#chill out drawing after posting that last chapter

[cursegirlrabbit]

Spin the sweet wheel and its DUDLY!!!

Ive never had a reason to draw my version of Dudly duck other then the duck family tree i did. so. WATERMELOM DUDLY

Isn't he just adorbs.

[timeslipcamp]

thoughts on episode 18

boy howdy can i just say how nice it is to read this when it's coming out and not when i'm like. at work and actively in meetings lmao

anyways we made it!! the festival of stars is here!! i'm going to cry when i see lyca's little bun i can just feel it. live reading here we go!!

spoilers through ep 18

i'm screaming already everyone pray for my roommate who is asleep

UGH THE CARDS RIGHT WHEN I OPEN THE APP they're all so prettyyyyyy i love them oh it's just towa hi jin

rip bunny girl. i was so ready for a jumpscare there lmao

VAGASTROM CAMEO RIGHT OFF THE BAT hiiii alan. note to self: get the vagastrom kids to help build my ikea furniture. stop wait are you telling me alan just carries around chicken. in his pockets. for the cats. chicken??? just in. his pockets??? BE CAREFUL AROUND DARKWICK GOD ALL THE GHOULS KNOW NOT TO TRUST THEM UGHHHH alan i love you

oh wow i've been so busy rereading chapters i forgot we got diamonds for new ones lmao

BLACK MARKET CAT TREATS god i love this game

oh canceled last year you say? perhaps because of the clash or a murder mayhaps?? looks like they're going with the traditional 7/7 date, that's cool. SKY KING IS REAL?? PROTECTION? oh she's still got two months okay interesting good to know. so potentially two more inter house missions then before they switch it up for the plot.

YES GRILL THAT LITTLE BITCH MC GO GIRL exhausting every avenue my ass.

the vibe hahaha i bet he learned that from rui. PLEASE tell me lyca is going to say "oh, truth!" at some point too. LOVE that subaru is suspicious. get him on my investigation team!! "choose a weaver" bitch who else would towa EVER choose hahaha except haru subaru blushing!!!!

towa is so funny dude

lyca will you please just tell me about my scent :( is it the kyklos be honest

omg zenji hi!! i feel like that meme whenever i see him, he's so fun. god i'm typing too much already i gotta chill. THAT LITTLE PERSON lyca i love you so much. zenji's actually gonna make me cry and we're like five chapters in dude i can't do this

FENYANG okay had to pause the fun music to look that up. apparently it's not a sheep but a river valley region in china lol. earth spirits in game though!!! that live in burial jars, that's super cool. someone remind me to add that to my anomalies list later. towa's little giggle is so cute ugh. such a fantastic group of ghouls for this mission im so excited.

ZENJI YOUTUBE VIDEO LETS GO i love that hes the one who tells us these stories. this is such a fun way to do this. who do you think draws the pictures for him? THREE OUT OF TEN hahaha towa PLEASE

ooo a riddle, that's fun. towa saying another wish is crazy. i wonder how powerful the sky king is? is there a limit to the wishes he can grant? is it a monkey paw thing? oh okay got my answer right away lol. oblivion and immortality....interesting. she could wish for the memory of the kyklos to disappear into oblivion. YES lyca we are on the same page!!! god lyca is so smart THATS MY BOY

NEW TOWA NICKNAME LUPIN making a post RIGHT NOW so i do that tomorrow. i mean lupin obviously latin root lup--wolf. so. anyways! it's actually so funny that zenji can't clap and make sounds hahaha i love that. fun detail. towa and lyca are so funny this is so good. "i'm good at jumping over things" omg the fox is back lyca said its on SIGHT

sho in a track suit????? the sky king is blessing me already HELLOOOOOOO BABY!! he's worried about salmonella ilysm sho

AND RIGHT AFTER IS THE MAN BUN oh god okay okay okay okay okay okay okay i can be normal about this okay okay

everyone looks so good!!! ugh top tier outfit design as usual. hodge and podge!! my favs!!! i love that they fixed her outfit omg. this is so sweet dude. subaru saying "carefully worn" makes me feel like someone's gonna rip theirs lol. my money's on towa. oh i bet the lantern floating is going to look so pretty.

STUFF LMAO HAKU STOP oh my god zenji might accidentally get laid to rest?? hello???

"here chimi take my hand" dude where. your hand is INSIDE your sleeve. love you tho. oh nvm he did that on purpose hahaha. "today, the line between our world and other worlds like the spirit world becomes blurred in hotarubi." FASCINATING. wait students get spirited away?? lmaooo at least they come back weeks later?? this is so funny. no big deal. super chill.

sky king is a smash. i am not taking comments at this time.

towa and lyca not sitting is SO funny i love these dudes. "child of beast," lyca; "shade" subaru??; "miraculous one" towa; "cursed being" mc; HELLO?? SHADE?? unless he was referring to zenji but like. shade? hello? as in a spirit shade or a shady soul or WHAT? i mean i've seen some stories where shades are like, reflections of beings so maybe because of subaru's stigma? oh that's so interesting. super cool that his stigma didn't work on the scroll, love that. can't wait to see what these challenges are!!

HARU HEY BABE omg wait are they rainbow toffee apples??? the gay apples we get to level up?? no way hahaha. omg lyca paying for us ill cry rn. little robot gear dude??? how much you wanna bet gen or mio or whatever made that? clockwork anomaly is adorable and i love them. THEYRE FROM DIONYSIA!!! ITS MIOS LETS GOOOO

does towa not like it because it's mechanical? more points in my nature being theory basket. also instantly pacified by haru complimenting him. love them

oh i bet it's ultio that fucked up the dorm then lmao. no wonder it hasn't gotten fixed.

love that someone's sabotaging this though, that'll make it fun. ramen buddies!! hell YES they're hanging together!! detective reaching shinjo lyca PLEASE subaru using his stigma to find the winning ticket is SENDING ME. romeo is going to kill him hahaha ritsu is so funny dude. too bad he ditched his date for legal matters sorry ren :(

oh cool subaru's controlling his stigma more! love powers that are tied to emotional states. it makes sense then, that basically confirms why jin's is on the fritz. zenji's been so worried this whole episode stop that you're making ME worried.

close up on sho don't mind if i do! lyca is so excited omg look at him. i love this episode everyone is so cute. oh my god the heart attack i just had when i thought sho could see zenji hahaha my jaw DROPPED. sho being so confident we'll be around next year please ill CRY. im so obsessed with him. i keep thinking other ghouls are my favorite but then here he is still being AMAZING. ugh.

magpie building a bridge!! story reference!! wishes on bamboo!! aw towa wants to be a hero :') lyca wishing for nero ughhh. "i would never again make a wish upon something i can't see." uh oh zenji, demonic pact reference? oh elias makes the soda that's funny.

SUNS GONE CONFIRMATION FOR TOWA i love having obvious theories proven. boosts my ego. anyways i hope this place is a spirit road this is sick. is the voice repeating wishes or something? repeating her thoughts???

oh hey alan. HAHA WAIT HE TOLD SHO HE WAS LOST oh my god i love you alan never change. whats the vibe between alan and subaru why is it weird. ALLY?? DISSIDENTS HAHAHA i just choked on my snack. "i'll return the favor" oh i can't wait to see that come back around. bye alan love you. zenji calling him dashing is great, who wouldn't have a crush on alan?

WATERMELON EXORCISMS?

kaito and luca festival date!!! oh my god i am eating GOOD today!! omg luca and jiro being buddies mention, fav rarepair if imma be real. it's up there. THATS WHAT ROMI CALLS HIM oh no lyca is getting the bar boys nicknames for everyone this is so funny. "toadstool here!" kaito i love you dude

i love when they make subaru taller than the gen ed students. he's like 5' nothing in my head. damn lyca you're cool as hell. can we eat the watermelons after we exorcise them. asking for a friend. OH MY GOD WE CAN

is the sky king the cowherd do we need to find his weaver? why is my mans crying :(

SHAMEPLANT??? oh my god towa. power rangers!!! omg this is so funny.

SUBARU SNAPPING LETS GOOOO i just had goosebumps hoooly shit oh my god. dude the music going quiet too was CRAZY. oh my god. ohhh my god. towa's immediately like "yeah you should have said it louder actually. i recommend lightning." oh that mask sequence was so cool i watched it three times ngl

dude the way i just got so sad that the wish isn't getting granted even though i knew it wouldn't happen smh. give us the panel of towa and lyca hugging cowards. oh what was with the creepy music behind zenji at the end there? interesting.

i really feel like this episode could have benefitted from like, two more chapters at least to wrap everything up. still though, good story, and i'm super bummed we never found out why the sky king was crying. what did zenji mean about the original japanese?? literally gonna be scouring people's posts for that, i'll link it here when i find one.

ugh such a cute episode this was all so so so cute. good episode. VAGASTROM NEXT LETS GO BABY!! maybe we'll get some more lore. mc said two more months, so we'll see where in the time frame this next one is!! posts coming tomorrow on towa's nicknames for lyca and subaru and i'm sure i'll do a couple theory posts on the new info once i've slept

the most important part of this episode was lyca's bun thank you and goodnight it's almost 2 am hahaha

[honey-bee05]

TWST Stranded Alien AU Ch.3

Characters: Grim, Crowley, GN Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Description: Instead of being essentially just a magical version of Earth, what if Twisted Wonderland was truly a different planet?

Warnings: (Chapter Specific:) None; (General Fic:) Weird biology /science stuff, eventual yandere, descriptions of violence, each post will have chapter specific warnings. Still, just to be safe, mdni.

Notes: Sorry for the wait! Big life stuff has settled down now, so the next parts should be coming out quicker

Chapters: 1, 2, 3 (you are here)

______________________________________________________________

You pulled at the edges of your robe, drawing it taught against your goosebump laden skin as the three of you left the library. Thankfully, the unidentifiable silky material did a decent job at keeping heat in, but a bitter chill still bit at any flesh not under its protection. Shivers wracked your body, giving the already strenuous task of keeping your balance and breathing in check an extra layer of difficulty.

The stranger, for his part, seemed completely unbothered; his long strides never faltering the way yours did as you stumbled beside him. As mildly uncomfortable as the gesture was, you were thankful for the arm that rested on your shoulder, gently pushing you along and assuring you stayed upright. 

You glanced up at him, and it was then that you noticed his conspicuous appearance was due to more than just his eccentric attire. Granted by the easy light of the morning sun, your eyes settled on the skin that peaked out from behind the corners of his mask; the rosy tint you would have normally expected instead taking on a more pallid sheen. The soft, rounded ears one would typically envision were replaced with a sharp point, cool grey undertones teasing the idea of a walking corpse.

You tore your eyes away, forcing them back onto the path in front of you. Though you were pretty sure you hadn’t been caught staring, you figured it best to keep your gaze down, pretending to suddenly find great interest in the patterns of stones that lay beneath your feet. The three of you continued like that for some time, the silence occasionally broken with a hum from the stranger as he dragged you and the cat-beast along. 

At last, you arrived at another of the burtonesque structures, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized it was the same building you had fled from not an hour earlier. Now, though, it looked different as you entered; the once carefully sealed coffins that had been neatly stacked against the walls laid in disarray, lids strewn about the dim chamber. You could hear the muffled chatter of voices from deeper inside, words unrecognizable yet clearly coming from no small amount of people. Seemingly unconcerned with the state of the room, the stranger led you further in until you reached another towering set of ancient doors, wasting no time as he pushed them open. 

Immediately the once muffled chatter became nearly deafening, a wall of joyous voices and bright lights hitting you full force as you stepped inside. Brilliant flames in countless shades of purples, oranges, and pinks cast the room in an otherworldly glow, reflecting off intricately framed mirrors that hung like doorways on each of the octagonal walls. Though their faces were skewed by the rich violet hoods in which they were adorned, what appeared to be hundreds of people filled the space, attention turned to the crown jewel at the center of it all: A grand, bewitching mirror suspended in mid air before them.

Time stood still as you took in the site, and again you were left wondering if this was really a dream after all. You almost felt like some sort of voyeur, a spectator looking through opera glasses at a show, until a boisterous voice from behind reminded you that you too were in this scene.

“Grata omnibus novis promissis magorum collegii corvino nocturni! Paenitemus absentiam meam in adventu tuo, videtur unus ex novis condiscipulis tuis paulo nimis cupere ut initium hic capere et amissam vulnerare. Sed non sollicitudin ante! Eas incolumes reperire potui, si omnes tam benigni esses ut tempus diutius maneret dum digestae sunt!”

You could feel the heavy weight of perception as the stranger finished his speech, drawing the attention of those gathered round. It was a small mercy, not being able to fully see their faces, and though a twinge of anxiety still nipped at your heels, you at least had the reassurance that your eyes would not meet. You could feel the hand on your shoulder begin to push lightly, and again you found yourself blindly following the guidance of the strange man. 

Walking deeper into the crowded chamber, it wasn’t hard to see where he was leading you; the grandiose center mirror beckoning you closer and leaving no room for questions. You stopped just short of it, and as you looked into the smooth glass surface, you were surprised to be met not by your reflection, but instead an inky black void.

Another unintelligible string of words left the stranger’s mouth, and inexplicably from the midnight depths smoke began to rise as a figure emerged. The visage of a comedy mask, more stoic than theatrical, came to life before your very eyes. The thought struck you that maybe this wasn’t a mirror, that it was some sort of screen playing a pre-recorded video or one of those live v-tuber things, but given all the unexplainable things you’d already experienced in your short time in this strange place, you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

The stranger and masked entity exchanged a few words, and soon enough you felt yourself being nudged forward. You looked over to the stranger, who had taken a few steps back, and he gestured to the entity who now fixed you with a stern gaze. Despite the hallowed pits that sat in place where its eyes would be, it was obvious the entity had its sights set solely on you, unabashed scrutiny making you squirm.

An uncomfortable tension fell between you as it stared you down, and you got the feeling that the moment was dragging on longer than it should have. The longer you stood there, you noticed how its expression began to subtly change, the unconcealed judgement it had greeted you with turning into something you couldn’t quite place. From your peripheral vision you could make out the stranger as he began to impatiently fiddle with his gloves, but just as he looked as if he were about to speak, the masked entity cut in.

“...Nullus est.”

“..Quid?”  the stranger asked.

“Nullus est. Nullum locum in hoc mundo haec anima pertinet. Nec cum hominibus, nec cum fais, nec cum bestiis. Non est una ex nobis, et quamvis origo eius mihi ignota sit, non est ex nostro mundo.”

Gasps erupted around the room as the entity finished, murmurs and whispers growing louder amongst the crowd as the weight of their gazes doubled with newfound intrigue. The already messy attempt at organization amongst the hooded figures only diminished further as some leaned in or pushed their way forward for a better look, and it was clear the room was on the verge of chaos. You stumbled back, unsure what to do or what was said to spark the outburst, but before any danger could befall you, a sudden flash of bright light cracked through the air.

“Silentium!”

Tag List: @iris-arcadia @coffeedragonhobbyist @tacharie

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Eternal Torment

Part 6 of the Uncaged series

A/N: guys I know I said I was taking a break, and I still am, but I just got so excited about this new chapter I ended up writing that I had to post it.

A/N 2: Ok so I’ve been doing this for a few chapters, but just to make sure this isn’t super confusing, the italics are either cage memories or when the reader thinks she’s still in the cage (or the occasional inner monologue). So (tiny spoiler) the italics are gonna be jumping up a lot and going back and forth, just to show the confusion of “is she in the cage or not”. (I have no idea why I decided this, I just decided to be weirdly literary and symbolic for no reason and I hope it didn’t turn out dumb.)

Edit: guys not me forgetting the warnings…

Warnings: mentions of torture, actual torture, guns, brief mention of s**c*de (because Lucifer’s a jerk), panic, angst, gunshots (lot of sad in this one guys)

Eternal torment.

That’s what Lucifer had promised you the first day you fell into the cage. The idea was so big, so…lasting. Your brain couldn’t comprehend eternal torment. You couldn’t even wrap your mind around 180 years of torment. So your brain sent you little bits, one memory at a time, moment after moment of torment. Your mind relived every day, every hour, every second, like it was trying to prove to you that it was real, that you’d gone through it, that you were somehow still alive.

No one should be alive after that much pain. So your brain punished you for still living every time you closed your eyes.

You were in a position you were all-too familiar with; hooked to the bars of the cage, waiting for Lucifer to decide what tool to use on you. You were shivering, partly from dread, but mostly because of the cold—it was always so cold here.

“Let me see…” Lucifer picked up a tool before setting it down and picking up a new one. He loved to draw this part out, making you think he’d chosen his weapon before changing his mind. He knew it made you remember the last times he’d used the tools; the psychological parts of his games were his favorite part.

“How about this?” He hummed to himself, picking up a serrated blade and inspecting it. “Or…” he snapped his fingers, and suddenly you were in Bobby’s house, and it wasn’t cold anymore, and your hands and neck weren’t stabbed through with hooks holding you down, and Dean was coming towards you with his arms outstretched. You found yourself reaching for him, reaching for his embrace…

And then you were back in the cage and Lucifer was sawing the serrated blade across your thigh and you were screaming and he was cackling and it hurt so much. This wasn’t a memory—he’d never shown you Dean before. This was something new.

“The Dean you’ve been seeing isn’t real. This is real—this pain. You’re never going to see the real Dean again. I’m never going to let you go.

“Never.

“Never.”

“Hey, hey Y/N!”

You sat up with a gasp, and you were back in Bobby’s house. Dean was in front of you, his hands outstretched—but not for an embrace, as he had in Lucifer’s vision, but in an ‘it’s ok’ gesture.

But then he was reaching to cup your face and his fingers brushed the back of your neck where the hook was and his hand gripped yours where the hook was and it was all too much and was that a chill? and where was Sam and where was Lucifer and—

“Y/N, calm down!” You heard Dean’s voice but you couldn’t calm down because he wasn’t real.

“Dean, move.” And then it was Sam in front of you and you felt your body shake in a sob of relief because it was Sam and Sam was real.

“Sam,” you whimpered, reaching out for his hands, which he wrapped around your wrists and started to brush his thumb back and forth, grounding you.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. “It’s ok, we’re at Bobby’s.”

“No.” you sobbed, collapsing into your brother and grabbing at him, trying to bury yourself in his protective embrace. “Not real.” Forcing each word out was like spitting up razor blades, and your eyes were dancing around, waiting to see Lucifer, waiting for him to punish you for speaking. But you had to tell Sam; he deserved to know. “It’s all fake and he’s messing with us and we’re still in the cage—“

“Shh, hey it’s ok.” Sam rubbed your back. “It was just a dream, you’re awake now.”

“Feels the same.” Your voice was muffled against Sam’s shirt, but he understood.

“I…” Sam’s voice cracked. “I know it does.” It all felt the same to him, too—Lucifer, Dean, Bobby—there was no difference.

“How do we know what’s real?”

“That pain sure felt real, didn’t it?” You didn’t have to look to know that Lucifer was once again perched at the edge of the couch. “Can’t fake that. Can’t fake this, either.”

And suddenly you were shivering with a bone-numbing cold, and you felt Sam shudder against you, too.

“What’s going on?” You looked over Sam’s shoulder and Dean was still there, but he wasn’t shivering; how could he not feel that?

“It…it’s not real.” Sam’s arms tightened around you, and you weren’t sure if he believed what he was saying. “It’s not real.” He pulled away suddenly, and the cold bit into you harder without Sam’s heat next to you. Sam grabbed onto your hand, squeezing it once and ducking his head to your level. His eyes were boring into yours, imploring you to believe him.

“It’s just our hell memories screwing with us, ok? We gotta believe it’s not real, we have to.”

You slowly uncurled yourself, sitting up straight and trying to ignore the devil sitting next to you.

“Ok,” you whimpered, forcing the words out even though you weren’t sure you believed them. “Ok, it…it’s not real. Bobby’s is real.” You squeezed Sam’s hand back twice.

“Good,” Sam breathed. “Good.”

“Hey um…” Dean swallowed hard, looking indecisive. “I’ve gotta head out on a lead, but I want you two to stay here with Bobby.”

“What?” Sam turned. “We should help you, we can help you,” he argued.

You couldn’t find it in you to care about Dean’s decision to let you tag along or not.

You’re out of the cage, you told yourself. This is real, it is.

You wanted to believe it more than anything. But nothing outside the four walls of the cage had mattered to you for a very long time. When you’re promised eternal torment, not much seems to matter anymore. Nothing around you except for Sam’s still-shivering form and Lucifer’s red eyes really felt real.

“Not like this.” Dean shook his head, suddenly more sure of himself, and you tried to focus in on his voice. He’s real, Dean is real. “You two need some recovery time. I’ll be fine alone, but I can’t be worried about you out there.”

“But…” Sam had no suitable defense, so he let the argument trail off.

“It won’t take long,” Dean assured you, lingering awkwardly for a moment before turning and heading out the door.

…

It wasn’t long after Dean left that Bobby got a call from a friend needing help. It was clear he was uneasy about leaving you and Sam alone, but Sam managed to convince him you’d be ok.

“Sam?” You spoke up once you were alone. “What are we gonna do if…if this really isn’t real?”

Sam sighed, an exhausted sound that made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know.”

The silence lingered like a thick fog.

“And…and what are we gonna do if this is real, but Lucifer never goes away?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Are we crazy?”

Sam’s eyes finally lifted to meet yours. His were bloodshot, with dark bags under them. You were sure you didn’t look much better.

“I don’t know.”

…

The Impala’s headlights flashing through the window were a surprise.

“Dean,” you mumbled, dropping the lore book you’d been pretending to read. He’s not supposed to be back yet.

“Maybe something went wrong,” Sam said before rushing to the door.

“New lead,” Dean announced, barely taking two steps in the door. “I need you guys for this one.”

“What?” Sam asked. “But I thought—“

“I could really use you on this. If you wanna sit here, then fine, but I’m asking you to help.”

Something was itching at the back of your mind, but you ignored it.

“O…ok. Ok.” Sam glanced at you. “Kid, get your gun.” He didn’t need to get his; he’d been field-stripping it for the past hour, taking it apart and putting it back together over and over. You would’ve called him out on it if you didn’t think he’d bring up your nervous tick of picking at your fingers.

You reluctantly tucked your weapon into your belt and followed your big brothers out to the car, still trying to ignore the feeling that something didn’t seem right.

The feeling grew during the ride with Dean. He was talking to Sam in the front seat, and you forced yourself to pay attention, hoping listening to your big brothers would ease your racing mind.

“Maybe we should try to get you…I don’t know, some professional help,” Dean was saying. “I mean, remember Martin? Went nuts, starting shooting at nothing.”

“I’m not Martin,” Sam insisted. “And neither is she.”

“No, but you are crazy.” Dean’s answer came out so casually, so natural, but the words made your breath stop. “That don’t wash off, you get that right?” All you wanted was for Dean to stop talking, but he seemed to be on a roll, like he’d been dying to say these things. “You are never gonna be ok.”

Dean’s words seemed to echo around in the car and in your head.

“You are never gonna be ok.”

Why was it so familiar?

“You are never gonna be ok.”

The memory came to you in full force; Lucifer was dragging you away from Sam by a fistful of hair.

He’d been ripping into you with his bare hands for what felt like days—he liked his toys, his torture devices, but once in a while he also liked to get his hands dirty. It finally felt like he was going to take a break when he’d tossed you on top of Sam like he was throwing away a dirtied and bloodied rag. Sam had grunted in pain when you landed on him, but he wasted no time in wrapping you in an embrace.

That was when he’d made his mistake.

“It’s ok, you’re gonna be ok.” This memory was from the early days in the cage, back when you still bothered to use those empty words like “ok” to comfort each other.

Lucifer had heard Sam’s words, and he didn’t appreciate them.

He started muttering to himself as he stomped towards the two of you. You weren’t sure of what he said, but it sounded something like “I didn’t rip her ribs out of her body one at a time to hear you call her ok, Sam.”

And then his fist was wrapped up in your hair and you were being yanked out of Sam’s arms and you were already whimpering and Sam was pleading for mercy from the merciless.

“Hey!” The same voice that sparked the memory snapped you out of it, and you realized the Impala had stopped. “You two need to keep it together. I mean if you’re seeing Lucifer, you could be seeing all kinds of things.”

“Ok…” Sam mumbled, stepping out with Dean. You slipped out too, and you heard Sam mutter, “how is that helping?”

“I’m just saying, you two are out of control,” Dean snapped. He led the way towards the door into an office building, and you tried to force yourself to focus on the task at hand. It was hard to think about fighting monsters when Dean was calling you crazy.

“We’re trying to deal with it, ok?” Sam sounded exhausted, and sick of Dean’s comments.

“Dealing?” Dean scoffed, his voice cruel. “How can you deal? I mean you think this is an office building.” He opened the door, stepping to the side to allow you and Sam to go in first. The minute you stepped through the door, glass windows and pristine desks were suddenly replaced by concrete walls and wooden pallets. “Sorry, wrong.”

The air suddenly felt thick and heavy, like someone had dropped a wet blanket over your face. This was wrong, it was all wrong. You found yourself reaching out for Sam’s hand, but he’d already stepped out of your reach, looking around the building in utter confusion.

“Where are we?” He demanded.

“Oh, you think I’m Dean.” The grin that crossed your oldest brother’s face chilled you to the bone. “Right…” the face suddenly shifted, and you let out a sound that was half gasp, half whimper.

Lucifer.

“You poor, clueless little kids,” he scoffed.

“Stay away from me!” Sam snapped, turning and striding away from Lucifer, but you couldn’t force your feet to move.

Because that wasn’t supposed to be Lucifer, it was supposed to be Dean and you were supposed to be fighting monsters and it was supposed to be real.

“Your world is whatever I want it to be, understand?!” Lucifer yelled after Sam. Then his eyes were on you, and it was all you could do to keep yourself upright. “She understands.”

“Leave me alone!” Sam spun on his heel, yanking his gun out of his belt and firing it at Lucifer. You flinched as the sound echoed through the empty warehouse—Lucifer was gone.

“Now we’re getting there.” Lucifer appeared just behind Sam. Finally you forced your feet to move; you couldn’t let Sam be alone and so close to the devil, you wouldn’t. “Pinnochio is seeing his strings.”

Was he right? Was it all fake?

“Shut up,” Sam snapped. How was he always so brave? You’d reached him now, but all you could do was cower next to him while he yelled at the devil.

“It’s the big crescendo,” Lucifer sing-songed.

“I said shut up!” Sam fired again, but Lucifer disappeared again.

“Wanna fire that gun at someone useful?” You flinched when Lucifer’s voice came from behind you, and Sam whirled around, moving to stand in front of you—always the protector.

“Try your face,” Lucifer said. He was advancing on the two of you now, but neither you nor Sam moved. “Or hers.” Lucifer pointed to you with his chin. “You wanna see the ending? Skip to the last page of the book?” Lucifer shaped his hand like a gun and pointed his finger at his neck. “You know where to aim.”

Sam swallowed hard, and you saw his hands shaking.

“It’s the only way to know what’s real,” Lucifer said. “Look at her.” And suddenly both Lucifer and Sam’s eyes were on you. “She doesn’t know what’s real, and it’s killing her. Your hurting her, Sammy, by letting her stay like this. Put one right between her pretty little eyes, and then she’ll finally be out of her misery.”

“Sam? Sam!” The door to the warehouse opened, and Dean stepped in. But was it really Dean?

“Oh look, another me.” You turned your head at the sound of the voice, and now it wasn’t Lucifer next to you, but another Dean.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, stepping further into the warehouse.

Sam lifted his gun and aimed it right at Dean, who lifted his hands and took half a step back, exclaiming, “Whoa, whoa!”

“I thought I was with you, Dean,” Sam insisted. You couldn’t decide which Dean to look at—which one was real.

“Ok…” Dean’s brow was furrowed, and he spoke slowly. “Well here I am.” His eyes flicked to you, but you stayed rooted to the spot, too scared to believe it was Dean but also too scared to fight him if it was Lucifer.

“No no no, I can’t—“ Sam looked to his left, and you followed his gaze; the devil was standing in the corner, watching the scene unfold with a grin. “I can’t know that for sure, understand me?”

“Ok, we’ll start small,” Dean said.

Amidst the dozens of questions floating in your mind, you managed to grab one.

“S-Sammy…” you felt Lucifer’s eyes on you while you spoke, but you forced yourself to continue. “Who drove here?”

“I did,” Lucifer said. “Or, you thought I did.” He did, didn’t he? But if that Dean was really Lucifer, then the Dean standing in front of you had to be Dean, right? You couldn’t take it anymore, it was all too much, but Sam had told you to believe this was real, so you had to try.

You took a few cautious steps towards Dean—was it Dean?—ignoring the fear twisting your gut.

But then suddenly Lucifer was standing a few feet to Dean’s left, and he spoke to Sam—

“She’s getting braver. Or dumber.”

Sam’s eyes whipped to you before flashing back to Lucifer. He grit his teeth, turning his gun on Lucifer and firing at him; Lucifer disappeared again.

You whimpered, halting your movements.

“Whoa, hey, Sam!” Dean snapped. “This discussion does not require a weapons discharge!”

Sam was slowly lowering his gun, horrified that he might have just shot so close to his brother. But he still turned his gaze on you.

“Y/N, stay away from him,” Sam pleaded. “We thought we were with Dean, we can’t trust him!”

Sam didn’t believe it was real.

So maybe it wasn’t.

“C’mon,” Dean was pleading with Sam, but you were just looking around for Lucifer again. “You don’t know what’s real? Sam, I’ve felt torture too, and it feels different. This, what’s going on? This is just regular, crappy…this.”

“No, no how can you know that for sure?” Sam pushed him. You held your breath, turning again to stare at Dean; you wanted to hear his answer, you wanted it to make sense, you wanted this to be real.

“Give me your hand,” Dean said. “The gimp hand.”

“Well take a look at Florence Nightingale.” Your whole body flinched, and you couldn’t focus on Dean—or not Dean—anymore because Lucifer was here again, and nothing felt real.

When Sam got distracted by Lucifer, Dean took a step forward and gripped Sam’s injured hand. You found yourself taking small steps toward them, because that hurt hand was vulnerability and vulnerability around Lucifer meant pain.

“This is real,” Dean insisted. “Not in hell, now. I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up. Look.” Dean squeezed Sam’s hand, and Sam grunted in pain. He tried to lift his gun, but Dean—or not Dean—grabbed it, stopping him.

“This is different, right?” Not Dean pleaded—it had to be not Dean, because Dean wouldn’t hurt Sam, right?

“We’ve done a lot more with pain,” Lucifer insisted. You stepped towards them more quickly now, because he was hurting Sam and you had to make it stop.

“I’m different!” But was that Dean? Because his eyes were filled with that worried desperation that only your big brother could hold. “Right?”

“Yeah I think so,” Sam said, yanking his hands away from Dean and leaving his gun in Dean’s hand. Your steps stopped. Did Sam believe again?

“You sure about that bunk buddy?” Lucifer asked, but then his eyes were on you and they were flashing red and you couldn’t focus on Dean and Sam anymore because how could that not be real?

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Lucifer insisted.

“You gotta believe me, Sammy!” Dean insisted.

“Sammy,” Lucifer taunted, but Sam didn’t seem to be listening anymore.

“Ok,” Sam said to Dean, but you had no idea why. Didn’t he see the devil right there? How was he so convinced, over a little cut? Lucifer had done so much more than that.

“Just because he wants to believe in this cute little fantasy, doesn’t mean it’s real,” Lucifer was speaking to you know, and it felt like no one else existed. “He thinks it’ll make him feel better to ignore what’s really going on, but I know you don’t. I know you know what’s real.”

“Hey!” Sam yelled, catching your attention. “It’s not real, ok? I made him go away.” Made him go away? That was impossible—

Unless this really was real.

“But he’s right there!” You insisted, pointing at the devil—who grinned and waved.

“I…” Sam looked from you, to Dean, to Lucifer—except he was looking a little to the left, like he couldn’t actually see where Lucifer was. It was the same vacant gaze that Bobby and Dean got when they tried to look; Sam really didn’t see him.

Then Sam looked down at his bleeding hand, and a look of steely determination crossed his eyes. He snatched his gun from Dean’s hand, turning and aiming it at you. Before you could register what was happening, Sam fired, and the bullet ripped right through your calf and Dean was yelling and you were on the floor and Sam was running at you.

“He’s gone, right?” Sam grabbed your face in his hands, ignoring your whimpering protests. “Pain makes him go away. You can’t see him, right?”

But you weren’t looking around for the devil anymore. You didn’t have to. You knew for sure that this wasn’t real, that none of it had been real.

Because the one thing Sam had never done—not in decade after decade of torture in the cage—was hurt you.

It couldn’t be Sam. This couldn’t be him, it couldn’t be real.

You pulled your face from “Sam’s” hands and curled your knees up to your chest, burying your face against the material of your jeans and letting out a hoarse sob.

Blood was running down your leg and pooling in your sock. Dean wasn’t real. And now Sam wasn’t real—the one person you thought you could always count on to be real, was just Lucifer screwing with you. You were still in the cage, but now you didn’t know where Sam was. You had never felt so alone.

And it hurt so much, it felt like coming home.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810 @tell-elle

Uncaged Taglist:

@redbird-tf @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @o-birdseed-o @hopefuldreamers-world @s0urw00lf @yasmin12312 @star-maker-rain-dancer

[thewinter-eden]

psycho | han jisung (1/20)

1 : hannie

Pairings: HAN JISUNG x OC | LEE MINHO x 2nd OC

Rating: mature

Summary: Anna finds herself trapped in the captivity of a psychopath with numerous other prisoners. The other girls who have been there for a while have been starved and abused, and Anna is obviously headed for the same fate.

Han Jisung, one of the prisoners, a sweet and handsome boy, serves as caretaker for the girls after sessions of abuse. As he and Anna grow closer, struggling to find their way home, the truth about her captor and his plans unfold in the worst ways possible.

cross posted on AO3 under the_winter_eden and wattpad under alone-at-last.

Warnings: fear, isolation, torture, angst, hut/comfort, terror

psycho masterlist

next chapter >

1 : hannie

She wakes up on something hard and flat, an icy chill seeping into her bones. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, struggling against a blurry film that she can’t seem to blink away. When her surroundings finally come into focus, Anna sees dark brick walls and filthy floors.

None of it is familiar, and neither are the grimy faces that blink back at her.

Realizing she’s being watched by eight or nine girls, she flinches back in surprise and feels her skull crack against a hard surface.

“Don’t move,” One of the girls says in a low, raspy voice. She’s leaning closer, close enough that a number of small scars are visible. “You’re still bleeding.”

Anna reaches for her head as a wave of pain washes down her spine. “What?” She feels the wetness on her fingers, and doesn’t have to look to confirm what it is. Her legs feel cold as she tries to back away from the girl who spoke and she realizes that her skirt is gone.

She’s been left on the floor of some kind of stone basement in nothing but a cotton nightgown that smells like sweat and urine. It matches what all of the others are wearing, though she can’t help but notice that hers has remarkably fewer blood and soil stains than theirs do.

“He sometimes hits the nose when he knocks us out.” The girl explains, far too casually for Anna to grasp the context of what’s going on.

“What?” She gasps again, but then she feels the viscous liquid that’s pooled in the bow of her lip and feels the fluid in her nostrils.

The girl puts a hand over her own mouth to mimic blocking her airways. “He holds on too tight. Most of us bled too.” She reaches for Anna, and helps her bunch the hem of the strange nightgown to mop at the flowing blood. “How do you feel?”

Another of the girls sits back against the wall, no longer interested in gawking at the newcomer. “What’s the point?” She grumbles. “She’ll wish she was dead soon enough.”

Anna’s eyes widen and her eyes dart around from face to face. “What do you mean? What is this?” She can’t remember how she ended up on the floor of a basement, or where her clothes went, or if what the first girl said about being hit and knocked out was what really happened. “Who is *he?* Where are we?”

Most of the girls seem to be about her age, fifteen or sixteen, but a couple of them look like they might be twelve or thirteen.

The second girl spread her arms to gesture to their surroundings, drawing attention to the tattered sleeves of her nightgown that revealed a series of terrible bruises along both biceps and forearms, both arms mostly wrapped in thick bandages. “Does it look like we know? It’s not like there are windows.” She brings her arms back to her lap and hunches over herself with a frown. “Might as well get comfortable.”

“You don’t remember?” The first girl asks softly.

Anna shakes her head and feels the ache pound behind her eyes.

“We were kidnapped.” The girl nods behind her, where all of the other girls are sitting and watching. “We were all ambushed, in one place or another, and woke up here.” Her words are punctuated by a few of the girls sniffling, scrubbing dirty hands and arms over their dirty faces.

Fear is worming into Anna’s heart, noticing the various states of the others with mounting distress. “How long have you been here?”

The first girl points at herself. “Two years,” She points to each one of the girls and labels them with their own durations, ranging from two years to two months.

Anna’s eyes fill with tears and she pushes herself up to lean against the wall. She studies each face, praying they’re pulling a prank, just waiting to break character and laugh at her for crying. But the room smells too much like waste, the girls too marked by pain and hunger, for any of it to be a prank. Her gaze jumps back to the girl who’s been there the longest, and sees the hollowness of her cheeks, the sharpness of her bones, and knows it’s real. “What does he want with us?”

She doesn’t even know who *he* is.

The second girl meets Anna’s eyes. “Nothing good.”

---

“How old are you?” The first girl, who introduced herself as Ruby, sits close by and offers her hand to hold as Anna cries into her elbow. “I’m almost nineteen.”

Sniffling against overwhelming sobs, Anna blinks tearfully at her. “Eighteen.”

Ruby smiles sympathetically. “Try to breathe,” she offers as the girl begins to weep once more.

The others are watching. Some of them cry, too, and some of them, like the girl who sits against the wall, just stare hollowly. One of the younger girls scoots over and sits next to Anna, and reaches up to stroke a hand gently over her hair.

She’s one of the ones who had been there for more than a year. “Your hair is like gold,” she whispers, feeling the silky strands slide against her skin.

Ruby rubs Anna’s arm. “That’s Jackie. She’s twelve.”

But the newest girl isn’t listening. “Is he mean?”

Jackie’s hand falls away from her hair, and the girl by the wall scoffs. Ruby just pulls her smile into a wince. “Yeah. He is.”

“Look at us.” The girl by the wall snaps. “You think he’s hosting tea parties?”

“Sara.” Ruby berates. “You don’t have to be so mean.”

Sara rolls her eyes. “She’ll find out soon enough. Doesn’t matter if I’m mean or not.”

Anna doesn’t care that she’s mean. If she’d been held captive by a malevolent psychopath for over a year, she’d be mean about it, too. Her red eyes turn to Sara and catch her already watching.

The bitter girl looks younger, maybe fifteen, and the right side of her face is bruised and blistered terribly. The swelling is still red and weeping, and Anna knows it just happened recently. Under Anna’s gaze, Sara pulls the neck of her nightgown up to her chin and holds it in her fist.

She looks away.

Somewhere, a door opens and a male voice calls, “Time to go back to your rooms. Come on,” Shuffling sounds and some of the girls’ voices make quiet whimpers of protest.

Anna scrambles back into her corner of the room, heart pounding. She doesn’t want to meet the man who abducted her and removed her clothes. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near the man who starved and beat and held prisoner all of the girls who sat around her like so many abandoned pets.

But Sara just sighs and gets herself to her feet, shoulders hunching as she heads deeper into the darkness of the room.

Little Jackie gives Anna’s shoulder a squeeze and stands up as well, disappearing into the places where the light doesn’t reach.

Anna’s eyes are darting around, trying to see through the black, trying to focus past the blur of tears.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Ruby says suddenly, rising to her full height. “It’s not him. It’s just Hannie. He’s stuck here, too.” She holds out a hand to Anna. “While Cain is away, Hannie lets us out of our rooms, lets us talk to each other. As long as we don’t tell Cain, and we all go back before we get caught, we can all be together. But that means we have to go back when Hannie tells us to.”

Anna blinks up at her, ignoring the hand of help, tears spilling over. She can hear the man—Hannie—coming closer, his low voice directed to the girls he’s nearest to. “Cain—?”

“He’s the one who abducted us. The one who does things.”

“The mean one.” Anna’s voice is small, childish. “And Han…Hannie?” Hannie sounds like a nickname, like some term of endearment that she either hasn’t earned or doesn’t want to get familiar with. She has thoughts of an abuser—a groomer who takes advantage of girls at their most vulnerable. She thinks again to Jackie and the other girl who looked so young.

What was he doing to them while Cain was away?

Did he make them call him Hannie?

“He was taken right after I was. Him and his little brother. Don’t be scared, he’s nice. He takes care of us.” Ruby kneels again, trying to see why Anna isn’t moving. “Are your legs okay? I don’t want to force you up if you’re hurt.”

Too many questions flood Anna’s mind, too many to process. She wants to have a conversation and answer all of them, but Ruby’s trying to rush her into movement. “He’s nice?” Her eyes flash to the dark form of the man who is now crouched over one of the young girls, the shadow of his hand extended towards her face.

Ruby places a hand on Anna’s knee reassuringly. “He’s nice. I promise.”

“Go back to your room, Ruby.” The man’s voice says, his footsteps finally approaching.

As he emerges from the shadows, Anna finally sees him clearly. He’s young, maybe twenty, maybe twenty-two. His collarbones jut out from the ripped neck of his wispy-thin gray sweater, which was more a draping of cloth that hung in tatters from the sharp points of his shoulders to dangle in shreds around the narrow edges of his hips. His sweatpants are too short, the elastic cuffs gripping a pair of frightfully scrawny legs just below the knees.

The voice that resounds from his chapped lips is low and soothing as his hooded eyes flick from Anna to Ruby. “I got her.”

Anna’s legs shuffle like she can push herself away from him, but she’s already pressed into the corner of the room. She doesn’t move an inch, instead feeling the roughness of the bricks behind her scratch into her back and shoulders.

Ruby gives Anna’s knee a squeeze, the same way Jackie had done earlier. “See you tomorrow.” She gets up and slinks past the man who is really more of a boy, now that Anna looks at him, and disappears into the shadows.

He just stands there, hands dangling listlessly at his sides, watching Anna with the same level of guardedness that she watches him with. There are claw marks on his face, long since healed and scarred over, but prominent enough to be noticed in the dim light of the single bulb overhead. Dull black hair that falls in tangled curls around the nape of his neck also lays over his brow and dances with his eyelashes as he blinks. “I’m Han.” He says finally, and lowers himself to his knees.

He’s still a few yards away, but she pulls her legs up under her to create more distance. “Han?” That means nothing to her. Cain means nothing to her. How could he approach her in a dingy, crappy basement and expect her to respond to him? He could be the very man who abducted her.

It’s not like she’d seen his face.

Not that she remembers, anyway.

“They call me Hannie.” He rubs his fingertips over the knobby bones of his knees that she can see even through the pilled fabric of his sweatpants.

“Why?”

Han blinks at her, hooded eyes widening just a little, and his mouth falls open for a second. “I…it’s a nickname.” He stammers. “They gave it to me.”

“They?” She has no defense except to question him at every turn, needling him for inconsistencies or information that can gain her a way of escape. In her mind, it doesn’t matter that eight other girls haven’t found a way to escape yet. It only matters that she hasn’t yet tried for herself.

“The girls.” He hooks a thumb shakily back to the dark side of the room. “And my brother. It’s…” He squints like he’s somewhat confused. “It’s the nickname you give to someone named Han.”

The hyper literalism startles her out of her fight or flight for a second, and she blinks right back at him. To be fair, she really is asking useless questions. “What do you want?”

His head cocks to the side. “You have to go to your room now. Cain will be back soon.”

Her hands are bunched in the skirt of her nightgown, heart hammering in her ears. “My room isn’t here.”

His chest concaves with a saddened sigh and his chin dips. “I know. But if Cain catches any of you out here, we’ll all get in trouble. You have to go to the room that he has for you. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to it.”

Her arms wrap around her folded legs and she frowns stubbornly. “No.”

He scoots closer, still on his knees. “I know you’re scared, but I won’t hurt you. Cain will. Please.” His eyes are saucers, reflecting the yellow light of the bulb. “Please come with me.” He reaches out a hand to her that is barely more than skin and bones, and it trembles in the space between them.

She can hear him breathing with a slight rasp, can see the trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. His face is just as bruised as the rest of the girls, all of his visible skin marked by either scars or cuts or abrasions, or all three.

He turns away slightly to sniffle and cough into his other elbow before returning to his former position, and she sees that he’s just as battered as the rest of them.

Anna scoots forward slowly. As soon as she’s not leaning against the wall anymore, she’s reminded of the sledge hammer pounding in her head as her vision goes topsy turvey. She sees a flash of gray clothes and black hair, and then a warm body is tucked against her side, his arm around her back.

“Don’t fall,” He rasps. “I’ll help you up.”

He smells like a mixture of fresh air and stale sweat, but it’s so much better than the crushing odor of urine and excrement that’s everywhere else, that she instinctively leans in closer before she stops herself. She lurches away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

His arm doesn’t move. “We only have a few minutes. We have to go.”

Before she can fight him, he’s bringing her to her feet and steadying her. His hands are still trembling against her arms, his steps slow and stilted, like he has to lock his knees in order to stay upright, but he still manages to keep her stable even when her equilibrium knocks around like a pinball.

“Please.” Her tears start again, face scrunching pathetically. “Please let me go. I didn’t do anything.”

Han’s hand settles on her shoulder, guiding her into the dark side of the room. The further they go, the more her eyes adjust. “I wish I could. I swear.”

The room narrows into a hall lined with doors, all of which are shut except for one on the end. There’s a heavy looking ring of keys hanging on the wall, well out of her reach.

“Please.” She sobs. “My family will be looking for me.”

He smiles at her sadly as they stop in front of the open room. “Just be glad they’re not here with you. Trust me. That would be worse.” Han nods into the room. “There’s a bed in there. I gave you clean sheets. There’s water in the corner, and a bucket.”

“A bucket?” She wishes she hadn’t asked. She doesn’t want to know.

He doesn’t want to explain it, so he doesn’t.

He gives her a small push. “Don’t tell him about this, and you can come out tomorrow. That’s how this works, okay?”

She steps into the room and turns to face him, tears streaking down her face. “Please.” She begs again.

He’s got one hand on the door. “What’s your name?”

She chokes on her sobs, and covers her face with her hands. It’s all crashing down on her. She’s somewhere, somewhere unfamiliar, with people who are miserable, people who promise her she’ll be miserable soon, too. No one can help her. She forces her shoulders back and gasps for air, letting her hands fall. “Anna.”

Han gives her the smallest smile, but after a second it turns into a wince. “Goodnight, Anna. I’m sorry.” And then he closes the door softly and locks it.

next chapter >

[the-writer-ofthe-fandoms]

Silent Cosmos (Edward Cullen) (Ch. 3)

Pairing: Edward Cullen x GN! Mute!Reader

Words: 2.8k+

Warning(s): Two gross dudes, sexual verbal harassment (not towards reader), swearing,

A/N: omg chapter 3 is finally here. I apologize for the wait. I thought my semester this time around would be forgiving but NOPE. I had so much to do and read, I could hardly write for fun or draw either. I hadn't realized how long it had been since I last posted. I want to try a new method when writing series. I tried with my kpop writing blog, and its where I write a few chapters at a time then periodically post them. Helps keep the flow and motivation going, but that may have been a one off there.

Series Masterlist

-------

"O star of strength! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain; Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand, And I am strong again... The Star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Light of Stars"

-------

Edward hasn't been in school for the past few days.

You admittedly felt a little lonely without his presence, though Emmett and Alice have made it their mission to become your new best friends. Jasper tried but he still kept his distance from you, which you didn't mind. Rosalie helped when no other Cullen was around, although she kept a lot of conversations at a minimum, which you also didn't mind.

Alice had told you Edward had gotten a bad cold, so he is staying home. You had offered to bring him your notes the first time so he could copy them down, but Alice told you their father has him basically on lock down until he is deemed healthy. So, after you've done your homework, you've been making copies of your notes to give him when he comes back.

It's the start of a new day and once again, Edward wasn't there. You were at your locker with 15 minutes to spare. You placed the spare folder with Edward's notes on the shelf while your mind went back to that moment you two shared at the welcoming party for your uncle. You felt happy telling him all the stars and constellation you could see, and even happier when he seemed thoroughly interested in your rambles. However, you feel an inkling of guilt when you remember he gave you his jacket. Maybe he got sick from that?

"Dude, I got this weird spot on my dick."

Well, there goes your musings of guilt. You glance to your left and see two guys near you, just chilling against the lockers. You've never met them, though you do remember sharing a class or two with them separately.

"Are you really airing your business out when someone is standing right their?" The shorter one, with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes gestures to you.

"Relax, Mark. That's the deaf student." The taller one with deep brown eyes and brown hair says with a laugh. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and choose to just focus on the inside of your locker. Maybe you should get more decorations- "Anyways, I have this weird spot on my dick. It almost looks like I have a weird mole there. I'm hoping it's just a new mole and Cindy didn't give me something."

Gross.

"I'd get that shit checked out then. You don't want it to turn into something worse if it is an STD." Mark says with a sigh. "I told you not to sleep with her, Tony. She made my balls itch like crazy. They still fucking itch."

"I think its just a weird mole. You wanna look?" He cackles while his friend fake gags. They both push off the lockers and walk away to who knows where.

You let out a deep sigh and close your locker. At least the ignorance of other allows you to hear some gossip.

"What's with the sigh, Tiny?" Emmett calls out as he and Rosalie approach you. He has very quickly taken to the nickname Tiny for you. You suppose anyone shorter than him would be considered tiny in his eyes. Rosalie simply opened her locker as you and Emmett conversed.

"Oh, just overheard two people talking about something that should have been a private conversation." You respond with a slight shrug.

"Gah, Forks High is full of a bunch of weirdos, huh?" He grins and raises his brows a few times, crossing his arms while leaning on the locker next to you. You silently chuckle and nod, though you wondered if there was an underlying joke there.

"No Edward today?"

"Nope. Carlisle still hasn't cleared him." He sighs with a sympathetic smile. "Between you and me, Tiny, Edward is still shitting his brains out." He signed that last portion to you.

You gave him a scandalized look and playfully slapped his arm with a small chuckle. You were surprised to feel just how hard his muscles were.

"What was that for?" He gripped where you slapped and pretended to be hurt. "It was a private conversation, no one else here except Rosalie knows sign."

You roll your eyes and shake your head with a smile. You could always count on Emmett to get you to smile.

"C'mon, Rose and I will walk you to first period, like always." He grins and gestures you to follow him. Rose simply came along since she and Em were in the class next to yours. You nod and follow, happy to have good company.

---

It was a passing period and it was just you and Rose at your lockers. You grabbed a new pen and pencil since the last two you had broke and ran out of ink. Rosalie was fluffing up her already perfect, blond hair in the mirror of her locker. She and you didn't converse much, but you still liked her presence. Like the rest of the Cullens, she didn't tiptoe around you or treated you differently. She acknowledged your presence and would answer you if you had questions.

You were about finished in your locker when you heard two familiar voices keep up their gross conversations behind you.

"Dude, Rosalie has the hottest ass." Tony practically jeers, his voice intentionally loud. You glance to the blond next to you and she still keeps fixing her hair, though you can see her brows are a little more furrowed and her lips are more in the shape of a frown.

"Her tits, man, her tits are where it's at." Replies Mark and when you shift just enough to see him in the corner of your eyes, you see him make an obscene gesture.

You hear the slight creek of metal and when you look to Rose, you see her grip is so tight on her locker door that her fingers made indents which made your eyes widen for a moment. She closes her locker and you can see by her side profile she is pissed, and rightfully so.

So, you do what you think would make her laugh at the expense of those two guys.

You tap her arm to get her attention and she looks at you with a glare. You don't let it faze you. If those two are going to be gross about your friend, you'll just air out their business that they so willingly aired out by you this morning.

"You know those two jackasses?" You intentionally look to them as you sign and look back at her. "Well the brown haired one has a spot on his penis that he isn't sure if it's a mole or an STD. And his buddy likely doesn't wash right since he's had prolonged itchy balls."

Rosalie looks almost scandalized until her eyes widen for a moment as she looks at the two dudes and then back to you. She covers her mouth as she laughs when she realizes what you're trying to do.

You were about to sign some more when the two dumbasses approach.

"I know you were talking shit. What the fuck did you sign?" Tony glared, pointing an accusatory finger at you. He gets in your face and you swear you hear Rosalie growl.

You swallow thickly and decide to open your mouth. Your aunt always said you got your stubbornness from your mom.

"I said..." You try not to wince at the pain in your throat, your voice sounding hoarse. "You had a weird spot on your dick and your friend... has itchy balls." They looked at you with wide, horrified looks. "Don't talk about someone's body if you don't want yours talked about either."

"You little shit." Mark hisses and Rose steps closer to your side, an arm just barely in front of yours.

"What's going on here?" Emmetts voice grows louder as he approaches, his usual, carefree smile no longer on his face. He looked scarier than you've ever seen him. Mark and Tony looked at each other before slinking off.

Once they were gone you let out a dry, painful cough. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand and quickly grab your water and drink, soothing your throat. You could taste a tiny bit of iron in the back of your throat as you drank.

Rosalie calls your name softly. "Are you okay?"

You nod in response and take another sip of water. You didn't catch the look they gave each other or Rose gesturing for Emmett to speak.

"What happened, Tiny?" He asks in a quiet tone. You close the cap of your bottle and place it back in your bag. Your throat still ached but you knew the pain from using your larynx will linger.

You start to sign to him everything that occurred, from what you overheard in the morning to him approaching. You can see a flash of anger on his face but he goes back to that small smile. Once you explained your words to Rose and why you said them, a huge grin breaks out on his face.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Tiny." He laughs and pats your shoulder a little too firmly.

"Come, I'll walk you to class." Rosalie said with a soft tone. You nod and wave goodbye  to Emmett. You both start heading down the hallway, the blond next to you tense.

When you got to your class a pale hand stopped you. You look to Rose with a questioning look while her gold eyes avoid yours.

"I just wanted to say thank you for earlier." Rosalie says, the tense look she had fades into a small smile, her eyes meeting yours. You see some vulnerability in her usually guarded gaze. She gives your shoulder a squeeze before dropping her hand. "You didn't have to do that. I'm... admittedly used to that."

"No need to thank me, Rosalie." You smile back at her.

"I do, because not many would step up like that." She softly sighs and her smile grows a bit. You felt her words had more meaning to them, but you decided to not linger on them for now. "I know I've been slightly avoiding you but I have a hard time trusting hu- new people. But, after today, I think I want to open up a bit and be friends."

"I'd like that too." You beam. "Alice has been begging me to do a shopping trip, maybe the three of us can plan a trip soon."

"I'd... I'd like that." She almost looks like she is relieved and less guarded.

"Is your hand okay?"

"What?"

"Well, I saw you grip your locker and you dented it."

"Oh. Yeah, it's fine. I work on cars and my grip is strong. It's nothing." She holds out her hands and you saw just flawless skin. "Well, I will see you soon. Class is starting."

"Talk to you later." You wave and go to class. You sit down at your usual spot and start preparing. You sigh, irritated at the way those two spoke about Rose so loudly. But you also felt happy you and Rose were close now. Her bending the locker was suspicious... there were many things off with the Cullens that you've picked up, however, you don't linger on it. They have their quirks much like you have your own.

---

Edward lounged on the couch reading, back from his trip up to the Denali clan to clear his head. After witnessing that nightmare from you, he needed a moment alone to sort his thoughts. He wasn't sure what he felt afterwards but once he took some time to sort out his thoughts, he came back to Forks. None of the others knew what happened. He didn't tell them those details of your life, as none of them were privy to it. He wasn't either but that bridge has been crossed thanks to his ability and curiosity of the galaxy protecting your mind.

He felt guilt initially when he realized he deeply invaded your privacy. Then, despair and immense sadness followed when he recalls back to your nightmare, your past. Edward had seen many horrors in his long life, he even committed some when he'd hunt those men. However when he witnessed what you went through, he couldn't help feel a spark of protectiveness. You were nice. He found you a joy to be around despite it not being long since you transferred. He doesn't want anything bad to happen to you.

Edward couldn't help but smile when he thought back to you and him outside the fire station. It was a peaceful moment. He couldn't help but linger on the sight of you in his jacket, pointing out the stars and constellations. It was silent other than your internal thoughts. And when he got to witness your galaxy so at peace? He also felt a sense of tranquility he longs for.

Edward quickly put those thoughts away and resumed his attention his book when he heard his adoptive siblings come in. Alice and Jasper pass without saying to him, which he was slightly thankful for. However, Emmett and Rosalie lingered by him.

"How can I help you both?" Edward sighs, snapping the book closed as he looks at both of them.

Rose crosses her arms. "You need to come back tomorrow."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Yeah, Tiny happened." Emmett grinned and gestured to Rosalie. The blond sighed and let the memory replay of you standing up for her so Edward can see what happened today. He furrows his brows, setting his book down. He stands up from the couch and looks between the two.

"My guess is those two will probably retaliate against our friend one way or another." Rosalie says softly. Edward chooses not to point out how she said 'our friend.' "You spend the most time with them, they'll need you to stick around them the most."

Edward nods slowly. He recognizes Mark and Tony, and he knows they each have a class with him and you. He's heard the thoughts that spew from them both like garbage and he knows they aren't above getting back at someone.

"I'll come back tomorrow." He confirms. He wanted one more day to himself, but tomorrow is good as ever to face you again. He knows how you lost your voice and how you ended up living with your uncle and aunt now, but you don't know he knows. And he'll have to keep that in mind.

Although, Edward couldn't help but smile at the sound of your voice in Rosalie's memory. It was rough and hoarse, and it caused you pain, pain he doesn't want you feeling again... but it was nice hearing that voice that matches to the one in your head... when that space of yours is dropped.

---

You make your way to your locker first thing in the morning. You get yourself situated, grabbing the things you need for your classes before lunch. You set aside the folder where you kept your copies of notes for Edward down on the small shelf. You huff softly, throat still feeling sore from using your voice.

A familiar voice calling your name has you spinning around quickly, a smile instantly growing on your face. Edward approaches you with a small smile, looking the same as he did the last time you saw him.

"Glad to see you're feeling better." You grin, your mind flashing back to what Emmett signed to you in regards to Edward's health. You catch your friend's eyebrow twitch, a flash of annoyance on his face that he quickly recovered.

A Cullen quirk, you muse to yourself.

"Yeah. I'm doing a lot better now." He replies softly, standing  a little closer to you than usual.

"I have something for you." You see his eyebrow quirk as you turn back to your locker. You pull out the black folder and hand him it. "Notes for the classes we share."

Edward stares down at the folder before chuckling. He looks up at you and gives you brilliant smile, one that makes your heart flutter for just a moment. "Thank you, I really appreciate it."

"Of course."

Suddenly, you feel hand on your back. Edward was standing much closer to you with an expression akin to a scowl as he stares off a little. He looks to you and smiles softly, though you can still see the tension on his face.

"We should get to the classroom. I'll probably have questions about what I missed." He says in a low voice. You nod, a little confused by his demeanor. You finish up with your locker and let him guide through the hallway, his cold hand still resting on the middle of your back.

You weren't aware of Tony's and Mark's presences until you both were walking by them to your first period classroom. You paid them no mind, keeping your focus ahead of you. Doing this, however, has you missing the deep and threatening glare from Edward towards the both of them.

As you both walked through the hallway, Edward felt that his non-existent blood boiling at the degrading, violent, and nasty thoughts those two were thinking. He knew they both weren't the best that Forks has to offer, their thoughts sometimes louder than others.

That protective urge he felt after witnessing your nightmare? It's working overtime now and he isn't completely sure why.

What Edward does know that he won't let them try anything towards you.

------

Taglist: @buckybarnes-1917​, @trawberry-fire​ , @dreamy-caramel​, @urgirlfriendspage @azazel-nyx @stinkii-boii @vanessalovesonedirection @sunnyisntthere @theatrenerd101601 @awesomebooklover17 @esposadomd @whichwitchisthebitch @bofadeezs @gons-dad-is-gon-e @kathsuhki @aoi-targaryen @srh-006 @onlyheretosimp

[randomfoggytiger]

Hello, would you know of any post apocalyptic AU fics that don’t have to do with the colonization plan or Purity? Just good old fashioned zombies or other deadly virus (or fungus, I see you The Last of Us) lol

Collector's Edition: Mulder, Scully, and Post-Apocalyptic Survival

There was one fic that legitimately did fit your criteria (dianasicarus's "The Dead Come Back"); but it was deleted off of Ao3, and I can't find it anywhere. So.

Anyway! These are mostly virus or alien-related fics (because the specific niche requested is rare)-- however, I tried to keep them Colonization-adjacent, or Colonization-peripheral, rather than full-on aliens, vaccines, and the like.

Loose chronological order below~

Callunarose's Heaven Came Crashing Down - Chapter 4

It sends a chill down Mulder’s skin to see the state of Skinner’s office. The large table, a fixture in so many boring meetings, has somehow been split down the middle, chairs lie in bits around it, and the windows behind Skinner’s desk are shattered. It smells like smoke and fire, and a thin layer of ash has blown in through the broken window panes like some absurd festive snowfall. Skinner’s computer is on the floor, and it doesn’t take a federal agent to understand that someone has jumped up and down on it repeatedly, smashing it into bits. Scully is standing behind the desk it once sat on, staring down at it.

AU-- Post Millennium Mulder and Scully find D.C. abandoned.

@audriesfic/audries/inkspl0tchess's

repechage

there are four things that are the same. endlessly, always. four things that he will always know to be true. four things he’d picked up between preschool and middle-age. four things he would have passed on to his son if he’d had the chance. not that his off-brand form of wisdom could have saved him, or anyone, in the end.

still, they are as follows: water is wet, gravity is at the center of all things, scully is (just is. in general terms, specifics don’t apply, not anymore) and a baseball diamond on a summer night is the closest you will ever be to anything as divine and illusory as heaven.

these are the things he knows. not necessarily in that order.

Post-Colonization Mulder and Scully stumble across a baseball diamond.

seiche (Tumblr)

“Say you believe it, too. Say there’s going to be an after. Say we’re going to live.” 

Her mouth winced. She couldn’t look at him anymore and didn’t, tucking her chin. “I can’t.” 

“Why?” He sounded raw. Scully felt herself to be unknowable and cruel. The waiting room feeling. “After all you’ve done, after all we’ve been through, why can’t you believe we’re going to win this?” 

“Because I don't know what happens next,” she told him, “if it isn't the worst thing.” 

AU-- Mulder and Scully didn't change their partnership (yet), despite impending Colonization.

@seepunkrun/Punk Maneuverability/Punk/runpunkrun's Opsis (Gossamer)

He'd picked the wrong day to be lonely and had definitely picked the wrong way in which to show it. If he wanted something from her, comfort or companionship, he would have to ask. She wasn't going to play games with him.

He'd balked at the door, but when his hesitation didn't result in apology, she'd pushed him the rest of the way out and thrown the dead bolt, glad to be rid of him. Finally turning the lights on, she'd walked into the bathroom and crouched by the toilet to throw up what seemed to be a city's worth of ashes.

Colonization Scully's transformation after the world is set on fire.

contradiction_to_nature's XF Writing Challenge:  Clothes

She finally nips the bag with her index and middle fingers, gingerly drawing it out.  Her careful wrapping job has done nothing to protect the delicate weave from absorbing the ever-present dust in the air.  She has given up on ever having clean hair again, her face always coated with a smothering sheen of sweat and airborne grime.  Pulverized concrete, unearthed trees, ashes.  So many dead, gone.

Scully mournfully studies her torn, bloodied suit.

@lotsoforangesoutside's Wednesday 100s (Tumblr)

In another universe, they got married during a lockdown, a complete lockdown, three months after colonization.

Colonization, quarantine, and regulations.

soundingsea's (DW) in the lonely cool before dawn

Scully shakes her head. "Mulder, nobody's heard from Southern California in over a year; there are blockades starting at Vegas. Ever since the Hoover Dam went, it's been considered a loss. Not much agriculture with no water."

"Doesn't look like water's going to be a problem here," Mulder replies, eyes turned upward.

Scully breathes in the smell of oncoming rain. 

Colonization hits, and hits hard.

@writingwell/RocketMan/Darkstryder's (xffics) Live Free

Desperate to make them quiet, Mulder raised his voice to be heard above them.

"Do you want to hear a story?"

Some heads turned to see him; one of the older ones next to Scully started quieting the kids in the back; it seemed a good distraction.

Post-Colonization Mulder and Scully hold onto hope while huddled with a small, underground group.

Seema/SeemaG's (unbound@seema.org, LJ) Stronger than Death

...I'd been there when they'd forced her mouth open, poured the black oil down her throat, and then thrown her into the cell. I'd held her in my arms as she'd trembled and squirmed against the madness slowly taking her over, and then I had her brought to the infirmary. A shot of precious morphine later, I'd tied her limbs down to the table; she stopped struggling and I'd leaned over, closed her eyes with the palm of my hand. Nine hours later, Susan died and I held her earrings in my hand.

"Scully."

"We can risk it," I told Mulder. "We have a choice to make."

"I can't run."

"I know that." I took a deep breath. "But do we stay?"

Post-Colonization Mulder and Scully, prisoners, hatch a plot to escape.

@spooky-nerd/spooky_nerd's Beyond the Setting Sun: a Post-Colonization drabble (Tumblr)

“Scully, if the sky crumbled and fell on top of our heads tomorrow, you would find a way to rationalize it,” Mulder had told her once, with equal parts awe and irritation in his voice. If only she had known at the time how prophetic those words would turn out to be.

They had been on a case when it had happened. She still remembers the shrill, earth-shaking scream of the crafts as they had broken through the dark and split the peaceful night apart. She had woken with a dread like no other. The back of her neck thrummed. They were here.

Post-Colonization Mulder and Scully are separated when her chip begins to control her.

Jenna Tooms/misslucyjane’s (mulderscreek) "...missing..."

Things she misses.

She misses her apartment, her mother, Mulder's fish tank, William's morning noises. She misses Frohike's leers and Langly's t-shirts. She misses wearing a badge and being an authority figure. She misses doing good, being good, feeling good.

She misses Skinner's gruff voice and Monica's wide smile and Doggett's soft drawl. She misses her baby. She misses her friends.

She misses her hair.

Post-Colonization Scully counts her losses.

pokeitlikejello's

The Drabble Files - Chapter 14

He made her a promise and God, she was so scared. Why did they have to split up? Was it his idea? Hers? She couldn’t remember. Not after all the concussions.

Post-Colonization Scully waits for Mulder's whistle.

@leiascully's (Ao3)

X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 30: Dazzle

The end of the world is dazzling. The sun is too bright. It glares off the sand of the beach. The shoreline is higher than it used to be, but the waves have pushed the sand up where there used to be beachgrass or even lawns. The shore has been reshaped, just like everything else. The waves ripple around the ruins of expensive houses. Once upon a time, they lived fairy tales here.

Post-Colonization Mulder and Scully did what they could.

One word prompt: beach

The loose linen is nothing like the suits she used to wear, before. Before the downfall of the organization she'd trusted, before the invasion of her body by the alien virus.

Post-Colonization Marita feels the cumulative weight of her life.

Sarah Segretti/sarah_segretti's Operation Clean House (Ao3)

He’s been attached to Special Ops. He’s one of only two people on this planet who have been inside one of Their ships and lived to tell the tale.

She’s the other. But she doesn’t remember the details.

He’s never quite forgiven her for that, she thinks, although he knows – and she knows he knows – that it’s not her fault. She wishes she could remember. She doesn’t want to be separated from him on this night.

Post-Colonization Mulder has to go on a mission alone.

Branwell's Won and Lost

They nicknamed the third assault force Operation Pest Control. The regular army sent in a thousand men at each site. They traveled in tanks or helicopters, and included units with powerful explosives. Missiles couldn't be used effectively against foes who had dug themselves in deep during the Stone Age.

The enemy died by the dozens. The soldiers died by the thousands within minutes of reaching shifting zones around the ships.

DOD HQ organized Tiger Teams that included specialists in tactical nuclear weapons. The President's family arrived at the bunker in West Virginia, where they were forced to stay in total ignorance and confusion.

Post-Colonization Mulder and Scully: indestructible.

AUs

EmScully's Not Alone

 Scully struggled to pull the door closed and stepped gingerly down the porch towards the outhouse. The small building groaned around her and she moved quickly, already chilled and missing the warmth of her little stove. When she stepped out of the outhouse she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, she did a double take and froze. The dead carcass of the alien next to her porch was being torn into by a very much live version, blocking the way of her front door. 

AU-- S7 Scully is abducted instead of Mulder; and both are aided by their son from the future to find each other in a world turned upside-down (and infested with monsters.)

@scullyphile's The Lure of the Paranormal (Tumblr)

“What’s going on? I thought we were having a good Sunday morning. Puns, flirting, fishing, sunshine. What’s wrong?” She asked. When he met her eyes, she knew. “It’s about William.”

Post S9 Mulder and Scully use fish puns to hide the pain.

cthene's In the Watchfires of a Hundred Circling Camps

Frothing and wheezing on his back, the kid claws at Mulder’s face with his nails. His black eyes bulge like quivering pearls of tapioca. He’s afraid. 

Mulder freezes. A silent scream lashes across his mind, confirming what he already knew, and his grip fails. Someone’s son or grandson is still in there.

“Mulder!” Scully yells at him.

The trachea uncrushes itself and the kid sucks the air, already lunging upward again. 

Mulder watches himself grab his skull and brain him against the floor. With vicious force he wasn’t capable of two seconds ago, he hammers the kid’s head over and over again into the tile until the tile cracks. He feels his own hands cleaving open the base of the skull, a plate of metalicized bone falling away like a shard of eggshell to let the sticky albumen run out. Mulder’s fingers plunge into the wet brainpan, closing around the slippery stem and yanking it out as the body beneath him seizes and dies. 

AU-- Post S9 Mulder is turned: a new creature in a new world, in search of his and Scully (and their son's) place in it.

@poeticsandaliens/aster_risk's OctoberFicFest Day 30 - Rental Car

William loves these days, ripping down an empty road to the next empty town in the next empty state, searching for the next unclaimed rental car. It’s only desolate once they get there. When you’re the only humans left on the planet, civilization is a thousand times more desolate, and nature is a thousand times more beautiful. 

AU-- Mulder, Scully, and their son live life on the road.

@pinebluffvariants/@flukemen's (Ao3) Baseball

“Let me tell you a story. I wasn’t always a total idiot - no, don’t deny it, I’ve heard you talk to people - anyway, my story. It was about twenty years ago. We’d already known each other for almost ten years but for various reasons, nothing had happened between us. Actually let me take that back. So much had happened between us, just not what we both wanted. I knew it, it was so obvious, but we were scared.”

“Scared.”

AU-- Mulder retells The Unnatural date night to William as a bedtime story.

stellar_dust/stellar_dust's The City and the Stars (Combined) (Ao3)

No one would have believed in the last years of the twentieth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.

How fitting, then, that it was, finally, a woman with a microscope who discovered the key to their destruction.

AU-- Mulder, Scully, their son, Skinner, Doggett, and Monica sneak into town... then everything devolves into chaos.

Blackwood's (site) Restless Vespers (site)

The sofa creaks as she rises. He feels her standing behind him, knowing what she will say before she says it. "We did all that we could. You did more than anyone could have asked."

"Did I?"

She lays a hand on his sleeve, but he isn't ready for absolution. "Of course you did," she says so gently it feels like a caress. "You're Will's father. You negotiated with the Rebels when no one else could and," she pauses. "I never would have survived without you."

"You would have gone on, Scully. It's who you are."

"Breathing isn't the same thing as living."

"It's Life."

AU-- Post-Colonization Mulder and Scully have a chat.

@danascullysjournal/Paper_hearts_and_homemade_arts's Chrysalis

Dana Scully bandaged them both the best she could, but her training was of flesh and bone, stitches and scar tissue, medication to stave off the searing pain.  Grossly unqualified for the patient before her, she prayed silently for a breakthrough.  Anything to help a man whose soul was eclipsed.  

The date for colonization had come.  And gone. 

And now… the man in her bed was not the same. 

Post-2012 Scully talks her partner through his grief.

@all-these-ghosts/all_these_ghosts's radio nowhere - Chapter 30

When he gets to the plateau at the summit, there is nothing left but dirt and ash and blackened, jagged shards of metal. Every tree and shrub and blade of grass has been leveled. Below him the mountainside is charred from the flames that rained down after the explosion. The late afternoon sky is dark and tinged red.

AU-- Revival Mulder Is stumbling around the ruins looking for his son.

afg's (mulderscreek) Mendocino (mulderscreek)

Skinner had once told him over a bottle of Scotch, how surprised he'd been that Mulder had not killed himself and confessed to him drunkenly, that he and the rest of the group had had him on a sort of unofficial suicide watch for months after Scully had been killed.... In truth it had been touch and go. Many a long night, he had sat with his gun in his hand trying hard to think of a reason to stay. He'd failed her on that last day, the least he could do, he thought, was to tough it out until the end. He couldn't light candles or recite a 'Hail Mary' but he could stay alive. It was his penance.

AU-- Post-Colonization Mulder lives just a bit longer than Scully.

Pale The Chicken Slayer's "Seven More Days" (xphilefic)

The flu hit, distroying cities and states. I'm not sure if the whole world got it, but it's a safe bet. America is dead, almost time for the funereal, when we lay the past into the ground. Mulder died, one of it's earliest victims. The sky scorched with a pale black horizon, like a mystery or a dream. The world seems like a novel, ripped from the pages and brought into our small lives, the authors don't realize how their works will affect us. And ruin us.

Post-Colonization Scully roams the world, immortal.

@scully-loves-ruthie's Prompt: There's only us

Mulder hiked his pack higher up his back, it took a couple weeks, but he and Scully soon learned there was no one to fight for supplies, and worse yet no one to save.  An unholy trip to Maggie’s followed by an understated mourning at Skinner and Monica’s.  It didn’t take much after that to understand there would be no finding, no saving, no banding together to ride out the apocalypse, a ramshackle collection of misfits suited for an FX series.

Post-Colonization, there are only two people left alive.

Oracle (The Other Side) At Sunset (Gossamer)

"William, we don't have to stay another year," she says. "Your dad visits me sometimes, at night. He doesn't speak, but he sits beside me. We talk without sound."

"Mom -"

"I know you don't believe me, William, but I see him. I see them all. Sometimes, under the red moon, I walk to the top of the cliffs and I see them. They look up at me from the desert, expectantly. Waiting for us to join them."

AU-- Scully and William are the only survivors.

@lepusarcticus's the after

“Happy turning day,” she smiled, setting a mug on the side table. He caught a whiff of the contents. Rich. Heady. Intoxicating.

“Don’t know why you still keep track of these things. It’s been centuries,” he mumbled, playing at sleepiness.

AU-- Immortality and vampirism.

BONUS

If you're curious to read more Colonization content, I'd recommend the Colonization HQ, as well as @lilydalexf's and @dashakay's recs (here and here, respectively.)

Thanks for reading

Enjoy!

[doonarose]

GOAD Writer's Guild presents: A Bathhouse Pretense

CW/TW: Explicit, sex in public, orgy scenes and descriptions of other men having sex, the exhibitionism/voyeurism that goes with that , wet and messy comeplay things, edging, cockwarming.

Summary: Written for the @goodomensafterdark Valentine's Gift Exchange (yes, it's May, I'm so sorry!! Chapter 1 was posted back then but it has been a journey to finish this one up!) For Zaay-zaay who requested top Crowley in a bathhouse with kissing and maybe cockwarming. To wit:

Aziraphale seeks Crowley out in 38 BC Rome, and finds him in a bathhouse which just so happens to be hosting an orgy. Aziraphale is there to discuss upcoming celestial business, Crowley is there for a good time, but when Hastur happens to drop by, it gives them an (admittedly flimsy) excuse to get close, and then closer still.

First time sex in the back corner bath, canon compliant, much edging, feelings and filth.

Word count: 18k, complete!

Thanks: Good lord! Everyone!! Thanks to Fuzzygoblinoid for the beautiful header art!

Thanks enormously to my three betas on the second chapter: Likeafuckingninja, Gingercat and Natyu0815. Ninja who held my hand for weeks after falling off the writing horse and trying to clamber back on, Natyu for the cheerleading, and Ginger for the very last minute swoop in with some cracker ideas! Thanks also to Fishey_me and FuzzyGoblin for their insanely quick beta on the first chapter!

Thanks also to all the people in the GOAD Writer's Guild chat who have listened to my whining about trying to write part two for literal months! And thanks again to Zaay-zaay for a fantastic prompt that took me a little outside my comfort zone and then being insanely chill about overly long porn and a very long delay!

Excerpt: In the end, he recognises Crowley by his laugh: low and gravelly, but genuine. His hair’s much darker when it’s wet. He’s close to the back edge of the second bath, the hotter one, Aziraphale guesses, judging by the slick of steam shimmering over the liquid. He’s slid down on a low submerged bench so that the water’s lapping at his shoulders.

It suddenly occurs to Aziraphale that he could have found Crowley here in flagrante delicto – plenty of others are. The thought crosses his mind like it’s been scratching to get out of a sealed box, and he only has a moment to unpack it, turn it over, and then push it back somewhere locked away.

Thankfully, Crowley’s being entertained more simply, by a man lying flat on his belly across the floor behind him, a towel covering his buttocks, as he leans close to Crowley’s ear and speaks in hushed whispers. He’s got his fingertips buried in Crowley’s dark hair, half of it amassed in a bun and the rest hanging loose to his shoulders, as he massages Crowley’s scalp. The interloper has white blonde hair drawn back in long curls tied off at the nape of his neck, he looks middle-aged, stocky, the slopes of his back and arse broad and supple.

The blonde says something else that makes Crowley tip his head back and laugh, and the man tightens his fingers in Crowley’s hair, tipping his face back further so he can lean forward and over him, bite at the angle of his jaw from above and then draw back to dangle a bunch of green grapes over his lips.

Crowley plucks one with his teeth and slides back into the water, so that it laps at his chin as he chews. He sees Aziraphale suddenly, surprise making his bright yellow eyes go wide and then his lips smile around the last of the grape juice and he arches an eyebrow.

“Aziraphale!” he says, voice warm and drawled as though the baths and whatever else he’s been up to here have him relaxed, perhaps even sated.

To continue reading head on over to AO3!

[chantsdemarins]

New Fic: Breath of the Æsir ⚔︎🏰 (Loki X Reader)

Formally (Collapsing in the Arms of Chaos) I changed the name. 😬 I know Medieval stories aren't everyone's fav but heck, I hope you like it! It has been brewing in the coffee pot that is in my head for over a year. I feel slightly self-conscious that after my first time with COVID, my brain is not the same. I hope I still have my ability to write! My last story published a few weeks ago was written while I was falling ill and I know it wasn't my best!

Thank you for reading!! If you want to comment I would be so happy and reblogs are like the most precious thing to me. All art is mine, it's a Photoshop-crazed situation.

Summary: Disenchanted with the Danes' misuse of Norse gods to sanction their brutality, Loki finds himself ostracized. Stripped of his divine powers and bearing a severe injury, he wanders into the realm of the conquered. By a twist of fate, he arrives at your manor, where you await your husband's return. However, destiny has other plans.

Warnings: Blood.

Words: 2,471

Smut rating: Not yet...but there sure will be!

Posting schedule: Every Saturday! I am going to stick to this!

Chapter 1 The Embroidery of Destiny Chapter 2 The Stranger Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

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Before your family settled again, you had been travelers, moving from one darkened patch of earth to the next. Soil on your boots muddied your paths, creating difficulties in finding a home. There were many things to see, some horrors, some things magical and unfounded. Shapes shifted in the forest where you camped at night. One day your father showed you where they lowered men into the bogs, decorated with bronze. These were not the ways of your people. They did not worship like that. It might have been too much for you to know where some ended up when they were no longer living, not in graves or on pyres. Something else.

By the time you reached the northern lands, your family had negotiated your belongings down to just what the pallid horses could carry. Your croft was built into the very earth you had struggled to cross, with bedrooms burrowed into the side of a hill. It was not built for so much rain. Buckets and sluices were not enough to keep out the floods.

So, when your husband came to marry you, you packed your things neatly, placed them in a pack, and left your parents’ home without drawing a breath. You walked a distance far greater than any you had as a child to his family's land, your new home. The way your family had negotiated the marriage remained a blind spot in your mind. You couldn't fathom it. From a croft to a manor.

Over time, nothing in your marriage seemed to flourish. The land, though beautiful, yielded nothing you sowed. Too sandy or too chelated, perhaps unfortunate timing. You became a wife in the loneliest ways. No spinning of yarn would produce a cloth finer than the wool you began with. Hours of practice composing embroidery resulted in nothing more than half completed sea escarpments, knots, and birds with no flight.

The elegant window that surveyed the tenants' labors only deepened your isolation. They carried on with their duties, and you retired to your quarters, curtains drawn. The chill from your childhood followed you here. The stone walls held a dampness no fire could dispel. You knew somewhere across the hills where your parents still sleeping too close to the earth. Rooms still flooded. Though your loyalty never wavered, even as your husband wandered afar, absent for days at a time, his pursuits as obscure as the horizon beyond your room filled with half-finished tasks.

In kindness or disappointment, he had ensured your education extended beyond your lowly beginnings. Through travels and courtly audiences, barons and other titled men and women recounted their lives' poetry over each glass of mead or wine. You listened for moments when they forgot their lines, most days this was more interesting than their images they wanted you to see.

Although had you not met Isolde of Easting, you would not have thought to plant the spiky yellow gorse along the manor's borders. When the proper conversation waned, you had discovered the titled people still spun tales of their lands. The places they had come or been uprooted from. In the best conversations, you gleaned knowledge of the plants, herbs, and tokens from the first peoples, their ways overshadowed by the new cultures but nonetheless seeming to flow from them to you during the quieter moments—the men away hunting, the embroidery thread running low, the teapot empty. These things were spoken of in hushed tones so the servants would not get ideas.

You spoke of the hawthorn tree, the ravens' work, the swords warriors cast into the cold estuary, found along all the lakes' shores. The Roman merchants who brought tales of Jesus and his cross. The god Woden came from the Angles, and Odin, from the North. Their wars and bloodshed filled the spaces between village homes and now the courts. If asked if you prayed to the Christian god, you couldn't say. You longed to speak of the place where they lowered men into the bogs, the place your father once showed you. Later, in the quiet of your room, you would pull out a relic from beneath the blankets in your chest, and it would look unrecognizable. It once held meaning, but that meaning didn't travel with it.

Sometimes when you were awake much too early, the nightingales still singing, you would dip your quill into the small pot of black soot. You would unroll a small piece of parchment, discarded by the cooks, and write down your dreams. Which had room in your sleep since they were so often unimpeded by the presence of your husband. You wrote in the lais of the Frankish people, counting eight sounds to the line, braiding your dreams with your words.

Had I found a small shell, not rope I would have held it to my ear The ocean's song would have come to me Instead, I was swallowed wholly

This was how things proceeded until the day they did not.

As you came to learn, in the void and closeness of life, nothing is reliable enough to expect its continuation the next day. You should allow for change to slip through the crevices of even the dampest chambers. It just had not happened in so long you almost did not recognize it when something remarkable unfolded at your manor.

On this day, as you sipped your tea, with half-finished yards of cloth draped across your lap, and the unopened book of hours on the small, worn table, your gaze was fixed on the wind billowing the emerald curtains—silk from an era long past, traded by hands unknown. Like much of the decor in the manor, these were vestiges of your husband's family's trade in finery, symbols of their stature akin to that of minor kings.

Elinor, your companion for the last 10 years, rapped on your door abruptly, breaking your contemplative gaze.

“My lady, please excuse me,” she croaked, as the door opened before you could arrange a pretext to delay her entry.

“What is it, Elinor?” you asked, not wishing to dwell on the trivialities of the manor that day. Clearing her throat, she reported urgently of a man in a bad way, injured and lying on the steps. She hastened to your window, the portal to the land beyond your manor, and pointed to the makeshift courtyard where a man lay seemingly lifeless if not for the faint moan you heard.

“Why have you not sought my husband or some other man of decisions?” you questioned with a twinge of fear edging into your refuge of solitude.

“Lady, your husband has traveled beyond into the land of the Scots, and the aldermen are not present either,” she informed you.

“A household of women only, then? How did I overlook such an event?” you pondered.

“Lady, you are often engrossed in your own pursuits within these walls. How could you have noticed your husband's departure?” Elinor reasoned, her words not easing the panic now fully upon you. The thought that your husband had left you unprotected added another layer of anguish.

“At such a time, Elinor, how shall we defend ourselves?” you barely articulated.

“I suspect he gave little thought to the matter,” Elinor replied, her head bowed even lower than her subdued voice.

“Then it falls to me to act in their absence,” you reasoned. Not wanting this conflict or the talk that may ensue you knew you must act quickly. This man perhaps knew your husband, or perhaps it was only a small political scuffle that may have resulted in his injuries. You thought of the many reasons he could have ended up at the steps of your manor of this day. None of them added up entirely.

As you navigated the long, narrow corridors, your thin morning jacket provided little relief from the chill as Elinor aided you with the heavy door. You both stood in awe of the man at your feet. Having seen men before, chiefly your husband. This man’s appearance was now shocking at close view. He was unlike your husband in all ways you could imagine.

“Holy Jesus save us,” Elinor yelled through her missing teeth.

“He will not assist with this, Elinor,” you responded, your eyes surveying the severe wound from his stomach to his chest, the dark blood pooling around his lean form.

The man’s hair was a shade darker than the darkest night. Had night possessed more depth, it would resemble the hue of his locks. His attire suggested nobility, which only intensified the chill you felt. He had clearly been bested in whatever skirmish he had come from, and with no healer at hand, it seemed likely that a burial might soon follow—until his eyes fluttered open.

A striking blue that drew your own darker gaze, hinting at his foreign language or origins. His hand reached out feebly before falling back to his side.

He whispered faintly, “Ásjá.”

“He's alive!” you declared, as if the statement itself could reverse his fate.

“Yes, lady, he lives, I told you. Now what shall we do?” Elinor asked, concern evident in her voice.

“We save him. It is the right thing to do,” you answered.

“But without a healer, we risk much by sheltering him,” Elinor’s voice trembled.

“Then we shall tend to his needs ourselves,” you declared, your courage unusual, unfounded, drawn from the same well that had seen men saved from death at a distance. An instinct came over you. You directed Elinor to gather wood, cloth, herbs, and other necessities that seemed more from your imagination than any practical experience. You quickly cut away his clothes, exposing the dire wound more fully.

“Lady, he may not survive this,” Elinor observed with a somber tone. The unhinged flesh flapping against the seemingly unended torrent of blood emerging from him. How could there be so much blood.

“Silence, Elinor,” you hushed her. Your hands, though failed in the art of tapestry, were adept with needle and thread. So much failure had given you courage.

“We must stem the bleeding before we can stitch him up,” you instructed, asking for a branch from the fire.

“Lady, you cannot—” Elinor began, but you had already pressed the smoldering wood to the wound. The man awoke suddenly, thrashing in pain.

“Hold him down!” you ordered. Elinor, small but determined, restrained his arms.

You envisioned repairing his injury as if it were the "Galley of the Titan’s Moons," a rare piece of embroidery from the northern lands.

“I shall map the night sky upon your body, sir,” you said, speaking into the silence as he drifted further from this world. You sensed the ancestors gather, ready to welcome him, but you were not ready to let him go.

“No, not yet” you whispered, a soft rebuke to the invisible presence.

Elinor looked at you, puzzled. To whom were you speaking?

You were determined. This man would not die. Though you had sent for a proper healer, your task was to keep him alive until they arrived, hoping they would be sober enough to be of use. Much worse would be a drunk priest should your help not find any healer available.

It was not until you had finished suturing his wound that you noticed how his body appeared in the dim light of the great room. Your loneliness resonated with the landscape of his injury. It was a peculiar reaction, but there was something else broken within this man, beyond the sword wound. It was something familiar to your own. You held you own stomach for a moment, it felt as if you were the one almost slain, not him.

Eventually, his bleeding ceased, and the healer arrived, tended to him with poultices and what looked like grain spirits. You wrapped your furs around his sleeping form. He did not pass away. The stranger in your home survived. You had been told he might still not make the night. You watched him for as long as your eyes could. His faint inhalations mirrored in your own. But the exhaustion took over, and before you could retreat to your own chamber, you found yourself lying at his side.

“How improper, Lady!” Elinor’s voice pierced the quiet as dawn crept in and your eyes, heavy with sleep, opened. You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep beside the stranger. Startled, you rose, wrapping a blanket around yourself. Quickly finding a reason that you had slept at his side.

“He remains unconscious, Elinor. The healer was unsure if he would wake,” you confided in the servant who had been by your side for so many years. She looked briefly placated. Yet you knew her mind was racing. The healer would tell the burgh folk of this strange man. Your husband was nowhere to be known. Northman had recently been subdued with heavy piles of church silver, and that arrangement was delicate at best. They would be back and this time they would perhaps sack the village since you knew the last of the silver had been promised away to visiting bishops and clergy. The wealth had run its course.

“He must stay until he awakens, until he can speak for himself,” you quickly decided.

It was better to know who he was. He would surely tell you since you saved his life.

“But what if he is a demon, my lady? Have you considered that he may have come from Hell to bring us further misfortune?” Elinor ventured, instantly regretting her words as her face contorted with shame.

“I apologize. I did not mean to imply you are cursed,” she hastily added.

You felt pity for Elinor, she was not as traveled as you had become. Had not the stories you knew, but you also could not see beyond, you had no way to know if it was safe to keep him with you. If your husband should arrive back, there would be no way to convince him that this man had not abused you in some way, but you did know something of him. There was something you did recognize.

“This man is no curse, no demon,” you affirmed, your gaze fixed on his hair, as dark as the ink with which you wrote.

“How can you be certain?” she queried.

“He spoke in the old tongue, asking for aid. Did you not hear him, Elinor?” you questioned, your voice steady.

The woman stepped back, tossing another log onto the fire, her confusion apparent. “I did not recognize the language, nor do I understand how you did,” she admitted.

The language was familiar to you, it was the tongue of your people from so long ago. From the place of your birth. The place that was destroyed till there was nothing but darkness.

Chapter 2 below!

[fictionalsownme]

More Than A Woman | wilford warfstache x gn!viewer / reader |

chapter one - "I've known you very well"

A/N: hi everyone!! I'm so excited to post this! Usually I spend a long time on the stuff I write but I wrote a good chunk of this in a feverish burst haha, I've been wanting to write for Wil and had such a clear idea of how I see him in my head for so long :)) This fic will probably be around 10 chapters~ish and progress will probably be a little slow but I'm also trying to get faster at my writing so I guess we'll see! Getting it down is always the hardest, then you spend a bit of time hating it, then the fixing can start! Anyway, I hope you guys like this, I love this dorky weirdo a lot for whatever reason, and I'd love to write for other egos too :) ((there might be a guest appearance or two in here in the last few chapters if plans don't change 👀)) hope you guys enjoy the first chapter at least! lmk 🥰! word count: 2.9k notes: reader is gender-neutral, similar to all of mark's stuff :) -- the title is just after the song! no pronouns or descriptors are used other than the occasional they/them. reader is the viewer (& district attorney) from wkm, adwm, ahwm, iswm, etc, but that won't come up until later. wmlw wilford. story will be mostly fluff, some hurt/comfort & angst, lots of romance and flirting! story is adapted from an idea I had for my self insert. we will get into some lore stuff (or at least my understanding of the lore 👀) and filling in gaps with headcannons, but it's mostly about wilford & reader and I'll try to explain as we go so don't worry about it too much if you don't know all of it. especially since I don't know if my understanding is always 100% accurate 👉👈 let's have fun yall! 💞

masterlist | AO3

The music playing softly over the convenience store speakers was pleasant, if slightly boring. Like elevator music— there only to help ease the passing of time. Your night shift would end soon, and the sky could be seen as it lightened more every minute through the windowed front of the building.

Other than that, the old store was quiet. Dusty. Pink and orange neon strips lined the walls near the ceiling. They overpowered the dated fluorescent lights, casting everything in a slightly peach haze. Like a dream. 

Different sections of the store were marked with neon too, the letters glowed against the wall denoting the drinks, the snacks, the hot food… You liked your little store. Even if the unyielding isolation of your work made you a bit… complacent. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d truly talked with someone.

The ice creams chilled your fingers through the wrappers as you pulled them from their box and slotted them into place. Even with the cold air of the freezer wafting over you, you could smell the cool summer air coming in the sliding front doors.

You liked to prop them open on dawns like these. The convenience store lights did draw in the occasional pestering bug, but they usually found their way out again before long. You did get a bat once. Albeit a little crazed and frantic, you were surprised to find it harmless. Maybe a little lost. Now that thing seemed like it would never leave. 

Refocusing on your task, you brushed your condensation-soaked fingers on your work apron, tied tight behind your neck and around your back, and shut the freezer door. 

The motion alert chimed a pleasant tune through the staticky old speakers as a customer entered the open doors from the street.

You called an automatic, “Welcome in~,” and went about straightening a shelf of snack bars and chocolate. You didn’t bother to look in their direction as you heard them make their way through the aisles.

“Pardon me,” said their strange, nearly British accent from beside you now. You turned to the source of the voice, the man who’d just walked in, and your eyes went to his outfit first. 

A silky-- almost sparkly in how it caught the light-- lavender shirt with mismatched buttons revealed expanses of his bare chest. It was paired with white bell-bottoms and a fake pink afro hanging half-off his head, about to fall off. He had olive skin and dark hair-- nearly black--, fluffy and sticking up every which way like hands had been running through it. Scruffy facial hair framed a thick mustache that tinted slightly pink where it turned up at the ends.

He looked… honestly, he looked ridiculous. But the 70s getup was fun, you supposed. And his eyes-- dark brown and monolid-- were handsome. Underneath all the… extra mess. You blinked, slowly, in a way that felt like waking up.

“Uh, hi. Are you coming from a costume party or something?” It was August, but you supposed it was never too early to start the spooky season. 

“Oh! Do you know of one? I do love a good costume. But no. Just the regular-sort. Just woke up from one.” He scanned the products near his head, grabbed a protein bar, sniffed the wrapper, guffawed, and put it back.

“You just woke up? Are you alright?”

“Oh, worry not, friend, this is normal for my level of reverie! I’m not even hungover!” He laughed, his hands going to his hips.

You stared at him.

“I was just looking for something to gnaw on! To nourish myself before I’m on my way.” His eyes were still traveling all over, not really seeing you.

Now in theory, a strange man coming in at this hour, acting even stranger, with his clothes disheveled? You knew you should be on your way to your safe space behind the counter to get him checked out and exiting the store as fast as possible. But there was something about him… 

Something you couldn’t place…

Instead you raised your eyebrows and relaxed against the cooler door. “Uh, I guess that depends on what kind of food you like,” You offered. After a moment, his gaze landed on you and he seemed to finally take you in. Your uniform, your crossed arms, your patient expression, your features. His face scrunched into confusion.

A moment passed, staring at each other like that. “Your shirt’s looking a little rough, you know.”

“Have we met, friend?” He asked as he began to fix his buttons. 

You watched passively as more of his chest came into view. He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind your blatant staring. You weren’t sure why you were staring, or what you were feeling as you did so. 

You weren’t gawking at his abs or anything-- well,-- not that he didn’t have abs. He did, sort of. The expanse of his chest and abdomen were tight with toned muscle. He definitely wasn’t lacking abs, anyway. Either way… this was about something different. 

You wondered for a moment if a vague familiarity was what you were picking up on, but quickly dismissed it.

“I feel like I’d remember meeting you.” 

You realized with a start that your comment could be seen as flirtatious, and added quickly, “Just, you know-- generally.”

But he just hummed and spun on his heels, turning away. You sighed and found yourself in-step behind him, hands in your uniform pockets. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Well, either way!” He started, his energy returning tenfold. “Let's see what this cute little shop has to eat!” 

For some reason, you asked, “Do you have money?” 

He froze. “Er, no~. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

“Well, spotting me of course! Let’s just say I owe you one, eh friend?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Thought so.” 

Thought so? Maybe you did know him… 

It was your turn to squint in displaced confusion. “What’s your name?”

His voice came from behind you and you spun around, your shoes squeaking on the tile floor. When did he sneak around you? 

He bent over and twirled his hand, a flamboyant bow finally knocking the afro off his head. “Wilford Warfstache, at your service.”

“That’s your name?” 

He righted himself. “For now.” It suited him well enough, but for some reason it sounded misplaced.

… But no, either way, you definitely hadn’t met him before. You didn’t know many people in the first place, let alone someone so eccentric.

Still, you were curious about him. Curious about his personality and who he was. He felt sort of like a puzzle waiting to be solved. And so far, despite his quirks, despite how admittedly weird you’d also been acting, he’d been friendly. You couldn’t say the staring and prodding questions were too in-character for you. At least not when it came to customers. 

His hair looked softer without the wig to weigh it down-- parted at his brow and long enough to fluff over the tips of his ears and end where his neck met his spine. You reached down to scoop the curly mop of synthetic hair up off the floor.

“Where did you get this thing?”

He hummed something like ‘I don’t know’, his eyes sort of wide like a clueless puppy’s. 

“What, you just kind of have it?”

“Yea’p.”

You squinted at him, a smirk forming on your lips. “How about I do you a favor and throw this away?”

He shrugged, hummed an ‘alright’ sound, and turned away. 

“Oh no, I was kidding! God, here--!” You had to grab his wrist to stop him from wandering off further and placed the pink afro in his hand.

You had just been trying to tease him, but now you just felt bad. “Look, Wilford, you want something to eat? We have to throw the hot food out every night. You can have a taquito or a slice of pizza or something if you want.”

Then he was frozen again-- staring down at where your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Your eyes followed his gaze down and then you were staring too.

A moment passed. Then two. Finally, you let go and crossed your arms again, tucking your hands away where they couldn’t embarrass you again.

“... Fuck, I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I did that.” You did your best to clear your throat.

But he was still stuck there. He blinked a few times and his gaze met your eyes, his brows gathering together. 

“Wh-What did you say your name was, friend?” He seemed so… serious all of sudden. So dire.

You hadn’t mentioned it yet, but told him with a hesitant voice. 

His expression blanked, eyes widening. He brought his arm, the offending afro in tow, to his chest, touching his wrist where you’d held it.

“Oh…” 

You raised your brows and asked softly, “Sorry, do you know me, then?”

“Hm?” And he blinked like his mind was clearing, like he’d forgotten you were there. 

He cleared his throat, smiled-- ear to ear-- his mustache lopsided like a cartoon. “Oh-- nevermind about that! Some food would be lovely, if you don’t mind.”

His eyes were sparkling. 

“Sure. I mean, it’s nothing fancy. Here,” And you walked over towards the front counter. Wilford trailed close behind you-- holding onto the wig in his hands like a school kid holding a lunch box-- his gaze wandering over the store again like he hadn’t seen it the first time.

You arrived at the hot foods section, a glassed-off section of day-old food over heated rods. You shrugged. “If you have a sensitive stomach, maybe don’t,” you started, “but it’s mostly fine to be honest. I eat it if I’m in a pinch, you know.”

You hopped up to sit on the counter, your legs facing Wilford, and leaned back to reach around and grab the tongs waiting there. You straightened and clapped them together twice. You offered him a smile. “What’ll it be, Mr. Warfstache?” Then a quieter, “--that was your last name right?”

“Do you gravitate towards anything yourself?”

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of pizza, I guess. Even here.”

His smile grew sort of soft. “Then that. If you please.”

“You got it.”

You leaned over again and served up the slice of moderately warm and slightly greasy pizza on a brown napkin and passed it off to him. 

“Much obliged.”

You got one for yourself too, and when you righted and your eyes found Wilford again, he was sitting in a retro-style diner chair you’d never seen before-- his feet against the edge of the counter beside you.

You couldn’t help the surprised laughter that choked out of you. “Wha-- where did you even find that?”

The chair teetered on its two legs as he leaned precariously back, tilting his head at your question. The pink wig sat in his lap and you couldn’t help thinking it looked like some weird dog.

“Well, there’s no need to worry! I’m only borrowing it, I’m not a barbarian.”

And you just knew you weren’t getting more of an answer than that.

“So who even are you?” You asked as he took a bite of the pizza, somehow pulling all the cheese right off the top in one piece. He pouted down at the offending mozzarella, slurping it into his mouth and swallowing it. “Do you live around here?”

“Mm. I don’t really live anywhere. Much more the exploring-- ever on the move-- type.”

He was so expressive. It really felt like talking to an old cartoon come-to-life or something. You turned to lean against the side of the glass cover, swinging your legs so your feet rested on the counter, not far from his still against the edge. You weren’t touching at all, but you were surprised at how quickly the two of you fell into a casual-- albeit timidly curious-- rhythm. 

“So what do you do?” And you began to eat too.

He beamed, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes. “I’m an interviewer! Warfstache Tonight, that’s what my show is called! It’s quite a professional endeavor!”

You smiled and hummed around your bite of pizza, impressed. That actually explained a lot. And it suited him nicely enough. “Sounds pretty glamorous.”

“And what about you? You can’t just be a convenience store clerk!” He seemed so affronted by the idea. Crinkling his nose, dropping his voice an octave. “How dreadfully boring.”

You winced. “‘Just a convenience store clerk?’ Ouch, Wilford…” You couldn’t help frowning down at your slice. 

 “Oh! No no, pardon me!” He let the chair fall back to four legs, waving the idea way with a panicked hand. “I only meant that… this isn't what truly stirs your passions, is it? Do you do anything at your leisure? For work or just… something you enjoy?”

You squinted at him. But you didn’t really think he was trying to insult you. And he wasn’t wrong. It just… wasn’t always the most fun when someone pointed it out. Especially like that. 

You sighed, fidgeting as you considered his question. “Not right now… This job keeps me pretty occupied. But you know, it’s not too bad. It keeps me, I don’t know, grounded I guess.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded, taking another bite. “I do hope you get more opportunities soon, then.” He said, surprisingly grounded.

You looked at him. “... Thanks.” And you meant it.

“And… my apologies for the earlier, uh, miswording.”

 “That’s fine… I’d be curious to hear more about your show, though! Have you interviewed anyone interesting or anything?”

A beat. A sort of tiredness settled into his shoulders and he peered up at you. “The odd gold-star guest did wander in from time to time. I’m not sure if my skills were quite deserving of them at the time.”

Was that… shame?

“The truth is, I couldn’t quite live up to the role. I--” He laughed, pained. He cleared his throat. “I’m taking a bit of a break from show business for the moment.”

Ah. So that’s what happened. You offered him a sympathetic smile. “To party? That’s probably why you don’t have any money, Wilford. And why you have to rely on shitty convenience store food?” You held up your greasy napkin like it was evidence.

“Now don’t underestimate the power of a good party! And this food is fine, I’m grateful for it,” He crumpled the now empty napkin and gestured wildly with it. “The truth is I get by just fine. I’m just not sure what else I should be doing.”

You looked out the front windows. The sky was getting lighter. The timer marking the end of your shift would go off any minute.

So maybe that’s why he’d been asking you about your passions. You felt bad for him. He was strange, to be sure. And a little hard to follow. But he was also… sweet. He had a softness about him.

And still… there was that feeling that hadn’t disappeared since meeting him. Like… like your soul recognized him. Maybe not deeply. But distantly. Like you’d met him in a dream. It was a ridiculous notion. Ridiculous didn’t seem beyond his territory.

You turned, legs coming down from the counter once again. You leaned forward, your hand landing at the junction of his shoulder and neck. His silk shirt was soft under your fingers. His eyes jumped up to yours and you looked down at him with a smile. 

“You liked doing your show right? You want to be an interviewer?”

He nodded slowly. His lashes fluttered. 

“Then that’s what you should be doing! You just have to try again!” You shrugged with one shoulder. “It might suck a lot. And you might fail again. But pick yourself back up. Keep going. I’m sure you can do it if you keep at it and think outside the box, you know. Failing only means failing if you stop.”

You leaned back, your hand sliding away. He stared at you.

“That’s what the rest of us do, anyway. Honestly, maybe you should do your show online! You know, livestream it or something. I’m sure you’d find your own way to it.”

Slowly, a smile crept back in, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“What a wonderful idea…” 

God, his eyes… 

You looked down at your own napkin, laughing a little at yourself. “Wilford, I promise, the advice I just gave you was nothing crazy.”

“Well, perhaps it’s just a little too rare that I get a pick-me-up.”

You hopped down from the counter. “Swing by whenever, I’ll hand them out for free. Though, if you’re always on the move, I guess you’re probably not in town for long, huh?”

He quickly followed your lead and stood, his chair nearly falling in his haste. “Uh— w-well I, I don’t know, I could always… linger for a day or two. Hard to say really.” 

“Uh huh.” You smirked at him, raising your brows. “Well, if that constant partying you have going on brings you back here, feel free stop in, okay? … It’d be nice to have someone in here every once in a while. Well, someone friendly, anyway.” 

“Right. Will do. Of course.”

You gave him two solid pats on the chest and turned to throw the napkins away behind the counter. When you turned to face him again, he was gone.  Only slightly confused, you quickly recovered and yelled a quick, “bye~!” to the now empty store.

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 4

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, check out the story tag)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but that changes next chapter!! Buggy x afab!reader.

A/N: Defnitely messed up posting this the first time around. 🤡Posting from my phone, so let me know if it looks weird!

Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“Maybe you should pick the next book.”

Buggy would have considered writing those words as admitting defeat if it wasn’t for how shaky your last note was. He could see each jump and jolt your hand made while asking for something less intense than the books Buggy picked.

After you both filled the end pages of “Rocks on the River” with enough saltwater to rival the ocean, Buggy offered another story from his backlog. The third novel you read together was a horrifying tale that pushed the readers into a toxic miasma of fear, paranoia, and unease, which oozed into their real lives.

The whole ship rang with a piercing shriek from the captain when an unfortunate freak tapped his shoulder from behind. A usually common occurrence was tainted by an early scene from the book. Buggy knew the touch wasn’t from grotesquely plump spiders descending from the ceiling, even though he screamed something that sounded like, “Get it the fuck off of me.” 

After reading a chapter full of creepy-crawlies, every small sensation left his blue hair standing on end, which only created a nerve wracking loop. Every breeze and rustle of fabric teased his prickled skin, mimicking the feel of grubby little arachnid and insectoid legs scurrying across his body. The sensation only went away after a frantic midday wash with near-boiling water and the roughest washcloth Buggy could find. After sloughing off more than one layer of skin, the pirate felt confident that he was clean and not infested.

You, on the other hand, had boasted about not being scared of the terrors held within the book. Unlike the invasive imaginary critters Buggy was battling, you were as snug as a bug in a rug when you curled up in bed to read each night. The chilling entities weren’t real, and if they were, you felt safe on the ship.

“I’m just saying, if soul-sucking bats were attacking, I would trust C. Buggy to protect m us.” 

As much as you tried to turn the start of “me” into “us,” the letters didn’t flow right. Rather than drawing attention to the slip-up by completely blacking out the convex letter, you simply crossed it out and hoped the other reader wouldn’t notice.

“I dunno, what if he hid from those horrid fucking things? I wouldn’t blame him, honestly…”

“Maybe…but I trust him.”

“He’s the captain, you’re supposed to trust him.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

You didn’t realize what you wrote until you punctuated the sentence by stabbing the page. Your hand moved quickly and defensively, upset by the assumption that your feelings were obligatory. Your fingers twitched as you restrained the flow of words. Your trust wasn’t unearned, it had grown over time. The seed was planted when you were welcomed to the ship with open arms and watered by his laughter and jokes, the care he held for his eclectic freaks, the little questions he’d ask about their lives at sea, and the flashy stories he pushed them weave. The roots reached deep, following the curve of his smile and tracing the crinkles in the corner of his eyes. 

The trust might have been obligatory at the beginning, but it had since blossomed into more. You weren’t ready to acknowledge the blooms and definitely weren’t going to share the unnamed feelings with a stranger.

Thankfully, Buggy’s preference for avoiding uncomfortable discussions kept him from prying further. His nightly alcohol whispered in a heated voice. It said he should ask, that he deserves to know why you trusted him so much. The voice grew quieter the longer he let the amber liquid sit untouched. Sure, a part of him was interested, but you didn’t elaborate for a reason. Thinking back to “Rocks on the River,” you never pressured him to write more about his childhood friend. Curiosity peeked through some of your notes, but it never confronted him. And he couldn’t bring himself to do that to you, so he moved onto the next section of the story.

This time, you completed the book first. Usually, you refrained from reading while on duty, but finishing the horror novel under a full moon in the crow’s nest seemed like a fitting end. Settled under an inky expanse that spilled into the still sea, you read words illuminated by moonlight. It didn’t take long for the whispers of subtle waves to take on an ominous tone. The rattling of the gently swaying ship became inhuman guttural groans. 

Creaks from other crew members on duty became less frequent and far less comforting. Their footsteps and shadows were no longer welcoming - they were unsettling and teased your fraying hold on reality. Seated so high above the others, you had no way of knowing if the life on deck were familiar or fiendish freaks. Laughter carried on the wind wasn’t jovial, but sinister. You tried to close the book, to stop the words from pulling you deeper into their dark world, but it didn’t work. You were already lost in fear and needed to claw your way out.

---

Buggy figured you would spend the night reading and woke up early to see if the book would be ready for him. He slipped the third annotated book into an interior coat pocket and headed to breakfast. Only a few pirates filled the hall - a mix of those eating their first meal of the day and those filling their stomachs before sleep. Despite the differences, everyone embraced the quiet morning and only the sounds in the room came from cutlery against plates, mugs on the wooden tables, and open-mouthed chewing. It would be a normal scene, except for you. Unlike the others, who were stuck in the cozy twilight at either end of sleep, you sat wide-eyed and jittery in front of a sparse meal. The captain approached the corner you cowered in like a scared animal.

“You alright? Something happen last night?” His voice was pulled low with concern.

Your eyes darted around the room, afraid of missing some unknown monster during this conversation. “I’m fine. Just tired. It was a long night.” You shivered slightly, fear and anxiety still running their courses through your body.

“Hey,” Buggy whispered softly as he crouched low, his leather boots creaking with the movement. “You sure that’s all?” His hand rested on the bench next to you. He wanted to reach out and keep you from shaking, but a different fear kept him from moving.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, looking everywhere but at the man in front of you. 

A moment of silence let you know the answer wasn’t accepted. You glanced at him a few times before getting stuck in the deep pools within his eyes. It always happened to you so easily - his pupils were large and dark enough for you to fall in those ocean-colored eyes without a second thought. Buggy raised his eyebrows, the movement also tugging the tip of his round nose, and tilted his head to the side. He could see through the flimsy facade you were hiding behind, so you let it go and took a deep breath. 

“It was a really long night, Captain. I think I’ll feel better after sleeping. I’m okay, really.” You emphasized the last word by nudging his gloved hand with yours. Just the smallest amount of touch to let him know you were being honest.

Buggy nodded and left without another word. Any details you were reluctant to share were housed in the book sitting in his pocket. 

---

The rest of the story that was written in the novel and documented your night  was devoured in his quarters, while the plate of breakfast sitting a hands-reach away on the desk grew cold. It was a different experience to read a horror book during the day, when the bright sunlight eliminated any errant shadows and kept the unknowns that resided in the dark at bay. Still, the author was skilled enough for goosebumps to cover the pirate’s body. He ran his hands along his arms and legs to iron away the physical response. 

As Buggy soothed his own unsettled nerves, he thought about you. How scared you must have been, alone and in the dark. How the fear followed you through the morning and you couldn’t shake the feeling. Literally. For a brief moment, Buggy imagined holding your trembling body, just as he was holding his own. Would you trust your captain enough to let him protect you from a fear response?

Although the pirate couldn’t bring himself to comfort you physically, he had an idea that could work. Filling with bubbling excitement, he sprang out of the desk chair, nearly toppling it in the process, and sprinted out of the room. A moment later, a lone hand whizzed back to toss his reading glasses on the bed and close the door.

---

You woke up as the sun was turning in for the evening, surprised that you managed to fall asleep. Thinking back, you might have actually passed out from exhaustion and worry. The orange glow now painting the walls in your room was comforting. You stretched your limbs to bring them back to life and put your arms behind your head. 

Staring at nothing in particular gave your mind permission to pursue its own entertainment, so it drifted back to the paranoia and apprehension you thought had left. Threads of their presence remained and tugging at them brought pieces of the story. Examining those moments was easier in the golden light, but as the warmth receded and night returned, so did the unease. Rather than staying inside and alone, you hoped to find companionship and protection with the late night crewmates.

Waiting just outside your room was the smell of fried food and smoked meat to keep you company. As you wandered the belly of the ship, you passed your mates filling their own bellies with greasy food and alcohol. The ebb and flow of movement seemed to be going to and coming from the deck. Following the alluring scents of popcorn, cotton candy, and sweet dough, you stepped into the open air. 

String lights adorned the ship, traipsing from mast to mast, illuminating the sails, and snaking around the deck railing. Hundreds of lights bounced on the rippled sea, creating a bubble of light that was periodically outdone by the handmade fireworks launched into the sky. As sparks rained down in a beautiful rendition of a meteor shower, you caught the silhouette of the captain standing at the helm of the ship. If anyone knew what ignited tonight's floating festival, it would be the man in charge.

You weaved your way across the deck, grabbing two bottles of beer on the way. Having learned from earlier events and rumors among the crew, you stomped your feet a little louder than usual to let Buggy know you were approaching, so he wouldn’t be caught off guard and attempt to swat you away in surprise. When he turned to see who the visitor was, you offered him a drink.

“Are we celebrating something special?”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason to have a party,” Buggy said, as though you should know better. “Besides, my crew always deserves a night like this!” He spread his arms and gestured all around him.

Despite the bright lights, enough of the night hung around to hide the blush on your cheeks. Eager to hide the heat behind alcohol, you held out your bottle. “Then here’s to us!” 

Buggy tapped his bottle against yours harder than he expected, causing a fountain of bubbles to overflow from both containers. You both leaned in to stop the spills before taking a proper drink. 

Little did you know, this was his first drink of the evening. Buggy, who was known to spend nights with his sloshing spirit in hand, had planned when and how much alcohol would be available. He considered how to drag out the crowds and stagger the inevitable crash as people blacked out and passed out. The pirate captain wasn’t sure how successful he’d be against soul-sucking bats, but every detail that would chase away another dark and lonely night was taken into account.

[cosmic-nyx-fanwork]

Ehm…so, I’m going to remake the Doll AU, which means the story will change a bit, so will the characters because I’m redesigning them and because the concept changed a bit since what I have in mind now seems a bit more logical than what the concept was before, so the comic I posted won’t be continued, but once I have this new version of the AU figured out and with enough chapters written I will turn it into a comic that will (hopefully) have more chapters, so you won’t see content of this AU for a while, but I’ll still try to post other DCA drawings or even something about the other AUs I have.

I also wanted to thank all the people who commented/replied to my last post, it gave me some motivation to continue with my AUs even if they’re not that original, I was thinking of deleting it after a few hours but seeing what people said made me change my mind, so if I ever feel like that again (which will definitely happen, knowing myself) I’ll just go back to that post to read the replies again so I can remember why I’m still doing this, so thank you, it might seem like it’s not a big deal but it really means a lot to me 💜

But other than that I decided to also dump some old and scrapped concepts and designs for the DCA Doll AU + some random white board doodles at the end

This was an unfinished doodle of a second form for the dolls, since they were originally able to transform in a 9 ft tall scary version of their cute doll form, but it was scrapped because I’ve seen a lot of people using this concept and I didn’t like it much (the concept)

Also fun fact: the dolls’s height in their regular form is 1’5 ft, but I don’t know if that’s also going to change in the new version

This was the first drawing I did of them (it’s also a bit old because the art style is a bit different) and also the first design they had, the concept was also a bit different at the time because the three dolls were actually demons trapped into these dolls, so they were also a bit evil, especially Eclipse which was very evil here while in the version you saw and in the new version I’m working on he’s actually pretty chill and nice-

This is also why I wanted to give them a second form at first

This one is just a slightly different version of the Eclipse design you saw in the other drawings, he was going to look like this originally but then it was changed because I didn’t want to draw all the tiny bells on his clothes and I didn’t like the colors on the hat

Also please ignore the old watemark, it was already there when I found this drawing again-

These are pretty ugly and old, it was the first time for me drawing on a white board (I’m too used to drawing on IbisPaint) This one also has my old name in it-

And that’s all, you won’t see the celestial dolls for a while now so I hope you liked this art and info dump post :3

[twstowo]

Chapter 1-1 [Sorceress!Yuu x OB!Characters]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You escape a tower where you had been kept for years.

♡︎ This is the continuation from my other post.

♡︎To everyone that liked my previous post I just want to say that I love all of you and I hope the stars, planets and universe aligns so that your 2024 is the best ever <3

「 ✦ PREVIOUS ✦ 」 「 ✦ NEXT ✦ 」

Amidst the empty, snow-covered landscape of a long-forgotten winter, a figure draped in somber black attire crossed the fields. His stride cut through the pristine white expanse, his flowing locks of snow-white hair blending seamlessly with the wintry hues around him. The biting cold seemed inconsequential to this man, hardened by relentless training to serve as a guard in the court of the future king of Briar Valley. Yet, despite his noble purpose, he found himself far away from his liege, drawn back to rescue a friend lost in time.

A letter had reached him from the parents of Y/N, a childhood friend trapped within the confines of a tower nestled within the lands owned by the rich couple. Silver had always harbored reservations about the idea of a tower, but he understood his lack of power amidst the chaos that had consumed their younger years. When the plea arrived, urging him to free his friend, he couldn't bear to remain idle. He felt an undeniable pull, a yearning to reunite with a long-lost friend and perhaps seek forgiveness for the lost time that had passed between them.

With determination etched upon his face, he embarked on this solitary journey, fueled by the desire to not only free Y/N from captivity but also to rekindle the bonds of friendship and make amends for the years that had slipped away. Following the map enclosed in the letter, he ventured into an eerie, desolate forest marked by lifeless trees stretching endlessly. Encountering peculiar creatures and treacherous assailants along the way, he pressed on, unfazed by the perils that beset his path. His determination was unwavering; he had journeyed from afar, yearning for this moment since their last meeting.

With each cautious step, he navigated the labyrinthine forest, drawing closer to the rumored tower guarded by a mystical creature claimed to exhale azure flames, capable of reducing a person to ash in moments. Upon breaching the tower's threshold, he discovered an absence of both the fabled beast and his long-lost friend. The room that was purported to house them stood vacant, shattering his expectations and leaving him at a loss.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You strode along a peculiar path strolling through the dreary expanse of the forest your parents had confined you to. Your memories were a fog, obscuring the reasons for your seclusion within the tower's confines. A nagging feeling warned against unraveling the mystery, urging you to steer clear of seeking answers. Lost in this unfamiliar realm, unexplored before now, you wandered alongside your feline companion, Grim.

"And where are we going?" Grim's fur bristled with frustration. It wasn't solely your desire to escape the tower that wearied Grim; the feline had grown attached to you and relished your notions of venturing beyond to explore the world. Yet, despite days of wandering, the two of you had found no exit from this enigmatic forest.

"Maybe we have been walking in circles?" Your words were hushed, uncertain whether this revelation would soothe Grim. After all, gazing out from the lone window in your tower room, the forest appeared endless, stretching far beyond the eye could see.

Traversing through the forest, you held onto the hope that eventually, some sign would emerge—a new path, a person, perhaps even an entire city. Your resolve remained unwavering; there was no turning back. The tower, a distant memory now, would never hold you captive again. Yet, a chill wind swept through the woods, prompting you to shiver uncontrollably. Your attire, comprised of aged white clothes salvaged from the tower's closet, and a weathered black cloak with a concealing hood, provided little protection against the elements. Grim, your mystical companion, often perched on your shoulders, found comfort in the cloak's embrace.

"If only there were another way to travel," you murmured, casting a glance at your magical feline, who rolled their eyes in exasperation.

"The great Grim isn’t going to carry you on his back!" His retort echoed through the trees, irked by the suggestion. Though capable of transforming into a formidable creature—once the guardian of the tower's confines—he seemingly preferred his diminutive feline form, much to your appreciation of his adorable appearance.

"Well, do you want to keep on walking forever? Because this forest doesn’t seem to ever end." you countered, feeling the strain in your feet from the prolonged confinement within the tower. Your pace had slowed considerably, akin to a sloth's lazy pace. Years of captivity had taken a toll on your body, and each step felt more arduous than the last.

Grim shot you a final glance, resolute in his refusal to transform into a means of transportation. However, he was not without alternative solutions, wielding his magical abilities to devise an unconventional plan. "Pick up that branch," he commanded, prompting your confusion regarding how a mere branch could aid your predicament. "Come on! The great Grim can't do everything alone!" His arms folded in impatience, urging you to comply. Reluctantly, you retrieved the branch as instructed.

Then, with an incantation from Grim, the ordinary branch underwent a peculiar transformation, morphing into a broom-like contraption. Its tips danced with vibrant, colorful blue flames reminiscent of Grim's ears.

"Holy Seven!" You gasped, seizing the strange broom with fascination, astounded by Grim's unexpected prowess. "This is incredible, Grim!" A wide smile graced your face. "But what on earth do we need a broom for?"

Observing your confusion, Grim sighed and facepalmed—acknowledging that your extended seclusion in the tower had left you unaware of certain common knowledge. Brooms, in many circles, were used for flying.

"This is our way out," Grim declared with a mischievous grin, while your eyes widened in apprehension at the revelation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Flying on the broom turned out to be an ordeal far worse than sore feet. Each moment aloft sent shivers coursing through you, surpassing even the biting cold of the forest below. Gripping the broom with all your might, you clung to it for dear life, terror seizing your senses as Grim navigated the skies with what felt like reckless abandon. Refusing to glance downward, “Anything new?” you shouted for any updates, determined to keep your focus forward.

"New? Why not see for yourself?" Grim's laughter mingled with the rush of the wind as you struggled to maintain an upright position on the broom. Finally, compelled by curiosity, you dared to steal a glimpse below.

And there it was—a sprawling city sprawled beneath you. Its architecture, a symphony of white and red-hued houses, stood amidst fields of vibrant greenery. Everything appeared serene and harmonious, a stark contrast to the unfamiliar world you had known within the confines of the tower.

As Grim skillfully guided the broom downward, relief flooded over you as your feet finally met solid ground. The sensation of touching the earth after so long brought a rush of happiness, drawing curious gazes from the city dwellers around you.

"After my magnificent assistance, I think I deserve a reward!" Grim proclaimed, his smile wide with expectation. You anticipated the request that would follow. "The illustrious Grim demands a taste of tuna!" His expression held a note of insistence, and you recalled the gold objects you'd brought along from the tower, potential assets for earning some much-needed money.

As you and Grim strolled through the bustling town, you couldn't help but notice the vibrant attire donned by the locals—mostly shades of red. The surroundings were adorned with bushes filled with crimson roses, and the air carried the sweet aroma of baked goods. Selling your possessions yielded the necessary funds for sustenance, and you studied the shops in search of canned tuna. Yet, an enchanting sight halted your quest—a bakery showcasing tantalizing red cakes, their appearance strangely delightful.

Upon entering, a bell chimed, alerting the man at the counter to your presence. He was handsome, with short green hair and a welcoming smile that eased your nerves. Engaging with another person after such isolation felt foreign, leaving you momentarily speechless until he prompted a response.

“Anything you want?”

"Ah! I'd like to try one of those red cakes!" You pointed at the tempting treats, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as he chuckled at your reaction.

"You mean the strawberry tarts?" He retrieved one and continued, noting your apparent unfamiliarity with the locale. "You seem like you're from far away." Your attire betrayed your outsider status amidst the city's vibrant energy.

"I've come from afar." You approached the counter as he carefully packaged the tart. Tendering the money, you hesitated, feeling the weight of conversation hovering awkwardly between you. "This place looks... really lovely..." Social interactions were a challenge after your prolonged seclusion. How did people engage in conversation, anyway? But before you could melt into the floor you heard the sound of the bell again.

The atmosphere in the bakery shifted with the arrival of the hooded figure, their face concealed. While the kind baker engaged them in conversation, you found yourself growing anxious about Grim's whereabouts. Scanning the shop, your worry escalated until an odd noise drew your attention upward. To your shock, Grim perched atop the ceiling boards.

"Get down, Grim," you urged in a hushed tone, attempting to coax him back without drawing attention. But Grim, seemingly preoccupied with exploring, paid no heed to your plea. As he wandered, his paw accidentally struck a weak spot, causing him to tumble down.

Time seemed to slow as you witnessed the unfolding scene—a cinematic sequence unfolding before you. With a horrified scream, you watched as Grim fell down, ultimately landing on top the hooded figure, sending both crashing to the floor. The hooded stranger, now revealed his face in a dark shade of red, while his widened mad eyes looked at you. You tried to reach for his hand to help him get up but he slapped it away.

"You—" His voice quivered with rage. He scrambled to his feet, his fury evident as Grim sought refuge in your arms, fur bristling. "How... How dare you! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!" You watched as a strange collar appeard on your neck, and the red headed turned to the baker. Riddle's anger seethed as he addressed Trey, his voice tinged with frustration. "What type of customers are these, Trey? You really can't just let everyone enter inside here."

Trey, clearly unsettled by Riddle's outburst, attempted to placate the situation. "I'm sorry, Riddle. They seemed lost, and I thought—"

But Riddle, with a dismissive gesture, cut him off, his demeanor unyielding. "Don't make excuses. Just ensure this doesn't happen again." With an abrupt departure and a reproach directed at Trey, he left the bakery without sparing another glance in your direction.

Concern etched on his face, Trey emerged from behind the counter and approached you, “I’m sorry, Riddle tends to be a litle explosive”.

Grim, perched atop the counter, chimed in, expressing his outrage at Riddle's threatening demeanor. "A little?! It almost looked like he wanted to kill my Human!" Grim exclaimed, hands on his hips, clearly displeased with the understatement.

"Well, I suppose you could interpret it that way..." Trey's response was sheepish, scratching the back of his head. "This isn't an ideal introduction to the Queendom of Roses for you." He stated while eyeing the conspicuous collar around your neck,

“How do I remove this?” you inquired, only to be met with an unexpected revelation from Trey.

"Only Riddle can remove it."

"No way! He didn't even let me get a word in!" Your frustration was palpable, rejecting the notion that Riddle, the irate stranger, held the magic to removing the collar. “Does this mean I will have to live forever like this?”

“I propose we off this Riddle’s head ourselfs!” As Grim enthusiastically proposed taking matters into their own hands, suggesting an extreme solution, Trey visibly grimaced, swiftly dismissing the idea. Your irritation at Riddle's unreasonable behavior grew, feeling unjustly targeted for no reason.

“If you really want I can tell you were the collared people hide?” There was a questioned expression on Trey’s face, not knowing if that would lead you anywhere.

"Wait, there are more people collared by this guy?" The notion of indiscriminate collaring struck you as incredibly unjust. Despite your seclusion in the tower, the concept of such tyranny was abhorrent. "And no one opposes him?"

"That's because he's the future king of the Queendom," Trey revealed, stunning you with the revelation of Riddle's immense power. The gravity of the situation dawned on you—the consequences of opposing someone of Riddle's stature could be dire.

"Where can I find these collared people?" Your desperation for a solution became palpable, realizing that these individuals might hold the key to breaking the spell.

Trey hesitated, scratching his head, hinting at potential complications in locating them. “Well-”

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

By now, you found yourself aligning closely with Grim's idea. Approaching the other side of town, a large group of collared individuals welcomed you. What upset you most was the maltreatment endured by those with collars—those exempt from Riddle's special treatment mocked the collared ones openly. You, too, had been subject to their derisive stares upon exiting Trey's bakery.

Joining the group, you inquired about their experiences with the collars, growing increasingly dismayed at the absurdity of each story you heard.

"He's nothing but a spoiled brat!" shouted a man, his eyes ablaze with defiant confidence. "We ought to band together and overthrow him!"

"See? Even this human has good ideas," Grim chimed in, nestled on your shoulders. "We should support him." Before you could intervene, Grim walked towards the outspoken man.

"Look! A cat with blue ears!" The group stepped back, intrigued by the peculiar feline.

"A cat?! I am Grim the Great! The most powerful and magnificent—" Grim began, boasting about his grandeur until you scooped him up, silencing his self-praise.

"Is that so? If you're as remarkable as you claim, then I'm sure you'll assist us in dealing with Riddle," another voice chimed in. A man with dark blue hair approached, extending a warm welcome. "I'm Deuce. And you?" he asked, his smile inviting and soft-spoken.

"I’m Y/N, and this is Grim,” You pointed at your cute companion who rolled his eyes at Deuce. “we're here seeking any knowledge on how to remove my collar," you explained, only to be met with laughter from the surrounding group, leaving you wide-eyed with embarrassment.

"Don't mean to dash your hopes, but unless you find Riddle in an exceptionally good mood—" His expression conveyed the unlikelihood of such an occurrence. "There's no way to rid of the collar..." The sentiment elicited audible sighs from some listeners, conveying a sense of resignation.

Cursed be the day I left that tower. At least there, you wouldn't have been collared by some random tyrant. “So what is the plan?” Turning to Deuce, you inquired, prompting a shift in his expression, a broad smirk forming.

"Glad you asked. Follow me!" Deuce's demeanor took on a newfound enthusiasm as you trailed after him. Wandering through the streets led you to a peculiar forest, distinctly different from the lush greenery you'd seen while flying on the broom with Grim. This new place felt darker, stranger, and oddly familiar. After a brief walk, you arrived at a large table, adorned with teacups and scattered cake platters, as if a tea party were in progress. A man in purple attire with cat ears sipped tea while a red-headed individual seemed on the verge of pulling his hair out.

"Looks like we've got someone eager to join the party," Deuce announced, drawing the attention of the other two men toward you.

"Great, and what can they do? Unless that cat can shoot lasers from his eyes, I'm not interested in this recruiting thing anymore!" the red-headed man retorted, appearing ready to storm off.

"Relax, Ace," Deuce replied calmly, though his words seemed to only enrage Ace further, prompting him to hurl a cupcake at Deuce. "That's it, I'm tired of this—" Deuce rolled up his sleeves and advanced toward Ace, who stood up, poised for a confrontation.

"You're not from around here, nya~" The sudden, peculiar voice startled you so much that you jumped and let out a startled scream. Your heart raced, proving not quite resilient enough for these unexpected encounters. The owner of the voice chuckled at your reaction, appearing as nothing more than a floating head to your wide-eyed gaze. "Sorry, sorry. Why don't you join our tea party?" A phantom hand rested on your shoulder, though nothing visible was there.

"What... What's happening...?" Your voice quivered with uncertainty as the enigmatic cat-man guided you toward the table. Nearby, Ace and Deuce tumbled on the ground, their faces smeared with cake. "An invisible cat, two guys throwing cake at each other... What else will I see today? A caterpillar smoking?"

"Perhaps it'll show up later," the cat guy replied with a cryptic air, leaving you unsure if he was joking or being serious. "Now, tell me about yourself~"

As you recounted your tale, the tea grew cold, and Ace and Deuce, their attire adorned with grass and cake stains, eventually joined the tea party. You detailed your tower confinement, your encounter with Riddle, and your awareness of the collared individuals. Che'nya listened intently, hanging on every detail.

"And why were you locked inside that tower?" he inquired, his grin teasingly cheeky.

"That's a good question," you admitted, realizing it had been so long that you couldn't recall the reason. Vague memories of your parents bidding farewell as a man escorted you into a carriage, destined for the tower, flickered in your mind. Struggling to piece together the specifics, your memories remained frustratingly elusive. Sensing your silence, Che'nya spoke up.

"Are you familiar with a story about a sorceress locked inside a tower?" he inquired. The tale was unfamiliar to you; however, you felt his penetrating gaze, probing for any hint of recognition. "I suppose not, but it's curious how closely your story aligns with hers."

"What do you mean?" you inquired, puzzled by Che'nya's fascination with this fairy tale.

"You see, this sorceress was so powerful, surely her magic could break Riddle's," he explained. Glancing around, you noticed Ace and Deuce attentively absorbing Che'nya's words as if they were the most profound.

"So, you think I'm the sorceress?" you ventured, feeling a surge of uncertainty.

"No, that's impossible, nya~" He swiftly dismissed your suggestion, chuckling as if you'd said something ludicrous. "But what if she is listening to our conversation?" In an instant, his demeanor shifted to one of seriousness, eliciting audible gulps from Ace and Deuce, their expressions now reflecting horror at the possibility of an unknown presence among them.

"If she's here, why would she help me?" you pondered aloud.

"In the story, this sorceress is cursed to live forever inside a mirror. Only someone from outside can help her escape—someone she could trust. But she only trusts herself..." Che'nya paused, savoring the suspense, taking a sip of tea. "And the two of you seem to be the same person, just in different universes."

"This is the most absurd thing you've ever said, Che'nya," Ace scoffed, rising from the table. "If that were true, why does Y/N still have the collar?"

"Because she didn't try to remove it," Che'nya promptly replied, exuding confidence. His gaze flickered to you, almost challenging you to prove him right.

Your hand reached for the collar, not anticipating any change as you attempted to concentrate on the thought of it disappearing. With closed eyes, you visualized being alone, solely you and the collar. Yet, there was an intrusion, a presence beyond Che'nya's invisible touch—a touch woven of magic, immaterial yet undeniably real. When you opened your eyes, Ace and Deuce stared wide-eyed as the collar slipped from your neck and clattered to the ground.

“No way…” Deuce’s voice came as a whisper, frozen in place as he stared at the collar on the floor.

“That's great, now take mine off!” Ace dashed to you, seizing your hands and pressing them against his collar, a wide grin spread across his face. “C’mon! I have things I want to do!” Despite his selfishness, you complied, attempting the same method as before. You closed your eyes, focusing solely on the collar, anticipating the peculiar presence, but it never opened. “Why is it not working?”

“I don’t know…?” You were equally perplexed. Che’nya disregarded Ace’s complaints, briskly approaching you.

“Well, this is perfect! Now we just need to get you inside the palace!” Deuce stepped closer, expressing his surprise.

“Wait, Y/N will do that? I thought you wanted someone familiar with the layout and stuff!”

“No, Y/N is perfect for the job.” Che’nya's innocent smile transformed into a sly grin, leaving you bewildered at the sudden turn of events.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

♡︎Thank you for reading!

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[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."

[meloyol]

Friends ON The Other Side

Chapter 02

                      

The Young Assassin visited his self-determined "wife-to-be" several times a week. There was no set time for this spontaneous appearance.

From time to time, Jordis was a bit irritated, since it had been regulated for her a few times disrupted daily routine.

How long has that been? A few months for sure.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Damian therefore asked this time.

Waiting for someone else?

She was pausing what she was doing, really thinking of someone it seemed before shaking her head.

"It would probably be in vain to wait for him"

The black-haired frowned.

"Him?"

Jordis tilted his head and then looked closely from top to bottom.

"He hasn't been here in almost four years. Last time he said he would adopt me and travel the world with me. But he just stole my Research breakthrough in nanorobotics. I don't think he'll use it to cure cancer"

She thought of Slade Wilson, even if she wanted to hate him. she missed him. She secretly hoped he was fine wherever he was.

After all, before this betrayal, he had taken care of her, even her

taught to fight and fished with her on the beach. The giant strong man was really a great guy, she thought at that time.

Damian's green eyes bored into hers before she turned away and dedicated a display in front of her.

"You're stupid, although you're smart..." the brat said boldly and

dry.

"I think the more appropriate word for your statement is 'naive'. But thanks."

She sighed softly, "I think I'm having trouble with... the intentions and Reading people... would be easier if you could read minds, wouldn't it? Or having  a glimpse of the future"

"Mind reading? I think there's a reason people don't

express certain Things . It's either their choice or their own problem."

commented Damien.

"If people don't say what's on their mind, it's not your Problem. But you should be more suspicious"

"It's okay. Maybe you're right. But isn't IT a little Bit to harsh. …Mistrust? Do you think this is the ultimate solution, Damian?"

He nodded, but she shook her head.

"I think I should do something with anatomy, facial expressions, gestures and am in general deal with verbal communication... I can also draw something, also has something positive"

Her attempt to find a solution surprised him again. "Doesn't sound right for a simple solution"

"Simple solutions are boring, Damian"

"Tzz", Damian made annoyed and tapped in expectantly with his right boot repeating beat on the floor .

His arms were crossed and Jordis closed the laptop.

"Okay, apparently you're expecting something"

"Oh yeah?" Damian said snotty and sarcastic.

"Well that's just too obvious," she tapped his forehead.

"So what do you want?"

"Cocoa, Cookie and Snuggle"

Jordis chuckled softly.

The dwarf could be cute when he wasn't wielding his katana dashed around.

"All right," she admitted defeat. She got chilled drinking cocoa out of the Fridge, the biscuits from the pantry and came with a book and a cozy blanket back to him, ON the way to the Living room.

Snuggled up in the blanket and with the guest taken care of, she read him stories.

And this time Damian fell asleep. She still didn't know what the consequences would be…

[forwards-beckon-rebound-story]

First post + first chapter

So this started as a doodle of a random guy in my notebook. He was just a little guy that i thought looked attractive, so i kept drawing him. Eventually, he grew into an actual oc, and i gave him a boyfriend because... gay

Anyways, i decided to give them lore that im writing chapter form. and here is the first chapter. yes! (in total i've written 10 chapters. they're short though.)

Chapter One, Arturo -

2000, In some college.

Bored.

That was the only thing I could think about. This boring, stupid calculus class might actually be the death of me. Maybe this class is just boring because someone won’t send death threats to the teacher’s personal email.

That happened last year. And then it made Ms. Lambert quit over the summer. Now, I have some middle aged fart with stubble like a drunk reading straight out a textbook. 

Mr. Ferguson talks like a robot. Now that I’m really thinking about it, I don’t think he has any emotion when he’s “teaching.” What the fuck is a derivative? It’s not like it matters anyway… I can alway just cheat off the chick in front of me. Jokes on the architects who designed college classrooms, it’s way too easy to cheat off people in front of you… I look around the class for anything to entertain me. Nothing. Of course. Just a poster with Garfield the cat saying “I hate Mondays.” It’s Wednesday though, so that does nothing for me.

Some kid slamming his book next to me snaps me out of my thoughts. “I don’t think you should be daydreaming in class, might backfire on yo-”

“Adrien, what are  you doing?” The teacher looks at the both of us. I look away, trying way too hard to seem like I have nothing to do with the situation. “I was just getting Arturo’s attention; He was spacing out. Again.”  I side eye him before recomposing myself. “Huh? I don’t exactly know what you mean, Adrien… I was listening to the teacher…” I grit my teeth at Adrien as my eyes dart between him and the teacher. “Like I’m supposed to be doing.” The chick in front of me turns to look at me and Adrien, and then turns back to the teacher. “Arturo was spacing out, and Adrien slammed his book to get his attention.” I glare at her as she continues. “Case closed.”

…

Is this girl deadass? Can’t she cover me like once? Yeah, maybe I cheat off her every test and reap the benefits of a passing grade, but come on! “No I wasn’t!” I say, as the teacher sighs. “Look, honestly I don’t care. Just try to listen, all 3 of you. There’s a test next week.” I glare at both Adrien and the girl for the rest of class. I get up and leave the second the bell rings. Adrien walks up to me while I’m chilling in the lobby of the building. “I’m sorry about that… in class I mean. The teacher’s an ass, I know…” I accept his apology and go to my dorm.

At least I don’t have a roommate like Adrien to deal with… just the perks of going to a small college I guess.

I “study” for a while, which mostly just consists of staring blankly at my textbooks, before someone knocks on my door. It's some random guy, holding my backpack. “Uh. Hi?”  I say. I scan him head to toe. Who the fuck is this? Looking for his ID is no use, he doesn’t have one on. “Are you Arturo? The teacher told me this is yours.” He says, as he lifts the bag and passes it to me. “The teacher also told me why it was there. Understandable, being real. Adrien’s a dick.” I chuckle as I hold my bag. “Thanks. Maybe I could p-” I get cut off by the guy. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He turns and walks away. I fish 20 bucks out my bag and chase after him. “Wait, just take it.” I shove the money in his hands and go back into my dorm.