "AGIB COULD PRUNE YOU NOW, ILGANYAG HUMAN."

Incomprehensible pain opened my insides like a knife. The sun itself burst out of my entrails, up through stomach and esophagus, into my mouth and devoured my eyes, my sinuses, my brain in fire. I have no memory of how I came to be on the ground but then I was, all of reality shrinking away from me - I was in the dark, screaming.

When sensible again, I saw Rahm crouched protectively over me, shielding me, and the wee lighter was in the Agib's beak. All of my friend's rings were gone. Rahm's lips moved but I couldn't hear his words through my groaning, through the echoing pain.

How was I alive? Briefly, I did not wish to be.

Small red hands come from the beast's silver maw. They drew the lighter in, greedily in, clinking against the other jewellery already in its mouth. Then its bill shut, and we were all of us left in the dark. I sobbed like a child in Rahm's arms.

"He did not speak!" I wailed, "He did not speak!"

"What do these humans desire," asked the Agib a final time.

I desired nothing more in that moment than to flee from this room, from this structure, from this island, and away from this monster. It was nothing like Ilganyag. My Lady leads me on a merry dance, but I know the steps. I can sense her moods like a hound turning its snout to the wind. She hates me, but she loves me too. She feels the same about every one of us.

No similar ambivalence from this bird in the black. I knew it cursed us all, and would peck the eyes from a newborn's skull. It had, too. Somehow I knew that it had, countless times. It had been the God of the Soud Vaghal; one of the things on the mountain beneath whose shadow the primitive Tains had cowered and sacrificed.

"I want nothing," I whispered. I'd never said that before. I'd never meant it. I've not meant it since.

Rahm held me tightly as I shuddered, but he was not so defeated. I wonder now what thoughts were behind his eyes as he cast them through the lightless room and towards the unfathomable power of the Agib in the Dark. Did he think of Iori sobbing over their dead boy? The boy himself, dissolving into the khert like sands captured by the surf and pulled into the sea... I wanted to tell him that no answer this creature gave would be answer enough for any of it.

Rahm shifted softly against me and drew his shoulders back to speak. "I wish for us to fly," he said, "Humans cannot shape the garden, but to look down upon it as the Agib does, and behold its splendour, might inspire our tongues towards the same reverence as yours."

A long moment passed. Very faintly I could hear the muffled clinking of metal inside the bird's body, as its tiny hands turned its new treasures over and over. Then:

"A good trade."

---------

A few days later, Rahm and I were back in Tain. Our boat had landed in a little fishing town called Orniers, similar to Lurick and quite as dull. Still, our inn served a fine side of pork and I had ordered a bottle of Omid Red, stewed apples, and a wedge of that soft cheese they make in the west. Rahm swirled his pour in his slim brown fingers, naked now of their pymaric finery but no less elegant.

I'd felt sour and cross since returning. I had left the monster's room to be ill, but Rahm had stayed behind, conferring with the bird and watching it produce formulae of incredible complexity. Now he had a stack of notes and numbers written with impossible precision - they nearly looked pressed with type.

"Did it use its wee mouth hands?" I asked, piling cheese and pork on a slice of good rye, "Did his human moiety ever emerge?"

"I don't know," Rahm answered, expression distant, "It never rose the lights again and I was afraid it would change its mind if I reached for my second lighter. Sitting in the dark for hours, the great monster writing away, my best friend abandoned me for the toilet-- by the Lady, I've only been that afraid for that long a few times. He may have given me new direction for the flying machine, but he may have taken a fucking year off my life."

"Same," I admitted. Rahm narrowed his eyes at me.

"You have many more to spare."

"That is true and it is not my fault. I say if I do not begin taking Ilganyag's suggestions with more caution going forward, it may not matter. Sometimes I cannot tell if she is trying to get me killed, or merely to humble me. Try these apples, there is some rum in them."

My friend moved a few to his plate. He picked at them with little interest. "What does she say about all this?"

"She is amused," I sighed, "But largely silent. I think she and the Agib in the Dark have some history. She wishes me to instruct you to keep its existence a secret."

"I already promised it the same. Senets and their mysteries."

"Aye."

Night was falling. The fishermen had already docked and I could hear the shout and clamour of the lads unloading their catch. We'd stay one more night there, then hire a vliegeng to take us over the mountain in the morning. I thought again about that mountain; the sacred mountain from the top of which, it was said, all pymary had sprung. What had the Tains given the Agib for it? Surely more than light; more than rings.

"I thought you were after the same thing I was," I baited, pouring my friend a second glass.

"So did I."

"Lose your nerve? I say, men accosting senets for information on how to raise their loved ones must be the most tedious trope to them."

Rahm shook his head. "Didn't you listen to it? We can't shape the garden, Bastion. To attempt to… it would kill the world. Death is a part of it. There is no undoing it. But if I finish the flying machine, then… then there was a point to what happened. There was a reason."

He put the wine to his lips. He never said if he cared for the apples.

I'll be honest with you, my dear and patient readers: my friend's answer stuck in my throat like a stone. It sits there still, and galls me when I visit them; when Iori is fingering her gaudy ugly necklace sadly, and Rahm has red eyes after a late night in his workshop. To look for a reason is to look for your own madness. There is no purpose and no reason. We pattern-seeking rodents exhaust ourselves in pursuit of melody within this maelstrom, but there's only noise, and our ringing ears. There is no purpose and no reason, Rahm.

Yet I know he must live each day acting as if there is. That is the thin membrane of sanity we all tread upon so heavily but so carefully, trying not to snap through.

I love my friend Rahm Ripa.

But I will not be put off by the arrogance and tyranny of created things; things that have seen firsthand what the determination of the grown thing can accomplish. Do you remember it tucked away hiding in its own shit? Do you remember? Something brought to great ruin, that Agib in the Dark. Something rent its breast and broke its wings. Was it another senet? Or was it someone wielding our clever pymarics, and our constructed weaponry, and our determination to obtain the tools we need to shape the garden for ourselves?

I don't know for certain, reader; but I ask you to believe with me, sincerely and with your whole heart, that it was one of us.

#whumptober #unsounded

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icarusredwings · 13 hours ago

Text

Silence

He was SO wrong.

Chapter 2.

Goodbye, my Canadian Swetheart.

Cw: Kidnapping, Straight up torture, Various cruel and unusual punishments, Descriptions of pain and wounds, Angst, Loss of healing factor, loss of voice, guilt, insecurity, crying, hostage situation.

Everything hurts.

Except.. It was a different type of pain. The kind he wasn't used to. Yeah, he's been used to the hilt and left out to dry in his own puddle of his blood before, but he laughed and spit out his own tooth that day. His large intestines hanging out of his body, soaking in the dirty rain like a fucked up steak marinade only to fillet the asshole who dared touch him without a safe word.

But not today. He wasn't healing today... or.. yesterday? What day was it? How long has he been here? Either way, his cells were on strike, holding up microscopic signs with ‘Hey ho we won't go!’ written on them.

A small snort came from his nose, the tiniest smile at the thought. You could torture him yeah but the only thing you're going to do is make him more crazy. Even he knew that. Hell! Everyone knew that!

So what was he trying to accomplish? I mean really, how much more fucked up could he make him?

He couldn't see much. The light above him is off the majority of the time, leaving him in complete darkness but never silence, the screams coming through the wall acting as white noise by now. But at the moment? It was on, swinging from the upstairs movement.

While he wasn't 100% sure? He thought the musty, mildew covered walls and how cold his toes were meant he was in a basement. How many flight's down? A million for all he knew. He had no clue how he even got here.

So now, as he sits, strapped and chained to the chair (that was bolted to the floor by the way) he is staring at the blank wall, studying each crack, wondering where each one came from.

They reminded him of the veins that came out of Logan's arms when he was really pissed off and red with anger. He found himself thinking about Logan a lot down here, his body heavy and his neck throbbing from the collars around it. The fucks had double collared him, keeping him tame and well behaved.

So what else was he supposed to do? Call out in hopes someone would slip from their training and come give him an opportunity to escape? But the top collar was too tight, two holes burned in the side of his neck from all the shocking with each noise he made louder than a whisper. Even a cough set it off.

He wondered, if he could speak now, would Logan come to him? Would he even hear him? Would he spare some time if he called? To come rescue his pathetic ass yet again?

Wade knew Logan loved him deep down, but he wondered if Logan even knew he was missing by now.. did he even care? Why SHOULD he care honestly? He was smart enough to know that Mr. Howlett was probably on the couch right now, unexpectedly waiting for him to come home…

And Honestly? He didn't blame him not one bit if he became buried deep in his memory, something that won't spark his attention until it's far too late.

He wondered- Would anyone come to his funeral? Would they even be able to find the body? Would Logan tell their friends about him? All the sweet gentle touches they shared? Each little date and stupid joke? Would he tell them the truth? Or would he lie and tell them how he saw him instead of how Wade saw himself..

He wondered if he could see the burning hole inside of him, that determination to keep himself from falling apart, how hard he was trying to be the best Deadpool for him.

Trying to prove to the world that he wasn't someone to wave a stick at, that he was a top notch hero just like the rest of them.. Could Logan see that?

Sure, the merc work paid well but what it did to his heart wasn't pretty. His morals have always been flexible. Too flexible.

Wade wanted to be a good person. It's why he listened to the stupid X-men to begin with. Stupid fucking virgin Colossus. Why did he have to go and make him feel like he was worth something? Like that 4 to 5 moments bullshit would actually work out in his favor?

He raised his hopes for nothing. Made him think that he too could be a hero that crowds cheered for when they saw him and kids would point him out and go “GASP!! Mommy it's Deadpool!” and he'd go “Damn right kid! Stay in school or.. whatever.”

Before kicking some major ass in front of them, to further prove just how cool he truly was. This was the only idea that was keeping him together at the seams.

To impress The Wolverine. HIS wolverine. To show him that he deserved to be on the team. One that's well respected and the government has no choice but to call HIM for help. Just a guy with regenerative cancer who really liked guns.

Well… now the ladder was only true but still. His point stood. Unlike him, whose legs were dull and numb from sitting so long in this piss scented concrete singular cell.

Tears came to his eyes as a terrible thought crossed his mind. How would he see him as a good hero if he would never see him again?

Now, he sits here, wondering about him.

He wished he could tell him what to do. Logan was good at this kind of thing. He was good at keeping calm and telling him what to do when he felt like this, when his body betrayed him with such unbearable pain. He would hold him and kiss him, tell him everything would be alright and somehow it always was.

Logan always made everything alright.

Logan has worked so hard to teach him how much he loved him, show him how to water it until it grew. And with just a bit of water and TLC, His rosey heart turned into something incredibly beautiful that he could hold in the palm of his big calloused hands once it blossomed.

Even with all its thorns, there was nobody better than him that he wanted to spend his (apparently) no longer eternal life with. Tears sting his dehydrated dry eyes as they drip down his cheeks, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, wishing this was all just a dream. But still he had the same request..

If only he could see Logan’s face again before he died… he'd be happy..

The heavy metal door opens, Sending just enough excitement through his body to sit his head up, looking at the man who was slowly walking towards him. Was he wrong?! Did he doubt him too much? Has he come to rescue him princess style and blow this place to smithereens while walking away in slow motion?

All he knew? There was only one other man that he wanted to see right now..

‘..Logan?’

#silence au #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool #deadpool 3 #wolverine #deadclaws #read the tags #tw kidnapping #tw torture

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gaywarcriminals · 2 days ago

Text

On Mouthwashing, Qijiu, cruel characters, and the role of discomfort in blorbo analysis.

I recently watched a playthrough and some video essays about the indie horror game Mouthwashing (spoilers ahead). For those not familiar, the game follows a man named Jimmy in a crashed spaceship where he reveals himself to be an unreliable narrator and fucked up in a variety of ways as the game progresses.

Although I’m not immersed in the fandom and thus have a limited sample size, I noticed that people treat him as nearly inhuman. He’s the sole bad actor, a terrible monster destined to hurt everyone. I find this deeply ironic considering the game’s themes of responsibility and accountability: isn’t this kind of dehumanization absolving him of his responsibility to act decently?

It’s also strange to me, because the game goes at lengths to show Jimmy has an enabler. Captain Curly is Jimmy’s friend and boss who is made aware of Jimmy’s erratic and violent behavior multiple times, chooses to do nothing, and ultimately makes possible many deaths through his inaction. Aside from Jimmy’s public outbursts, there are even scenes with a specific member of their crew expressing how unsafe she feels around Jimmy. Despite this, a decent portion of the fandom sees Curly as nothing more than one of Jimmy’s victims, which is curious to me when placed in contrast with Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu.

Yeah yeah I’m blorbo-brained, but I think there’s a lot of points for comparison between Qijiu and Jimmy & Curly, at least in terms of their dynamic and social roles. Jimmy and Shen Jiu are both antisocial assholes with an unhealthy fixation on the generally well liked and affable guy just above them on the totem poll. They’re both convinced their superior is looking down on them, and resent the power he has (SJ less so, he has a lot of other reasons to resent YQY). They both use what power they do have to abuse those below them. Curly and YQY, for their parts, are shown to be explicitly aware of most if not all of their friend’s worrying/dangerous behavior, but do nothing meaningful to stop it.

If they’re so similar, then why in the case of Mouthwashing is Curly often absolved of his complicity in the face of Jimmy’s overwhelmingly awful actions, whereas in the Scum Villain fandom, it’s just as common to see people pin all of SJ’s actions on YQY and vice versa?

Now, there’s a couple obvious reasons for this. For one, Mouthwashing is a horror game and Jimmy very effectively makes himself the antagonist, which lends itself to the interpretation of him as a the monster afflicting the other characters. For another, Jimmy sexually abused a shipmate, which is a particularly despicable crime (although so, I would argue, is child abuse). There’s also the fact that Curly is very physically robbed of agency for most of the game’s runtime, which might make it harder to see his power and agency before that point, but perhaps the most important difference is that to fans, Jimmy is deeply unlikable, and Shen Jiu is not.

Personally, I think the reason a lot of people make Jimmy out to be a monster and Shen Jiu to be tragically misunderstood is simple: it can be uncomfortable to like a bad person.

I don’t think there should be any shame in liking characters who are fucked up people that do horrible things, but I think it chafes at some sensibility within many of us, learned or innate, when we feel such deep emotional connection to a character who’s actions we would normally morally condemn.

I’ve definitely observed that in some parts of the Shen Jiu fandom– it's the kind of sentiment that leads to discounting his canonical actions in favor of fanon. I’ve never found those fanons very compelling because I have never had any discomfort with Shen Jiu’s canonical actions— in fact, him being a despicable if pitiable mess is what drew me to him (I’m typically quite the fucked-up-evil-guy liker). For once, though, I find myself on the other side of this discomfort with Yue Qingyuan.

I was thinking today about how one of the earliest things YQY says to SY!SQQ— his 9th line in the novel— was telling SQQ that LBH is strung up in the woodshed, where SQQ always leaves him after beating him. It implies not just that YQY knows about this singular punishment, but that this is an extended pattern of behavior. To me, YQY seems uncomfortable with the situation, but he does nothing to stop LBH from being abused aside from telling SQQ to “be less hard on him”, even though he’s the only person in the sect above SQQ, and potentially the only one with the authority to stop him.

If Yue Qingyuan knew, did Luo Binghe know the sect leader had found out? Did Luo Binghe know he had been abandoned to his fate?

Like Curly, I think that Yue Qingyuan’s most unforgivable fault as a character was enabling Shen Jiu’s abuse of Luo Binghe and potentially other disciples. I think YQY’s motivations made sense, and I understand the choices he made, but when I think about it for too long I can feel a deep pit in my stomach grow.

Why does YQY’s arguably lesser crime of enabling SJ bother me so much more than SJ’s own direct actions? Perhaps because I still want to see Yue Qingyuan as a good person, whereas Shen Jiu has already declared himself evil. Maybe I’ve been a little bit caught up in our unreliable narrator’s point of view.

Fascinatingly, despite his adoration for Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan cum Shen Qingqiu never (to my recollection at least), blames Yue Qingyuan for SJ’s actions. Instead, he sees YQY as one of SJ’s victims— someone that SJ as good as killed, even if it was LBH’s orders that loosed the arrows.

Shen Qingqiu has a tendency to, for lack of a better term, woobify his favs, and although LBH is by far the most frequent recipient of this treatment, I’d argue that YQY actually receives it more consistently. This is partially because he’s relegated to friendly NPC whereas poor Binghe is the Big Scary Protagonist, but the only time in the whole novel I can think of SQQ seeing YQY as a person capable of harm and fucking up is after YQY’s confession where SQQ puts it together with SJ’s flashbacks, but even then, SQQ sees him more as a cautionary tale for him and Binghe than someone who’s hurt others. Given this narrative bias, I’m honestly surprised* that more of the fandom isn’t simping for YQY too.

Ultimately, I think this discomfort is normal and worthwhile– something to lean into rather than away from. I’d even say it's necessary, should we ever hope to be more media literate than Peerless Cucumber.

*well, I’m not, but that’s a whole piece of fandom history better left untouched

#this one is real stream of consciousness lol #svsss #shen jiu #yue qingyuan #qijiu #mouthwashing spoilers #fish meta #fish rambles

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1toreyouapart · 2 days ago

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The Lies We Tell

* **FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

The Shower Scene

Noah leaned over the sink, watching intently in the mirror as the razor glided across his skin. The pitter-patter of the shower the only sound in the bathroom, broken every so often as water splashed. He had lost track of how many times they'd done exactly this. One of them in the shower while the other did whatever they needed to. And every single time he had to fight tooth and nail not to sneak a peek. Friends weren't exactly supposed to want to see the other one naked. But damn it, he couldn't help it.

With a groan he leaned down, rinsing the remaining shaving cream from his face. Friends also didn't sleep in the same bed more than half the time. Or cuddle the way him and Quinn did. They sure as shit didn't get jealous every time one of them went out on a date. She had such shitty taste in men, too. All of them absolute tools that left her disappointed at the end of every date. Yet she still went back. It made zero sense.

Her phone on the counter lit up. A quick glance and he wanted to vomit. Here she was, getting ready for another date with another boring asshole that if he even made it past the first date would disappoint her, again, by the end of the second or third. What the fuck was she doing wasting her time with these idiots?

"Noah? Can you pass me my towel?"

Noah paused for a moment, wondering just what would happen if he said no. If he made her get out and get her towel herself. It was tempting. Maybe a little too tempting. Resigning himself he grabbed her towel off the rack, passing it through the shower curtain to her.

"Got any plans tonight?" He knew the answer, but fuck it, why not torture himself and hear her say it?

"Yeah." She stepped out of the shower, wrapped up in her towel. "Got a date."

Biting back the words that so desperately wanted to escape he moved aside and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He watched her as she applied her leave-in conditioner. Watched as she wiped her hands on her towel before she picked up her phone. Ignored the pit in his stomach as she responded to whatever the douchebag had said.

"You deserve better."

"You don't even know him, Noah."

"Don't have to. You have fucking terrible taste in men." Noah's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say that. "I'm sorry. Fuck. I shouldn't have said that."

Quinn laughed. Actually laughed. But it wasn't her usual laugh. He could hear the pain hiding behind it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Yes, you did. It's okay, though. You're not wrong. Just look at how we met." Her eyes met his in the mirror. "I would like to get dressed now, if you don't mind."

Noah stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. Of course he had meant it, but he hadn't meant to actually say it. She didn't need to tell him that his words had stung. He could hear it in her voice. See it in the way she looked at him through the mirror.

"I'm just tired of seeing you hurt when they all inevitably do the same stupid shit. I love you, terror pixie." He bent down, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I love you, too, Bigfoot."

She grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners. At least she was smiling again. With a weary sigh he reached up, ruffling her hair before darting out of the bathroom. Part of him, real deep down, knew that if he had just asked her to cancel. To stay home with him, she would have, no questions asked. But that would be selfish. Who knows? Maybe this guy wasn't a total douchebag. And maybe he would turn out to be the love of her life. The thought made him physically ill.

Noah burst into Jolly's room, quickly closing the door behind him. Jolly merely looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow arched.

"Lemme guess. Another date tonight?"

"Yeah. And we all know how it's gonna go. Gonna need all of you to get lost for a while."

#bad omens cult #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian angst #angst #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fluff #fluff #bestfriend!noah #roommate!noah

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 2 days ago

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the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 7

Ao3 | 2.7k Words | Darlin's POV

Milo is a drill Sergeant. Darlin' gets some emails. Angel washes dishes. Quinn is the type of asshole that flirts with teenagers.

TW: Stalking, threatening behavior, vomit.

“You’ve gotta put on some weight.” Milo tutted, his hands resting on his trim waist. Even two years later, Milo was a picture of petty tension. He hadn’t grown, despite the fact that he claimed people could grow into their mid twenties. He had built up a good deal of muscle in his back and chest, which served to make him look just a little bigger. He still had an air about him that made him seem two feet taller, even when you stared purposefully past the top of his head to piss him off.

Milo had started working you out as soon as Sam had given you the all clear, after you gave up on trying to avoid him. He was faster than you when he wanted to be, and staying away from him was so much less fun than just giving in to the familiarity of your quiet, playful arguments.

The workouts started slow; annoying, silent yoga, something his partner had gotten him into that left you infuriatingly loose and relaxed afterwards. Once you could do that without panting and twitching with pain, he moved up. Light cardio and weights. You’d managed alright with that. Your stamina was shot but you were strong. Now, Milo had moved on to C.P.A.T. specifics.

You’d passed the Candidate Physical Ability Test with flying colors the last time you’d taken it, but that felt like a lifetime ago. You were younger, stronger, fitter. What came to you naturally at eighteen made you wheeze at twenty-seven. Milo cast his gaze across the practice course before cutting those clever eyes back to you and your sorry state.

“There aren’t any weight class requirements for the physical.” You snapped.

“No,” Milo replied, “but you’re not gonna get through the endurance test like this. You’re gonna fall out.”

“I guarantee you I won’t.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, doll.”

“Call me that again and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

“Twenty?”

“Fifty.”

You won, just barely. Milo had a point, though. Running that course in full turnouts, hauling that ladder, scaling it, finding the hidden dummies in the fake building’s facade and hauling them back down, dragging the dummies and the ladder back the safe distance requirements; it was nearly too much for you. By the time you’d finished the run, you were gasping for breath, gripping at your protesting ribs, and dumping the dummies at your feet without a care for their ‘wellbeing.’ That part wasn’t new. It was a habit from your days as a probie you couldn’t shake. This time, though, it was done with some extra disdain.

Milo clapped a fifty in your hand and let you catch your breath before he tugged off your turnouts, up your tank top, and pressed his thin, clever fingers into your flesh to check your ribs.

“You’re gonna make me blush.” You gasped. Milo sneered.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you don’t give your body what you need. You have to eat to heal.” He shook his head, dark curls bouncing this way and that. You patted him on the head the way you knew he hated.

“You’re preaching to the choir. David’s already working on me.”

“He’s got the patience of a Saint.”

“No, he’s just force feeding me.”

“Good.”

You were eating three square meals a day, all packed with protein and healthy fats and carbs. Whenever David wasn’t putting out fires, both literal and figurative, he was cooking. He put more plates in front of you than you could manage in a day. It was the biggest bulk you’d experienced in your life, and even it was falling short of what your body needed. To be completely fair to David’s efforts, your body had always run on fumes. There had never been enough to go around. You had gotten used to making that work.

David surrounded you with abundance. The tension of your sort-of-fight had eased. He had started asking you questions. They were uncomfortable, and you were finding it harder and harder to dodge them.

You were going to spill your guts soon. You could feel it crawling up and out of you. You were going to lay down your load at David’s feet, unburden yourself through clenched teeth and let him take the weight. You’d done it with Gabe. David looked so much like him.

You hit the showers, scrubbing the sweat from your skin. The cold tile made your toes curl. The lines of your tattoos were raised with cold and irritation from the cheap body wash that was stocked in all of the shower stalls. You ran ghost-soft touch over all of them before moving on to your scars. The one over your side, the newest one, was still pink and new. If you pressed hard enough on the two inches of clean, stitched skin, it still hurt.

David caught you in the locker room as you slipped a D.F.D sweatshirt over your head. You’d slowly moved your meager belongings from your shitty studio to the last locker in the row at the 10-19. David had offered you plenty of his own clothes, but you didn’t like to wear them. Not the way that his spouse did, anyway. The little Shaw slid one of his giant tee-shirts over their head and wore it like a badge of honor, like a mark of ownership. You didn’t own David. You certainly didn’t plan on letting him own you. As it stood, the majority of your wardrobe was either covered in blood or stolen pieces from the D.F.D.’s lost and found.

“Hey,” you mumbled, pushing your still-wet hair away from your face, “are you done, do we need to go?”

“No,” David shook his head. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants. “I’ve got a few more hours. Look, I reactivated your D.F.D. email account. There’s a form in there for the next C.P.A.T.. Fill it out sometime today.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “When is it?”

“Three weeks.” David said. “I can get you back on the job within forty-eight hours if you pass it.”

“If?” You grinned. “I recall holding a record with my last one.”

“Yeah well,” David shrugged, “you were a spring chicken then. We’ve gotten old.”

“Speak for yourself, Shaw.” You flashed teeth. “I could still kick your ass.”

“Email. Form. Today.” David barked. You could tell, somewhere in your gut, that he was joking just as much as you were.

“Yes, Captain, sorry, Captain.” You clicked your heels together in a salute as he rolled his eyes and retreated down the hallway towards his office. A smile slid over your face as he left you alone in the cold, quiet locker room.

You D.F.D. email had two-thousand-and-seventy-three unread messages waiting for you once you’d managed to remember the password. You flopped down on a couch in the bunk room and sighed as you clicked into the newest one, skimming the form to sign up for the C.P.A.T.. Something about filling out that form, going to that test, made your chest hurt. It made all of it, being back here at the 10-19 feel… real. That was a dangerous thing for you. You couldn’t explain why.

November was drawing towards a close. The cold had long settled over Dahlia and into your blown, shitty joints. You could do the C.P.A.T., you could not do it. December would come on either way.

You clicked out of the form, out of the email, and back to your inbox. Maybe you’d feel more inclined to carry on with your future when all of the spam messages were gone.

Spam. Advertisement. Debt collector. Spam. Medical bill. Spam.

You almost swiped it right into your archives when your eyes caught on the subject line of a message from an email address consisting entirely of scrambled numbers and letters. That was usually enough for you to chuck the whole thing as bullshit. The subject, though, made your heart squeeze. You sat up on the couch, your feet hitting the ground. You needed your boots flat on the floor. You needed your legs under you when you read this. You might need to run.

Back home so soon, Precious?

Bile rose up in your throat, acidic and cutting. You swallowed hard and clicked on the address’s icon. Copy, paste, the address went into your search bar and twenty-odd unopened messages popped up.

California state employees’ email addresses all followed the same formula. Last name, first initial. It would be so easy for Quinn to find it.

You scrolled down to the earliest message and opened it up. The subject line made your hands shake; I’m never far behind, you know.

It was a picture of you from sometime in September. You were still black and blue from the fight you two had devolved into. You were standing in a gas station somewhere in Washington, staring at two different, overpriced painkiller options. You’d killed that bottle in less than a week.

You’d known, in your gut, that Quinn would follow you when you ran. You hadn’t noticed him. You thought for sure, if he was that close, you’d have noticed.

It was more of that. A picture of you in a diner, flirting with the waitress who gave you free pie. A shot of the back of your head in a Greyhound bus heading for California. You through the stained, narrow windows of your shitty apartment.

Sam and his EMT’s leaving the night you’d been stabbed.

Sam’s truck in the firehouse parking lot.

Sam at lunch in a plush restaurant with a handsome man in his mid-forties.

Sam sitting on the porch of his cabin, coffee cup in his hand. He looked so peaceful, his eyes closed and head tilted back against his rocking chair.

Vincent in his fancy car, kissing who you assumed to be his partner in a school parking lot. He’d mentioned that they worked in an elementary school.

Sam’s Probie walking towards a nightclub, their arm linked with a drop-dead-gorgeous man, surrounded by friends.

David outside of a fire, smudged with soot, directing the scene like a conductor.

Little Shaw standing at the sink, scrubbing the remnants of dinner from a plate, taken through the slots in the pantry door.

He had been inside David’s house. He had stood three feet away from them and taken that picture. He was close enough to hear the little songs they hummed to themself whenever it got too quiet.

You locked your phone, stuffed it into your pocket, and moved. You barely made it to the bathroom before you lost your lunch.

He could get inside the house. He had gotten inside the house. There was no telling how long he’d stayed there. He could be there right now, waiting in the shadows for somebody to pass by and make an example out of. You had to tell David. You had to make them leave, had to put them both somewhere safe and torch the fucking place. It was tainted. He’d been in there, and it would never be safe again.

Hands shaking, you replied to that last picture, staring at their tiny frame and estimating how long it would take Quinn to subdue them. Seconds. He could kill them in seconds.

What do you want?

The response was almost instant.

You.

He attached an address. You didn’t need to punch it in anywhere to know it. Max’s was familiar ground. The house ordered from there more than anywhere else, and Gabe’s accident had been just down the road.

It got dark early this time of year, and by the time you emerged from the bathroom, the sun had set and night shift had invaded the building. You could smell dinner on the stove and hear the chatter of the house through the walls. If you hung a left, you’d be surrounded by them. You could find David, ask him to talk. He would know what to do about Quinn. He would handle it.

Quinn was dangerous. David could handle himself, but Quinn fought dirty. David couldn’t win against him, not playing by the rules.

No, you had to handle this yourself. David was already in danger, his spouse too. Quinn liked to aim for the weakest link. He liked to strike where it was easy to do real damage without taking any injuries himself. That’s where he’d hit you. The only way you’d learned to make him back off was to hit him head on, to not even give him the chance to find your weak point.

He knew you just about as well as you knew him, of course. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t call your bluff. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t smell the terror rolling off of you in waves.

You retreated away from the noise, from the sounds of your house, and towards the ambulance bay. You could sneak out the backdoor, have it out with Quinn, and be back before David was any the wiser. You gripped your hand into a fist as you shrugged on your jacket and shouldered open the back door.

“Darlin’,” Sam’s voice called from inside. You stilled, boots just barely on the icy sidewalk outside. You turned, your hands still fists at your sides. Sam’s uniform collar was unbuttoned. He must have been getting off shift. “Where ‘ya running off to?”

“Mother hen.” You muttered bitterly. Sam smiled anyway, seeming almost… bashful. “Just going on. Meeting somebody. Shouldn’t be long.”

“Well, I’m off.” Sam reached inside to grab his jacket off the rack. “Let me drive you. It’s cold as all hell.”

“I’m fine.” You shook your head and stepped back. “Really.” You did not want to introduce Sam to Quinn. You didn’t want Quinn to make any assumptions. You didn’t want Sam to hear the things he was going to say to you, about you. Whatever you were, whatever parts of you Quinn had broken, whatever parts of you had always been broken, Sam didn’t know about them. You didn’t want him to see you and all of your broken parts in the naked light.

“Is it… um… are you going to see him?” Sam squinted at you, his jacket still in his hands. You swallowed. Your poker face crumbled. You’d never been a good liar.

“Sam,” you started, hands clenching and unclenching.

“I’ll take you.” He said decisively. You blinked, surprised. You were expecting him to try and talk you out of it.

“You… you’ll take me?”

“I’m sure as shit not letting you go alone.” Sam grinned like it was such a ridiculous notion that it was funny. “Come on, we can talk on the ride.”

You were quiet for most of it, your throat constricting over all of the warnings and defenses you desperately wanted to spew. Instead, you answered each of Sam’s questions steadily, one word at a time.

“How’d he reach you?”

“Email.”

“And he followed you here?”

“Yeah.”

“So he knows where to find ‘ya if you don’t go to him.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s liable to start a fight?”

“If not him, then me.”

“And he fights dirty?”

“He brings guns to knife fights, let’s put it that way.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” You turned to him from the passenger seat, your face pinched and twisted in concern. Your teeth worried over the scar on your top lip. Sam’s eyes caught yours, brown gone red with the street light.

“I do.” His shaking fingers tapped against the steering wheel in an awkward, unsteady rhythm. “Better than I can put into words.”

The parking lot outside of Max’s was full this time of night, so Sam parked across the street. You spotted him through the wide, bright windows. Quinn had taken up a booth at the back of the small restaurant. His feet were kicked up on the table, shitty, worn boots smearing dirt across the clean surface. He was flirting with the teenage server who was refilling his coke. She blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The guy behind the counter was eyeing the two of them nervously. Anybody who had ever known an asshole before could see right through Quinn if they tried hard enough. That was why he had to flirt with teenagers.

Quinn turned suddenly, stiff and aware. His bright, blue eyes caught yours through the window. His face split out into a terrible, toothy grin as he beckoned you inside.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted sam #redacted audio #redacted david #redacted darlin #redacted angel #redacted vincent #firefighter story #redacted quinn #redacted guy

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southtopaz · 2 days ago

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PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts, slowburn.

Word count: +6,5k

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

Iris winced, hissing softly as the antiseptic stung against her busted lip. Mindy was gentle as she dabbed the cotton against the wound, her brow furrowed in concern.

"This fucking hurts," Iris muttered, unable to mask the discomfort.

"I know it does," Mindy replied, her voice soothing yet firm. "But look at the bright side: that guy probably has a broken nose because of you."

Iris couldn't help but let out a small, reluctant laugh. "That made me feel strangely better."

"As proud as I am of you for punching that asshole, maybe next time you could avoid the whole bleeding thing."

"He deserved it,"

"Totally, but you've got to stop acting like a rabid dog. You can't fight everyone that annoys you" Mindy said, setting the used cotton aside and crossing her arms.

"Yes, I can,"

"Jesus, Iris," Mindy replied, exasperated. "We really need to talk about your anger issues."

After a moment of silence, Iris finally broke it, her voice filled with worry. "Do you think Tara is pissed at me?"

"Oh, definitely," Mindy replied, her tone teasing. "Are you going to talk to her?"

"I'm not apologizing for punching him," Iris declared, crossing her arms.

"You definitely shouldn't," Mindy said, nodding vigorously. "That bitch deserved it! But maybe you two could talk about what happened before?".

"Before?" Iris's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah! I'm pretty sure she's more upset that you left her dancing alone than about you fighting that guy," Mindy explained, a smirk creeping onto her face. "Knowing Tara, she probably thought it was hot,".

"What?" Iris exclaimed, her mouth agape.

"Not you acting surprised". Mindy snorted. "Are you having a stroke right now, Ris?"

"I'm just... confused," Iris admitted, shaking her head as if that might clear her thoughts.

"Want me to clarify the situation?" Mindy offered, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'm talking about when you two were dancing, definitely not thinking about sleeping with each other!"

"What? We weren't looking at each other like we wanted to do that. Don't be stupid!" Iris shot back, but she couldn't help the flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Then stop eye fucking each other for one second."

"What the fuck? That's ridiculous. We don't do that."

"So you never thought about it?" Mindy pressed, her eyebrows raised in challenge.

"No," Iris replied defiantly, but her tone wavered slightly.

"Oh, come on! You fucking liar, Fifteen-year-old you has a lot of things to say right now,".

"Shut up, Mindy, you're really pissing me off," Iris snapped, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"Can't handle the truth?" Mindy teased, winking.

"We are friends," Iris insisted, her voice firm.

"Are you though?" Mindy countered, leaning closer. "I'm your friend, and you definitely don't look at me like that. Thank God, by the way!" She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Iris opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Sam in the doorway. She paused, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion as she took in the scene: Iris with a look of disbelief and Mindy with her signature smug smile.

"Mmm, what is going on here?" Sam asked, her head tilting slightly as she crossed her arms.

"I was just telling Iris how she should talk to your sister so they can stop eye fucking each other," Mindy declared, her tone cheeky.

"WHAT THE FUCK"

Mindy just laughed and winked at them as she left the room, her job clearly done.

A moment of awkward silence settled between Iris and Sam before Sam finally spoke up, breaking the tension. "So..."

"Don't listen to Mindy," Iris quickly interjected, trying to wave away the earlier conversation. "She's on crack"

Sam chuckled softly, stepping closer to her friend. "I just wanted to thank you for today. Seriously, what you did for Tara..."

"It's nothing," Iris replied, shrugging it off.

"Yes, it is! Who knows what could have happened to her if you weren't there?"

"I'll always be there,"

"I know." Sam paused, biting her lip nervously. "But do you think she's right about... you know, the things she said?"

"I mean, Sam..." Iris hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I can't blame you for wanting to protect your sister. God knows I'm just as paranoid. But Tara has a point, at least to some extent."

Sam looked down, nodding in agreement. "I just want her to be safe. She means everything to me."

"I know, but you have to let her live, too," Iris replied gently.

"You think she hates me for being so overprotective?" The vulnerability in Sam's voice didn't go unnoticed.

"You're her sister; she loves you. You two just need to talk it out," Iris reassured her, pulling her into a warm hug. Sam hugged back tightly, grateful for Iris's support. When they finally released each other, Sam turned to leave.

"Oh, and you should also talk to her," Sam added, pausing at the door.

"Yeah, I'm aware," Iris said with a sigh.

"Because you know Mindy was right," Sam said playfully, a smirk spreading across her face. "You two are tiring me out with all this will they, won't they."

"WAIT, WHAT?"

Iris felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach as she prepared to talk to Tara. The tension in the air had been palpable all night, as things had taken a weird turn between them and she knew she had to address it, even if it made her uncomfortable. She tried to block out Mindy and Sam's words; they weren't helping her anxiety at all.

Knowing Tara had likely sobered up but would soon be grappling with a headache, Iris grabbed a bottle of pain relievers from the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she headed toward Tara's room, her heart racing with each step.

As she reached the door, she knocked lightly, announcing her presence. Tara was reclining on her bed, half-propped up on one elbow, deeply engaged in a conversation with Quinn. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Tara's features, casting a warm glow on her expression, but Iris could see the fatigue lurking beneath her surface. When they both turned to her at the sound of the knock, Tara's surprise was evident, and Quinn, sensing the shift, quickly rose to her feet.

"I'm gonna go, let you guys... chat," Quinn said, her voice soft as she headed for the door. As she passed Iris, she exchanged a meaningful glance with Tara, a silent communication that Iris couldn't see before the door clicked shut behind her.

"Figured you would need these," Iris said, holding out the bottle of pills and giving it a gentle shake. She stepped into the room, placing the bottle on the small table in front of the bed, feeling the weight of the moment settle around them.

"Thank you," Tara replied, managing a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You can go back to your room. I'm pretty sure the fighting is done for the day."

Iris couldn't resist a playful retort. "That's a shame; I was ready to throw some more punches." She flexed her arms dramatically, trying to lighten the mood, before sitting next to Tara in the bed.

"Oh yeah? Everyone better start fearing for their lives then,"

"What can I say? I'm just too cool,". They exchanged a silly smile, the kind that made the world around them feel a little brighter. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, both of them trying to find the right words.

"Thank you," Tara finally said, her gaze drifting down to her feet, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "For not letting me go up those stairs."

Iris shifted closer, their shoulders brushing lightly. She could feel the warmth radiating from Tara, and it gave her a sense of comfort. "It's no problem really. I would gladly punch him again if you asked me,"

"Yeah, but then you got hurt," Tara replied, tilting her head to study Iris's face more closely. Her eyes dropped to the small bruise on Iris's lip, a reminder of the confrontation.

"It's okay, I don't mind. It was just my lip," Iris said with a shrug, trying to brush off the concern. But there was something deeper in Tara's gaze that made her heart race, a mix of gratitude and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. The air felt charged, as if the silence between them was waiting for the right moment to spark into something more.

Tara glanced down at her white shirt, noticing the faint, dark stains that marred the fabric now that she had gotten rid of her tie and suit jacket. A hint of panic crept into her voice as she asked, "Is that blood?" It seemed the mess wasn't limited to just the cut on Iris's lip.

Iris's eyes widened for a moment. "No?" she replied, trying to deflect.

"You're not supposed to answer with a question, Ris," Tara teased, a grin tugging at her lips. Iris laughed quietly, and Tara felt a rush of warmth at the sound. There was something magical about being the reason behind Iris's smile, a feeling that made her heart swell.

"I think I was more messed up than I realized," The shorter girl admitted, the weight of her words sinking in.

"What happened? You don't usually drink like this," Iris probed, concern threading through her voice.

Tara looked away, unable to meet Iris's gaze. It felt as if the truth was etched across her face—how she had drowned her worries in drinks, all to forget the sight of Iris leaving with that boy, Damon. The memory stung, and she forced herself to swallow hard. "I just... had a lot of things on my mind,"

"Anything you wanna share?" Iris nudged her gently in the shoulder, her touch lingering just long enough to send a shiver down Tara's spine.

"Not yet, if that's okay," Tara replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I respect that," Iris said, her understanding evident. "I have a lot on my mind too." The air between them shifted, Tara felt the walls she'd built around her emotions start to crack, and for the first time, she considered sharing the weight of her feelings with Iris. But for now, she simply held on to the fleeting connection they shared, hoping it would be enough.

"Did you have fun?" Tara asked, her voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it.

"I did, especially when I got to dance with you." Iris locked her gaze onto Tara's, the sincerity in her eyes making Tara's heart skip a beat.

"Yeah? You weren't that bad,"

"Maybe we can do that again sometime. I think I still need some practice." Iris wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly, and Tara couldn't help but nudge her playfully, a warm laugh escaping her.

"You didn't dance with Damon?" Tara inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Damon?" Iris laughed, shaking her head. "He would rather die than dance with me. Not even his boyfriend gets him to do it."

"Boyfriend? Oh," Tara said, her surprise evident.

"Yeah, why?" Iris asked, tilting her head slightly, curiosity piqued.

"I thought... maybe you two..." Tara trailed off, her voice softening.

"What? No way! He's just my friend, and besides, he is gay,"

"Sorry, that's embarrassing." Tara instinctively put her hands around her head, trying to shield her blush, but before she could hide, Iris gently grabbed one of her hands, intertwining their fingers in a warm clasp.

Iris looked down at their joined hands, the softness of Tara's skin grounding her. "Besides, even if he were into women, I wouldn't go for him either," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Too picky?" Tara asked, her heart racing with an unexplainable thrill.

"Maybe," Iris replied with a slight shrug. "I guess I'm more into brunettes."

Tara's heart raced so fast she thought she might faint. The implication of Iris's words washed over her like a wave, leaving her breathless. "Good choice," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

After a moment of silence, where the only sound in the room was the rhythm of their breaths, Iris finally spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. "You know, don't be mad at your sister. She loves you and she's just trying to protect you."

Tara sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know, but still, sometimes it feels like too much." The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with unspoken emotions.

"Maybe," Iris replied, rubbing soothing circles on Tara's hand. "But she's just trying to keep you safe. So am I." The warmth of Iris's touch sent a shiver of comfort through Tara. "Even if we both still live with the fears of the past."

"I'm sorry for that," Tara muttered apologetically "I didn't want to be rude. I know how much better you got after therapy."

"It's okay," Iris assured her, a soft smile breaking through. "And yeah, I did. Perhaps you should consider it too." At the look on Tara's face, Iris snorted softly, the sound lightening the mood. "Geez, I'm not saying now, but maybe in the future if you ever need it."

"Is Iris the psychologist talking or Iris my friend?"

"Both?" They both laughed, the tension easing further. "I didn't want to go either, but now I see how much I've improved."

"I see it too," Tara replied, sincerity in her tone.

"Before, I would've never gone to that party," Iris continued, her gaze turning introspective. "I remember being constantly on edge, like someone or something was out there just waiting to attack me." She paused, taking a breath to steady herself. "Don't get me wrong, sometimes I still feel like that, and I think it had become a part of me. But I've learned to embrace it."

"I never told you this, but I'm really proud of you," Tara said, her voice steady.

Iris took a deep breath. "It also helped me not to be scared of love or feelings anymore," she admitted, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "It's funny; I almost thought I would never be able to feel again."

"And do you?" Tara asked, leaning in slightly. "I mean, feel again? Are you still scared of it?"

"I haven't been scared for a while," Iris said, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability that was hard to ignore. "Not when it's the most beautiful feeling." They locked eyes, unable to look away, and the moment felt charged, almost electric. Tara had to look away, her heart pounding, she didn't want to get her hopes up.

"So should I be worried about the line of people that are probably waiting to date you?" Tara teased, trying to deflect the intensity of the moment.

"I highly doubt anyone would wait," Iris replied, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"You'd be surprised," Tara shot back, her heart skipping a beat as she realized they were moving closer to each other, the space between them shrinking without conscious thought.

"It's more probable that I should be the one worried about the people waiting to date you," Iris countered, her tone light but her eyes serious.

"Believe me," Tara said, her eyes tracing every movement Iris made, captivated by her "There's nothing to worry about."

"Good, because you can do so much better than date that perv Frankie,"

"You think so?" Tara whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she were afraid to disturb the delicate moment they were sharing.

"Tara..." She breathed out, struggling to find the right words to convey the depth of her feelings. "You're—" She paused, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, making it difficult to articulate just how much Tara meant to her. "Everything."

"Anyone would be lucky to have you," Iris finished, her voice filled with sincerity. The words hung in the air, causing Tara to hitch her breath, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape her chest. She took her time looking at Iris, the warmth radiating between them making the world outside seem irrelevant. Her gaze slowly shifted to Iris's lips, a magnetic pull drawing her in. Gently, Tara brought the hand that wasn't holding Iris's to brush against her wounded lip, her fingertips caressing it with a tenderness that made Iris suppress a whimper. The soft touch sent a jolt of electricity through them, both feeling the intensity of the moment.

"Does it hurt?" Tara asked, her eyes searching Iris's for an answer, only to find Iris staring intently at her lips, mirroring her own longing.

"Not really," Iris breathed out, the words escaping in a whisper that felt charged with meaning.

Their foreheads pressed together, the warmth of their skin mingling as they both tried to steady their breaths, the air thick with anticipation. "I'm not messed up anymore," Tara whispered, her voice soft but firm. "Just to let you know."

"Okay," Iris replied, her heart fluttering in response. They leaned in, their faces inches apart, the world around them fading into nothingness. Just as they were about to bridge the gap between them, the door swung open.

"I forgot... my phone," Quinn said, her voice cutting through the moment. But then she stopped short, taking in the scene before her. The two girls, so close together, made Quinn's eyes widen in surprise. She grimaced in apology, Iris and Tara pulled back quickly, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Shit sorry, um—did I cockblock you?" Quinn questioned, her voice cutting through the charged air, making both girls look at her in surprise.

"What did you just say?" Tara blurted out, her tone a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "God," they both exclaimed simultaneously, the embarrassment radiating off Iris as she pressed her hand against her forehead, while Tara's expression shifted to irritation.

"I cockblocked you" Quinn said, her eyes wide as she assessed the situation.

"No," Iris insisted, shaking her head vigorously, desperate to stop Quinn from digging herself into a deeper hole.

"I cockblocked you, didn't I?" Quinn pressed on, oblivious to Iris's attempts to ease the tension.

"Quinn if you continue saying cock im going to kill myself".

"Immediate no," Tara interjected, her voice firm, but Iris stood there uncomfortably, not really knowing what to do with herself.

"Quinn," Tara sighed, looking down at the floor as she tried to gather her thoughts. "What did... what did you need?" Her brows furrowed in disbelief; she couldn't fathom how her day had taken such a turn.

"My phone," Quinn replied, her tone casual as she bent down to pick it up from Tara's desk.

"Don't ever enter a room like that," Tara told her seriously, her voice low but laced with anger.

"I won't," Quinn promised, shaking her head earnestly, though a hint of sheepishness crept into her expression.

"It was rude," Tara continued, her irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

"I'm gonna go," Iris said awkwardly, signaling toward the door as if she were trying to escape the situation. "I think I left my... um, window open." The words tumbled out in a rush, and she turned to leave but paused for a moment. "Talk to your sister, okay? She heard what you said," Iris said, her voice softening just a bit before she slipped out the door.

"Okay," Tara smiled at her, but the moment Iris left, that smile vanished. She turned to Quinn, a steely resolve settling in. "I'm going to kill you."

Quinn's eyes widened in panic. "I'm so sorry, sorry!" she mouthed as she hurried out of the room, leaving Tara alone with her thoughts.

Tara sighed in disbelief, her mind racing with a mix of frustration and lingering hope. As the door clicked shut behind Quinn, she couldn't help but lay back on her bed, a smile creeping onto her face. She let out a giggle, the warmth of the earlier moment with Iris still tingling in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally on the verge of getting what she had always wanted.

Iris and Tara were sprawled comfortably on the couch, the soft glow of the television casting a warm light across the cozy living room, mingling with the faint hum of conversation from their group of friends nearby. Laughter bubbled up now and then, a lighthearted soundtrack to their evening as everyone made an effort to enjoy themselves, if only for a little while.

Iris leaned back against the cushions, her head tilting slightly as she glanced at Tara, who was curled up beside her with a playful grin. Tara's hair fell in soft waves around her face, and Iris couldn't help but admire how effortlessly beautiful she looked in the low light.

Tara leaned back against the cushions, "What do you want to watch?" she asked.

"Let's just see what's on the news," Iris suggested, reaching for the remote. She clicked through a few channels until the familiar logo of the news station appeared on the screen.

As the reporter started talking, Tara settled down next to Iris, their shoulders brushing together. Iris could feel a familiar warmth spread through her, a reminder of how comforting it was just to be near her. They exchanged a quick smile, but that moment of serenity shattered when the news reporter appeared, his face serious and his voice steady.

"And in other news, a recent investigation has uncovered troubling details related to the events of last year's incident of Woodsboro," the reporter said, his tone grave. Iris's heart felt like it skipped a beat, her stomach twisting as memories flooded back, memories they had tried to put behind.

Tara stiffened beside her, the color draining from her face as she listened intently. "No..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Iris's eyes were glued to the screen, watching as the reporter continued to speak. "I'm standing in front of the apartment building where the mutilated bodies of two students..." They heard the sound of Chad's footsteps thundering after the door, his desperation palpable as he raced to catch up with Sam. Just a few moments later, Sam and Danny walked in, their expressions full of concern as they approached.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, glancing around the room, her eyes wide and searching, with Danny trailing closely behind her, a look of confusion etched on his face.

Quinn, with a sly smile, couldn't help but comment, "Cute boy. Nice," pointing up at Danny, a playful glint in her eye.

But the levity was short-lived as the news turned grim. "Were discovered. Their names have just been released by police. Jason Garvey and Greg Bruckner".

"No," Iris heard Tara whisper in disbelief. In an instinctive gesture, Iris quickly grabbed Tara's hand, squeezing it tightly to offer comfort in the midst of the unfolding chaos.

"Holy shit, that's that chode from our film studies class!" Mindy exclaimed, her finger jabbing at the TV where the breaking news report was streaming. "The ones obsessed with Argento!"

The atmosphere thickened as the report continued. "Also found at the scene were various Ghostface costumes, a character popularized by the Stab movie franchise".

"No way," Iris whispered, her heart racing. Deep down, she had sensed something was off about Jason with his weird interest on Sam going to that party, she didn't want to imagine what was his plan. She could feel Tara's gaze burning into her, a silent acknowledgment that they are both thinking the same thing.

Sam let out a deep sigh. "Pack a bag. We leave in ten," she declared firmly, her voice cutting through the silence in the room.

"Sam! Wait, Sam!" Tara yelled, springing up from her seat to chase after her sister.

"We're getting out of the city," Sam replied, her tone leaving no room for debate.

"I'm not getting stabbed in the name of these fucking movies again!" Iris interjected, standing up with determination. "I'm buying the tickets." The fierce resolve in her eyes made it clear she was serious.

"What?" Danny blurted, confusion and concern mingling on his face.

Chad turned to Danny, gently but insistently pushing him backwards. "Thank you very much, suspicious new guy, but we got it from here," he said, waving him off with a quick flick of his wrist. "Have a good night. Get home safe. Go, go, go." His tone was urgent, he needed to protect their little group.

As Tara sprinted after her older sister, she watched as Sam headed straight for the knife stash, her hands deftly pulling knives from the holder. The glint of steel caught the light, and Tara felt a chill run down her spine as she realized what Sam was preparing for.

"Sam, just wait a minute here—" Tara exclaimed, her voice rising with anxiety. She could already sense where this was heading, and she hated it. "Let's just talk about this!"

"Sam, bring me one!" Iris shouted, her resolve unyielding.

"On it," Sam replied tersely, her focus unwavering.

"No, wait, Iris, not you too!" Tara pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice.

"No, we are leaving," Sam hissed, storming past Tara with two knives in her hands, she handed one to Iris, who accepted it without a question.

"No, wait, let's talk about this for a second!" Tara tried to reason with Sam, her voice softening as she attempted to pull her sister back from the edge of impulsive decisions. "This attack might not have anything to do with us!" Tara's words hung in the air, a fragile hope that perhaps they could find a different way out of this nightmare.

Sam spun around, the sudden movement stopping Tara in her tracks. "Are you serious?" she demanded, her voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"It's Halloween! Everybody's wearing masks!" Tara countered, her tone defensive as she tried to make sense of the chaos spiraling around them. "You don't know"

"Tara, this isn't a coincidence!" Sam snapped, exasperation spilling over. "You knew those guys!"

"Barely," Tara shot back, her voice heavy with shadows of doubt and fear.

"You guys looked really friendly," Iris interjected, only adding fuel to the fire.

"Not helping, Iris!" Tara retorted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"There's no way you think that it's just a coincidence that the guy you met and got close to you, was found dead with a stash of Ghostface costumes" Iris pressed, her tone fierce, eyes blazing with intensity.

"Thank you," Sam said, shooting Iris a grateful glance "Chad, Mindy, back me up."

Chad hesitated, glancing at the floor as he searched for the right words. "It's a little bit..."

"Close to home," Mindy finished for him, still perched on the couch with Anika, who looked equally troubled by the unfolding drama.

"See?" Sam exclaimed, her frustration beginning to morph into a desperate plea for understanding.

"It's better to prevent than die in the process," Iris added, her voice firm.

Tara turned to Iris, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Why can't you be on my side for once?"

"I'm always going to be on your side," Iris replied, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "But not if it ends with you dead."

Tara turned around, her eyes landing on the ginger-haired woman perched on the couch. Quinn sat there, her expression a clear reflection of fear and confusion as she absorbed the tension radiating through the room.

"Quinn, your dad's a cop, right?" Tara asked hurriedly,desperation creeping into her tone.

"Can you call him and find out what's going on?"

She turned around once again to shout at her sister and Iris "Before you two make the unilateral decision to abandon my college education and flee the fucking state!"

Quinn hesitated for a moment before nodding, her brow furrowing with concern. "I'm calling him now," she said carefully, raising her phone to her ear.

"Thank you," Tara replied, her voice softer now, though the underlying anxiety remained.

Just then, the phone rang, and the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. Everyone seemed to freeze, wide-eyed and tense as they exchanged anxious glances, the ominous sound amplifying the dread hanging in the air. Iris reached for Sam's phone, her fingers shaking slightly as she glanced at the caller ID.

"Gale Weathers," Iris read aloud, a sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. "I think the fuck not."

With that, she hung up abruptly, placing the phone back on the table with a decisive clatter. Gale had turned their tragic story from the previous year into a sensationalized tale, cashing in on their traumas, and it got on Iris's nerves. She remembered how Gale had twisted their experiences into a narrative that painted Sam as a "natural killer" and Iris as a "naive lover." None of them held the older woman in high regard at that moment.

"Why did everyone just freak out when her phone rang?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You gotta keep up, my dude," Anika replied, her tone dripping with incredulity as she shook her head at him like he was a dumb child.

"You've never watched the Stab movies?" Iris turned to Ethan, an inquisitive glare piercing through the boy. As he shook his head in denial, she stared at him for a moment longer, watching him struggle to maintain her gaze, his discomfort palpable.

"Sam," Quinn called out, worry etched across her features. "My dad wants to talk to you."

Sam looked up, her expression shifting from frustration to concern as she took the phone from Quinn. "Mr. Bailey, hi"

"Hey, Sam. I was actually just about to call you," he replied, his tone professional yet tinged with urgency.

"Well, my sister thinks I'm probably overreacting," Sam told him, a hint of frustration seeping through.

"No, unfortunately, you're not," he said, the gravity of his words settling heavily in the air.

"What do you mean? What's going on?" Sam questioned, confusion etching lines on her forehead.

"I'm afraid I need you to come down to the station," he said, his voice firm with concern.

"Alright," Sam replied, her mind racing as she processed the sudden shift in the conversation.

Hanging up the phone, she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Without saying a word to anyone, she moved towards the door, her pace brisk and determined.

Tara and Iris exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. In an instant, they moved to follow Sam, urgency propelling them forward. "You guys stay here. We'll go with Sam," Tara called out. They didn't wait for a reply; they were already at the door, Sam poised on the threshold, ready to step into the night.

"Tara? No, get back inside. Lock the door," Sam called out, turning to face them, her expression unable to hide her frustration. "Iris, go with her and keep her safe."

"Are you serious? Now you don't want to stick together?" Tara shot back, disbelief lacing her words as she crossed her arms defiantly.

"She's right, Sam. You're insane if you think we're leaving you alone," Iris chimed in, her voice resolute as she stepped closer to Tara.

Sam hesitated, glancing between her sister and Iris, her resolve wavering under the weight of their insistence. "I just—" she began, but the look on their faces told her all she needed to know.

With a reluctant sigh, she finally relented. "Fine. Let's go." Together, they started walking towards the station, each step heavy with unspoken fears.

As The three of them walked down the street, Sam's phone began ringing once again. She instinctively glanced at the screen, and her heart dropped. The sight of the caller ID made her freeze in place, rooted to the pavement.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Iris asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed the shock written all over Sam's face.

Tara, too, stopped walking, her eyes darting between Sam and the phone, a look of disbelief crossing her features. "What the fuck?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. They all could see the name glaring back at them: "Richie Kirsch."

"I...I never deleted his contact," Sam confessed, her voice shaky. "This is coming from his number."

A chill ran down Iris's spine, her instincts kicking in. "Don't pick that up," she warned, urgency rising in her tone.

"Yeah, just let it ring," Tara echoed, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out from the shadows.

But Sam, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, ignored their pleas. With a deep breath, she pressed the green button, accepting the call against her better judgment.

"Who is this?" Sam demanded as she gripped the phone tightly.

"Hello, Samantha. Did you miss me?" The voice was unmistakable, distorted by the sinister quality of a voice changer, sending shivers down their spines.

"Oh God, I hate this motherfucker". Iris muttered, burying her face in her hands in frustration. Sam, determined to face this threat head-on, switched the call to speaker mode so Tara and Iris could hear as well.

"I want you to think long and hard about whether you really want to do this because the last two people that fucked with us ended up dead" Sam growled into the phone, her voice low but steady.

"You should be thanking me, Sam. Jason and Greg were gonna kill you, your sister and all of your friends" Ghostface replied, his tone mocking and sinister. Just then, the three girls caught sight of a suspicious figure approaching them from down the street, a hood pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

Instinctively, Iris stepped in front of Sam and Tara, her body tense as she faced the stranger. The man walked past them, his gait slow and deliberate, yet he didn't make eye contact. Iris's heart raced as she glanced back at her friends, trying to gauge their reactions while keeping her eyes on the hooded figure. The atmosphere grew thick with tension, each of them acutely aware that this was far from over. "I gutted them before they had the chance"

"Thanks dude for murdering people in our name".

"Hello to you too, Iris. I can't wait to formally meet you," Ghostface mocked, his voice dripping with amusement.

"I can't wait to meet you either," Iris retorted, her voice steady despite the quaking fear in her stomach. "So you can personally meet my knife" Her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she spoke.

Sam sensed the tension building and quickly interjected, hoping to redirect the focus. "So what? You're protecting us now?" she questioned. She wanted to pull Iris back from the brink of confrontation, fearing that provoking him further might escalate the situation.

"Not quite," Ghostface replied, his tone icy and calculated. "I'm going to show the whole world who you really are. A liar and a killer. I'm going to punish you". Each word dripped with a chilling certainty, as though he relished the thought of punish them.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet, asshole" Sam shot back, her anger boiling over.

"Don't be cute. You're gonna pay for what you did. And I'm not gonna stop until I butcher you. You and anyone who gets between us. You and Tara better watch your backs" Ghostface said. "As for you Iris? I'm going to have so much fun watching you beg to end you once I force you to watch the final moments of everyone else".

"You want me dead? Get in line motherfucker"

"You better watch your backs."

"You better watch yours." Sam snapped, her voice laced with venom.

"Tara, behind you!" Iris shouted, her voice slicing through the night air with urgency. The adrenaline surged through her veins as she realized the danger. She had been so consumed by the call that she hadn't noticed Ghostface stealthily approaching.

Before she could even process the situation, a gloved hand clamped around Tara's neck, getting ready to stab her right in the chest. Panic gripped Iris, but there was no time for fear—only action.

"No!" Tara screamed, her eyes wide with horror as she felt the presence of the killer. Iris lunged at Ghostface, her small frame colliding with his. The force of her impact sent them both tumbling into the nearby bushes, leaves and branches scattering in all directions.

"Run!" Sam shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. She grasped Tara's arm, yanking her forward with a desperate urgency. The street stretched out before them, dark and foreboding, but they had no choice. They had to escape.

"In there!" Sam pointed towards a convenience store glowing dimly in the distance, its neon lights flickering like a beacon of hope. The three of them sprinted down the empty street, their hearts pounding in rhythm with their frantic footsteps.

"He's coming!" Iris yelled.

"Help! Somebody!" they cried out, desperation lacing their voices as they dashed for the store. Ghostface was close behind, his presence a looming shadow, ready to strike at any moment.

"Please help us!" Tara shouted once they were inside. They tried to get to the front of the line in order to talk to the owner.

"There's a fucking line here, girls" someone snapped.

"Someone is trying to kill us" Iris yelled defiantly, her voice echoing in the cramped space. "You think I give a fuck?" Just as the words left her mouth, the store door swung open with a jarring creak, revealing Ghostface, who entered with an unsettling calm, his dark figure cutting through the fluorescent lights like a shadow.

"You got a problem here" The guy who snapped at them bravely said as he approached the killer, who in response just tilted his head, the mask obscuring any trace of emotion, before stabbing him in the gut multiple times. Gasps of horror erupted from the other costumers, their panic palpable as they rushed toward the door, desperate to escape the unfolding nightmare. Another guy tried to stop him but that just resulted in him getting stabbed in the neck.

The three girls exchanged horrified glances, their eyes wide as they gasped in shock, instinctively backing away from the scene. The air felt charged with fear as Ghostface began to advance towards them, his movements deliberate and predatory.

"Hey!" The store owner yelled, popping up from behind the counter with a shotgun. He pulled the trigger but it wasn't fast enough as Ghostface dodge it just in time. The man looked appalled as he walked through his store to approach the killer only to find that he disappeared.

"Go out the back!" He shouted at them.

"Thank you!" Tara yelled in response, the three of them not wasting another moment before rushing towards the door.

"Fuck, it's locked," Sam cursed out as she and Iris continued to force the lock in order to open it.

"Keys!" Tara called to the man. "We need your keys!"

The man began searching for the keys and just when he finally found them, Ghostface appeared out of nowhere and used the fact that he was distracted to stab him in the chest. The owner fell into the floor grumbling in pain as he tried to escape the store but it was no use as Ghostface grabbed the shotgun that was on the floor and shoot the man in the head making all the blood splutter into the fridges.

Sam pushed both girls down onto the ground signaling them to keep quiet as they crawled to another aisle.

They could hear Ghostface's footsteps as he fired at the freezer behind them, glass shattering everywhere. He squeezed off a few more shots, but a quick glance told Iris that he was getting closer. Sam seized a can and hurled it to the far end of the store, hoping to divert his attention.

Unfortunately, it didn't buy them much time. They managed to get to another aisle in silence, but then Ghostface turned, locking eyes with Iris for a brief, chilling moment.

Before Ghostface could pull the trigger again, the three girls acted on impulse, shoving the shelves of food onto him with all their strength. Cans and boxes tumbled down, creating a chaotic barrier as they scrambled to escape the scene.

"Run, go!" Sam shouted, her voice laced with panic. The urgency in her tone snapped Iris into action. She grabbed Tara's hand, feeling the tremor in her friend's grip, and urged her forward.

"Tara, we have to move!" Iris cried, noticing how her friend stood frozen, eyes wide with fear. Sam was already darting ahead, glancing back to ensure they were following.

They sprinted toward the door, hearts pounding, Iris let out a sigh of relief when they were finally outside and they could hear Police sirens getting closer to them.The relief didn't last long as once they turned around to look back at the scene, they found the Ghostface mask laying on the ground, which could only mean one thing. He had escaped.

#scream #scream 5 #scream 6 #scream x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x fem!reader #sam carpenter #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin

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