#but i started this yesterday as a sketch and just took the first half of today to draw this out and gosh im so in love with how it looks!!

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 3 - If We Don't Say It

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: some more mall content; quiet chapter

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, maybe angst... some fluff...

AN: hehehe

word count: 1.8k

Part 2

—//—

You woke to quiet.

Real quiet.

No distant groans. No boots scraping across tile. Just the faint buzz of early light bleeding in through the cracks of boarded windows.

Jenna was still asleep.

You turned your head slowly, neck aching from falling asleep on a chair - which you felt slightly guilty about. Luckily nothing happened. She lay curled on her side, face turned toward the wall, her breathing even. One hand was tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting loosely beside her head. Her rifle was within reach but her fingers weren’t curled around it for once.

You couldn’t remember the last time you saw her like this.

Relaxed. Still.

Not ready for war.

You didn’t move for a while. Just watched her shoulders rise and fall, the way the light caught the strands of her hair where they’d slipped from her braid. Her brow was smooth in sleep, that permanent frown between her eyes finally gone.

You let her sleep. She looked like she needed it.

Eventually, you rose from the chair, pulled on your jacket, and moved quietly through the furniture store. The barricades were still in place. No signs of movement beyond the fogged glass at the front. You checked your gear, made sure your makeshift satchel hadn’t been touched, then dropped down by your duffel and began to gather what you could carry.

A few minutes later, you opened a granola bar, broke it in half, and placed one half gently on the bedside table beside her.

By the time Jenna stirred - rubbing at her face with one hand, grumbling something under her breath about her neck - you were already crouched by the maintenance door, finishing a quick map sketch on a torn receipt.

She blinked at the granola. Then at you.

You shrugged. “Didn’t know if you were the breakfast type.”

She picked it up and took a bite without a word. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then, quiet: “Thanks.”

That was all either of you said for a while.

-

The mall felt different now that you weren’t alone.

Still broken, still dark in the corners, but less oppressive. Like the ghosts that used to breathe against your neck had stepped back a little. Just a little.

You moved in sync. You didn’t plan it, but it happened all the same. Jenna took point down the long corridors, rifle held low. You trailed behind, eyes flicking across doorways and overhead vents. It wasn’t trust exactly, but it was something close enough that it held.

You didn’t bring up the nightmare.

And she didn’t bring up the fact that you’d reached for her hand.

Instead, you headed back toward the areas you’d both left behind yesterday. You took a detour through the hardware shop. Jenna helped you shove a coil of garden hose into your bag. You pointed out a folding saw she missed on the top shelf. When she almost slipped on a scattered pile of nails, you grabbed her elbow without thinking.

She didn’t shake you off.

By the time you reached the service corridor that connected both wings of the mall, the silence had stretched long enough to feel heavy again.

That’s when you brought it up.

“So where’s your base?”

Jenna didn’t look at you. “West end. Old loft above a bike shop.”

“Ventilation?”

“Decent.”

“Water?”

“Not great,” she admitted.

You nodded. “Mine’s in the old suburbs. Two-storey. Rain collectors on the roof. Solar panels are dying, but I’ve got a few battery backups still holding.”

“You alone?”

You hesitated. “Yeah.”

She nodded once. You both walked a little further.

Then she said, “Mine’s closer.”

You glanced at her.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything,” she added quickly.

You didn’t say anything at first. Then: “We’ll deal with it when we need to.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Sure.”

But the tension stayed.

It was there in the way her shoulders straightened. In the way you started checking over your shoulder more often than usual. Neither of you knew what would happen when you had to choose; her safehouse, yours, or neither. Maybe that was the real reason neither of you had said the word “together” yet.

-

You found the coffee shop by accident.

It had a cracked glass front and a busted neon sign that still read “CAFÉ” like it hadn’t given up entirely. Inside, the shelves were ransacked, the pastry counter empty but intact. Behind the register, the air was stale and bitter, the scent of old beans was present in the air.

You both paused. Looked at each other.

Then Jenna grinned.

You ended up in the back kitchen, where a dusty French press still sat beside a rusting kettle. Rummaging through, you found a cracked portable camping stove in your pack. You boiled what little clean water you had left and poured it carefully over the grinds.

The smell hit you both like a memory.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Jenna closed her eyes for a second and leaned against the counter. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me.”

You didn’t speak while it brewed. You just moved - like people. Like humans. Jenna found a sealed jar of hazelnut spread and three sugar packets still intact. You broke apart an expired biscotti and split it with a grin.

She poured the coffee into mismatched mugs. One said “#1 Dad.” The other had a lipstick print and the words “Hot Mess.”

You raised yours. “Cheers to that.”

She smirked. “Fitting.”

You drank.

It was bitter. Burnt. Too strong.

It was perfect.

-

The walk back to the furniture store was quiet again. Not strained, this time. Just… full.

Your arms were heavier now. Packs fuller. You’d found rope, some tarp, a small stash of canned peaches, a cracked but working radio with extra batteries. You’d both kept moving, both working, but your eyes found each other more often now.

She handed you a small bag of coffee beans she’d pocketed when you weren’t looking. You passed her a pack of strawberry chewing gum.

Neither of you commented on the gesture.

You stepped out into the parking lot just as the sun began to break through the cloudline. The light caught on the windshields of dust-coated cars and the twisted handles of shopping carts. You stood near the centre - open space in every direction, nowhere to hide.

She turned to you.

You looked at her.

There wasn’t a word for the ache that passed between you.

Not affection. Not forgiveness. Not quite hope. Just… yearning.

You both wanted to say it. That maybe this wasn’t just temporary. That maybe the last person on Earth you hated wasn’t the worst one to stay alive with.

But neither of you said it.

You turned back towards the mall.

She fell into step beside you.

And for now, that was enough.

--//--

AN: couldn’t leave you hanging too long <3

Part 4

[quibbs126]

So I tried to do some practice of TF One Optimus and Megatron, starting yesterday

It was because I was thinking about Lux and how I really should have tried to draw these two more beforehand, since I haven’t drawn them properly in a good while (not counting my more simple drawings of them), and I figured my old colors for them probably weren’t accurate anymore

First I just lined and colored the head sketches I had made on that initial Lux idea thing, and I ended up quite liking them in all honesty

But then I realized I probably need to do more so I can figure out all their colors (like for example, Optimus’ red is nowhere on his head). But I didn’t have premade sketches to draw and color over, so I had to draw new ones

I’m gone be honest, while I think yesterday’s Optimus turned out pretty well, Megatron on the other hand, not so much. His head’s fine, but the rest of his body, eh

I think it’s because while I have drawn Optimus before, and with actual screenshots from the movie, I’ve drawn Megatron far less, and I’m usually using this concept art that while generally accurate, has a bunch of details off from the final version. It’s probably also why I constantly forget his cannon, because it’s not here

Also my perspective generally isn’t the best, and it keeps changing from the initial rough shapes to the final. I was able to tweak for Optimus, but Megatron I couldn’t save much

Also my god, these designs are so complicated, they take so long to draw, it’s a whole ordeal. I’m probably spoiled by my own incredibly simple AU designs, but still. Doesn’t help I’m not very good/experienced at 3D. Apparently these two alone took a collective 3 and a half hours, while my normal drawings probably won’t be longer than 2

I’ve half a mind to simplify them more, maybe resemble the Animated style more, but I’m not sure. I’m trying to adhere to the movie’s style more at least in the eyes, and I don’t know if I want to change everything else while keeping that. Or maybe I should, especially since I already don’t make the plates look 3D enough, like they’re sheets rather than plates

I don’t know how people do this, it’s so difficult. But again, I’m probably just inexperienced and spoiled on oversimplification

My anatomy’s also off I think, I still need to figure out how the arms are supposed to work

But yeah, take these I suppose. They aren’t terrible, but they’re nowhere near the quality of someone who’s good at drawing these bots, particularly from TF One

[noirscript]

06; the becoming

Pairing: Yandere!Artist x Reader Description: You were never meant to be worshipped, but Kai Mercer saw divinity in your every breath. And now, as his devotion burns brighter than reason, you begin to understand what it means to be become someone's god. Warning/s: Yandere | Dubcon | Self-harm (flagellation) | Obsession | Non-consensual worship | Emotional Manipulation | Religious Themes | Power Imbalance | Stalking | Possessiveness | Burning of Artwork??? Note/s: Apologies for the delay. Took a break yesterday. Will be uploading Sanctum later. I don't want to overwhelm everyone but three updates today. Enjoy reading! ALSO! I will not be updating on Tuesday for a job interview.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast 50% Off

Kai was a genius.

You never cared much about art. Galleries felt stiff, full of people nodding too seriously at things that didn’t speak to you. You couldn’t paint, couldn’t sculpt, couldn’t even stay inside the lines in a coloring book. But Kai’s work...

His paintings didn’t just hang. They breathed. They pressed into you, soft and suffocating all at once. His strokes weren’t just skill—they were obsession. And even someone like you, someone who couldn’t tell a Monet from a Manet, could feel it.

You didn’t know you had already been chosen.

It had been years ago. A gallery visit on a quiet weekday. You were just wandering, killing time, walking through marble halls that smelled faintly of wood polish and dried oil paint. You weren’t expecting anything. You never did.

But Kai was there, standing half-shadowed behind a sculpture of a grieving saint. Watching.

He said later that the world came into focus the moment you stepped into the room. That everything before you was gray and everything after was too much color all at once. He didn’t know your name, didn’t even know what kind of voice you had. But the way your fingers brushed the frame of a painting, the way your shoulders shifted when you tilted your head… it was enough.

He went home and painted until his fingers split. He didn’t stop for sleep or food. Just sketch after sketch. Canvas after canvas. Your face from memory. Your body in light he imagined. Every part of you interpreted through devotion and hunger.

You lived your life unaware. Meanwhile, Kai watched. From galleries. From coffee shops. From the corner of a park bench as you passed with your headphones in. Every glimpse fed him. You didn’t know it, but you were inside every one of his pieces.

Until a certain Saturday morning.

You hadn’t planned on being at the gallery. A friend had canceled on brunch, and it was on the way home, so you ducked inside. Familiar scent. Familiar hush. But this time, it was different. One painting pulled you in like a magnet.

You stopped in front of it. A woman in silk, head bowed, eyes shut like she was praying. The resemblance made your chest tighten.

“It suits you,” came a voice at your side. Quiet, reverent.

You turned. He was standing uncomfortably close. Tall, pale hands still smudged with graphite, folded neatly in front of him.

“I’m not really… into art,” you said, unsure why you were explaining yourself. “I just stumbled in.”

He smiled, just a little. “You don’t have to be into it. You are it.”

“That’s dramatic,” you laughed.

“So is beauty.”

There was something in his eyes that made your smile falter. Not threatening. Just… intense. Like he was seeing things no one else could.

From that moment on, Kai made himself part of your life.

Little things at first. A coffee shared after a chance run-in. A link to an art exhibit you mentioned liking. He never pushed. Just listened, watched, remembered. Every word you said became sacred scripture. He soaked it in.

He was kind. Gentle. Soft-spoken. It was easy to let him in without realizing how deep he'd already burrowed.

You didn’t notice the shift until it was too late.

Until you started feeling like your days were being watched.

Until your smile started feeling like a promise.

And then, quietly, you began to pull away.

You told yourself it was just space. You’d text less. Visit his studio less. But he noticed. He always noticed. The distance bloomed like rot in him.

So one night, you went to talk.

You didn’t want a fight. You just wanted clarity. Distance. Something honest.

But the second you stepped into his studio, the air changed.

The door clicked behind you like a final decision. Paintings watched from every wall. Some half-finished. Some of you.

Kai stood near the center of the room, staring at you like you'd just torn open his ribs.

“Don’t leave,” he said quietly.

You hesitated. “Kai… we need to talk.”

“You can’t leave me.”

His voice wasn’t loud. Just broken. He crossed the room slowly, step by step, like each one cost him something. His hand reached up to your face, trembling.

“You made me human,” he whispered. “Don’t take that away.”

You tried to breathe, to say something soft—but he kissed you before the words could form. Not sweetly. Desperately. Like he thought kissing you might keep you from disappearing.

You could have stopped it. Maybe. But you didn’t. Or couldn’t.

He claimed you, right there in the studio. Over and over. Rough, unrelenting, worshipful. His mouth never stopped praising. His hands memorized. His voice broke when he said your name like it was a prayer. You lost track of time, of thought, of why you’d come. When you finally collapsed against him, your body trembling, your voice hoarse, he just held you.

And then, something in him changed.

He slipped away from you, quietly. You heard him rummaging through the far corner of the studio. When you managed to sit up, your skin sore and flushed, you followed.

He was kneeling at the altar you’d never noticed before. A mess of broken brushes, burnt-out candles, wax puddled like bloodstains. He stripped off his shirt. Picked up a cord.

“Kai—what are you—?”

The first lash struck hard.

Your breath caught.

“Stop it,” you said, rushing to him, but he didn’t even look at you. The cord came down again, and again. Each strike left another red trail. His skin opened. Blood mixed with old paint on the floor.

“I touched divinity,” he muttered. “With hands that weren’t clean.”

“Kai, stop!”

Your voice cracked. He finally turned to you.

You were standing there wrapped in the sheet from his bed, the moon lighting you like some kind of spectral saint. Your eyes wide. Your voice shaking.

He smiled, dazed. “You came back.”

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

Weeks passed.

You never brought up what you saw that night. But something shifted. You stopped trying to leave. Maybe out of fear. Maybe guilt. Maybe something else. You and Kai made an unspoken agreement: he could have you, as long as you could still have your world.

You moved into his apartment. You went to work. You went out for groceries. He let you. But every evening, he was there, waiting by the window. He didn’t ask what you did or who you spoke to, but you could feel the questions thick in the silence.

Then came the grocery store.

You were in the frozen aisle looking for your favorite brand of dumplings. Kai had stepped away to grab tea. That’s when you heard your name.

“Hey! I thought that was you.”

You turned. A coworker. Harmless. He laughed about running into you, asked how your week was going. You smiled. Responded politely. Nothing inappropriate.

But Kai saw it.

From across the store. Just your face. The way you tilted your head. The way the guy laughed too hard.

He didn’t approach. He didn’t make a scene. He didn’t bleed.

Because you had asked him not to.

That night, you were in the bath, humming softly, steam curling up around you. The water muted the world.

Kai slipped into his studio barefoot. He walked to the far wall where he’d hidden a canvas under cloth.

He’d painted it months ago.

You, in mourning silk. Surrounded by candlelight. Lips parted, eyes closed like you were dreaming something holy. He’d planned to show you one day, maybe light candles for real, present it with flowers and trembling hands.

Instead, he dragged it out back into the cold.

The fire pit was still black from last winter.

He laid the painting down carefully, like it was a body. Then struck a match.

It caught fast.

The flames devoured you—your painted form. The silk, the curve of your mouth, the skin he’d studied for years. The fire made it twitch and melt. Made you scream silently in oil and canvas.

He watched. Not blinking. Not breathing.

You smelled the smoke first.

Towel around your shoulders, you stepped outside, confused. The flames were high. You rushed toward them, heart pounding.

“Kai?” you shouted. “What are you doing?!”

He didn’t turn right away.

You got closer. Saw the painting—what was left of it. You froze.

“I never saw this one…” your voice cracked. “Was this—was this for me?”

He finally looked over his shoulder. His eyes were empty.

“It was,” he said. “It was my favorite.”

You stared, confused. “Then why…?”

“Because I let you smile at him.”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t bleed this time,” he added. “You said you didn’t want that. So I burned instead.”

“Kai…” you whispered, stepping closer. His hands were covered in soot. His hair smelled like smoke. His expression didn’t flicker.

He reached out and cupped your face gently, like he’d done the first time.

“Tell me it’s mine,” he said. “Your smile. Your voice. Tell me I don’t have to burn again.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you weren’t sure anymore if you were still whole.

Or if part of you had already burned with the painting.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya

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[unihentai]

Pages of freedom

Tate No Yuusha X Reader(Shield Hero)

(01) (02)next>>>

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐨 2

Before:

The girl arrived at the locker to change shoes but when grabbing the shoes something sharp cut her finger. Removing her finger, a drop of blood fell on the floor staining her shoe. She took a cloth from her pocket and managed to remove the shoes, letting the razor blades fall. Meanwhile, she could hear laughter a few meters away, but ignoring it, she put on the shoes and closed the locker, storing the others. Looking at her cut finger, she left it aside and left with her bag into the school. Upon reaching the hallway, she went to place her hand on the door, but her hand was covered in white powder.

Now her hand was bleeding and white from the powder, but ignoring it, she bit the inside of her cheek, not wanting to complain or cry. Then she quickly walked to the bathroom, opening it and washing her hand of the powder and blood. After everything was done, she dried her hands and left the bathroom, heading to the classroom this time using another door and of course using a small cloth to open it to avoid the risk again.

Inside, she approached her desk to see Riyako cleaning vigorously. When she got closer, she saw horrible things written on the chair. She took the cloth from Riyako, who looked surprised at her.

"You don’t need to, seriously, let me—" But she ignored him and cleaned the desk herself...

After:

The girl wakes from the dream, looking around at the room she’s in with other beds where the boys are sleeping. Grabbing her phone, she checks the time—it was early, so she goes to the bathroom to take care of her needs and then returns to the room. For a moment, she picks up the enchanted book and sets it aside. She gets up and makes the bed, but not wanting to leave the room and since it was early, she decides to sit on the bed leaning against the headboard, waiting for the others to wake up. It was normal for her to wake up extremely early due to classes, so she opened the magic book, which promptly left a feather the color of the jewel.

"Why not?"

She starts writing, marking the time and date as if it were her diary—since it was literally blank. She could only see her spells through the menu in her eye. Despite the book being divided and having blank pages thanks to the book it supposedly "ate," she prefers to turn it into a small diary. It was better in this world she was in. She looked at her phone and opened the photo gallery—some pictures of plants and her pet, others were of Riyako who stole her phone and took photos of her. For a moment, she lifted the phone screen with the camera facing herself and took a photo. Maybe it could be useful, she thought.

She started writing and even drawing in the corners. She wrote about how she felt about the others—that despite them being kind, she couldn’t afford to throw her trust at them. Half an hour later, Ren is the first to wake up. He gives her a look, observing her writing in the magic book while wearing the same clothes from yesterday with the same mask and gloves. He sighs before quietly saying good morning and leaving for the bathroom to freshen up. Meanwhile, she quickly sketches the boy and writes what she thinks about him.

Ren Amaki (18)

A calm and confident-looking person, intelligent and kind in his own way

Sword Hero

Next, Itsuki wakes up, stretches, and makes his bed, cheerfully saying good morning before heading to the bathroom where he meets Ren who had just left. Meanwhile, she sketches Itsuki below Ren and writes:

Itsuki Kawasume (17)

A gentle and somewhat laid-back person, somewhat cheerful, could be interesting

Bow Hero

Then it’s Naofumi’s turn to wake up. As soon as he does, he heads to the bathroom. She also sketches Naofumi below the other two and writes:

Naofumi Iwatani (20)

Seems like a compassionate person, tired-looking face, I feel like he’ll be different

Shield Hero

The boy soon returns, saying good morning and going to make his bed. She gets up and looks at the last member still sleeping. Annoyed, she places her foot on his back and pushes the boy off the bed, making him grumble as he gets up and heads to the bathroom. She does the same with him in the book, drawing and writing below:

Kitamura Motoyasu (19)

Proud and stubborn

Spear Hero

After that, she sees everyone is ready. Getting up, she closes the book in one hand while the feather disappears in the other. Before anyone can say anything, someone knocks on the door and says they’ve been summoned by the king.

The group leaves the room, each holding their weapons, and arrives at the throne room. The king introduces the adventurers. She stays quiet in her corner, watching as the adventurers and knights choose each of the heroes—except her and Naofumi. Naofumi is obviously surprised that someone wouldn’t choose someone who can only defend, but if she’s right, Naofumi won’t just be limited to defense later.

"Hey, wait, this is unfair! (Name) was also left out!" Naofumi says, pointing at her. She lifts her gaze to the king and finally speaks.

"Don’t worry about it, Naofumi. Since no one knew I’d be summoned, they obviously chose the heroes they know best. Besides, they only found out about me when I arrived with you."

"But this is still unfair!" Naofumi argues.

"It’s true, in a way, it’s unfair to (Name)," Itsuki says, looking at the king.

"The most wronged here is Naofumi. And like I said, they didn’t know. By the way, I already talked to the king about this."

"Wait, you did what?!" Motoyasu asks as everyone stares.

"I spoke with the king since he mentioned teams, and I said there was no need to call anyone else so late, especially since the adventurers came from far away. Besides, I won’t form a team with someone who just joined. But I’m still vouching for Naofumi."

"In that case, I’ll go with the Shield Hero!" someone from the crowd of adventurers says—a pink-haired woman. She feels something off about her, that same feeling from school.

"Well then, I’ll bring the money. Each hero will take 600, the Shield Hero gets 1000, and the Book Hero gets 1600. That’s all!"

"Wait, why does he get more? I get Naofumi, but why (Name)?" Itsuki asks.

"Well, he gets more because his arrival wasn’t planned. Besides, he has no one in his group due to the adventurers, and also because he only has a book as a weapon—meaning he can’t attack or defend."

"That’s what you think..."

"Well, I understand your point. It’s true (Name)’s arrival wasn’t planned," Itsuki says, this time looking at her, who keeps a serene face. He sees her phone in her hand and thinks.

"Hey, before we split up, why don’t we take a photo?!" he says, approaching her. Raising his eyes to meet hers, he smiles before waving the other heroes over. "Come on! Just one photo! All five of us."

"Photo?" the adventurers ask as they watch the group of heroes gather and raise the electronic device to take a picture of the five of them. Of course, Naofumi was the one who took it, capturing everyone.

After the photo, she looks at her phone, seeing the picture of them. Itsuki just smiles and rubs her head under the hood.

"Well then, we’re off!"

With that, they leave. Of course, she stops and puts the phone in the book for protection. Leaving the castle, she waves at the others as they head in completely different directions. She goes to a place far from the capital to improve her skills. Arriving at the forest near the river, she takes some water and pours it over the book’s jewel, which sucks up all the water, leaving the book dry. Soon, a skill is developed.

Skill acquired: Water Control

Now she at least had a power to help her. Until then, she found many monsters, and thanks to her water skill, she quickly slashes through them with sharp water cuts, raising her level to 9 fast. Meanwhile, she takes what’s left and throws it into her book’s jewel, gaining many skills.

"I won’t fall behind... I’ll get stronger!"

And so she did. With potions, she acquired skills like Quick Heal and others. By the time she noticed, she was already nearing level 20, which she wouldn’t lose for anything. Then she leveled up, two days straight. With her own help, she proved better than anyone that she was better off alone. She noted each day at night, turning the blank pages into a diary.

While writing at night beside the campfire she made thanks to a monster’s breath, she stayed warm and continued writing in her legendary diary.

But when she thought she was alone, a rustle in the bushes caught her attention. The feather that disappeared from her hand was replaced by floating water, ready to attack at high speed. She stood up, and the book floated beside her as she walked toward the bush, one hand on the water and the other moving the bush aside.

Inside, she saw a small white snake trapped in the branches. Sighing, she moves her hand with the water, creating what looks like a mini-water blade that, with a snap, cuts the branch. The snake looks at her before nodding and slithering away. Returning to where she was sitting, she uses telekinesis to pull the meat from the fire toward her while continuing to write. It was a good pastime. She hears a noise and looks at the ground—the white snake is now staring at her. She takes a piece of meat and places it in front of the snake, who eats it perfectly before slithering up her leg and settling on her shoulder.

"Hey little guy, you’re alone too, huh?... I think you and I will be good friends."

The snake just hisses in agreement before curling around her neck inside the hood, its red eyes watching her write in her book. And so, she gained a friend.

.

In the morning, she’s already up killing monsters, increasing her level and skills. Now at level 30, it’s amazing how fast she’s leveling up. She returns to the capital, wanting to possibly buy equipment or maybe learn about the Wave. When one of the knights is kind enough to tell her where to go, she thanks him and heads to the church. The church, recognizing the book, is startled again—she thinks it’s because the Book Hero was almost never summoned. Arriving there, she sees the hourglass.

"Is this the Dragon Hourglass?"

It seems so, since the jewel in her book emits a beam of light connecting to the hourglass. And so, she obtains the hourglass’s time. Sighing, she leaves the church, thanking the sisters and going on her way. This time, she heads to the forest near the capital so she can get a room, and that’s what she does. Night falls, and she returns to the city looking for a place to stay. She finally finds one. Entering, she asks for a room and notices Naofumi’s party with—

"What was her name again?"

Myne—the girl. But she feels something off about the situation, that same feeling again. This time, she finally decides to spy on Naofumi—not for herself, but thanks to her phone and the Invisibility skill, she combines the two into a spell.

Mirror Eye

Only she can see the eye floating beside Naofumi. She mentally apologizes to the boy for spying, but her gut feeling that something would happen is strong. So she goes up to her room, pets the snake around her neck, and lies down, locking the door. She activates another eye to watch herself sleeping as a precaution. Though her mana is running low due to the spell, it won’t deplete completely, so she goes to sleep leaving the spell active.

Upon waking, she’s greeted with noise. She opens the window (which was locked from the inside) and sees Naofumi being dragged outside. She sighs and puts on her school shoes with the same clothes she arrived in, though they’re still clean. She leaves the room, deactivating the eye watching her and keeping only Naofumi’s. She takes Kabumaru and lets him curl around her neck. She adjusts her gloves, mask, and hood and leaves, following Naofumi. After leaving the building, she sees a guard outside.

"What happened?"

"Seems the Shield Hero got into trouble."

She runs to the palace—certainly something dangerous is happening, and she has to do something. Arriving at the palace, she hears a scream and sees Naofumi being accused.

"Huh? (Name)? What’s with that outfit?"

"What are you doing here, (Name)?"

"(Name), you have to help me!"

"May I know what’s going on to treat the Shield Hero like this?" she asks, standing beside Naofumi and the guards. The king looks nervous before Motoyasu steps forward.

"He harassed Lady Myne and tried to assault her!"

"I didn’t do it!!" Naofumi yells as he’s restrained.

"I believe there’s some injustice happening here."

"Oh, you think so? Got any proof?!" Myne shouts as she glares at the group.

"First, may I ask a question, ‘victim’? Are you a princess?"

Something seems to shock Myne, and she stays silent as (Name) steps forward, now standing between Naofumi and the heroes.

"Then obviously I’ll raise the flag that she could’ve set this up! As a princess, it’s easy for her to escape such accusations."

"And you have proof?!" Motoyasu yells, pointing his spear.

"Do you?" she counters, placing her gloved hand on her chin, watching Myne tense up before Motoyasu interrupts.

"We found Lady Myne’s lingerie in Naofumi’s room! After that, she came to mine!"

"But it wasn’t me!!" Naofumi yells, watching the scene unfold.

"Okay, so that’s the only proof, right?" Motoyasu seems excited. "Then it’s time to show MY proof."

"Your proof?! What are you going to present?" Myne stammers, clinging to Motoyasu.

"To tell the truth, I do have it! And today we’ll see if Naofumi is guilty or not!"

"What, did you turn into some kind of vigilante?!" the king says angrily as she raises her hand to silence him.

"Okay then, let’s see!" With a snap of her fingers, the eye that was previously invisible is revealed, startling everyone. The eye is the same color as the jewel and doesn’t blink. "Mirror Eye, show me what was recorded!"

The large eye blinks, and its iris displays the flashback—showing Naofumi and Myne drinking, then him going to his room and sleeping. After that, Myne enters fully dressed, places the lingerie on the floor, and sneaks out. Then it shows Naofumi sleeping and tossing in bed until he’s dragged out by guards.

The eye stops when it finishes showing Naofumi in front of the great heroes with Myne making a face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have the proof."

"Is this true, Myne? Did you set him up?" Motoyasu asks, sweating as he looks at the princess.

"No, this is a lie! He’s a sorcerer; he set this up!"

"Tell me, how did you get this ability, (Name)?" Ren asks, looking at her.

"You remember I said my phone was taken by the book? Well, this is one of the abilities the book gained from my phone."

"But it’s a lie!"

"Look, even if it were a lie, I wouldn’t have enough magic to do something like this. It would take too much mana, and besides, this spell doesn’t even exist—or if it does, it’s for higher levels, and you know it!" She glares coldly at Myne. "You can’t obtain a spell when you haven’t even leveled up or gained the necessary EXP!"

With that, she almost collapses, holding her knee. She snaps her fingers, and the book seems to suck the eye back between its pages. Everyone watches as she regains her posture. Even with the proof, Motoyasu remains blind, and soon the others side with him. She sighs.

Then she sees Naofumi stand up and leave.

"Naofumi, wait!"

"I appreciate your help, (Name), but they’re too blind. Thanks for trying, and by the way—here, take this, you traitor!" Naofumi yells at Myne, throwing the bag of coins before disappearing. She catches it with telekinesis.

"How can you believe a liar like him, (Name)?" Motoyasu says, but she just looks at him with hatred in her eyes.

"I could say the same! You’re supposed to be heroes, but you can’t even see through obvious lies! Oh wait, I remember—you’re men! You don’t care about anything as long as some whore sucks your dicks."

"Watch your language, Book Hero!" the king snaps, to which she flips him off.

"You shut up, King. You don’t care about anything—instead of solving this peacefully, you banished the hero! And you’re the one who brought him here! What kind of king are you?!"

"Don’t speak to my father like that!" Myne screams. "Naofumi really attacked me, but he’s fooling you!"

"Fooling me?! Fooling me?! I know liars and traitors when I see them."

"And how can you be so sure?" Motoyasu asks.

She lowers her hood and removes her mask, holding it in her hands. Gasps echo through the palace.

"Because I’ve lived through these lies before!" she says, staring deeply at the heroes. The princess has gone silent, but Itsuki speaks up.

"Look, (Name), calm down!"

"Don’t call me by my name. I’m not your friend—not anymore. So if you’re referring to me, have some respect and call me (Last Name). Thanks! In fact, all of you should call me (Last Name)."

"We understand your anger, but it’s over!" Ren tries, but she cuts him off. The guards are already approaching, but she raises her hand as Kabumaru hisses angrily at them, baring his fangs.

"Try to come closer, and I’ll turn you into pulp. Because I’m the strongest in this room, and you know it very well..."

"Please, Book Heroine, be more civil. Guards, lower your weapons." As the king says this, the guards step back. "Unfortunately, it’s already done, Miss (Na—) I mean, (Last Name)."

She looks at the heroes one last time before speaking.

"I thought we could get along, but I guess that’s never happening now! Now I know why the 5th Hero was almost never summoned—because he’d never bother joining people who call themselves heroes. Goodbye."

With that, she walks away toward the door, letting the mask fall from her hand. Her back is turned. Itsuki looks like he wants to stop her, but it’s too late. He looks at the gloves on the floor, remembering their conversation when they first arrived and the photo they took. His hands clench into fists.

3360 words

3360 words

[ghostgirlvii]

So, I got commission scammed! Yaaay......

TLDR; I asked on a post if anyone knew about an artist who could some something specific, got contacted by @/ patriciahaskenswrite, aka Muhammad Shariq on Paypal, didn't listen to my gut feelings, ended up being scammed €150 and I'm waiting to getting it back! Yes calling out with their real name because fuck this scammer and they could use other username on social!

Alright buckle up anyone who want to read the whole story.

Yesterday, I made a post looking for an artist who was comfortable drawing a polyamarous ship (not everyone might be so I wasn't sure) got some reaction here and there, but someone slided in my DMs. here come my callout to the scammer, @ patriciahaskenswrite / patricia._.draws on IG

I'm gonna say it now, if they contact you THEY ARE A SCAMMER! DO NOT ACCEPT!

So the begining of the conversation started well and you know I really thought they were legit. Till the first red flag should have raised more alarm than it did. They didn't really gave what were their prices, instead asked me how much I was willing to pay. Which I said somewhere around 150-180. I was asking for three full bodies after all. They said that for this kind of work they usually ask around 270, but would give me a discount to 240 because it was our first time working together. Ok... I guess I mean, considering their art and all, it sounded fair enough. So we agree on the usual half-half. One before sketch and one when they start working. Here come me paying the 150. Second red flag also, but in a society of ever so migrating social media, it went a little under, their portfolio on IG was all dated from March 8 of this year (2025).

Third red flag. They don't send me an invoice, at least not like I would do. But the payment was still made under products and services (so I can escalate to Paypal) but the BIGGEST red flag that was flashing like the freaking Star Trek Red Alert and that my gut feelings told me ABORT!, which I didn't listen, is when the Paypal account's name did not match the username. Patricia sounds like any legal name someone would have and should have been expected on Paypal as well. No instead I got a Muhammad Shariq which deserve a call out as well. If you ever see this name after decided to go throught an 'artist' payment, RUN!

Like an idiot, I did the payment and only this morning I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. What can I do? Reverse Google Search. Took a screenshot of their art on IG, put it the search and low and behold! I find this Facebook page of an French artist, who has been active since 2013! Well well well, it seems my guts were right! There was something scammy about Patricia/Muhammad. I contacted the French artist right away and she confirmed that she was indeed the real artist. She was both glad I brought this to her, but also angry that someone would do this. We talked a little back and forth about the situation. One good thing in all of this is that she still proposed herself to make the commission I asked the scammer. But of course this time I know it's the actual artist and I can trust her. (I'll put a pin on this because she really had a good style!) She is also on IG under the name @ astrella.illu <3

I decided to play nice at first with the scammer. (IDIOT!) Trying to get my money back a more civilized way. What was I thinking? I had to call them out to get something and even then... As I am writing this, I'm still waiting for the refund but I did escalated with Paypal. We will see where this go, but I'll go further if needed. Not only for the money, but also to just not let the scammer win a thing!

So be careful guys! If you gut tells you do back down, LISTEN! Don't be like me and get scammed just because I really wanted some art but I wasn't sure who to ask to because I know not every one can be comfortable with poly ship. I guess the morale of the story for me is; don't be shy to ask people I would trust, actually artist I know and worked with! Two; If the name doesn't match the paypal, refuse! And never trust someone who come forwards when you look for commissions, or maybe. It depends I think here. But be wary.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for triggering someone’s epilepsy (unknowingly)?

So I’m (19F) in this relatively small Discord server for a fandom. We occasionally get new members but there’s always been a “core” group of 7 of us who started it originally. We’re pretty close and consider each other genuine online friends, and we all admin the server.

A couple weeks ago, a new member (?M) who I’ll call K joined and I immediately felt a little sketched out by him because in his Discord profile in the pronouns section he put “goon/gooner.” I’m cis but I worried for the rest of the server (mostly trans), though they either didn’t see it or didn’t point it out. K seemed okay, he wasn’t very active other than reacting to stuff with emojis so he faded into the background and didn’t really bother me.

So we have a channel in the server for holiday stuff and yesterday one of the admins sent something for the first day of Hanukkah (the 8th) and pinged everyone. The last message above that was about Transgender Day of Remembrance (the 20th of November, before K joined) and after getting pinged for the new one I guess K saw that because he suddenly replied to one of the articles (about a trans boy-to-girl getting murdered) and said “rip king, sorry to see a brother go down.” It was very obvious in the article’s thumbnail that the teenager murdered was a girl, and it said she was trans in the title.

I was livid. Most of my friends are trans and I would (metaphorically) die defending them. I was too angry to write an actual response so I just sent a GIF (the “You should kill yourself now” one with the guy with white eyes and lightning flashing in the background, except it was sped up). K didn’t reply and another admin deleted his message and I wanted him banned, but they said we should wait for K to reply and give him the benefit of the doubt in case he was mistaken or misread it.

K started spamming in our general channel about half an hour later, super mad and saying stuff like “FUCK YOU YOU [R-SLUR] YOU MADE ME HAVE A FUCKING SEIZURE I HAVE EPILEPSY YOU DIPSHIT” and was just basically saying variations of that over and over until we kicked him. Apparently K had mentioned his epilepsy at one point but I don’t remember it ?? An admin pulled up a message though (his intro) where he listed it.

The other main 6 admins are very conflicted on this, but they mostly seem to think I’m an asshole and a couple of them have even unfriended me. I would be the asshole if I knew about K’s epilepsy, but I shouldn’t be expected to read every single message sent in the server, and honestly K took the risk of being on the internet where there are tons of flashing images, and I’m pretty sure there are accessibility settings you can have on Discord and your computer in general. Plus, K was being transphobic, and I was very angry and didn’t respond well. The others said I could’ve put a flash warning or something, but I wasn't thinking straight in the moment.

So, is this a NTA, JAH, or ESH? Because K was definitely an asshole too, even if he had epilepsy. I don’t know, the situation is complicated and he could be lying, so.

What are these acronyms?

[janecea8]

Sick rainy morning.

Tamarack × gn! Reader sketch.

it was heavily raining outside, raindrops falling on windows of the room where you are make a dull sound. yesterday was exactly the same stormy day, and you had the misfortune of getting caught in the rain and soaking wet, so this way you got ill.

you were trying to fall sleep, the TV was quietly making some noise in the background while you were lying on the couch. your tired eyes were looking somewhere at the ceiling.

you think that this morning wasn't quite pleasant for you.

already half asleep, you heard a knock on the door. you were groggy, and someone is distracting you from sleeping... expecting that it was most likely your mother, you waited for a couple more minutes.

the rhythmic knock on the door is repeated one more time, and now you have a feeling that you need to get up and open the door. instead of finding your mom on the porch of the house, you see your friendly neighbour shooting a shy wave at you. Tamarack was holding a plastic bag in her hand, and with the other hand adjusting an unruly strand of her pretty hair.

you froze, looking at her in pure shock. you don't know why, but you didn't expect at all that Tama would want to visit you.

Tammy sighed quietly, smiling kindly. "hey." she's now talking in a more gentle tone as she notice your messy appearance. "I heard you were sick, so I thought I'd pop by and get you some stuff to help." She paused for a few seconds, looking away awkwardly. "...if you don't mind me, of course."

you exhaled, smiling weakly. you still felt sick from the weakness that seemed to have consumed your entire body but Tamarack presence definitely made it easier. Tamarack made your life much easier overall. how could you mind her? "It's okay, I'm happy to see you here. come on in." your voice was a little hoarse so you had to cough a little. this, surprisingly, caused a quiet, melodious laugh from Tammy while she was walking in. this giggle of hers made you blush slightly, while panicking a little. "why laughing?" you asked her, feeling slightly confused. "um, sorry, it's nothing, just..." she already take off her top layer of clothing, now slightly nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "nice to see you so homey for the first time in a long while. i think you look really nice." now you were both chuckling. now you were united but the same, soothing feeling. the feeling of peace between you and her.

now it seems like this rainy sick morning could still be fixed.

——————————

an important message! ! !

I was not sure I can manage social media properly because of my frequent disappearances. I took it too seriously and demandingly, so I think I got burnout because of my writing here.

so i decided, from now on i will most likely mix my writing with off-topic and my other hobbies.

thank you for understanding! ,')

ps I would love to get some piece of an advice on how I can start writing better!

[warning-heckboop]

Hi again! This is the same anon who sent the ask about the Paint In Red AU relating to Dev using a wish. I'm so flattered you thought it was a good idea! I've loved all the AU stuff you've made so far so that's like a great compliment in my book. Anyway, I actually had some more takes if you're interested! I imagine that at some point after the wish Dev would manage to steal one of the anti-fairys wands, most likely Irep's, since we've seen humans can use a wand to grant wishes themselves. Because why ask Irep to grant his wishes when he can do it himself, especially since Irep is one of the people who turned their back on him. Cue Dev using the wand to take revenge on those he believes have slighted him or are a risk to remaining in power. Anyway sorry for all the anon asks! I'm just very nervous about doing it not anonymously, even tho I've sent a few anon asks by now and you've answered them lol

First off, apologies for the delayed response. Yesterday was my last big plan after over a month of lots of big plans and doctors appointments and stuff. I am exhausted, buuuuut hoping to get back into the swing of things with art and whatnot again now that it's over!

As a start, here's a first pass sketch at a concept I've had in mind for a while for the Paint in Red au. Dev does get his hands on an anti-fairy wand--a very particular anti-fairy wand in fact. Once Dev's wish to not care anymore is granted, he loses any and all attachments and hesitations that were previously preventing him from... getting rid of the few people who hurt him more than anyone: his father, of course, but now also Irep as well, who shunned Dev for his father at the drop of a hat and took what little attention Dale was finally giving Dev away.

Dev combines the, ahem, trophies from them with what remains of Peri's wand after his death to create his own unique wand! It's half fairy, half anti-fairy, so even in the event of the Big Wand being taken back by the fairies, he'll still have magic to support himself! He's really quite clever, once he no longer cares about all those silly feelings :)

(Also never apologize about using anon! I tend to prefer anon sometimes myself! That's what its there for! Do whatever you're most comfortable with!)

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ || ᴘᴛ. ꜰᴏᴜʀ||

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

Getting kidnapped was not on the checklist today.

Saving an old lady from a speeding car? Check.

Show up to class barely on time? Check.

Grab a burrito on the way to meet the girl who needed his help from yesterday? Check.

But getting kidnapped and signing a contract he never wanted? Not on the list. Never was it on the list.

Miles stares at the girl before him for a second, then down at the contract in her hands. He contemplates using his webs to grab and tear it up so it’d be rendered useless. 

Unfortunately, she seems to have sensed his intentions because she turns around and waves the contract in front of him with a teasing smile. 

“Sorry dude, I already took a photo and sent it to all my emails. Living in the twenty-first century really has its perks.”

Damn it.

How did he even get into this situation in the first place? Maybe it was when he didn’t knock on wood after he talked about nothing bad happening with Ganke. Yeah, it was probably that. But it still doesn’t completely explain how you found out about his identity. He’d been so careful too!

“How’d you even find out?” He finally voices his curiosity, unwrapping the sub in his hands and taking a bite. He pauses, looking down at it with intrigue. It was given to him as an apology after you had both left the store, and it’s surprisingly good. He recalls the bemused glance the owner had given them both when he opened the door, only to let her go without another word or further question.

It was almost impressive.

Then again, this is Brooklyn, after all. He'd probably seen weirder. 

Now, he and the girl are on the rooftop, the latter sitting down a short distance from him and starting to sketch absentmindedly in her sketchbook. He’s still guarded, having intended to treat her coldly for how she had borderline kidnapped and blackmailed him. 

Scratch that; he did, in fact, get kidnapped and blackmailed.

But her calm demeanour throws him off. What was one supposed to do in this scenario? He’d never encountered this before, not even once in the three months or so that he’d been Spiderman.

“Y’know, the usual.” 

“The usual?” He repeats, raising a brow before taking another bite. He still has half the mask on, not fully taking it off around her even though she knew who he was.

“Yeah, just did a little digging. Y’know, you’d think you’d be more careful for a superhero.”

“I was!” He defends himself, a sharp edge to his words. 

She chuckles, lips pulled into a half-smile as she looks up at him with amusement. “Then you might want to be more careful about how you sneak in and out of your dorm, Morales.”

He flinches at the use of his last name. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

His dorm? Since when was she around his dorm? 

“Did you stalk me?”

She looks up again from her sketchbook with an offended gasp, holding her hand over her heart with a frown. “I would never! The only time I ‘followed’ you was when you basically revealed your entire secret identity by very openly crawling into your dorm window. Literally anyone would’ve found out if they were around the area.” 

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “So much for secret identity.” He mutters to himself, taking another bite of the surprisingly addicting sub. The bread is fluffy, albeit slightly soggy from the sauces that coat the vegetables and meat. He tastes a hint of cinnamon, arching a brow in intrigue. 

Little odd, but it works. 

“It’s good, right? Mr Perez does the best in the city.” 

He merely shrugs in response. He hears a soft sigh, choosing to stare at the citizens on the sidewalk below.

“I’m sorry,” He hears her speak up, turning around with a sceptical frown. An apology? Now?

“If you’re sorry, you’d forget my identity and tear up the contract,” he mutters. 

“Yeah… I can't afford that.” 

“Why not?” He’s taken aback by her sheepish smile. 

“Here’s the thing… I kinda need you to be my model regardless. I’m an art student in need of a muse. I’ve been in such a slump lately, and I’m a little…desperate.”

“And I’m that muse?” He questions, oddly flattered yet still wary of her true intentions.

She shrugs. “Yeah. Look, you’ll get it once you see this.” She rifles through her backpack, grabs a large sketchbook and hands it to him. Instead of taking it from her like a normal and trusting person, he uses the web shooter on his wrist to spray a thin line, tugging it toward him. It dangles from the web, and he double-checks it in case it’s another trap. 

“There’s like, a mustard stain from years back, and the white powder is chalk.” Her comment makes him scoff, already having recognised the powdery residue. He flips it open, scanning through the pages. 

The first few are rather good, with sketches of people he doesn’t recognise. The shading is done well, putting his own to shame, actually. He continues to turn the pages, the next few a lot more colourful with the added use of watercolour pencils and charcoal. A soft coat of bright dust rubs off on his fingers, and he rubs it off quickly before continuing to look through the sketchbook.

He notes the slight wince on her lips in his peripheral, taking great care to ensure he doesn’t accidentally tear the pages. If she’s really an art student, then from one artist to another, allowing someone to view their sketchbook — containing their most private thoughts and inspirations, is practically sacred.

And just for that, he pauses eating his sub, wrapping it up and stowing it away for later.

Miles recalls his own sketchbook at home, the first pages already occupied by a half-finished sketch of Gwen. He subtly shakes his head to rid himself of the lingering nostalgia, focusing instead on the drawings before him. He frowns from the sudden and apparent lack of motivation. Though details were technically accurate, it was as if they had no life, just flat, one-dimensional drawings against the blank paper.

His breath hitches when he turns the page to see a full sketch of him leaning against the wall. He subconsciously leans in close, studying the details on his suit he hadn’t even noticed. It’s good. Really good. It’s only half-coloured, but even then, the way she did it can’t help but draw your attention, as if he’d step off the page and give himself a playful salute.

“So?” Her voice is calm. He senses her thoughtful gaze. 

“It’s good.” He replies simply. “Was this on the day we met?” He turns the book around to show her the drawing he's referencing. She nods, and he hums in response.

“I need your number, by the way. To schedule our next meetup.” She holds out her phone for him, the keypad on her screen and waits for him to key it in. He stands up, walks over, stops two feet away, and hands her back her sketchbook.

He reluctantly puts his number into her phone. He has half a mind to put in a random number instead, just to inconvenience her. He decides against it, however, and taps away at the keypad. 

She’d probably find out his number somehow if he did that.

“May I at least have the pleasure of knowing my kidnapper's name?” Miles asks sarcastically, keeping an eye on her as she continues to tap away at her phone. 

“The name’s Ray, Ray Paynt.” 

He chokes on his drink. 

“What?” He asks through the tissue he grabs from his pocket, wiping his mouth of any orange juice that had spilt from hearing her name. Unique is one way to describe it.

“But you, however, can refer to me as Ray.” 

He doesn’t know how to feel. 

“Ray, short for Rachel?” He asks. She nods confidently.

“Right.” 

She stands up, brushing off the dirt on her pants before sending him a halfhearted grin, and he nods in response. “Well, this has been…fun. But I gotta get home for dinner. I’ll text you when our next meetup will be. See you soon.” She says briefly, heading to the door that leads to the staircase. She opens it, pausing to glance back at him.

“Also, you might wanna check out the side of your head just in case,” she adds sheepishly before shutting the door behind her.

He reaches up to the left side of his head, only to wince when he massages the slightly sore spot. Right. He forgot about that.

Swinging back to his dorm room is peaceful, crossing the familiar well-lit streets and the occasional pickpocket on the way. In contrast to the chilly night air and calm breeze, his thoughts overlap like crashing waves on a once-calm shore.

Who really is she?

What kind of person is she?

Why him?

Even though they had spoken (rather begrudgingly on his behalf) after she knocked him out and made him sign a contract that was surprisingly in his favour, he knew next to nothing about her. 

Besides her name, he supposes. But where is she from? How did she find him in the first place? Did the store owner know her? 

Is she an enemy?

He sighs, walking under the subway bridge. Whatever she is, he has to figure out if her intentions really are as simple as she says. From one artist to another, he understands having an art block. It’s one of the worst things in the world.

But from one superhero to a civilian, she’s an enigma. 

All this thinking was making his head hurt.

“Yo, one pack of the usual painkillers, por favor,” Miles requests upon walking into the small convenience store he frequents. The owner looks up from his phone, reaching down and handing him a palm-sized red box. 

“Thanks, Lenny. How much do I owe you for this?” He reaches into the suit’s concealed pocket for his wallet, eager to return and get some well-deserved rest.

“Ten bucks. What’s got you so roughed up?” Lenny asks curiously, leaning over the counter after taking the cash he hands him.

Miles sighs, shoulders slumping at the question. How was one supposed to explain the series of unfortunate events that happened to him in fifty words or less? 

“Nothin’ much, just a little tired, I guess.” He chooses his words carefully. 

“Ah, I hear ‘ya. I got one regular who’s always walkin’ in here looking for energy drinks.” Lenny chuckles. “Man, the bags under her eyes were insane. Haven’t seen her in a while, though. I’m tellin’ you, kids these days have to rest more, not stay up all night studying. Y’all gotta have fun.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Miles nods vigorously, agreeing with the sentiment a little too deeply. He exits the store with a final goodbye, continuing to swing his way back through Brooklyn.

He crawls up the wall back to his dorm, pausing near the window as his fingertips brush over the edge. He takes a moment to look around and survey the area. His eyes land on the alleyway nearby, in clear view from his current location. If he could see it from here, then that meant whoever was there could see him, too. 

“The only time I ‘followed’ you was when you basically revealed your entire secret identity by very openly crawling into your dorm window. Literally anyone would’ve found out if they were around the area.”

He groans, hanging his head.

“Damn it.”

— — — — — 

A brand new day always means a brand new start.

In your case, it takes the form of a signed contract, framed and hung on your bedroom wall. You stare at it in satisfaction, smiling giddily at the fact that you had finally, finally, secured your muse. 

Even though the method used was a little unethical.

But that didn’t matter, because he signed the contract!

He. Signed. The contract.

It’s set in stone now, and this particular reminder sends a rush of adrenaline through you, the physical contract cementing this fact. It had been a couple of days since the incident, and this had become your new routine every morning. 

“Honey, it’s time to wake up!” You’re startled out of your thoughts when your mother calls you from the kitchen, having already almost finished getting ready. All that’s left is to get out of the bathrobe you have on into proper clothes and brush your teeth.

Once done, you enter the kitchen cheerfully, patting the leftover bits of moisturiser into your skin before greeting your mother with a big hug. She laughs as you pull away, raising her brows curiously. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” 

“Not much,” You hum, taking the bowl of stew she hands you and sitting down at the dining table. You begin to dig in, alerted to your father's presence, who walks into the kitchen with a groan.

Your mother hands him another bowl of piping hot stew, the scent of spicy chilli flakes helping to clear his head. He sits down opposite you with a soft grunt, your mother sitting beside him with concern. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask through mouthfuls, blowing on the spoonful of tofu in your hands to cool it down. 

“Someone accidentally hit me on the head with a binder at work yesterday,” Your father replies with a wince, sending your mother a thankful smile when she starts to feed him spoonfuls of stew. You watch his hand massage the spot on his head with a tinge of guilt, recalling how you had gotten Morales to be your muse. 

You should probably get him a gift as an apology.

“Get well soon, Dad. You should go see the doctor if it gets worse.” You add, placing your now-empty bowl in the sink after the last mouthful. 

“Will you be back home for dinner today?”

You pause, tilting your head in thought. “I don't think so. I’ll message you guys if anything comes up, though,” You promise, grabbing your bag and heading toward the door. 

The walk to school is as usual, nothing out of the ordinary besides the weather being a little sunnier than normal Brooklyn weather. Luckily, you have your trusty portable fan, using it to stay cool in the heat.

Your phone buzzes with a notification, and you take it out to see a new message from Morales.

Ray (Paynt) [ 10:00 PM ]: Yo, you free tomorrow at 3 for our first session?

Morales [ 10:30 PM ]: When you put it that way, no.

- [ Morales ] has changed your name to [ The Kidnapper ] -

- [ Morales ] has changed their name to [ The Kidnappee ] -

The Kidnapper [ 10:30 PM ]: Boooo. I’ll take that as a yes, though. Anyway, meet me at Fort Bridge Park at 3. I hope you like waffles :)

The Kidnappee [ 07:50 AM ]: Who doesn’t?

Ray Paynt. You have to admit, few can come up with such a good fake name on the fly. You mentally pat yourself on the back for it, grinning at how easily he had believed you. Ray, short for Rachel? Absolutely priceless.

“Are you texting your crush or something?” 

You yelp at the sudden hand around your shoulders, instantly shoving your phone in your pocket and glaring at Michael’s mischievous smirk. You push your elbow against his rib, but he’s already prepared for your reaction, moving away before he can get hit.

“How’d you even meet, anyway?” He continues to ask, undeterred by your response. You shrug.

“Just ran into him and recognised his face,” You answer simply, entering the school gates together. 

“What’s for lunch today, anyway?” Michael changes the subject, already bored with your short responses. He’d probably try to dig deeper into it another time. 

“From what Greta told me, it’s lasagna for the special. I think it’s something else for the regular.” 

“I don’t know how you got her to do it, but you gotta hook me up with that staff discount of hers sometime,” Michael complains, sticking to you like glue through the crowded hallway as you make your way to your locker. 

“Just be better,” You say nonchalantly, reaching your locker and taking out the textbooks you need for the day. You huff in amusement from his eye roll, greeting Nicole with a smile when you spot her a few feet away from you both.

“Hey, you got something here.” You grab a wet tissue from your locker and lean down slightly, using your thumb to brush against the corner of her lips where a spot of grease is, wiping it off and tucking her messy hair behind her ear. You straighten your back with a soft smile, noticing the slight pink that coats the tips of her ears when you do so.

“Thanks.”

“Hang on.” 

Pausing at Michael’s words, you watch him lean down, reaching his hand out to try and replicate what you did. Instead, Nicole twists his hand, bringing him to his knees with a glare. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“But-”

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Nicole warns clearly, finally letting go as a sign of mercy. You smile sympathetically, helping him to his feet and massaging the sore spot on his wrist. He mutters his thanks, pulling his wrist away after. 

School passes by in the blink of an eye, and you find yourself at the gates ready to leave at Two P.M. Nicole had her chess club — she had a match coming up that she couldn’t afford to lose. You’re more than certain that she never will, having watched her break her opponent down mentally during a previous match. Michael had his neighbourhood basketball game that he rushed off to, promising to introduce you to a new cafe another time.

Cafe. Right. 

The plan for today is simple. Grab some amazing waffles from the cafe you’d seen people rave about online, and meet Spidey-Boy at Fort Bridge Park, where you’d chill out and draw him in different poses or something. 

You’re still not entirely sure how this muse thing is supposed to go. But that’s okay! You’ll figure it out along the way.

Public transport is a blessing to have. The thought of owning your own car in the future makes you excited. You’d never have to deal with other people’s bad body odour ever again. The lack of hygiene of some commuters makes you determined to push forth a project on personal grooming in the future. 

Standing next to a man grabbing the handles in the train, revealing the sweat-soaked spot under his shoulders, only reaffirms this resolve. 

You finally hear your stop being called out over the speakers, all but rushing out the doors and inhaling deeply. Your lungs burn from the shallow breaths you took standing next to him, grateful for the existence of oxygen. 

Surprisingly enough, Google Maps gets you to the cafe in only fifteen minutes, and you order your waffles to go, waiting patiently in the store while blissfully inhaling the smell of freshly baked croissants and ground coffee. 

You’ll definitely be coming here again for a study session. 

You hear your name being called shortly after, thanking the server who hands you your order before exiting and heading to Fort Bridge Park with, yet again, the help of Google Maps. Thankfully, you reach five minutes before the scheduled time, choosing to sit down at a random bench and waiting for your muse to show up.

The Kidnapper [ 02:55 PM ]: I’m sitting near the bridge. Hope you’re hungry 

The Kidnappee [ 02:55 PM ]: Are you the one looking down really intensely at your phone?

“I am not looking intensely, thank you very much.” You say with a lighthearted scoff once Morales plops down next to you seconds after you read his message. 

“Right,” He replies sarcastically. “Where’s the promised waffle? And my ten bucks?” 

“Here’s your waffle. Payment will only be made at the end of each session.” You hand him the waffle, and he takes it without complaint, though his eyes narrow at the last few words. 

“That’s not what you promised.” 

“It’s in the contract,” You reply with a hum, taking a bite and grinning in delight at the fluffy texture. “Eat, eat!” 

He reluctantly pulls up his mask slightly, unwraps the waffle and bites down at your strong encouragement, lips pursed as he chews. “It’s…not bad.” 

“Not bad? It’s insanely good! No wonder it got so many popular reviews. The kaya in this one is incredible. You gotta try this.” You hold up the half-eaten waffle to him, and he looks at you warily.

“Here,” You tear off a piece of your waffle instead, eagerly holding it out to him. 

He takes it. “I think this is better,” He holds up the one in his hand after eating the piece you offered. 

“To each their own,” You comment, finishing off your waffle in mere minutes while he’s still slowly enjoying his. You dust off the crumbs on your hands and pull out your sketchbook, making yourself comfortable and crossing your legs before turning to face him. 

You notice him stiffening from the sudden attention, chuckling at his reaction. It was kinda cute. 

“Just pretend I’m not here,” You assure him, smiling warmly. “Just do what you normally do when you relax or when you’re not off fighting crime in lovely Brooklyn.”

His shoulders are still tense, but he slowly rests against the bench backrest, watching the people pass by. They notice his presence but ignore him in favour of rushing off to their own destinations, as are the lovely people of your city. Some linger around but quickly get bored once they realise that there’s nothing exciting happening.

“So, what’s your favourite food?” You break the silence with a question. You need him to relax so much more than his current self, who looks as if he’d bolt any chance he gets. 

“Pasteles, they’re probably the best food to ever exist.” 

“What’re those?” You pause, looking up with interest at this new dish you’ve never heard of. 

“Oh, pasteles are like, this food. It’s got pork and adobo in it, and it’s just amazing. My mom makes the best,” He answers excitedly, animatedly using his hands to describe the food. You grin in amusement, nodding at his words. 

“I’ve never tried them. The closest thing I’ve tried is a rice dumpling.”

“Rice dumpling?” Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Yeah. Usually, when you hear dumpling, you think, like, gyoza or whatever, but these rice dumplings I’m talking about are on a whole other level. It’s basically pork or chicken, filling in sticky glutinous rice, wrapped in banana leaves in a triangle, and then steamed. It’s so good. I’ll bring some next time!”

“Cool, I’ll bring some pasteles too. But why are they triangle shaped?”

“That’s a good question,” You pause when you realise you don’t know the answer, pulling out your phone and doing a quick Google search. It proves fruitful, with Wikipedia being your one and only saviour. 

“Says here that they used to be in bamboo tubes, but they wrapped them in chinaberry leaves so dragons wouldn’t consume them. That’s actually pretty cool. I respect the dedication,” You remark, turning your screen to show him the Wikipedia page. He leans in, scanning the words with an intrigued hum before leaning back.

“Imagine having dragons, though.”

“I dunno, man. I’m talking to Spiderman right now. Dragons aren’t that far-fetched to me.” You crack, watching his shoulders shake with his laughs. You pick up the pencil and sketch as quickly as possible, satisfied with his relaxed state. Quickly finishing it up and polishing a few strokes here and there, you realise you’d gotten so absorbed in your drawing that the sun was already beginning to set.

He’s waiting patiently for you, scrolling through his Instagram feed. You pack your tools, feeling guilty for keeping him here for so long. “Thanks for waiting for me,” you say gratefully, zipping up your bag and standing up.

“Couldn’t leave without my ten bucks.” He quips. Your eyes widen at the reminder, patting your pockets and feeling for the ten-dollar bill stowed away in one of them. Once you find it, you pull it out and hand it to him. He takes it happily.

You’re both alerted to a food truck playing a short jingle over the speakers. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s a gelato truck. 

“Their stuff’s pretty good,” He says, eyes trained on the sign offering a special discount from now till next weekend.

“Here’s a fun fact: I’ve never tried gelato,” You admit.

He scoffs. “And you call yourself a foodie.”

“I do not,” You defend yourself, lips pursed into a slight playful frown. He strides off to the cart, returning with two small cups. A single scoop of vanilla rests in one, and he hands you the other with a scoop of chocolate gelato inside. 

You take a quick bite, eyes widening slightly at the heavenly taste that greets your tongue. You take another spoonful, then another. 

“It’s good, right?” You nod vigorously in response, his lips tugging up into a satisfied smirk at your bright smile. The gelato is absolutely decadent and insanely creamy to the point that it feels like you’re just drinking it.

Wait. Creamy?

“Does this have dairy in it?”

A quick nod from him confirms your fear. You look down at the gelato in your hands, taking another small spoonful and sighing blissfully in your head. You sense his eyes on you, filled with slight worry. “It’s fine; I can deal with anything. I’m not that weak,” You chuckle with a dismissive wave of your hand. You both soon finish the gelato and part ways with a simple goodbye.

You’d deal with the consequences later.

At least, that’s what you told yourself before now, hunching over the toilet bowl while cursing out the inferior genes you had inherited from your parents. 

So much for being able to handle anything.

— — — — — — — — —

taglist:

@oh-kurva @brunnettiwik @queerponcho @sleepingnova @1theestallionyas @horologiumwise @ken-zah @sockgoblin @itstooearly-its3am @anuncalledbridge @ditto737 @sophipet @mirophobic @dilucpegg3r @urmotherswhor3 @arraxthatsonjah @ameliabs-world @superiorbyfar @swaqlover @janyiahsucks-blog @choco-malk-blog @akemiixx01 @a-cult-leader @berryunderscore @scarletrosesposts @stargirlhayven @bellstwd @edgyficuselastica @psyche404 @sukisprettyface

[helsgcddess]

— VEILED SPARKS; iii

READ ON AO3 || PINTEREST BOARD (in the works)

summary: "You should be more careful about what you draw, Toria." In which an artist with a knack for seeing things she shouldn't meets a suspiciously perfect stranger with glowing blue eyes and a possessive yellow Camaro. Set during ROTF.

pairing: bumblebee/original character

word count: 3.1k

a/n— y'all.... the way this chapter wrote itself?? like one minute i was like "lets write toria being high and gay panicking about brooks" and suddenly it's 4am and i have 3k words of her being a disaster??? also yes, jayde ( @morbid-personality ) is absolutely going to be the "what if he's a robot tho" friend and honestly? we love her for it. also also, bumblebee needs to chill with the stalking but like... he won't bc he's Like That (chapter 4 might come sooner than expected bc these two won't leave me alone send help)

warnings — weed use, anxiety/mental health stuff, vague mission city references, highly questionable coping mechanisms

I slapped at my phone when the alarm blared. "Shut up, shut up, yeah, I got it!" I groaned as I finally hit the snooze button. The sunlight streaming through my window illuminated the sketches I'd stayed up way too late working on—pages and pages of impossible blue eyes and edges that didn't quite match reality.

Why had I decided to wake up at 9 am?

My brain slowly pieced together yesterday's events as I stumbled out of bed: broken down Chevelle, suspiciously perfect stranger, weird fog-shrouded maybe-stalking, and—

I froze, hand halfway to the shower knob. My car—my dad's car—was supposedly somewhere "safe." According to the cryptic text from an unknown number who apparently had opinions about my sketching habits.

Oh fuck. I was going to have to deal with that after therapy. And somehow not tell my therapist about the return of my post-Mission City paranoia, now with bonus government-adjacent stalkers and cars that moved like they were alive.

I groaned but stepped into the shower, letting the water blast away some of my racing thoughts. After two washes of my hair, I let the conditioner sit while I contemplated how exactly one explains "I think my dad's military projects are haunting me via an impossibly attractive maybe-human" without getting committed.

"Okay, Toria. It's just therapy. You'll do fine," I whispered to myself as I rinsed my hair out and stepped out of the shower. "Just don't tell her anything about him or the car or—" I caught my reflection's eye. "Wait, how are we even getting to therapy?"

I called my best friend after brushing my teeth. She answered on the first ring. "What's up, bitch?" She coughed into the phone. "Sorry, just did a dab."

"You good if I steal your car to take to therapy? I'll pay you in cannoli," I offered as I checked the weather. I grabbed shorts from my clean laundry basket, along with a black sports bra and a Hawaiian button-up that had definitely been Dad's at some point.

"Only if I can smoke you up after therapy," Jayde replied. "You sound like you need it. Something weird happen at the café again?"

"You could say that." I tucked my sketchbook into my bag, deliberately not looking at last night's drawings. "Deal. Be there in 20."

"Love you," then she hung up.

I laced my steel toes, grabbed my smokes off the counter, and headed into the California heat. My thumb ring caught the sunlight as I twisted it—a nervous habit that had gotten worse since mysterious hot strangers started texting me about my art.

I took the long way to Jayde's place, walking by the pier to get slapped in the face by the smell of salt and ocean. Every yellow car I passed made my heart skip, but none of them were that impossibly pristine Camaro. Not that I was looking.

I paused at the coffee shop by her place, picking up our usual: Red Bull infusions with pomegranate and blueberry syrup, topped with half and half. The caffeine-sugar bomb we'd perfected during our brief stint as art school roommates before... everything.

It wasn't until I lit my cigarette, trying to calm my pre-therapy jitters, that my phone vibrated.

Unknown Number: Your car will be parked at your apartment in time for your shift.

I dropped my lighter in the ocean. "No, fuck! Ugh." I groaned, watching my last lighter disappear into the waves. Perfect. Because this day needed to get more complicated.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: Also, the alternator wasn't the only thing that needed fixing. You're welcome.

"Oh, that's not ominous at all," I muttered, taking a long drag of my cigarette. "Totally normal to have a suspiciously perfect stranger doing unauthorized repairs on your dead dad's car."

A yellow Volkswagen Beetle drove past, and I nearly choked on smoke before realizing it wasn't the same shade of yellow. Wrong car, wrong driver, wrong... everything.

I threw my half-finished cigarette back into my pack and headed up the creaky steps to Jayde's apartment. The whole building smelled like weed and beach air—pretty much Jayde's signature scent since high school.

She opened the door before I could knock, practically bouncing despite being high. "There's my favorite disaster! One slightly beat-up Civic at your service." She grabbed her drink and took a long sip. "Now spill. What happened to your car? The Chevelle's like, your baby."

"Alternator died," I said, following her into her mess of an apartment. Art supplies competed with bong collections for surface space, and her walls were covered in our collaborative pieces from school. "Some guy helped me out."

"Some guy?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Like, a cute guy? A mysterious guy? A—"

"A guy who apparently knows how to fix cars and sends cryptic texts," I cut her off, pulling out my phone. "Look."

Jayde read the messages, her eyes widening. "Okay, that's either really sweet or really serial killer-y. There's no in-between." She paused. "Is he hot though?"

I thought about impossible blue eyes and too-perfect movements. "That's... complicated."

"Oh my god, he is." She grinned. "You're doing that thing where you want to draw someone but can't quite get them right. Show me your sketches."

"Absolutely not." I snatched her car keys from their hook. "I'm already late for therapy."

"Fine, keep your mysterious hot car guy secrets!" she called after me. "But we're totally talking about this when you get back!"

I slid into Jayde's Civic, immediately assaulted by the smell of weed and her vanilla air freshener. At least it wasn't as pristine as... certain other cars I'd been in recently.

The radio crackled to life when I turned the key—some pop station Jayde always left it on. Not classic rock, not engine purrs that sounded like speech. Just normal car stuff. Totally fine.

"Get it together, Toria," I muttered, pulling onto the street. "You've got exactly forty-five minutes to figure out how to talk about your week without mentioning glowing eyes or mysteriously repaired cars."

My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I definitely didn't swerve checking to see if it was another cryptic text.

Just Mom: Don't forget to ask about upping your anxiety meds!!!

I snorted. Yeah, because that conversation would go great. 'Hey doc, I think I need stronger meds because I keep seeing weird lights like in Mission City, and a suspiciously perfect stranger knows things about Dad's car, and I can't stop drawing his impossibly symmetrical face.'

The traffic light turned yellow—just yellow, not that specific shade that kept haunting me—and I tried to focus on normal therapy topics. Work stress? Safe. Mom's hovering? Classic. The fact that I hadn't touched my college applications since Dad died? Definitely therapist-approved discussion material.

Strange men who moved like machinery and knew things about classified military projects? Maybe save that for next session.

The parking lot of Dr. Clarke's office looked exactly like it always did: half-full with sensible cars belonging to people with probably sensible problems. Not a yellow Camaro in sight. Not that I was checking.

I grabbed my sketchbook out of habit—Dr. Clarke encouraged "artistic expression during sessions" or whatever—then immediately shoved it back in my bag. Yeah, maybe not today's sketches.

The waiting room was its usual study in beige calm, complete with generic watercolor paintings and magazines from three years ago. The receptionist, Amy, gave me her usual sympathetic smile. Everyone here still had that same look since Mission City, like they were waiting for me to crack.

"Dr. Clarke's running a few minutes behind," she said. "But she'll be right with you."

I slumped into my usual chair, twisting my ring and definitely not thinking about how Brooks had known things about Dad. About the base. About—

"Toria?" Dr. Clarke appeared in her doorway, clipboard in hand and reading glasses perched on her nose. "Ready to come in?"

Her office was familiar at least—walls lined with psychology degrees and children's artwork, the leather couch that had witnessed two years of my post-Mission City processing, the view of the bay that was supposed to be calming or whatever.

"So," she said as I settled into my usual spot, "how has your week been?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, then laughed. "That's... kind of complicated."

"Complicated how?" Dr. Clarke asked, settling into her chair with that perfect therapist posture. She probably didn't have to worry about mysterious men fixing her car or sending cryptic texts.

"Well," I started, focusing on the safe parts, "the café's been busy. Mom's stress-baking again. And my car broke down, which is... yeah."

"The Chevelle?" Her pen paused over her notepad. "Your father's car?"

I twisted my ring. "Yeah. Alternator issues."

"And how did that make you feel?" Classic Dr. Clarke, always with the feelings.

"Honestly?" I stared out at the bay, watching fog roll in. "It felt like losing him all over again. Like—" I stopped, remembering Brooks' words about the car attracting attention. About Dad's classified work.

"Like what, Toria?"

"Like maybe some things should stay broken." The words came out before I could stop them.

Dr. Clarke's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's an interesting perspective. What makes you say that?"

I thought about the text messages burning a hole in my phone. About the way Brooks had looked at me like he knew things—about Dad, about Mission City, about everything.

"Sometimes I think..." I chose my words carefully, "Maybe Dad was trying to protect me from something. With all those classified projects he never talked about."

Dr. Clarke shifted in her chair, a subtle movement that meant we'd hit Something Important. "Your paranoia about Mission City—has it been getting worse?"

I focused on a particularly boring watercolor on her wall. "Not... exactly." Lie. "It's just—" I twisted my ring again. "The whispers are back."

That got her full attention. The whispers had been my first symptom after Mission City—constant theories about what I'd seen, about Dad's work, about the lights and sounds that didn't make sense.

"The same whispers as before?"

"Different," I said carefully. "Less about what happened then, more about..." I thought about Brooks' impossible movements, about engines that sounded alive, about texts that knew too much. "More about what might still be happening."

"Can you elaborate?”

"You'll think I'm crazy." I laughed, but it came out shaky.

"Toria," her voice went gentle, "we've talked about this. Your reactions to trauma—"

"It's not trauma this time," I interrupted, then winced. "I mean, yeah, obviously there's trauma, but this is..." I gestured vaguely. "This feels real."

The clock on her wall ticked loudly, reminding me we were almost out of time. Thank god.

"Have you been taking your medications regularly?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes. And before you ask, I'm sleeping. Eating. Working. Being a functional human despite my various mental health issues." I stood up, gathering my bag. "The whispers are probably nothing. Just stress about the car."

Dr. Clarke gave me that look—the one that said she didn't believe me but couldn't prove it. "Same time next week?"

"Yeah," I said, already halfway to the door. "Assuming mysterious car trouble doesn't get in the way."

I took the coastal route back to Jayde's, windows down and music up—trying to drown out both Dr. Clarke's concerned voice and my own paranoid whispers. The salt air helped, even if every flash of yellow in my peripheral vision made my heart jump.

Until one of those flashes wasn't just my imagination.

The yellow Camaro was parked at the pier, looking impossibly pristine against the backdrop of tourist shops and street vendors. No Brooks in sight, but something about the way the car was angled—like it was watching the road—made me grip Jayde's steering wheel tighter.

"Nope," I said out loud, definitely not looking at how the sunlight hit the black racing stripes. "We are not doing this. We are going to smoke with our best friend and not think about hot guys with government secrets or their stalker cars."

I pulled into Jayde's parking lot, killing the engine just as my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Your artistic talent is impressive.

Unknown Number: But maybe focus on drawing something less classified.

I stared at my bag, where my sketchbook was definitely closed and definitely hidden.

"How the fuck—" I started to mutter, when another text came through.

Unknown Number: The Chevelle's waiting at your apartment. Try not to break it again.

I practically ran up Jayde's stairs, bursting into her apartment where she was already setting up her favorite bong—the one we'd painted with glow-in-the-dark stars during finals week.

"Here," Jayde said, passing me the bong and her favorite drawing pencils—the ones we'd stolen from art school before I dropped out. "Smoke this and draw something that isn't government-spy-boyfriend for five minutes."

I took another hit, letting my hand move across a blank page without thinking. Somehow it still turned into those impossible blue eyes.

"I can't stop drawing him," I groaned, flopping back against her couch. "Like, my brain is just... full of him? His stupid perfect face and the way he moves like... like he's never quite figured out how bodies are supposed to work but somehow it's still hot?"

Jayde snorted, taking the bong back. "You're so high right now."

"No but listen," I sat up too fast, sending colored pencils scattering. "He shows up in this ridiculous car that probably costs more than my entire life, looking like some government catalog's idea of the perfect human, and then he just... knows things? About Dad? About my car? And sends these cryptic texts like he's watching me but somehow it's not creepy? Okay it's a little creepy but—" I paused for another hit, "—okay but he's so fucking hot though."

"There it is!" Jayde cackled. "I was wondering when we'd get to the thirsty part of this crisis."

I grabbed a handful of Jayde's Doritos, still sketching with my free hand. "It's not fair. Like, who told him he could look like that? While also being all mysterious and probably dangerous and definitely involved in whatever classified shit got Dad killed and—" I stared at my newest sketch. "Oh my god, I'm drawing him again."

"Girl, you've got it bad," Jayde laughed, taking the sketchbook. "Damn though, if this is accurate..." She tilted her head at the drawing. "Wait, are his eyes actually this blue? That's not natural."

"Nothing about him is natural," I mumbled around a mouthful of chips. "He's like... too perfect? Like someone tried to design the hottest possible person but forgot humans are supposed to have flaws."

"Maybe he's an android," Jayde suggested, reaching for the bong again. "Like, a really hot android sent to protect you because of your dad's secret government work."

I started laughing and couldn't stop. "Oh my god, what is my life? I'm sitting here, high as fuck, crushing on some maybe-not-human guy who keeps fixing my car and judging my art choices."

"Speaking of your car," Jayde checked her phone, "don't you have a shift at four?"

"Shit," I sat up, the world spinning slightly. "Mom's gonna kill me if I show up high again."

"Drink water first," Jayde said, tossing me a bottle. "And take these." She handed me her emergency sunglasses—the ones we'd decorated with little stars during our last art school all-nighter. "You look absolutely blasted."

"Love you," I mumbled, gathering my stuff and trying not to forget anything important. Like my dignity. Or my ability to walk straight.

"Text me if hot government boy shows up at the café!" Jayde called after me. "I want to know if his face is really that symmetrical in daylight!"

I was halfway down her stairs when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: The walk from Powell Street to your apartment has fewer surveillance cameras. Take that route.

Unknown Number: And maybe wear sunglasses. You look... relaxed.

"Oh my god," I whispered to my phone, torn between mortified and impressed. "Are you actually stalking me or just really committed to this mysterious protector aesthetic?"

Another buzz.

Unknown Number: Both. Be safe, Toria.

"Fuck," I muttered, shoving on Jayde's sunglasses and heading toward Powell Street like a good, obedient disaster. "He's so hot when he's being creepy."

I took the suggested route home, only slightly paranoid about every yellow car I saw (which, being high, was probably more than actually existed). The sunglasses helped with both the sun and my dignity, even if I kept wanting to sketch the way light bounced off passing windshields.

My apartment was exactly how I'd left it—organized chaos of art supplies and half-empty coffee cups. But there, visible from my window, sat the Chevelle. Looking... better? The paint seemed shinier, and something about it felt more alive.

"Nope," I told my reflection as I changed into my work clothes. "That's the weed talking. Cars don't look 'more alive.' Get it together."

I threw my hair up in a messy bun, switched to my café-approved black t-shirt, and tried to look less like I'd just spent the afternoon getting supremely baked while drawing a suspiciously perfect stranger.

My phone buzzed again as I was applying eye drops.

Unknown Number: Your mother's making that fusion dessert again. Might want to hurry.

"Okay, that's just showing off now," I muttered, but grabbed my bag faster. Mom's culinary experiments were legendary for all the wrong reasons, and I really didn't need to add 'death by experimental tiramisu' to my growing list of concerns.

I hesitated at my door, staring at my sketchbook. After a moment's debate, I shoved it in my bag. Something told me today's shift wasn't going to be boring.

The walk to the café felt different somehow—maybe because I was still slightly high, or maybe because I kept catching glimpses of yellow in my peripheral vision. But this time, instead of anxiety, each flash just made me want to reach for my sketchbook.

Mom was indeed in the kitchen when I arrived, surrounded by what looked like an unholy union of cannoli and mochi. I quietly rescued the latest batch before it could become a health code violation.

"Oh, tesoro!" She brightened when she saw me. "Did you see? The Chevelle's fixed! Such nice work too—almost like new! Did you find a mechanic? How much do we owe—"

"Let's not worry about that right now," I cut her off, tying my apron and definitely not thinking about mysterious car repairs. "Friday night rush is starting."

I made it through the first hour of my shift almost normally. Almost. Right up until I glanced out the window and saw a yellow Camaro parked across the street, its engine humming just loud enough for me to hear through the dinner rush chaos.

My phone buzzed one last time.

Unknown Number: You look better when you smile.

Unknown Number: Even if it's because you're still slightly high.

"Well," I muttered, tucking my phone away and fighting back a grin, "this should be an interesting shift."

[quibbs126]

Uh, more stuff for the AU today, though nothing as substantial as I would have liked

The first few things are me attempting that change in style I mentioned last post, but I didn’t like how it was turning out, so I just decided to go back to normal. If there will be a style change, it isn’t today I guess

So then I tried to design Orion Pax, aka past Prima, but he wasn’t turning out great either. I mean I thought he looked fine earlier, but coming back after work, no he really doesn’t. I tried a second head later on, but he probably still needs some more work

So I was feeling dejected after the top row, and so I sort of just took a character and started drawing, that being g1 Moonracer. And you know, I don’t think she turned out half bad. And then at work I decided I’d do Ironhide next, trying some heads out and then sketching him during break, and then lining and coloring him in after I got back

Design wise I don’t have much to comment on Moonracer, since she’s pretty much only g1 inspired, and I gave her the purple and yellow because I thought it would look good on her

With Ironhide his design is pretty much just g1 based, but the color scheme comes more from his Bayverse counterpart because screw it, I think the black looks good on him. But also with some of his red in as well. I don’t think I was originally intending red eyes with him, but eh, it works. I could also give him orange if that works better

Also with these two I was trying to experiment with 1: skin tones that aren’t just grey or white (well I mean Ironhide’s still grey, but it’s fine), and 2: different eyes, though mostly with Ironhide. I saw a tweet yesterday about how the TFP cast had a diverse range of optic styles with its characters, and yeah it’s something to appreciate, and I thought, why not try it out here? I’d need to try it out a bit more, but it’s something I’m considering dabbling with

But as for Moonracer and Ironhide’s roles in this AU? I have no clue, I just drew them because I could. If I had to say, Moonracer’s probably a member of Elita’s squad, and Ironhide a member of the Autobots. Or you know, maybe Ironhide could be part of Elita’s squad too. Hm

That really is an issue I think with me here; I keep designing characters, but I’m not really expanding the AU much, at least outside of lore dumping in the descriptions. Hmm, not sure how to fix that. Maybe I need to make myself a PowerPoint on this AU to help me solidify and focus on what I want to do here

But not tomorrow, I have classes and a quiz and an assignment and something about an online exam, and I’ve been scheduled for work tomorrow at that, despite never working a Tuesday shift. Oh well, guess we’ll see how that goes. Gonna have no energy by the end of it I think

But yeah uh, I think that’s it, I haven’t made any major strides here today

[deryuj]

Follow the curves

You wish you could focus on your case but truth be told, Connor is far too distracting.

(Or Connor is helping you with your case while you sketch him in your notebook instead)

Rating: General audience

Ship: Connor x gn!reader

I started my summer job and realized I have a lot of free time so I actually wrote a fanfic because I was bored. Enjoy!

p.s. Last time i wrote a fanfic was in 2017 and english isn't my first language, lol.

It's been three hours since you stepped your foot into the squeaky clean department. Also, it's been two hours and fifty-five minutes (minus ten minutes you spent making yourself a coffee and five minutes you took for a bathroom break, which was an excuse to just get up from your workspace and do something different) since you made yourself comfortable by your desk and started working again with the weird writings and drawings you found last night at the apartment, left by what you suspected was a deviant. Looking at the same set of lines for hours turned them into uncomprehensive scribbles and doodles at this point so you couldn't make anything out of them anyway. You needed to do something else rather than stare absent-mindedly at the same page for the next five hours until your shift is done.

You wish you could say you were going in circles with this investigation but honestly, there was no circle you could even walk in in the first place.

How frustrating.

With a soft sigh, you turned your gaze to your right where Connor sat way before you even arrived, his blue LED shining and flickering as his brown eyes stayed glued to the screen. It was funny that for an android he insisted to use computers to scroll through information like the rest of the DPD did. He didn't have to, it was probably more time-consuming and less efficient to do so, but somehow it was so endearing that he makes sure to act as human as possible and blend with the rest of his coworkers.

You haven't really spoken to him today though, he was assigned to you strictly because of the notes you discovered, it was the longest you have been in his presence, which is a bummer. Usually, you would see him casually follow Hank like a puppy, hand folded behind him, long legs easily matching his anger, quick steps, and a soft smile that was always plastered on his face. You weren't sure if he was designed to always smile or chose to do so, but you decided to believe that he wants it that way. Now though you could see that soft smile and adorable chocolate cowlick up close with him working mere centimeters away from you and you couldn't help but smile yourself.

Cyberlife sure did a great job designing him.

Connor was the newest addition to the team, assigned to help the lieutenant in his cases, which definitely did not make him happy since he oh so loved his broody and lone wolf reputation. You were pleased though, you never had a chance to work with an android (and you kinda never exactly did until now). You liked Connor, maybe more than you'd like to admit, and you found yourself doubting the whole 'friendship' if you could even call it that. Yes, he was an android and he definitely wasn't programmed to like everyone (based on his previous interactions with Gavin) but somehow you found yourself hoping that after all the small conversations you shared he, at least, considered you a friend because he liked you, not because his program told him so. Were you even making sense at this point?

You let out a soft sigh, reaching out to grab a half-empty cup of stale coffee before your eyes glided back to working Connor. He hasn't moved from his stiff position since morning, his warm eyes fixated on the computer screen, subtle nose twitches, jaw tightened, smooth hand gripping the notes you wrote down yesterday as he silently analyzed the same set of information written in your handwriting over and over again before looking up at the computer screen, trying to find some kind of clue on what exactly the deviant was trying to write down or show.

As if it was that easy to understand the maniacal scribbles they left behind before running away.

He looked so focused, so eager to prove himself and his skills to everyone that he completely shut himself off from the whole department and new information from his surroundings for now so nothing will take him out of the process of decoding the messages. You were almost curious if by any chance he knows you're watching him so shamelessly or if he even realized that you joined him by your desk to help almost three hours ago.

He was cute, really cute, and in some way you felt a little weird with choosing this word to describe a grown man, or more specifically someone designed to hunt down deviants and do it without any hesitation.

You'd rather keep your observations to yourself rather than get embarrassed though that's what you told yourself with your inner voice.

You comfortably leaned against your palm, letting your gaze dance across all the soft and sharp edges of his profile. His small, pretty nose, freckled artificial skin, pursed, plush lips, and extremely long lashes. Someone put all these details down into this single design just to make fun of you and your silly little crush on an android, that you were almost sure has no algorithm that could by any chance make him like you back. It was stupid, really, but God was he too pretty to not like.

Never mind your earlier praises, you hated Cyberlife for this design.

You felt your cheeks heat up just from thinking about this, definitely not your smartest thought of the day.

You tilted your head to the side, your hair moving with your move as you glanced at him from a slightly different angle. Still pretty. Dang.

One line, second line, join these two with another line.

Without thinking much your hand danced across your handy notebook, your pen leaving gentle lines and curves as you tried to memorize his pretty features. You weren't an amazing artist but you could at least make it resemble him. That's all you needed to do. You needed to convey his pretty profile somewhere where it won't disappear, somewhere you'll be able to look at whenever you'd feel like it, and not when Hank would get up from his desk to go to your communal kitchen with his partner in hand.

You poked the thin paper with the tip of your pen, spreading small, inked dots across his sketched cheek, dragged curled lines from his eye down to his cheek to mimic his long curtain of eyelashes, and made sure that the curve of his lips was the curviest, kissable line you ever drew on paper.

Your silly attempts caused you to let out a quiet snort. I mean the sketch wasn't bad… it's just that you finally caught up with what you were doing that caused you to realize that you were acting like a lovestruck teen if not worse than that.

Stupid- said your more sober side.

You still proudly looked down at the small sketch of Connor that popped up in the corner of your notebook, it was no longer accurate though since the model decided to finally rise his honey-filled eyes away from the screen and face you instead, clearly curious about what made you laugh during a long, boring investigation.

"What's wrong detective?" Your eyes snapped back up at his seeking expression, right in the middle of him tilting his head to the side as he would usually do whenever asking a question and being actually curious about it.

Now what?

"Ah" passed your lips before you could catch yourself. What exactly are you going to tell him and make it sound not weird?

"You draw a lot?" He took your silence as an answer and leaned in to trail his eyes along all the sketched lines, his lips curling into a soft smile to your dismay, a soft whir erupting from his chest.

You silently flipped your notebook to the next page, lips pursed as you turned your face away from him to hopefully regain your ability to say something smart rather than babble while looking at his handsome face. And yet he still watched you, or more like observed you, analyzing your mouth twitch, gaze shift, and muscle tense. Clearly, he was getting what we would call 'nervous' at his seemingly failed attempt at making a small talk and you couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"Sometimes, helps me think or get myself to reboot" He could somehow understand the concept, maybe because you used a techy word he had some experience with.

He hummed in response, shifting comfortably in his seat, almost like he could feel his muscles sore from staying in one position, and looked down at the blank page, as if the drawing was still there and he was still taking in every single stroke of your pen.

"You are quite talented" He seemed honest, maybe there was a hint of something else, and you couldn't help but chuckle. There was something so innocent behind his words, he almost sounded excited to face a new quirk humans had.

He always liked those. The quirks. Things that made people unique and so interesting.

"I guess once I retire I'll move out somewhere quiet and spend the rest of my life painting landscapes" You mumbled sarcastically, your eyes rolling as you tried to get Connor off his path to compliment you more. He would always be painfully nice to get people to like him and accept him in the department. It worked, sure but you don't need him to get you flustered at work where people can see. Especially where that asshole Gavin can see and use it to make you annoyed.

He let out another soft, vibrating hum at your small joke, leaning down to comfortably lean against his smooth hand. He was thinking, processing and rinsing your words to find a suitable answer to your lighthearted response and hopefully match your tone.

"That sounds nice, I'm glad that for now, I can enjoy your work here at the department." He replied and you let your lips form a smile at his response. I mean you could interpret it as if he wanted to work with you more. You wouldn't complain, your work quality would suffer though. Or maybe you're looking too hard into it.

"Have you tried drawing Hank before?" You let out a sharp exhale from your mouth, your laugh stuck somewhere in your throat, safe from being let out to the world. You weren't sure if it was a joke or not, if it was it was funny, if it wasn't then it was cute but still, you don't want him to feel bad for laughing at him.

Connor didn't mind, in return, his plushy lips quirked up into a bigger smile, doe eyes narrowing as the smile finally reached them while he happily watched you light up after working with papers.

"Don't know, I guess I'll ask him if he wants to model, sounds like a cute date" You wanted to continue the banter, it was somehow of an anomaly to see Connor try to joke like this, hopefully, you weren't expecting too much of him. On the other hand, hopefully, Hank didn't hear that because even though you two are friends he'll scold you for joking around at his expense and giving 'the android weird ideas'.

In return he let out a quick, soft chuckle before clearing his throat to get back to his professional self, his pale cheeks dusted with a soft, blueish color. Seems like he doesn't want to make you feel bad for laughing at you as well.

"Sounds like a lovely evening" He admitted before falling silent once again, his brown, gooey eyes now staring deep into yours, analyzing you. In moments like this, you were always envious of how he can pretty much see through you and see what you think while you're left with his pretty face and zero ideas on what might be going on through his head.

"Let's… check the notes again and work through it together" You finally suggested, trying to put the awkward conversation (on your part) behind the door and focus back again on your actual job. You let Connor shift closer to you, his shoulder bumping against yours as you flipped pages back onto the one with your infamous little drawing.

Seeing the real deal up this close made you realize how much longer his lashes actually are, how his lips are far more softer than what you left on the paper and how many freckles you haven't even put down on your drawing.

You should probably try again, maybe at home.

Maybe with him in your apartment.

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch of Jake Stone and Eve Baird in the annex, Stone sitting on a stool at the table and pressing his right hand to his head, wincing slightly, while Eve is turning to look at him. His right arm is covered with black symbols. End ID]

-

Day 31: Cheeky bonus headache to finish off the vampire!Stone series because it got out of hand 😅 I had only planned two arts with accompanying ficlets

Fic below the cut. This overlaps slightly with the mind games fic from yesterday, starting during that one and continuing past where it ended.

-

“Flynn!” Eve called up the stairs, “If we don’t leave now there won’t be time to get popcorn!”

“There’s always time for popcorn!” came the disembodied voice from somewhere above.

“Not if we arrive fifteen minutes after the movie starts!”

No reply.

Eve sighed and grabbed her coat from the rack, shrugging it over her fancy-ish date night jumpsuit. As she turned, she found Stone at the table - not surprising since he had covered half of it with various portfolios - but he was oddly neither engaged with them, nor watching her.

She had yelled pretty loudly, and usually this might be met with a smirk from him and some joking comment about Flynn’s punctuality or maybe a reference to the last time they had a movie date, and things went less than smoothly.

But he was facing away from her, and from the table, his posture tense.

As she watched, he brought his right hand up, pressing it to the side of his head.

“Stone?”

After a too long pause, he opened his eyes and squinted up at her, one hand still against his head.

“You okay?” she lightly touched his arm, but he flinched away.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking at her hand and then back to her, “Yeah. Jus’ a headache.”

She withdraw her hand and offered a sympathetic smile, “I guess Tylenol isn’t going to help?”

“Not sure it’s been tested on vampires,” he replied softly, then smiled a facsimile of his usual smile, “Date night?”

“It’ll be date morning if Flynn doesn’t hurry up,” she replied, “I swear if he…”

“I’m coming!” Flynn interrupted, running down the stairs with one shoe on and the other in the hand that wasn’t holding a bundle of cravats, “Which do I wear? What shoes are you - okay, orange it is.”

Several of the cravats fell to the floor and he began to finish getting dressed, “We still have time for popcorn?”

“Yes, we still have time for popcorn.”

She had told him half an hour earlier than the film actually started, so they actually had a good amount of time.

“Try not to get sucked into this one,” Stone smirked tiredly as they set the back door.

Eve took Flynn’s offered arm and glanced back over her shoulder, “No promises.”

She saw a ghost of a smile, and then she and Flynn were walking out of a toilet cubicle into the movie theatre.

That got them some amused looks from some other visitors, but it wasn’t the first or probably the last time she and Flynn would exit a toilet stall or changing room or other small enclosed space together.

They got popcorn, they got to their seats, and they watched the entire movie through without getting sucked into it, attacked by ninjas or snake monsters or anything, or even getting told to be quiet too many times by other movie goers.

It was a nice normal date. They did manage to have those from time to time these days.

But their lives weren’t normal and inevitably their conversation, as they strolled around a park after the movie was over, fell into less normal things.

“I’m worried about Stone,” she said.

He nodded, “His headaches?”

“You noticed too?”

“I’m very observant.”

She sighed, “He says he’s fine, but I’m worried he’s just trying to not be a burden.”

“You’re thinking it’s something vampire-y?”

“Honestly, I’m thinking it’s more something trauma-y,” she replied, stopping and dropping onto a bench, “He went through hell and we dealt with the weird magical supernatural part, but we never helped him deal with the rest of it.”

“You think he has PTSD?”

“I’m not ruling it out. You saw how bad he was when we found him.”

“Well,” Flynn said, taking her hand and linking their fingers, “Though your opinion may be plausible, I don’t think we actually dealt with the weird magical supernatural part.”

“What do you mean?”

Flynn mused for a while, expressively mused, his face taking on a thoughtful expression so she couldn’t possibly doubt that he was thinking.

She smiled slightly and waited.

“You’re right,” he said at last, “Stone did go through something horrible. The question is, why did the vampires do that to him only to turn him?”

“For fun?” she shrugged, “Because they were hungry? We could be here all week trying to justify the extreme brutality of a bunch of evil vampires.”

“Maybe, but something…something just feels…I can’t place it.”

“I’m not sure if I’d rather it be PTSD or some long game vampire trick…”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Eve shot him a glare, against which he raised his hands in surrender.

“Hopefully not both.”

“I really hope not either,” she sighed, “I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow…how about dessert before we go back?”

This last, with an attempt to dispel the dark mood she had pulled over their date.

Flynn smiled and raised her hand to his lips, “Yes to dessert, and don’t worry about Stone. Whatever it is, we’ll solve it.”

-

Eve planned to talk to Stone when he went to train in the morning. He had a routine of morning martial arts training before the vampires took him, and recovering that had been part of his efforts to regain a sense of himself.

In the past, she and him had had most of their more serious - serious so far as it didn’t relate directly to the library or imminent threats against the world - conversations while hitting the bag or sparring. It was an easier place for them both to be open than sitting down and being still.

She didn’t find him in the gym when she expected he would be there, nor did she get an answer when she knocked on his door.

Walking into the annex she vaguely glossed over the incongruent presence of a large wicker giraffe or long-necked horse or something, and scanned the space. Jenkins, Cassandra, but no Stone. She knew Flynn was still asleep and guessed Ezekiel was.

“Anyone seen Stone?”

“No,” Cassandra frowned, “Isn’t he in the gym?”

“I checked there.”

“His room?”

“No answer.”

Jenkins pursed his lips, “You believe something is amiss?”

“I just want to check he’s doing okay,” she replied, “He's been having headaches lately.”

“Not just headaches,” Cassandra added quietly, “He’s been spacing out, getting jumpy for no apparent reason. Ezekiel and I noticed it, but he shuts any questions down.”

She looked down at her hands, and added in a whisper, “It’s been getting worse.”

“Alright,” Eve said, “I’m going to go check his room again…”

“Don’t bother,” Ezekiel walked in, “He’s not there. Just checked. Not in the gym or with the chupacabra either.”

“Why would he be with the chupacabra?” Flynn asked, wandering in with a piece of toast.

“They’re mates,” Ezekiel shrugged, “But he’s not there.”

“Okay,” Eve pushed back her rising concern, “We split up and search the library. Whatever’s going on, we can’t let him try to deal with it alone.”

They searched, not the entire but the likely parts of, the library, but they didn’t find him anywhere.

“Time for a locating spell?” Ezekiel asked when they were all back around the table having failed in their task.

“It won’t work,” Cassandra frowned, “The spell we put on him is cyclical. It isn’t emitting any signal that can be detected from outside. And even if we could find a way around that, we’d need something with the same magic signal here and we don’t have anything like that.”

“But we did it before,” Eve questioned, “Using the Monkey King’s staff?”

“The magic isn’t the same anymore. We modified it too much.”

“Then we solve this old school,” Flynn said, “Where would Stone go? Back to Oklahoma?”

“No.”

“Although if he was gonna go killy, his dad…”Ezekiel mused, breaking off when Cassandra nudged him angrily.

“Jacob Stone. Is. Not. Killing. Anyone!”

Ezekiel raised his hands in surrender, “Okay. He’s not gonna go killy. Obviously he’s not. He’s still the same Stone.”

“Assuming he left of his own free will,” Jenkins interjected, “I would wager Mr Stone would go somewhere with as few people as possible.”

“What do you mean ‘assuming he left of his own free will’?”

“There is precedence in parts of vampire lore…”

“Which varies a lot depending on the cultural context. Vampires are not actually as uniform a group as generally perceived and…” Flynn held up his hands at Jenkins’ glare for the interruption, smiling sheepishly and gesturing for the former knight to proceed.

Which he did, after allowing the glare to linger a little longer, “It is believed that some vampires are capable of mind manipulation, especially strong when it comes to the vampire who turned them. There is a sort of psychic connection, or not quite…something conceptually rela…regardless, it is conceivable that Mr Stone did not leave entirely by choice, in which case we have to presume his location was also not his own decision. The vampire who turned him, most likely The Angler, decided.” 

“But we don’t know whether or not he chose, so how do we decide where to search?”

“Well, if he chose to leave, at least we know he’s probably sort of safe? But if he was taken or forced then he’s not,” Eve began, “So without a way to be certain which it is, I say we try and track down this Angler guy. If he has Stone, we get him back, and if he doesn’t we at least finish the job we began last time.”

“Colonel, need I remind you that The Angler is not your average vampire? He has persisted for so long without being killed for a reason.”

“He hasn’t had three librarians and a guardian to face at the same time before,” she replied, “If he has Stone or is a threat to him in the future, we take him out.”

“And save the lives he would definitely keep taking,” Ezekiel added, “He’s not exactly going to stop.”

“And if Mr Stone is the bait specifically being used to lure all of you in?” Jenkins warned, “We do not know his plan. He turned Mr Stone for a reason, and it could very well be his intention to lure all the librarians and the guardian into a trap, and I do not believe I need to elaborate on just how disastrous the consequences would be were he able to get all of you.”

“It’s difficult to imagine another reason for him turning Stone,” Flynn agreed, “Unless he needs an eternal companion who happens to be an expert in art history or oil rigging.”

“You’re acting like there’s logic here,” Ezekiel argued, “We’re talking about a guy who for centuries lured people in to kill or turn them.  Basically a serial killer, and that comes with whole other areas of logic and psychology that don’t exactly make sense to everyone else.  I mean, he killed, not turned, the librarians who tried to stop him before, but he’s turned other people.  Why?  And has he used people as the bait before?”

“Ezekiel’s right,” Cassandra frowned, “We’re looking at this from our perspective.  The library matters to us, but The Angler might not care about it.  If he wanted any of us, he could have tried when we rescued Stone the first time.”

“We didn’t see him there the first time.”

“But he might still have been there.  Jenkins said Stone was turned shortly before we arrived, right?  And probably by The Angler.”

“So he let us escape with Stone?”

She shrugged, “Maybe.  But, the point is, I think we need to look more into his history.  Who The Angler targeted, and how and why.  Where he operated, other than the places we already know.”

“We should also check the locations we know already,” Eve continued when no one objected to this approach, “Just in case Stone’s there.  Ezekiel, you and I are on that.  Surveillance and enquiries, and if we think there’s a lead we’ll figure out a plan of attack that includes all of us.”

“The rest of us will look into what we can on The Angler,” Cassandra nodded, “See if we can guess his plan.”

And hope that they could do all quickly enough to get Stone back before he could be harmed beyond their help. Maybe he was just hiding out somewhere very safe on his own, and he would turn up sometime when they were still looking into The Angler, or after and he’d just have been taking time to clear his head.

-

The basement where they had first found Stone was completely empty. No surprise there. After their attack, it seemed that the vampires left had cleared out.

The first two of their other possible locations to search were less empty and more just completely devoid of anything resembling a vampire. Or anything weird or magical or supernatural. Just a normal apartment building and a normal shop.

But the third was more promising.

Scoping it out beforehand from a distance showed that they never once opened the blinds or curtains on the windows, people only came and went at night, and those people just so happened not to be reflected in the dark windows.

“Okay, so,” Cassandra set down a tray of shot glasses containing a pink liquid, “Jenkins and I mixed this up. It should disguise any sound or scent we make from the vampires. We’ll still be visible, but it might at least give us an advantage.”

“How long does it last?” Eve asked, raising one glass and sniffing it, something she immediately regretted, “And what is in it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“It should last an hour,” Jenkins said, “And it will not be easy to make more.”

“So, we know the plan?” Flynn asked, “We go in, clear each room, take out any vampires that are hostile and attempt to get a jump on The Angler if he’s there. Easy!”

Before they could say anything or, really, overthink the plan, he grabbed a shot glass, downed the potion with a grimace and turned to grab Excalibur, “Let’s go!”

From the outside, the target looked like a normal apartment building locked in between two other normal apartment buildings in a normal street.

Three stories high, steps up to the front door, foliage hanging from a balcony above, an intercom with four names listed beside the buttons.  The only slightly conspicuous part of the building was that blinds were closed in every window.  Not that odd in California, but it supported the theory that this was one of the vampire’s residences.

Then the names all matched one of his known victims.

The fact that it was bright daylight gave them a clear advantage.

The cloaking spell gave them an even greater one.  Ezekiel could pick the lock on the front door, and they could walk in, knowing that the vampires would be unable to hear or smell them.

Eve gestured to the first room, stake held tight in her right arm.

Cassandra knocked and then ducked out of the way.

Eve waited.

The door opened, a brunette in a blue dress stood there, for a moment annoyed, and then angry.  She threw herself at Eve too quickly for her to react and fight back, slamming her into the mailboxes behind and making an attempt to bite her, but the vampire hadn’t sensed anyone else, hadn’t seen them, and wasn’t prepared for Ezekiel to drive a stake through her heart from behind.

A moment of shock dispelled the feral expression, and then the vampire dissipated into sparks and ashes.

That noise had been heard, and now there was another vampire running at them, but not for long.  Excalibur sliced cleanly through their neck and destroyed that one too.

The plan was that they stick together.  Their strength in this moment relied on them being together, one or two of them hiding to get the jump when the vampire’s attacked someone they saw.  Which meant they had to decide between the upper two floors or the basement.

A sharp, agonised scream from the latter decided it for them.

“Was that…” Cassandra whispered, not finishing the question because it and the answer were both perfectly obvious.

That was Stone’s voice.

“Come on,” Eve breathed, readying herself to open the door.  Just as she did, she felt herself dragged forcefully back, hitting yet another wall, hard enough this time to have her vision blurring for a moment and her head ringing.  More vampires were on them now, but Flynn was already running down towards the basement.  Eve struggled up, dodging the vampire and surging forward to get her stake through the back of a vampire that tried to follow him.  The one that had attacked her was already ash by the time she turned around, Jenkins wielding a sword as smoothly as he must have done as a knight.  She gave a brief nod of thanks and went for the vampire that had backed Ezekiel into a corner and knocked Cassandra into the wall.  It nearly managed to get her down too, but suddenly stopped abruptly, long enough for Eve to get her stake through the heart of that one too.

It disappeared and there was silence again.

Too much silence.

She checked them all over in one sweeping gaze.  Ezekiel was helping Cassandra to her feet, checking on her, Jenkins was intently scanning the stairs for signs of more enemies, and the door to the basement was still open, Flynn somewhere beyond.

“Cover me,” she said to the others, moving quickly towards the door and down the dark enclosed stairs to a metal door, beyond which was a surprisingly well-lit concrete chamber.

It was really nothing more than that.  Lights overhead and concrete floor and walls, which were completely bare other patches of dried or drying blood.

In the corner farthest from the stairs, she saw Flynn and Stone, just stood there for a second before suddenly Stone launched himself at Flynn, throwing a punch that she really hoped the obvious blood loss was going to make relatively weak.

Stone had a strong punch before she started training with him. It had become genuinely impressive after he worked on it.

As a vampire, it was potentially lethal.

The blow sent Flynn flying backwards, landing hard on the concrete. Jake was on him almost immediately, and Flynn was definitely out cold, no way was he going to be able to summon Excalibur to defend himself.

But Eve had been in motion too ever since she saw Stone about to attack, and now she threw all her body weight into dragging him off Flynn.

She readied herself for an attack, steeled against the emotional burden of having to potentially use serious force against her friend.

But no attack came.

Jake was stumbling back away from her, his expression so terrified she could barely stand to keep her gaze on him. But his eyes didn’t leave her face, even when he tripped and fell back into the wall.

There tears carving paths through the blood on his face as he finally looked away from her and towards Flynn.

Behind her, Eve heard the others running down the stairs, and within seconds, Ezekiel and Cassandra were sprinting over.

"We got him," Ezekiel said as he passed her.

Eve nodded and tore her eyes away just as Cassandra dropped to her knees in front of Stone.

Jenkins was knelt beside Flynn, propping him up gently as he started to come to, groaning and mumbling something incoherent.

"Flynn?" she said gently, tugging off her jacket and folding it to place under his head, "Flynn? You okay?"

"You gotta stop teaching him martial arts, Eve," Flynn muttered groggily, wincing as he opened his eyes and immediately closing them again.

She let out a soft laugh and moved over to try and get a better look at the injury. The punch had landed just below his right eye and he would probably have a horrible bruise by tomorrow. He almost certainly had a concussion, but he hadn’t been out for too long, which was the most reassuring thing.

"I'll get Mr Carson back to the library," Jenkins said, looking up and beyond Eve, "I believe you are needed here."

She looked back over her shoulder.

All three of the other librarians were kneeling on the floor now, Stone with his head buried against Cassandra's shoulder, and his right hand tightly gripping the fabric of Ezekiel's shirt. She couldn't see Cassandra's face, but from the hunch of her shoulders and the tears on Ezekiel's cheeks, Eve knew she was crying.

"Take a look at his head," Eve turned back to Jenkins, "Stone punched him hard. I don't know if he might..."

"I will take care of him, Colonel," Jenkins said calmly, "This is not the first serious head blow I have tended. Nor do I expect it will be the last."

She nodded, gave him a small smile, and bent to kiss Flynn lightly, "Try to be a good patient."

He mumbled something between "No promises," and "Always good," as Jenkins helped him to his feet.

Eve waited until she had watched them both disappear, and finally turned back to their other serious problem.

Finding Stone chained up and physically brutalised had been horrific, but right now Eve felt even that was preferable to seeing him like this, with his mind having been torn apart by whatever tricks that vampire had been playing.

As she walked around to kneel with them, she caught Cassandra's desperate expression, confused and afraid and desperately upset. Ezekiel's differed only in that some part of those emotions was subdued by a barely contained frustrated anger that had nowhere to be directed now The Angler was dead.

"Stone," Eve said softly, "Jake?"

He looked up, bright eyes seeming impossibly blue, and almost fumbled to release his grip on Ezekiel, half-falling forward to reach for her. Eve almost flinched back, but this was no threat. He didn't grab her neck, but touched it. Fingertips touching. Pressing lightly.

"You're alive," he rasped, eyes searching her face as his fingers remained on her neck.

She reached up and took his hand in both of hers, "Yeah. I'm alive."

"I-I thought...I saw..." he looked from her to Cassandra, to Ezekiel, seeming confused like he only just was realising they were there too.

"Is this real?"

Exactly the same question he had asked after he had first been turned, the words even more broken than they had been then.

"It's real," she replied, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back her own tears.

He suddenly pulled his hand free of her’s, shifting away and looking between them as tears still streaked his face, “How the hell do I know?!”

"Ask me something only I would know," Eve suggested, remembering the forest and how she had been convinced it was their Jacob Stone talking from within the tree.

"Y-you're in my head. You know all the answers!"

“But only the ones you already know,” Cassandra said, struggling to find her voice through the sobs she had barely been holding back, and then letting the words tumble desperately from her, “Like, your mind couldn’t explain to you why the priors and likelihoods are effectively interchangeable in Bayesian inference, except in the rare instances that the likelihoods are in fact derivatives, albeit implicitly, of the input…”

Eve followed the stream of words she didn’t actually understand for about as long as she ever did, and quickly lost the thread. It didn’t matter, because she saw a look of hope flicker across Stone’s features as he listened, probably as utterly confused as she was.

“Did you get any of that?” Ezekiel asked, almost managing to make himself sound calm and casual, “Because I didn’t.”

“No,” Stone whispered.

"This is real. Whatever you saw before is gone," Eve continued, "The vampire who was making it happen is gone. Flynn killed him..."

"I saw him kill you."

That explained the punch Flynn had taken.

"He didn't," she continued, "I'm right here. But that vampire is not."

“Come back to the library with us. We’ll help you figure out what was and wasn’t real," Ezekiel added, lightly squeezing Stone's right shoulder, the left side being unnervingly soaked with blood, down the entire sleeve of his hoodie.

Slowly, Stone nodded, his eyes still shining with tears.

He stumbled to his feet, holding his left arm close, and let Ezekiel help him walk unsteadily with them to the back door, and back to the library.

Jenkins was waiting in the annex, already facing the door with the first aid kit set on the table behind him.

"Where's Flynn?" Eve asked, walking ahead and speaking quietly.

"Resting off his concussion," Jenkins replied, "I gave him something to help with the pain and swelling, but he will have a nasty bruise."

She nodded, "He's okay though?"

"He is," Jenkins replied, "And is..."

Eve glanced back to the other three, Stone leaning against a desk and looking no less shaken up than in the basement, "I don't know."

Jenkins inclined his head and stepped closer to the group, "Mr Stone. Would you kindly allow me to look at your injuries?"

Stone looked up, confused and then nervous.

“Here?”

“We can use your room if you’d rather.”

“Can you put the sigils back?”

Ezekiel was already shaking his head to object, “You want us to trap you again?”

“Please.”

Eve nodded, catching Cassandra and Ezekiel’s eyes significantly, “For now. Until you’re feeling more like yourself again.”

Cassandra stood, lightly touching Stone’s shoulder and hurried off to get what she needed for that spell, while Ezekiel began to help Stone towards his room.

Walking a pace behind them, Eve heard Stone ask quietly, “Where was it? Th-that place?”

“Just now?” Ezekiel had adopted the tone he used when he was trying to act calm and unconcerned, “LA.”

“Thought it was Portland…”

“Definitely LA.”

“Were there any,” Stone hesitated, stopping outside his room and looking in, “Have there been any murders? In LA or Portland or…or anywhere else?”

He didn’t really react as Jenkins ushered him inside to sit on the bed, looking to Ezekiel for an answer.

Eve found she was too.

Watching and hoping he would find nothing. The question alone made very clear what Stone believed he had done, and Eve hoped desperately it was a lie.

Stone had either been made to think he had killed people, or he had done so, and one of those was so, so much preferable to the other.

“I’m looking for animal attacks, stabbing with neck wounds, and anything else that a vampire attack might show up as,” Ezekiel pulled out his phone and explained before he began his task, “Across all states since I’m guessing you didn’t cross an ocean…adding to that Canada and Mexico to cover north and south…there are a lot of reports to sift through so this might take a while.”

“Nothing showed up in the clippings book,” Cassandra offered, looking in through the door with a stick of chalk in one hand, “Usually it would show us if there was something like that going on, right?”

It was unclear if that applied to incidents because of the librarians themselves, but thankfully no one brought that up to weaken Cassandra’s reassuring words.

“While Mr Jones peruses the Internet,” Jenkins said firmly, peeling off the bloody fabric of the hoodie sleeve he had cut while Ezekiel was talking, “Will you allow me to take care of that arm before it starts healing incorrectly?”

Stone lowered his gaze to the arm, “It’s broken.”

”Yes, I can see that,” Jenkins replied with a touch of familiar sarcasm in his patience, “We can immobilise it for now while we deal with your other injuries. Resetting it will not be straightforward, although I do believe I have done so before…not for some time, admittedly…Colonel if you would assist.”

There were two puncture wounds, deep and wide, on Stone’s left arm, near the shoulder. Stone thought they were gunshot wounds, but they definitely were not. Not from fangs either. Like he had been stabbed with something pronged.

They were bad, had bled a lot and that couldn’t be helping his fractured mind, but the worst part was that Stone thought Eve had done it. Had shot him, broken his arm.

“I would never,” she began as he explained quietly what he had seen, and what she wasn’t sure he entirely disbelieved yet.

“Even if I was a danger? If I lost control an’…an’ if I hurt one of you? Or worse?”

“We will never let that happen,” she said seriously.

“What if it already has?”

“If you mean you losing control and going feral vampire?” Ezekiel said, “I don’t think it has.”

He moved forward to sit beside Stone on his bed, showing him the phone screen while Jenkins and Ever finished dressing the wounds on his arm.

“I still have like twenty states and Mexico to search, but other than a lynx attack in Alaska, stabbings in Minnesota and Nevada, and a domestic dog attacking someone at a park in LA, there’s nothing so far that looks like even remotely like vampire killings, and half of those ones have victims who survived or who’s attackers were found,” Ezekiel said, “So, cowboy, if you’re thinking you went on a killing spree, you didn’t.”

“I saw them. Their blood…” he looked down at himself, his bloody t-shirt and arm held in a rigid splint, held firmly in place against him.

“All the blood on you right now looks like yours. From injuries we can see,” Eve said, “I agree with Ezekiel. It doesn’t seem like you killed anyone.”

Stone looked only half convinced, but that was still half better than a moment before.

“But I must’ve drank something,” he murmured, “I felt it. The…”

He cut himself short, a look of fear briefly overcoming his features.

“Conceivably you were given blood to drink by other vampires in the house, or the sensation may have been another trick,” Jenkins replied, carefully reaching over to pull the edge of Stone’s duvet over his right shoulder. He had started shivering.

“But what you think you did isn’t real,” Cassandra finished for him.

“Why?” Stone pulled the duvet as far around himself as he could with his right hand and without getting in the way of Jenkins’ medical work.

“To weaken you mentally and physically at once, to make you believe you had already slipped,” Jenkins replied, “I imagine The Angler was attempting to break you so that would join him.”

“That’s stupid,” Stone growled, a sudden animation and alertness in his pose and eyes, “Already slipped? Killin’ thirty people sure as hell doesn’t make killin’ the thirty first okay!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Eve said, “But we’re talking the logic of a centuries old serial killer here.”

“Our perspective doesn’t apply,” Stone whispered, all of that anger dissipated back into exhaustion.

He was going to need time to process everything, and to sort out what was and was not real.

Stone might not have been entirely convinced, but he accepted for now. Or, at least, didn’t have the energy to ask more questions or recount anything else of what he had seen.

He looked utterly drained. With the confusion and fear fading, be succumbed to the mental and bodily exhaustion from the past days. , The pain of resetting his elbow seemed to sap what little energy he had left.

Almost before Jenkins had finished stabilising his elbow, he was starting to fall asleep. They managed to keep him awake just long enough to be convinced to drink a bottle of the blood they still had stored to help with recovery and, more importantly from his perspective, staving off blood lust.

“We should keep watch,” Cassandra said as they left him sleeping apparently soundly, “I know we have spell but, just in case he thinks he’s back there again. Or it’s a trick or something.”

“Cassandra and I will take first watch,” Ezekiel volunteered, “You should check on Flynn.”

Eve nodded and squeezed his shoulder before turning to leave. She had checked on Flynn already, and when she walked into their room now, she saw him sleeping still. In a different position. And the ice pack she had removed from his head because it was melting was back on his head and melted.

It made her smile. It was very Flynn and very familiar.

She managed to catch maybe a few hours of sleep after climbing into bed, but the clock showed it can’t have been more than that.

“Can’t sleep?” Flynn mumbled sleepily.

“Not really,” she sighed, “How’s your head?”

“Painful. You have to stop teaching that man martial arts.”

“You said that already.”

“It merits saying twice. He hits like a 32 pound canon ball,” Flynn replied, “You find out why he did it?”

“He thought you killed me. The vampire made him think I was the one attacking him…”

“So when I killed The Angler, what he saw was me killing you,” Flynn summarised, “Combined with the pain and blood loss and whatever he was made to see before, he followed instinct and attacked…suppose I was lucky he didn’t do worse.”

They were very lucky. Stone could easily have killed Flynn. He must have been weakened a lot more than they realised, or had enough of his own consciousness to keep him from putting all his power into that punch, or biting straight into Flynn’s neck.

“How bad was he?” Flynn asked into the silence.

“I can’t tell…he thought he had gone on some sort of killing spree or something. Who knows what else that asshole made him believe. How does someone recover from something like that?!”

“With help, Eve. And we will help him.”

-

The question was how to help. All they could do was try to pick apart the tricks the vampire had played on him, and be there for him when he needed them.

Eve didn’t know if it was enough.

It didn’t feel like enough. Stone still had nightmares, still questioned whether this was real or yet another trick, still didn’t trust himself not to harm them, and he behaved like an echo of the man they knew.

She had decided, after almost two months of barely any progress, that she would reach out. One of the people she had served with had gone on to open a clinic and treated people who had suffered trauma. He might have some advice on how Eve could help Stone better, even just whatever vague ideas he could offer from the necessarily incomplete description of what had happened.

Or maybe Cassandra’s idea about talking with an existing vanpire wasn’t such a bad idea, as long as Stone agreed to it, which he probably would not. Or maybe the Monkey King could help with some wisdom or something…

Maybe she could just talk to Stone. Ask him if there was anything he could think of that might help.

Eve was a couple of paces from his door, intent on doing just that, when she heard voices already inside and paused. Ezekiel and Cassandra were on a job the clippings book had sent them on two days before.

Except it was definitely Ezekiel’s voice saying, “There’s gotta be a connection, right? I mean, they all suffer the same symptoms within weeks of each other, all of them completely unexplained. No cause the hospitals can identify.”

“And all but two of them live in the same town,” Cassandra continued and Eve leaned back against the wall to listen, “The only point of complete overlap is a museum. They all either visited it or work there.”

“The museum have an online gallery?” Stone asked tiredly.

“Yeah.”

There was silence for several minutes. Eve considered moving to join them, but didn’t want to interrupt what sounded like the closest to normal she had heard in months. Nor did she want to leave, to miss what came next.

“This, right here,” Stone broke off with a slightly pained sound, suggesting he had just done something to hurt his still healing arm, “This pot. Look at the red pigment, an’…an’ the finish.”

“Looks like a painted pot…”

“This pigment, the red, it doesn’t match the pigments used in the region this pot’s from. An’ look at the finish. The way the light plays off it…look at that…I’d need to see in person to be sure but it sure as hell doesn’t look like slip.”

“So…”

“It’s a fake, but nothin’ here says anything about a fake being on display,” Stone replied with genuine excitement in his voice, “An’ didn’t you say the victims they all had smallpox symptoms but not one tested positive for smallpox?”

“Yeah,” Cassandra replied, “The symptoms alone perfectly but no biochemical or microscopic method was able to identify the virus associated with any of them.”

“The region where this pot was made was nearly totally wiped out by smallpox.”

“So, you think maybe the real pot’s somewhere? And it’s giving people smallpox?”

“I dunno, maybe? To make a fake this good, an’ it is pretty good, someone’d need access to the real thing. Close up. An’ time.”

“The real one might be in the museum, just not on display,” Ezekiel said, “Museums only show a fraction of what they have. The rest is on archives just sitting there getting looked at maybe once every few years, and with really pretty shoddy security. Much easier to get into those than the museum if you forge the right pass.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to the museum,” Cassandra said, adding with just a hint of nervousness, “Want to join?”

Eve held her breath waiting for the answer.

Stone wasn’t healed up yet. Most of his injuries had faded almost entirely, but his arm had started to heal wrong after he banged it during a nightmare and Jenkins had to do a very painful-looking procedure to get it back into the right position.

It didn’t help that he refused to drink more than a minimal amount of blood each day, never a drop more. He needed to prove his own control to himself, and Eve understood that, but it delayed his healing and maybe made his mental struggles worse too.

And now he wasn’t replying.

He had withdrawn again, slipped back, but then he quietly replied, “Sure,” and Eve had to hold back a laugh of unexpected relief.

She quickly retreated before they came out, back to the annex, where Jenkins was working on something odd-looking.

“Stone’s going to go with them on this job,” Eve said quietly, grinning across the table at him.

The former knight smiled, a fondness in his expression as he looked up at her, “I dare say he is. I thought I saw some improvement of late.”

“I hadn’t…I thought…” she broke off, “You think he’s up for it?”

“I think only Mr Stone can know that.”

She nodded, and tried to bury her concern and her more outward relief, so that when the three eventually walked in she looked calm and casual and not at all on the edge of both utter joy and extreme worry.

“Hey guys,” she looked up from the papers she had not been reading on her desk, “Going somewhere?”

“To a museum!” Cassandra grinned, “Gotta find what’s giving people smallpox.”

Stone’s expression was guarded, giving away none of the anxiety he was surely feeling, stepping out of the library for the first time since they’d brought him back.

“You need back up?” Eve asked, looking pointedly at the sling supporting Stone’s left arm to hide the real reason she was asking - to know if they needed more people to help in case Stone’s mind fractured once out of the safety of the library.

Ezekiel and Cassandra both looked to Stone, who finally replied with no hint of false confidence. Just soft, calm, resolution.

“No, thanks,” he smiled softly at her, “We got this.”

The words held little meaning really, but his expression as he caught her eye, Eve understood perfectly what he really meant. Whether or not he felt ready, Stone needed to do this. He had to take that step now, before fear of leaving the library settled too deep.

She smiled back at him and nodded, let him know she understood, before the back door opened and in a moment all three were gone.

-

[dollywheeler]

September 5th, 1996

Dear diary,

So far so good. Everything is back on track.

Cheer practice has officially started back up and I'm having so much fun with it! The new routine is amazing - Sandy did an amazing job with the choreography. I can't wait until I know it all by heart. We practiced for hours but we're only ten eight-counts in because though it's fun it's really intricate.

We're meeting up on Saturday for extra practice so we can train up the new recruits. They're all very nice too. Seriously, when did Freshmen get so talented? I sure as hell wasn't.

I probably need the extra practice more than them. I stayed an extra hour to go over it by myself and I'm still struggling with it.

But I'll get there. I just have to work harder on it.

Classes so far are okay as well. I've managed to work ahead on all subjects except English. It takes me so much longer than usual to get through the reading. I'll just have to force myself through the rest of the book on Sunday. Maybe if I'll read for a long enough period of time I'll forget it's for Mike's class.

On a better note, art has actually become more fun than last year. Will has given us some really creative assignments and he plays music while we work and allows us to talk. The talking is distracting, but he still listens to that weird music Mike used to complain about, and it's actually really good. Better than I remember it being, at least.

We're currently working with charcoal which I've never got to do before. It's messy as hell, especially when you still have half a school day to walk around with stained fingers after, but it's such a cool medium. I'm still working on sketches and getting a hang of it, but even my first attempts look so cool just because of the contrast between the dark charcoal and the paper.

I'm trying to draw this weird dream I remember having when I was younger. I don't know why I've suddenly been reminded of it - maybe because it took place in Will's old bedroom for some reason - but it's perfect for this assignment because the shapes are easy to make even with the harsh strokes of charcoal.

Mike has stopped trying to talk to me, but I notice him watching me in the hallway sometimes.

I think he told Nancy on me because she called me yesterday even though she usually only calls over the weekend. She didn't ask about Mike, just called to check in on me, but I'm not naive. Either way it was nice to hear her voice.

I hope she visits soon.

Love, Holly

[saitama-division]

It was nearing evening time in Saitama when Kureha finally took off the apron belonging to the barista she worked for. She was glad she only worked at this place part-time, and only for two and a half hours a day. It's not that she didn't mind working here, but sometimes, it could be a lot, especially on days or weeks where it seemed as if the crowds were never ending. She wasn't really a social person, but some people didn't understand that, and just loved to talk to her at the counter while ordering their beverage. And per company rules, she had to engage herself with them, even if she didn't want to.

Sighing, she walked to the back where the employees were allowed to go, wanting to grab her things and hurry to her art studio before someone tried to stop her and ask her to stop overtime. It didn't happen often, but there were a few times she had to stay past her shift when they were busy. And she really wanted to avoid that happening again. Heading to her locker, the Goth girl prepared to leave, but stopped as something was outside of it.

"What the...?"

Looking, the Goth artist saw two items outside of her locker. They weren't gift wrapped, but had bow ties on them, signifying they were gifts. Blinking, Kureha looked around the room before walking up to her locker, picking up the first and heaviest of the two gifts. Turning it around, her eyes grew wide, as it was a bag of kopi luwak beans, ready to be opened and made. She had heard of these from Kaoru from Edogawa once and had been wanting to try them, but they were hard to come by. And now, she had her own bag of them.

A soft smile graced the artist's face as she couldn't wait to try these. After all the hype she's heard about them, she was dying to see if the coffee was truly as good as she had heard. Placing the bag down next to her, she turned to her next gift, which was lighter but slightly taller. It looked like a sketch from an easel or something. Turning it around, the Goth girl gasped and covered her mouth with one of her hands as she looked at the drawing.

It... it was a drawing of her. More specifically, a drawing of her while she was working at her job as a barista. The drawing was nice... if a little bit creepy and weird. Whoever drew this was talented... but they needed to work on their social skills, as this level of dedication could only be achieved if the person drawing it was truly watching her. She didn't really sense anyone watching her, but then again, she didn't really pay much attention to people, only focusing on taking their orders and getting them out of there.

Looking at the drawing of her, Kureha had to wonder, just who was it that left this for her? Turning the drawing around, she didn't see anything that showed who it was from. However, looking down, she saw a small note by her locker. Picking it up, she turned it around, reading it:

'D-Dear K-Kureha-chan,

I'm s-s-sorry for delivering these g-gifts so late. I-I know your b-birthday was yesterday, b-b-but I hope these make up for it. I-I-I hope you like the d-d-drawing and the c-coffee beans. H-h-happy birthday again,

Signed,

Elliot Shimizu.'

Kureha let out a breath and smiled faintly at the letter, of course, it all made sense now, the coffee beans, the portrait, the clumsily written letter, it all screamed Elliot and Kureha couldn’t help but find it endearing, she didn’t know exactly what she did to make Elliot, someone who was so withdrawn and barely noticeable, want to become more confident and artistic, someone that Kureha found noble. The bluenette placed the coffee beans and the portait in her bag and closed her locker, clocking out for the night so she could head to her art studio, as she got on the train and sat down, looking out the window to see the scenery beginning to blur as the train started to move, she wondered if Elliot would be so inclined to join her at her art studio the next time she saw him.

Thank you for the gift!

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Lucius heaved a heavy sigh, silently cursing Izzy (and himself. But Izzy moreso). He'd been sat in the Captain's cabin, minding his own business and trying to decipher his own shaky shorthand (the joys of trying to write from the back of an ill tempered mule) from the previous day to write an 'official' account when Izzy had stormed in and held a hand out expectantly. Lucius dropped the small tin of polish into his palm without comment whilst Izzy grumbled at him to stop taking his shit for fun now he had actual work to occupy his time (the First Mate didn't even stick around to make any comments as Stede started to grace Lucius with a lecture on stealing from fellow crew).

Jim had come in with an update on a merchant vessel Buttons had spotted on the horizon earlier about half way through and after Lucius had explained his side of things: Namely how when Izzy was helping to hide him from a certain somebody , he'd made a game out of lifting something off the First Mate and then seeing how long it would take Izzy to realise what was missing (old man was getting sloppy. He'd lifted that polish yesterday morning).

They dropped a casual "Depends what you use it for. He got me my knife back." With a shrug before sauntering back out the door and leaving him with expectant looks from both Captains (and ok, Jim was now on the list too).

"I'm sorry, I simply refuse to believe it, Lucius. You're nothing like the thieves and rogues at the Republic, or even those back in Barbados. You're educated and well spoken and-"

"Cheers, Mate." Ed interrupted, his tone of voice suggesting it was said in jest.

"Says the Gentleman Pirate." Lucius sighed, not bothering to look up from the work he'd resumed whilst reagailing the other two men with a very, very brief explanation in an attempt to feign nonchalance. "Besides, that's a bit of a generalisation isn't it? Who's to say I wasn't taken in off the streets by a kindly old bachelor and a lovely young woman who, coincidentally, turned out to be my maternal aunt?"

"I say," Stede gasped, looking at Lucius with wide eyes, "Is that what happened!?"

"No."

"Shame. That would be a fantastic story." Stede leaned towards Lucius slightly, now literally on the edge of his seat, "So what did happen."

At that Lucius did look up, looking thoroughly unimpressed, "No offence Captain. But my life isn't one of your novels and that's a part of it I really don't like to talk about if you don't mind."

Stede had the good grace to look slightly awkward, "Ah yes. Of course, didn't mean to pry. I'm still having trouble believing it though."

"Believe what you want. It's not going to change- shit! " Lucius cursed as the two journals he'd been working with and one of his sketch portfolios tumbled out of his arms and onto the floor as he got up to leave, scattering loose sheets of paper.

"Oh, let me help you with that"

Stede scurried over and knelt next to Lucius, helping him gather the papers whilst the younger man mumbled about how clumsy he was and that Stede didn't have to trouble himself.

"Thanks Captain." Lucius said with a grateful smile as he took the papers Stede held out to him.

"My pleasure Lucius, here let me get the door for you." Stede replied, doing just that, "Wouldn't do for you to drop them again."

"Indeed not."

Stede cocked his head at the smile Ed was giving him after he closed the door behind his scribe, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Isn't that one of Captain Bonnets?" Oluwande asked, momentarily distracting Lucius from the shiny bauble he was playing with.

"Yes. Yes it is." He held the gold and turquoise ring up for a second for everyone to see before it quickly disappeared into his pocket, "Just wanted to prove a point. I'll give it back. Meantime, any wagers on when he'll realise?"

"Never." Izzy immediately answered, "Poncy pack rat's probably got about five more that look exactly the same."

"You don't get to play." Lucius stated, waving a finger between Izzy and Jim, "I'm still mad at you two for dropping me in it." The two in question merely exchanged a look and a shrug.

Wagers and coins made their way to Lucius at a steady pace until someone clearing their throat from the doorway made everyone fall silent.

Ed sauntered in like he owned the place (which technically he did, being Captain), expression blank as he made a beeline towards Lucius.

"Everything alright, Captain?" He asked hoping to God he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

Ed continued to stare him down and Lucius was starting to wonder if he was going to use the galley sink for attempted drowning number two as punishment for stealing from his boyfriend before Ed placed a gold piece on the table in front of him. "Put me down for three days." He said with a grin and a wink.

Lucius couldn't help but smile back, "Aye Captain.