#crawling back into my stack of spiders

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

3311 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The workshop hummed with the sound of gears turning and tools clattering, the faint scent of oil and metal hanging in the air. Jayce was in his element, bent over the prototype for a new hextech device, his muscles flexing as he tightened a bolt with a wrench. Y/N leaned against his desk, watching him work, a teasing smile playing on their lips.

“Y’know,” Y/N quipped, “for a guy who’s built like a brick wall, you still manage to look like a puppy concentrating on its first puzzle.”

Jayce shot them a mock glare but couldn’t hide the small chuckle. “A puppy that’s about to change the world,” he countered, brushing grease off his hands. “Don’t distract me.”

The moment of levity was interrupted by a sharp, high-pitched chittering sound. Both their heads snapped toward the corner of the workshop, where a blur of skittering legs darted across the floor.

“Oh, no.” Jayce froze, his confident demeanor crumbling as the creature came into view—a massive, hairy spider the size of a dinner plate. “Nope. Nope. That thing is not staying in here.”

Y/N blinked, stunned. “Wait, that’s what you’re freaking out about? Jayce, you’ve literally fought off Piltovan thugs with nothing but your fists. This is just a spider.”

Jayce was already halfway behind Y/N, his large hands gripping their shoulders. “I can punch a thug. I can’t punch that. What if it crawls up my arm? What if it—oh, gods, what if it jumps?”

“Jayce Talis,” Y/N said with mock exasperation, glancing over their shoulder at the towering man, “you’re six feet of pure muscle and you’re hiding behind me? This is embarrassing for both of us.”

The spider, seemingly emboldened by Jayce’s retreat, scurried closer. Jayce flinched, his grip tightening on Y/N. “Okay, okay, just kill it or throw something! Please!”

Rolling their eyes, Y/N grabbed the nearest object—a rolled-up schematic—and approached the spider with exaggerated caution, partly to mess with Jayce. “Relax, hero. I’ll save you from the big, bad bug.”

With a swift motion, Y/N swatted the spider, sending it tumbling toward an open window. The creature landed on the sill, paused for dramatic effect, and finally disappeared into the city beyond.

Y/N turned back, arms spread in triumph. “There. The beast is vanquished. You may now return to your work, my fair knight.”

Jayce let out a long breath, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Y/N grinned, poking his chest. “You’re lucky I’m here to protect you, big guy.”

Jayce groaned but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. He pulled Y/N into a quick hug, muttering, “My hero,” before returning to his work, albeit with a wary glance toward the window every so often.

VIKTOR

The dim light of Piltover’s laboratory district cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Y/N was on their way to deliver Viktor a stack of documents he'd requested, braving the late hour at his insistence that their findings were urgent. The streets were quieter than usual, save for the occasional hum of distant machinery or the clatter of boots on stone.

As Y/N approached the entrance to the lab, a low voice echoed from the shadows behind them.

“Well, well. Out a bit late, aren’t you?”

Turning sharply, Y/N spotted a man emerging from the alley, his face partially obscured but his posture unmistakably menacing. Another figure stepped out to his left, smirking as he cracked his knuckles.

“Not the best place for a stroll,” the second one said, his voice dripping with malice.

Y/N’s breath hitched, their grip tightening on the documents. They took a step back, heart pounding, and glanced toward the lab. A warm glow spilled from the windows—a beacon of safety if they could just get inside.

“Don’t even think about running,” the first man growled, stepping closer.

“Get away from them!”

The sharp voice cut through the tension like a blade. Viktor stepped into view, his cane tapping rhythmically against the ground. Despite his limp, he moved with purpose, golden eyes blazing with determination.

The thugs faltered for a moment, clearly surprised.

“And who’re you supposed to be? Their bodyguard?” one sneered, though his tone betrayed unease.

Viktor’s grip tightened on his cane, his expression hardening. “You will leave them alone,” he said, his voice low and unwavering. “Now.”

The first man snorted, lunging toward Viktor. But Viktor was quicker than they expected. He swung his cane with surprising force, striking the thug’s leg and sending him staggering.

“Stay behind me, Y/N,” Viktor said firmly, positioning himself between them and the attackers.

The second thug charged, but Viktor was ready. With a calculated step, he sidestepped the attack, using his cane to unbalance the man and send him crashing to the ground.

The first thug scrambled to his feet, glaring at Viktor. “You’ll regret this,” he spat before grabbing his companion and retreating into the shadows.

For a moment, the street was silent except for Y/N’s quickened breathing. Viktor turned to them, his stern expression softening.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Y/N nodded, their hands trembling slightly. “I… I think so. Thank you, Viktor. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile as he reached out, his slender fingers gently wrapping around her trembling hands. The warmth of his touch steadied her, grounding her in the moment. “I am just glad I was nearby. Piltover may shine bright, but even its shadows can be dangerous.” He paused, studying them. “You should not have come alone. Next time, send for me.”

Y/N nodded, warmth blooming in their chest despite the lingering fear. Viktor’s protective nature was always understated, but in this moment, it felt like a shield, steadfast and unyielding.

“Let’s get inside,” Viktor said gently, gesturing toward the lab. “You can explain what was so urgent once you’ve had a chance to breathe.”

As they stepped into the light, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a new sense of safety, knowing Viktor would always be there to protect them.

JAYVIK

The lab buzzed with quiet activity, the hum of Hextech crystals resonating in the air. Y/N worked at the center station, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she adjusted the array of lenses for their latest experiment. Viktor stood beside her, leaning on his cane, a rare smile tugging at his lips as he offered suggestions.

“This alignment should amplify the crystal’s energy tenfold,” Viktor said, his golden gaze gleaming with anticipation.

Y/N nodded, sharing his enthusiasm. “Exactly. If we time it just right, we’ll create a stable energy flow. It could change everything.”

Jayce, watching from across the room, frowned. “Are you two sure about this? That crystal looks ready to blow at the slightest mistake.”

“It will be fine, Jayce,” Viktor replied, waving him off. “We have accounted for every variable.”

“And this setup is flawless,” Y/N added confidently. “Just watch.”

But the warning signs were subtle—too subtle to catch in time. A spark jumped from the crystal, striking the array. The lenses shattered, and the lab was bathed in an ominous blue glow. The surge of energy crackled, fast and unforgiving, surging toward Y/N and Viktor.

“Y/N! Viktor!”

Jayce moved in an instant. Vaulting over the workbench, he shoved them both out of harm’s way. Viktor stumbled, catching himself on his cane, while Y/N landed heavily against a shelf. Jayce turned to shield them both as the crystal exploded with a deafening crack.

The blast wasn’t as violent as feared, but the force knocked Jayce to the ground. The aftermath left a haze of smoke and the acrid scent of scorched metal hanging in the air.

“Jayce!” Y/N scrambled to his side, her hands trembling as she checked him for injuries. “Are you okay?”

Jayce groaned, pushing himself up on one elbow. “I’m fine. Just… next time, maybe listen when I say it looks dangerous?”

Viktor limped over, coughing slightly but otherwise unharmed. “That was reckless, Jayce. You could have been seriously injured.” His voice held a mix of frustration and gratitude.

“Someone had to step in,” Jayce replied, flashing a tired smile.

Y/N exhaled shakily, helping him to his feet. “Thank you, Jayce. You saved us.”

Jayce rested a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“And next time,” Viktor added, glancing between them, “we’ll ensure no one needs to play the hero. Safety measures first.”

“Agreed,” Y/N said, her voice firm, though the gratitude in her eyes lingered as she met Jayce’s gaze.

Jayce smirked, his hand lingering over hers. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t keep an eye on you two.”

Between Jayce’s protectiveness and Viktor’s careful planning, Y/N felt a rare and cherished sense of safety—one she would never take for granted.

VANDER

The Last Drop was bustling as always, voices rising in a chaotic medley of laughter, arguments, and the clinking of glasses. Vander moved with practiced ease, the hulking man weaving through the crowd to check on patrons, break up the occasional spat, and lend a hand wherever needed.

You were behind the counter, sleeves rolled up as you juggled pouring drinks and taking orders. The lively atmosphere didn’t bother you much—it was part of the charm of the Undercity, and working alongside Vander always made the chaos worthwhile.

“Y/N!” Vander called, his gravelly voice cutting through the noise. You glanced up to see him gesturing toward the back. “Can you grab some more glasses and the case of rum from the pantry? We’re runnin’ low.”

“On it!” you replied, setting down your rag and slipping past him. As you brushed by, his hand briefly rested on your shoulder, a quiet but affectionate acknowledgment.

The pantry was tucked in the back, shelves packed with various supplies. It wasn’t the most organized space, but you’d managed to navigate it before. You stepped inside and began grabbing what was needed: the case of rum, a few boxes of cocktail ingredients, and a stack of clean glasses.

The rustling as you reached for one of the higher shelves echoed through the pantry. You stretched further, trying to grab a box teetering at the very top. As you pulled it down, something shifted above.

A faint creak and scrape caught your attention, but before you could look up, the weight of a heavy wooden crate loomed. It tipped forward, hurtling straight down.

“Y/N!”

Vander’s voice was the first thing you registered before his broad form appeared at the doorway, moving faster than you thought someone of his size could. In one fluid motion, he threw his arm over your head, catching the brunt of the falling crate. His other hand knocked it aside, sending it crashing harmlessly to the floor with a loud thud.

You stumbled back, eyes wide as the shock of what just happened sank in. Vander remained where he was, arm still braced protectively above you. His chest heaved with a sharp intake of breath as he glanced down at you, concern etched into his rugged features.

“You alright?” he asked, his deep voice softer than usual.

You nodded, swallowing hard as your heart raced. “Y-Yeah, thanks to you.”

He lowered his arm and let out a relieved sigh, his tense posture easing. “Damn supplier, I told them to make sure the crates were put properly on the shelf” he muttered, casting a glare at the offending object. His eyes flicked back to you, scanning you over as if to double-check for injuries. “You gotta be more careful back here, love. Could’ve been bad.”

“I didn’t realize it was so unstable,” you admitted, shaking your head. “I should’ve paid more attention.”

“Nah,” Vander said, stepping closer and cupping your face with a calloused hand. “Ain’t your fault. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.” His thumb brushed gently against your cheek. “Lucky I caught it in time.”

The closeness of him, the way his voice softened just for you, made your cheeks flush. Despite the scare, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Guess I owe you one,” you said, placing a hand over his where it rested on your face.

Vander chuckled, the sound low and reassuring. “You already do enough around here. Just promise me you’ll holler next time you need somethin’ from the top shelf, yeah?”

“Promise,” you replied, your grin widening.

He gave you one last look, his expression a mixture of affection and lingering worry, before pulling you into a brief but warm embrace. “C’mon,” he murmured against your hair. “Let’s get back before they burn the place down without us.”

With Vander’s arm slung protectively over your shoulders, the two of you left the pantry together. And though the Last Drop’s chaos hadn’t abated, you felt a little more grounded knowing he’d always be there to catch you when it mattered most.

SILCO

The Undercity always carried the stench of betrayal, but tonight, it was worse. Silco stood by the window of his office, his mismatched eyes scanning the chaos outside. The shimmer of neon lights reflected off the glass as shouts and gunfire echoed in the distance. The deal with the Chem-Barons had gone sideways, and now retaliation was inevitable.

Y/N stepped into the room, her boots clinking against the floor as she approached him. “They’re moving faster than we thought. Enforcers, thugs—it’s a mess out there,” she said, gripping the hilt of the dagger at her side.

Silco turned, his face a calm mask despite the storm brewing outside. “They’ll come for me first. They always do.”

“Then they’ll find me standing in their way,” Y/N replied, her voice steady and sure.

A rare flicker of something softened Silco’s sharp gaze. “You don’t owe me this.”

Y/N smirked, leaning against the desk. “Maybe not. But you’ve saved me more times than I can count. Besides, I’m not about to let you handle this alone.”

The first explosion rattled the walls, shaking dust from the rafters. Silco grabbed his revolver, tucking it into his coat. “Then let’s make sure they regret their decision.”

=

The fight erupted in the darkened corridors of the Last Drop. Smoke filled the air as bullets whizzed past. Y/N was a force of nature, darting between attackers with her blade, her movements fluid and deliberate. When one thug lunged at Silco, she was there, her dagger plunging into his side before he could strike.

“Focus!” she shouted over the chaos, her eyes meeting Silco’s for a brief moment.

Silco, despite his usual distaste for direct combat, held his own. He aimed with precision, each shot taking down a would-be assailant. When Y/N found herself cornered by two brutes, he stepped forward, firing a round into one and cracking the other over the head with the butt of his gun.

“You’re reckless,” he hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into cover.

“Look who’s talking,” she retorted, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

The two shared a fleeting grin before a new wave of enemies surged forward.

=

When the dust finally settled, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and sweat. The last of their attackers lay motionless, and the bar was in shambles. Silco slumped against the wall, his hand pressed to a gash on his shoulder. Y/N knelt beside him, tearing a strip of fabric from her sleeve to bandage the wound.

“You’re lucky they didn’t aim better,” she muttered, tying the makeshift bandage tight.

Silco chuckled dryly. “And you’re lucky I was watching your back.”

Y/N met his gaze, her expression softening. “Always.”

For a moment, the weight of the Undercity’s darkness lifted. They had survived another night together, their loyalty to each other unshaken.

“Come on,” Y/N said, helping him to his feet. “We’ve got a mess to clean up.”

Silco leaned on her slightly as they walked. “It’s always a mess in Zaun. But with you, I can handle it.”

And in the shadows of the Undercity, they stood as each other’s shields—unbreakable, unyielding, and fiercely protective.

POWDER/JINX

The sound of crackling glass and twisted metal echoed through the ruined streets of Zaun. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, and the dim flicker of streetlights barely lit the chaos around them. Jinx was pacing back and forth, her wild eyes scanning the area, her fingers twitching nervously as if she were on the edge of something.

“Y/N, this place is so fun,” Jinx giggled, her voice echoing with manic energy. “It's a playground for all of us!”

But you could sense something was off. The usual playful madness in her voice was clouded by something deeper, more dangerous. You knew Jinx all too well—when the chaos and explosions weren’t enough to keep her occupied, it meant something far worse was brewing inside her.

"Stay close, Jinx," you said, your voice low and firm, as you stepped closer to her. The familiar weight of the dagger hidden at your side reassured you, but it wasn't just the weapon that kept you calm—it was the responsibility you felt for her. She was more than just an explosive whirlwind to you. She was the girl you protected, the one you'd do anything to keep safe.

Her eyes darted to you, still wild, but there was a flicker of vulnerability beneath the madness. “Don’t worry about me, Y/N! I’m fine! No one can stop me!”

But before you could respond, a group of enforcers emerged from the shadows. They moved swiftly, surrounding you and Jinx. They were not just any enforcers, either. These were the ones who'd been hunting her for months—the ones who saw Jinx as a threat to their fragile order in the undercity. And now they had her in their sights.

"Move, Jinx!" you barked, pulling her back protectively. You placed yourself between her and the approaching soldiers, your stance firm and unyielding. "Not today."

One of the enforcers sneered, raising his weapon. "Step aside. You know we can’t let her go free."

You felt your heart racing, but you didn’t hesitate. Your hand hovered over the hilt of your dagger, ready to defend her with everything you had. Jinx, seeing the confrontation, froze, her usual chaotic energy replaced with a strange sense of attachment to you.

“Y/N…?” Her voice was quieter now, almost unsure.

“No one is touching you, Jinx,” you whispered, your tone soft yet unyielding. “Not on my watch.”

Before the enforcers could make another move, you lunged forward, your dagger flashing in the dim light. The first enforcer’s weapon was knocked from his hands, and you quickly incapacitated him with a well-placed strike. The others hesitated, unsure of whether to engage or retreat. You could see the fear in their eyes, but you weren’t about to give them the chance.

With a quick glance to Jinx, you noticed the faintest glimmer of relief in her eyes. She stepped forward, her usual mania gone for a moment, replaced by a deep trust. She didn't need to be told what to do. She picked up a nearby bomb and threw it with a wild grin, her laughter ringing out as the explosion sent the remaining enforcers scattering.

“Nice job, Jinx,” you said, giving her a small, approving nod. She beamed at you, her previous anxiety melting away as she clung to your side.

“You’re the best, Y/N,” she said, her voice laced with genuine gratitude. Her chaotic persona might’ve been what others saw, but you saw the frightened girl behind it, the one who trusted you more than anyone else in this world.

You gave her a smile, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “And I’ll always protect you, no matter what.”

[arelliann]

Wiggly Wednesday 🪱🧠

Tagged by the amazing @just-my-latest-hyperfixation last week, sending a tag straight back at you for this week

"Stephen, darling, light of my life, my knight in shining armour." Eddie's voice croons from the study.

"What have you done?" Steve rolls his eyes, head popping through the doorway to find Eddie perching on Mr Harrington's very expensive mahogany desk.

Eddie gasps dramatically.

"How dare you! I resent the accusation that I could have ever possibly caused a problem in m-"

"Yeah yeah Munson," Steve interrupts, knowing from experience how long Eddie could go on when left to it, "what's wrong?"

"There's a spider."

"What?" Steve slowly steps back out into the hallway.

"A spider."

"Well get rid of it then."

"I can't get rid of it," Eddie whines, voice getting gradually higher, hands flapping around as he tries to maintain balance, "the doctor said no strenuous exercise."

"For the last time, that was two years ago Eds." Steve scoffs, still staying an arms length away from the study.

"Still, aren't you meant to help me in my time of need?"

"Well I'm not getting rid of it, it's your spider."

"My... I- that... wha- it's not my spider it's an intruder! an interloper within my sanctuary. A threat to my health in a space I thought I was safe." Eddie slips slightly, sending a stack of important looking documents to the floor.

"Call Robin." Eddie demands, and points at the phone mounted on the wall.

At the back of the study.

"I'm not calling Robin, we'll never hear the end if it."

The two stand and stare at one a other, caught at an impasse.

"It could be poisonous." Eddie suggests.

"We don't get poisonous spiders." Steve says condfidently, his arms crossed, but he backs further from the door nonetheless.

"Are you sure?"

"...No?"

Something crawls over Steve's foot.

"Fuck fuck FUCK! Call Robin!" Steve yells as he dives into the room, clambering up to join Eddie.

Robin finds them 4 hours later, wrapped in each others arms, still huddled on the desk.

[wifeofwandamaximoff]

Fine...

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update I just didn't really have the motivation also I usually don't proofread my work so I do apologize. Also I wanted to update as quick as I can while making this so its a bit smaller then I would've preferred but ill try to make a longer part next time! Also thank you Max for the tips!

"Come in." Weems said from the other side of the doors. Oh how her voice was so raspy and soft. It's like whenever she talks her words are coated in love spider webs.

I step into her office, mentally preparing myself to see her. Once i'm in her office I instantly see her red plump lips that look so inviting. I quickly shake my head slightly to get out of my trance.

"Im here for our art lesson." I said with my stoic expression, my voice sounding like a hundred freshly made blades.

"Ah yes Miss Addams, I apologize I lost track of time." She said apologetically. Which I stared at her. The air in the room wasn't awkward but it wasn't comfortable either. She then decided to interrupt the silence.

"Follow me to the art studio then, this is where we will meet up instead of you coming to my office just like today." She smiled while standing up and walking around her desk.

She opened the door for me, I then step out of her office and wait for her to lead the way. When she was walking on her way to walk in front of me our hand's gently grazed each other. Making me feel spiders crawl in my stomach.

"Here we go Miss Addams." She smiled sweetly while opening a door. Inside there were a bunch of blank canvases, art supplies, etc. Basically any art supplies that some artist wished to have is right here in this very room.

I scan the room to see two canvases set up for the both of us and two stools. I look back at her to see her smiling at me with that soft smile that could make even an Addams's heart melt.

"Lets begin Miss Addams." She smiled, gesturing towards the stools. I stay quiet and go sit on one of the stools. She then goes to occupy the other one.

"Now Miss Addams what do you already know about art?" She asks me. I look at her, thinking if I should answer her or not. Eventually I decided to.

"About how to make art or what is art?" I asked in my icy cold tone. I see her a shiver a bit from that tone making my lips twitch in a small smirk. I quickly turn away, hoping she didn't see it.

"Well I suppose I should be more specific, what is art Miss Addams?" She said while clearing her throat. I see her starting to take off her gloves to reveal her soft porcelain skin.

Seeing her pale skin makes me shiver, but of course my skin was paler. "Art is a way of communicating with your thoughts and feelings, but thats the deeper meaning. Art is an object that is expressed with skill and imagination." I said while getting some acrylic paint out.

Weems just looks at me with a soft smile. "You think outside the box Miss Addams." She compliments. "Your first assignment is to paint what you have on your mind right now. Now this may take a couple of sessions to complete but do not rush."

I then think for a moment, I then look around the room. My eyes then look at her. In that moment I then decided what I was gonna paint.

----

The next day I was roaming the halls when Enid came up to me.

"Bell! The Poe Cup is soon and I was wondering if you could join us? Wednesday said she'll go if you go so please say yes!" Enid squealed. Shaking my shoulders making my tempted to cut off her fingers and stack them right in front of her.

"Ill think about it now please don't ever touch me again." I said before pushing her away. Not too hard but not to soft either.

I then walk to the quad, up from above I see Weems with her binoculars looking down at all the students. Our eyes then lock making her put her binoculars down and smile at me. Making a bowl of spiders crawl in my stomach. Which was definitely a feeling I was unaware of. I then turn away, walking to the art room since it was my free period and deciding to work on my painting for a while.

I peeked back a bit to see Weems with a sad expression before going back into her office.

I walked into the art room and looked over at Weems's painting. It seemed like a painting of black rose. My favorite rose...

"Lets play 21 questions hm? I think its only right since we will be giving these paintings to each other." Weems smiled at me. I just nodded.

"You will got first Weems." I said flatly while giving her my usual glare. She just nodded before thinking for a bit.

"Why did you decide to come to Nevermore?" She asked me after a few minutes. I think about my answer for a bit.

"Because I was in a boarding school in France before. I was there for a few years and I decided I wanted a change of scenery and Wednesday has expressed how much she wanted me to come back through our letters to each other." I said while starting to paint the background. Some clouds with hues of pale yellow.

"A boarding school in France? Wednesday told you she missed you?" Weems said, firing questions at me.

"Wednesday and I are very close. We always did everything with each other and for the question about me going to France for school. I needed to get away from mother and father. They were too affectionate and over-protective." I said while creating soft stroked on my canvas. I look over to see Weems with a bit of a sad look.

"Too affectionate?" She said in a bit of a sad tone which she tried to hide but I caught on right away.

"Yes too affectionate, they would smother me in hugs and kisses and always made sure to know where I was going." I said a bit softer then usual.

She just nodded which I thought was a bit strange but I brushed it off. I then started to think of what I should ask her.

"Do you think angels are good?" I asked. She looked at me perplexed since this was a strange question for me to ask her. She then thought for a bit.

"I do believe angels are good Miss Addams. They are supernatural beings that have many tales about their good deeds and what they have done for humans in the past." She said. I then see her finally starting to pain.

"Yes but only of their good deeds, they must have committed something down right sinful at least once." I said while starting to paint some golden gates. The gate ways to heaven hell. As I believed she was sent from heaven hell.

"What's your favorite flower Miss Addams?" She asked with a smile.

"A black rose." I said with ease. One of the easiest questions that could she could ask from me.

"It represents elegance and mystery." I said while glancing over at her. I see her get out black, grey, and white paint. I then quickly assume she will be painting my flower which made the corner of my lips turn up a bit before I shook that odd pleasant feeling down.

I then quickly return back to the present. Though I felt a strange feeling when I realized she was painting my favorite flower.Even though I already knew that it still made spiders crawl in my stomach. Basking myself in joy despair.

I then hear Enid calling my name which me roll my eyes. I then hear her open the door to the art room to see me which made her grin widely.

"Bella! Can you participate in the Poe Cup this year please?" Enid asked with puppy eyes which didn't prove effective on me.

"No." I stated plainly before going back to painting.

"Please Bella? I know I already asked today but please??" She pouted which made me roll my eyes before sighing.

"Fine." I said, finally relenting to join this silly event.

"Really?" Enid said happily, about to go in for a hug before I glared at her. Signaling to not do that.

"Oh Principal Weems will be so happy that you'll join! I told her how I wanted you to join the team today and she hoped that you would join and you did! I have to go thank her!" Enid smiled excitedly.

"Oh and we'll build the boat this week!" Enid smiled before walking out.

I sighed, already regretting my decision to join the Poe Cup. But I then thought about how Weems would be happy to see me play which made it kind of worth it.

I snap out of my daze, looking back at my painting of an angel. As I saw Larissa Weems as an angel. I mentally conflicted with myself if I should use Weems's face but decided against it since it would seem weird. I decided to put a mask on the angel. The identity hidden.

I then feel something crawl on my shoulder to see Thing. I glare at Thing, mentally saying to get off my shoulder.

Thing decided to stay on my shoulder which irritates me.

"What do you need Thing?" I asked while starting to paint the mask of the angel. Thing quickly starts doing signals which makes me look at him.

"You want me to help Enid build the boat?" I said asking him. Which makes him sign a yes. I sigh, looking back at my painting before starting to clean up.

"I suppose." I said setting Thing down on the floor. Thing then starts to lead the way to where our team was building the boat.

In the distance I see the blonde werewolf and my sister. I get closer and seem them both trying to paint a black cat which makes me sigh. I then decide to paint the other side.

"Leave the painting to me you fools." I said starting to paint. Enid looks surprised that I was helping out since Wednesday probably told her I wouldn't. It seems that Wednesday was surprised to. I just glare at them making them both quickly go back to painting the other side.

"Thing tie my hair up." I ordered which makes him do so obediently. He ties my hair making my raven hair into a ponytail. My hair shining a deep purple in the sun.

After about an hour of painting I am halfway done with my side. I look over to see the two gone. I then feel three sets of eyes looking at me. I turn around to see Enid and Wednesday looking at me paint. But there were only two people behind me. I drag my eyes around my vicinity to see no one us but us three. Weird...

I decide to ignore it and go back to painting my cat for our team.

After about another hour I finish my painting, going back a few steps to marvel at my work. I see Enid come closer, inspecting it before turning to me and smiling.

"Oh Bella it looks amazing! Thank you!" She said happily, about to go in for a hug which makes me step back immediately. Like second nature.

I see Wednesday right next to me, shoulder to shoulder. I see Enid looking at us excitedly before pulling out her brain sucking device.

"We should take a picture and make memories!" She said excitedly before snapping a picture of me and Wednesday making me a bit mad but I suppose it was okay. Just one photo...

After Enid took our photo I demanded to see it. Conflicting with myself if I could delete it or not. I take the phone and look at the picture. Me and Wednesday standing shoulder to shoulder, Enid in the corner of the picture. A failed part on hers of trying to include herself in the selfie. I then examine the photo.

But in the background I see a shadow...A shadow of a large figure. The tree right next to the shadow has three claw marks...

I then look back to see the shadow gone but the marks still there...

Taglist:

@poorwritingandstalecoffee  @maxfanartfan @a-goblin-named-cherry

[greghatecrimes]

i have this vision of house carrying thirteen by her ankle into wilson's office and just holding her out to him as she's giggling because he wants wilson to watch her for a bit because he can't let her near one patient or something

wilson being unsure how exactly to grab her from that position

Have a very quickly written ficlet, anon!:

PPTH, circa 1993ish:

Wilson's in the middle of a meeting when the sound of laughter and familiar footsteps floats into his office from the hallway. He doesn't even bother trying to finish whatever sentence he'd been in the middle of; instead, he breaks off and lets loose a long sigh.

"...Is... everything alright?" The patient he'd been talking with asks, watching him with slightly widened eyes.

"I'm so sorry." He runs a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to put his head down on the patient files stacked in front of him. "You know, I just have this terrible headache. It comes and--"

The door to his office bursts open. In steps one Greg House, accompanied by the source of the childlike giggling that had been the harbinger of his arrival: his two and a half year old daughter, who's dangling from House's hand by one ankle. She sways back and forth in midair when House steps over the threshold and into the office, causing her face to flush red and her laughter to bubble up, crisp with joy.

"...Goes," Wilson sighs, and gets to his feet. "I'm so sorry. This will be just a minute."

"Hey, Wilson!" House greets, completely unperturbed by the fact that he's just walked into a private consult. "Take Thirteen for an hour, will you? I'm not supposed to have my hands full around my new patient."

"House," Wilson groans. "How many times do I have to tell you to just hire a babysitter–"

"Don't need one! Really, it's just an hour! Cuddy said they think the patient has TB or something else deliciously contagious. Can't let this germ magnet–" he shakes Thirteen for extra emphasis, and she laughs even harder. A fond smile pulls at his lips. "Anywhere near that."

"Oh, my," Wilson's patient says from between them, and Wilson's not sure if she's referencing the tuberculosis or the child dangling upside down, clearly delighted at being handled by her father like a sack of potatoes. "Is she alright?"

"My patient?" House asks. "Bleeding out of her eyeballs, last I heard, so I really need to-- oh, you meant the kid." House gives her another shake, and this time Thirteen laughs so hard that it borders on a shriek. "She's fine, she loves it. Begs me to throw her around all day long. She'd be crawling around on the ceiling if she could. Like a little spider-monkey, aren't you?" Thirteen grins, her smile flashing white like an upside-down crescent moon.

She's too damn cute, Wilson thinks. House is all too aware of this and wields it like a weapon. He lets out another long-suffering sigh.

"I'll take her," he relents, and steps out from behind his desk. "C'mere, Munchkin." He reaches for her, only to freeze when he realizes he's not quite sure how to grab her.

"Do you need–" his patient starts to ask.

"I'm fine, thank you," Wilson says loudly. He knows he's the less-experienced one out of the two of them when it comes to children. He doesn't need his own patients reminding him of that. "Here we go. Nice and easy." He decides to grab Thirteen by the waist. She's small enough that he manages to get her flipped right-side up without having to set her down on the floor or the desk first.

"Hi, Jimmy." Thirteen settles into the spot just above his hip easily, as she always does. Before he can stop her, one of her chubby little hands is reaching for one of the many pens he keeps in the chest pocket of his lab coat. Her fingers close around a bright yellow highlighter. "'Side-down? Again?" she asks.

He can't bring himself to say no. "When your dad gets back," he promises. He tucks a few flyaways behind her ear-- all that swinging around had really mussed up her ponytail. Hopefully she'll sit quietly long enough for him to fix it. "But right now Jimmy has to finish a meeting. So let's tell Dad bye-bye for now, okay?"

She waves at House with the fist that's gripping the highlighter. "Bye bye!"

"Be good for Wilson, you little gremlin," House playfully growls, narrowing his eyes at her. Thirteen laughs and hides her face against Wilson's shoulder for a moment. "I'll page ya when I'm on my way back up. Oh, and I'll order us takeout from that Chinese place for dinner tonight, sound good?" House is already halfway out the door before Wilson can form a response. "Thanks a million!" the cheerfully sarcastic tone floats back to them from the hallway. "Kisses! Mwah!"

Of course he doesn't bother to close the door on his way out.

"Um," the patient says, just as Wilson slides back into his seat. Thirteen has already managed to uncap the highlighter and is now reaching across his desk with sweeping arms, searching for something to 'color' on. He manages to feel around and find a blank notepad for her without pulling his attention from his patient. "I can always come back later, if now is a bad time–"

"No, no, not at all," Wilson assures her, and then sighs in exasperation. "I am so sorry. He seems to think I'm the on call nanny instead of a practicing oncologist."

His patient cracks a smile. "She's quite cute," she admits, after a moment of watching Thirteen. Wilson can't help the rush of pride he feels at that. "She's your colleague's?"

Wilson hesitates. "My..." In his moment of thought, Thirteen squirms in his lap and manages to twist herself around enough to swipe a streak of bright yellow across his face. Wilson closes his eyes. The taste of highlighter is bitter on his lips, but he can't help but smile. "My... partner's." he says softly.

When he opens his eyes again, Thirteen is grinning up at him, clearly pleased with her work of art. His patient is stifling laughter. "Did you want to...?" She mimes rubbing her face.

"...We'll be just fine." He tells her, settling further into his seat. "This one is an excellent listener. By all means, let's get back to where we left off."

[boredw69]

Only In His Office- Ch. 3 Negan X Reader

Y/n is 19 year old Senior in high school who is particularly quiet but that's only because she always takes the time to write in her notebook filled with.. thoughts about someone imparticular, but its not who you expect it to be…

◇There is a age gap in this book so if you are not ok with that or if it makes you uncomfortable then you do not have to read, it's your choice.◇

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, drinking, age gap, Sexual themes, angst.

Word Count: 1419

I wake up in a panic. A small tickling feeling crawling up my leg.

I jump up and smack at my leg frantically coming to the realization that it's a tiny spider. I flick the bug's dead body off my leg and look around still feeling itchy and gross. I turned over to see Julien sleeping on the blanket I brought. We were still under the slides... we must have fallen asleep. I reach over shutting his laptop and then reaching into my bag for my phone.

4:53 AM "Damn" I whisper under my breath peeking around the slide to see the faint orange sky creep up into the night sky. I slump over onto the end of the blanket and sigh loudly.

"Julien." I grumble, "wake upppp" I drag out my words tiredly.

I hear them shuffle around, "What time is it?"

"It's like 5 in the morning dipshit, can't you see the sun coming up" I laugh.

They sighs abruptly, "You should get going before your dad realizes your gone" He sits up looking at me.

I start to pack up my things and pick up our trash, "yea.. hopefully he's passed out-". I get up and grab the edge of my blanket waiting for Julien to get up and help me.

"Oh, sorry" they say stumbling to get up.

We laugh it off and continue to pack everything up. I help them get their things into their backpack and we both walk over to the picnic area to throw our trash away.

They plops down on a bench. I follow sitting and resting my head on their shoulder. "Thanks for hanging out with me." I paused and they looked over at me slowly. "I had a rough week, it really made me feel better..."

They leaned over and hugged me, "you don't need to say it, I get it."

I laughed getting up and waving him goodbye. The sun had already made an appearance peaking just above the landscape. It was already getting so bright. I squinted my eyes as I walked down the sidewalk. Early morning workers' cars whizzing by as I went to cross to my house.

I jog across the crosswalk waving at the cars that kindly stopped for me.

-

I creeped into the house quietly placing my things down. Everything seemed to still be in place, so he didn't come looking for me last night, good.

I changed my clothes and packed my bag for school and creeped out into the kitchen. I was looking everywhere, but i couldn't find him... Weird, but not unusual.

The bus would be here soon so I had some time to pack my lunch. I shoved some snacks in a brown paper bag and quickly shoved it into my backpack that was already stacked full of books. I looked over at the clock, 5:38. I had till 6:30 till the bus came, meaning I had time for a shower, which was for the best of course seeing as I quite literally slept outside last night. I zipped up my bookbag throwing it onto the couch and fast walked into our shared bathroom starting a hot shower and taking my clothes off. I wrapped a towel around my body and went out to my room to get some clean underwear.

Just as I rushed out of the bathroom I bumped into someone. My dad. I looked up gripping the towel harshly.

"(Y/n). What are you doing?" He asked as I backed away trying to make my way around him and into my room. He sounded very drowsy, his eyes were bloodshot and he could barely hold them open. 

"I was just taking a shower.. Before school." I said walking away from him and into my room. I snatched a pair of panties from my drawer and wadded them up in my hand, trying to save the embarrassment. He stood in the same spot only turning his frame to watch me as I walked back into the bathroom.

He grunted as a response and walked off. 

I let out a sigh as I shut the door and threw the towel down. I stepped into the shower and let the water run over my naked figure. I didn't want to think of the day before, but it was hard not to. Every time my thoughts ran back to the same notion; The same.. impure thoughts. His hands, his fingers.. Everything about him. How he would feel; how he could touch me so differently than I could myself. I continued my dirty thoughts as I washed myself. I made quick to finish and throw my clothes back on just doing what I would do every morning. 

I strutted out of the bathroom and immediately looked up at the time. 6:11. I turned the corner to the couch and went to reach for my bag being startled by my father who sat in his recliner snoring loudly. I scoffed at myself and swung my backpack over my shoulder and headed out for the bus.

I yawned as I strolled down the sidewalk to the bus stop on the corner. I mentally rolled my eyes now noticing the middle schoolers that also stood goofing around at the stop. I kept my distance standing just off to the side of them. I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through Instagram solely just to keep from looking over at them.

It wasn't too painfully long before the bus came to pick us up. I awkwardly shuffled through the isle looking for the first spot that was empty plopping down by the window and just keeping silent. I was just a few stops after the first one so there was a fair amount of people, unfortunately mostly middle schoolers and freshmen who could care less about me. Fair enough though, it gave me lots of time to pop my earbuds in and listen to some music. I kept to myself as usual, avoiding any drama or conflict that arose. My eyes stayed glued outside as the trees, cars, and buildings shot by. I took a deep breath preparing for the long day ahead. I was dreading the mental toll hours of sitting and listening was going to take on me.

-

    The day went by as normal, just sitting in class for hours taking several notes until my wrists hurt. The time rolled around for our extra classes, the time of day I had dreaded. I didn't know if I could even be in the same room as him after yesterday, of course there was nothing I could do other than hope it wouldn't be as awkward as I imagined it. My hopes were low considering I had the worlds worst anxiety. Although I was secretly wishing that wasn't our last interaction. 

The bell rang and the room filled with students shuffling aggressively to the exit. I sat patiently not wanting to get caught up in the crowd. I picked up my books holding them tightly to my chest now following everyone else.

After dropping things off at my locker; Learning from my mistakes. I made my way to gym just before the bell rang.

As I stepped into the gym Negan's wandering eyes landed on mine seeming to look relived. I avoided his gaze and began stretching like all the others.

Gym continued on as normal.. Our eyes catching here and there. The bell rang and everyone rushed out once again.

As I started for the door he called my name.

I stopped and turned slowly to face him.

He took long stride up to me and smiled immediately. "I wanted to talk to you about the other day."

My heart skipped a beat. "What about yesterday?" I mumble.

"Try outs? I seen you signed up. I'm pretty excited to be your coach kiddo." He joked.

I let out a small sigh of relief, "Pshh, Yeah. Totally." I managed to let out a small laugh.

He patted my shoulder; His touch lasting a tad bit longer than it should. "What'd you think I wanted to talk about huh?" he leaned back with a smart-ass look on his face.

I didn't bother answering; It seemed to be a trap anyways.

"I'll see you at tryouts. Don't be late miss. y/n" He turned on his heels and wandered off to clean up some cones laid around the gym.

I took a yet another deep breath and started off to History class.

'Fuck. Me.'

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Trumpet wakes up in the windmill again.

Standard fare. It’s been a while since he’s had one of these, but they do crop up every now and again. He just has to sit through the emotions until he can wake himself up, usually.

Only it’s different this time. There’s light coming through the windows. He can hear birds chirping outside. And the room he’s in is- different. The walls are covered in wild colors. There’s furniture. A music player. A chest. Pots with flowers line every windowsill. And…the arms of the windmill jingle. He glances out the window. Somebody’s tied chimes to the slowly-spinning blades.

He opens the chest. Stacks of bombs and flowers greet him, along with seagrass. …He grabs a stack. That’s what turtles eat. What-

Something nudges into his ankle. There’s a turtle crawling slowly around on the floor. It must’ve been under the bed.

Trumpet feeds it some seagrass.

This is weird. Trumpet keeps digging and finds more stuff. “Boy” clothes. “Girl” clothes. Hair ties and a brush. Two pairs of round sunglasses, like Maximus wears.

…What the fuck is going on?

Outside, music starts. Trumpet’s ear twitches. It’s dim, but the composition style is…familiar.

Slowly, a pit growing in his stomach, he climbs down the ladder and peeks outside.

The first thing he sees is the porch to the house. Maximus, Pierre, and Dan are all sitting on the steps, laughing together.

Trumpet blinks, taken aback. He’d forgotten what his original parents looked like when they smiled. And Maximus’s hands are normal as he squeezes Dan’s. Pierre says something to Dan, who laughs. Maximus, faux offended, reaches over and playfully swats him.

Trumpet blinks. His chest aches, like somebody’s pushing their fist into his throat from the inside up.

Maximus looks somewhere off the porch and calls something, loud enough for Trumpet to hear. “Cuidado, mija!”

Trumpet’s eyebrows arch. He follows Maximus’s gaze.

There’s a girl. She’s dancing to a song that sounds like it was written by Maximus. She’s short and thick, a little gordita, like he used to be. She has blue and black hair in a messy bun. She’s wearing an orange sundress. She’s holding a bomb.

She’s wearing a propeller hat.

She turns back to the porch, revealing dark, round sunglasses, and makes some kind of exasperated motion at Maximus before flinging the bomb down. It explodes when the beat drops.

Trumpet realizes that his mouth is hanging open slightly. Carefully, he glances at the porch, then starts to creep closer to the girl.

There’s some structures here he doesn’t recognize. A large, fenced in pond where turtles swim and play on the shore, all with names. A little pen where he can hear spiders hissing. Flowers everywhere. And little machines that do random shit- spin or make noise or pump water in a loop.

Trumpet feels eyes on him and turns back to the girl. Round, black sunglasses stare back at him like compound eyes.

He freezes.

The girl glances back at the porch. Seeing her parents distracted, she runs over to Trumpet and pulls him behind the wall to the spider enclosure.

They scrutinize each other for a bit. Trumpet feels like his heart has stopped. She didn’t stay that short, now that he’s seeing her up close - she’s actually a little bit taller than him.

Her hands start to move. She’s- talking with her hands. A hand language. Trumpet’s never seen anything like it, but somehow, in the way you know things in a dream, he can tell what she’s saying.

“Who are you?”

She doesn’t even recognize him. Even though he knows who she is. It hits him like a slap in the face. His eyes well up with tears.

The girl’s brows furrow. “Who are you?” she repeats. “What are you doing at my house?”

Trumpet’s mouth feels clunky. He licks his lips, rasps, then asks, “Trump?”

The girl’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “NO. That’s my OLD name. My new name is Best.”

“…Best,” Trumpet repeats numbly.

The girl nods. “TheBest. Best for short.” She squints at him. “Now what’s YOUR name?”

Trumpet still doesn’t answer. He blinks back tears and opens his mouth again.

“Y-you’re a girl?”

“No,” she replies. “Not all the way, right now. Only sometimes. And sometimes I’m not a girl at all. It’s-”

She shakes her head, waving her hands as if to scrub what she’s said out of the air.

“Who ARE you?” she signs in harsh, dramatic motions.

Trumpet stares at her.

Best stares back at him.

Trumpet licks his lips and opens his mouth.“Nobody,” he croaks. “I’m nobody at all.”

His breath hitches and he starts to cry, slumping to the ground.

Best crouches beside him, her hands flying furiously. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened to your shoulder? Do you need food? My parents can help you, or my big brother-“

Trumpet closes his eyes to block out her words, keening high in his throat.

“Best? Où êtes-vous allé?” Pierre’s voice calls from the porch. Best’s feet rustle over grass as she pokes back out to respond.

Trumpet rocks back and forth, whimpering to himself. He feels hands settle on his shoulders and Best’s body slot against him, squeezing him gently around the shoulders.

He gasps, opening his eyes again.

The world is silent and dark. He’s on his bed in the living room, guarding the door. His eyes throb. His shoulder throbs.

Trumpet feels his face. He can feel the exact shape of his bones. There’s nothing soft about him anymore. He wonders if his cheeks even dimple when he smiles anymore.

He covers it all with his hands and starts to sob, the only noise in the dark.

[jadedrrose]

𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧'𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬

art/other info is available on my masterlist.

Following closely behind Sooga to the library he’d spoken of, Rose came to realize that he’d never shown it to her during the tour he’d given a couple of evenings ago. 

“Where is the library, anyway?” 

“It’s hidden,” Sooga answered, “it can only be opened with the ancient arts, and the technique is only taught to the highest ranking clan members.”

“So… only you and Kohga know it?” She asked.

“Correct, although you’ll be learning the technique as well.” 

Oh, wow. She’d already been deemed that trustworthy? Rose couldn’t quite understand it; what had she said or done to prove to Sooga and Master Kohga that they could place all of their trust and faith into her? Surely, it wasn’t just her powers. She’d need to ask Sooga, as no answers came to mind. Another time, though.

Approaching a blank wall, Sooga formed a hand sign similar to the one he’d make when transporting. He then muttered a couple of words Rose didn’t understand, and to her complete surprise, a section of the wall began to retreat into itself, revealing an incredibly dim stairway behind it.

“It’s down there?” Rose shuddered, suddenly a bit worried. She typically wasn’t scared of venturing into dark places, except for caves, since they usually had bugs in them. And, considering that this was like a cave within a cave… this closed off area seemed a bit creepy to her; if nobody went down there often, there were sure to be gross creatures crawling all over the place.

“Yes,” Sooga then pulled a torch from its stand on the wall, and began to descend down the stairs. “Come on.”

The library was cold, dark and most certainly had not been occupied recently. The amount of dust in the air made it nearly unbreathable, and Rose felt as though she were going to choke if she continued to stay in here.

Sooga took the torch he’d brought in from the hallway, using it to illuminate the room. And when Rose could finally see again, she gazed at her new surroundings in amazement. 

The library wasn’t very large, but it was filled with stacks upon stacks of journals, books, artifacts, and other things. And just as Rose expected, a thick layer of dust covered nearly everything within the room. 

“When was the last time anyone was down here?” She wondered, her fears then manifesting right before her when a spider rushed past her boots. Yelping, she jumped back and pointed at it. “Clearly it’s been a long time! Kill it, Sooga!” 

She could hear him audibly sigh, and practically feel him rolling his eyes at her. But without any protesting, Sooga walked over to the creature, taking an old stack of papers to do as she’d asked. When the deed was done, Sooga placed the papers beside the doorway. “I’ll dispose of it later.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, the brunette gave him a smile. “Thank you.” 

“Tell me, Rose,” Sooga began to say, amusement heavy in his voice, “do you fear spiders?”

“Not just spiders,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “I hate all bugs. I can’t help it.”

“Yet you lived in the woods for… how many years?”

Pouting, Rose looked to her feet. “Almost twelve years. But they were never in my cottage, okay? And before that I lived in Tabantha where I never once saw them due to the freezing temperature…”

Sooga then paused, seemingly thinking about something as he didn’t respond, but continued looking at her. Finally, he spoke up; “Aside from how you came to hate the Hylian knights, I don’t know much of your past. You grew up in Tabantha Village?”

Nodding, Rose uncrossed her arms, frown dissipating. “Yeah. And after… my family died, the Great Fairies had me live on Satori Mountain, and now I’m here, I guess.”

“How old were you?” He pressed. Hadn’t he just teased her for being too curious?

“Thirteen,” she sighed. 

“So if you lived on the mountain for almost twelve years…”

“I’m twenty-four,” she began playing with a strand of her hair. “I’ll be turning twenty-five next month, though.”

“You were born during spring, possess rose powers, and are named after said flower,” Sooga mused. “Not to mention your family name’s meaning in ancient Sheikah. How fitting.”

“Roses were my mother’s favorite,” she offered a slight explanation. “The other things are just coincidences.”

Sooga hummed, nodding. “My mother liked them as well.”

Rose perked up. Sooga hadn’t mentioned a word of his past. Perhaps now she could learn more about him?

“Really? Did you grow up here?”

“No. I was raised in a place known as Shadow Hamlet,” Sooga replied. “It’s near the base of Death Mountain.”

“I’ve traveled close to it before,” Rose could recall a monster problem that she’d helped with at the stable nearby, though that was over a year ago now. “How’d you end up here, though? That’s on the other side of Hyrule.”

Sooga hesitated. “…I shall tell you that tale another time.”

Shrugging, Rose decided to respect his wishes. “How long have you been in the clan, then?”

“For fifteen years,” he mumbled. “I joined when I was twelve.”

Rushing to do the math within her head, Rose began calculating Sooga’s age. “So you’re-“

“Twenty-seven,” he interrupted. “Two years older than you are.”

“Huh. You’ve worked hard, then?”

“What are you implying?”

“You’re already Master Kohga’s right hand, but you’re not even thirty,” Rose explained. “It’s impressive.”

“I… thank you,” Sooga seemed as though he didn’t know how to take the compliment. Did he receive them often? Rose would think so, given his position in the clan. But his mannerisms said otherwise.

“Anyway, we’re really off track, huh?” she pointed out. “Where do we start?”

Sooga looked around the room, as though he were searching for something. He then began to walk around, scanning over each shelf before returning to her side. “Nothing within this room is organized,” he revealed, his annoyance clear as he spoke. “We’ll just have to pick a spot to start in.”

Sighing disappointedly, Rose gestured to the shelf nearest to where they stood. “We can start here, I guess.”

Sooga nodded. “If you find any records of clan members, spies, or enemies, pull them aside to be looked through.”

“Okay,” she then reached for the first book on the shelf. Examining it, Rose found that it was an extremely detailed list of herbal medicines. “Not what we’re looking for, but this is pretty useful information,” she said, putting the journal aside. 

“Please do not set aside every book that you find interesting,” Sooga mumbled. “That will create a bigger mess.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighed, reaching for the next book. Nothing.

At least ten more minutes went by of them finding absolutely nothing, until Sooga finally did. 

“Here’s some records,” he announced, flipping through the pages. “Though these are centuries old. Probably wouldn’t be useful.”

“Set it aside anyway,” Rose suggested. “My family name dates back centuries, from what I was told.”

And then, back to finding nothing. Rose had no clue how much time had passed by now, but she was certain it had been close to two hours. Yawning, she put the book she’d been holding back where she found it, wiping the dust off of her hands. 

“Should we come back tomorrow?” She yawned again. “I’m exhausted.”

“As am I. Though perhaps we should start earlier in the day.”

“But don’t you have to keep evaluating me?” She asked. 

Sooga nodded, letting out a yawn himself. “I do. Although there isn’t much left to assess.”

“Oh, good,” she breathed. 

Sooga unhooked the torch from where it was anchored to the wall, putting out the other flames within the room with the wave of his hand.

“What the- what kind of technique is that?!”

“A simple one,” he replied, “though I’ll teach it to you another day.”

“Hmm, okay,” she shrugged, following him up the stairs and out of the library. “Tomorrow?”

“Fine,” Sooga agreed, continuing up the stairs. “But afterwards we’re only focusing on assessing your skills. Nothing else.” 

“Not even-“

“No.”

Sighing, Rose smiled. She could see why Master Kohga went out of his way to tease Sooga so much. But, she didn’t wish to disrespect him; so she would refrain from doing it. For now, at least.

By noon the following day, Sooga was nearly complete with assessing Rose. Though not before teaching her the ancient art technique of putting out flames; as soon as she’d awakened for the day, she was begging him to teach her it. But after that was out of the way, he’d had her try out a vicious sickle, demon carver, and a windcleaver. She’d mastered the use of all three within mere minutes. Though it seemed the windcleaver felt more natural to her. He’d have to modify one to fit her better, as the standard-sized ones for blademasters were a bit long for her shorter frame. But that was a simple task; still, he’d leave it for another day. 

He’d also had her practice throwing kunai at various targets he’d set up. She’d done great the first time, and did even better when blindfolded. Rose’s ability to sense things with her energy was astounding. The blademasters were hardly capable of such a feat, and she’d somehow taught herself the technique to perfection. 

The last thing on his assessment list was hand-to-hand combat. Although not necessary for going out into the field, Sooga still wished to see if this was yet another thing she’d perform amazingly. 

“I’d like you to demonstrate your hand-to-hand combat skills, against me,” Sooga informed her. 

Rose looked rather panicked. “Wh-why? You guys don’t do that sort of stuff-“

“It’s good for training,” Sooga answered. “Now, if you do not mind, remove any loose clothing.” 

Then she looked extremely panicked. “Uh, okay…”

Timidly, Rose reached for the small pink bow she wore around the obi of her short kimono. She looked up at him, hesitantly. Understanding, Sooga turned away, focusing on removing the spikes, belts and armor from his uniform. 

After a moment, Rose stepped over onto the training mat, within his line of sight. Nearly every part of her outfit was gone, save for the sleeveless, cropped turtleneck she wore as well as her shorts.  Her chocolate-colored hair was also completely tied back now, rather than only being half-up. Averting his eyes, Sooga fought with himself to not stare at the sight of her. 

Though she clearly seemed bashful still, she looked him up and down. “It’s odd seeing you without all the… extra stuff. Do you ever wear casual clothing?”

“Do you?” He retorted.

“This is my casual clothing,” she gestured to herself. “I just… don’t usually allow others to see it.”

“Usually? Who’s the exception?” Why would he ask such a question? And why did he feel… negatively when she’d said ‘usually’?

“You,” she hummed. “And I guess the Great Fairies, too. But that’s it.”

And now he felt relieved? How ridiculous. Was Rose secretly a witch? How else would she have managed to make him feel so odd all the time? Disregarding the childish thought, Sooga decided to answer her question. “I do have casual clothing, though, since you’re clearly so curious.”

“Well you are too,” she pouted. “And you’re the one who was saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’, or whatever.”

“Indeed I was. Perhaps we’ll both die soon, then.” He replied. 

Rose giggled at that. A delightful sound. “We’ll go down together, yeah?” 

“If you so wish... Now- let’s get started before any more time is wasted.” He stepped up onto the mat, standing parallel to her. “Have you ever fought in this way before?”

“No,” she admitted. “I’ve never had anyone to train with before.”

“Then I shall teach you,” he reassured her. “You have excellent instincts, and are already a master in other combat forms. Use that knowledge in this, only, instead of a blade, your body is the weapon.”

She nodded, waiting for his next instructions. He got into a stance, “mirror my form. I’ll allow you to throw the first punch.”

She studied the way he stood for a moment, and then quickly copied him. But then she didn’t move.

“…you’ll go easy, right?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I’ll never harm you, Rose. I swear it.”

Giving him a hesitant smile, she then refocused, looking over him again. Presumably, she was eyeing spots where she could strike. After a short moment, she breathed in deeply, and swung her fist towards his ribs. Quickly, Sooga blocked her with his forearm, but did nothing more. He’d let her continue practicing her hits until she seemed more confident.

She aimed for his jaw, next. And just as he had before, Sooga evaded her. Ducking, her fist flew over his head but he did feel it briefly collide with his hair. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, getting back into stance. 

Her next move was to try kicking him. She pulled her leg back, swinging it around her frame and up towards his side. Just before it could collide, though, Sooga caught her leg within his hands and forced it still. If he hadn’t been wearing gloves…

Rose’s face turned pink-ish, and Sooga hastily let go of her leg as she wobbled, unbalanced. Regaining her footing, she then aimed for his ribs again. 

Though he still blocked her, she became less hesitant and increased her movements with ease. And after a moment, Sooga began throwing his own punches; only he put hardly any strength into them, out of fear that she’d be unable to block or dodge. 

But Rose matched his pace, and he could see in her eyes that she was becoming confident. Exactly what he’d wanted to see. They continued moving, only now Rose was beginning to move around him, trying to get some attacks in from behind.

She’d managed to hit him a couple of times, though it was nothing that would slow Sooga down. 

“I’d like to add a new rule,” he then grunted out as they kept moving. “If you can knock me down, and keep me down for ten seconds, you win the round.”

“Same for you?” She asked, glancing up at his mask for a second. 

“Yes.” 

Without warning, she swung her leg around again, but with much more force. It hit his side, and although he was thrown off, he was proud to see her improvement. 

Clearly, Rose had intended to distract him. Taking her chance, she leaped against him, throwing her entire weight against his body. The force of it caused him to slip, and with a thud, his back hit the mat beneath them. 

Rose, going down with Sooga, ended up with a much softer landing as she fell against him. But she didn’t stop to celebrate just yet, as she used as much force as she could to keep him down. He began counting internally. One, two, three…

Then he fought back, pushing against her. But Rose didn’t relent. Four, five, six…

She was beginning to struggle, but remained determined as ever. Seven, eight, nine…

But before Rose could claim her victory, the door to the room burst open, a blademaster running in. “Lord Sooga!”

With a yelp of surprise, Rose practically flew off of him, landing on her bottom beside where he lay. Jumping to his feet, Sooga stared angrily at the blademaster. Why was he interrupting?!

“M-monsters! Invading the hideout!” The blademaster cried, after pausing at the scene he’d walked in on. “We need your assistance, Lord Sooga,” he then bowed deeply.

Huffing, Sooga hastily put all of his belts and armor back on, before tying his swords to their spots against his waist belt. “Rose, stay here. But prepare yourself to fight in case you are needed.”

She nodded, an embarrassed look on her face. She had just lost her victory, after all. He was mad for her, really. But he quickly forgot all about it, knowing a more important task was at hand. Giving her a nod, Sooga then followed the blademaster out of the room. 

Tying the large, pink bow into place against her back, Rose fought hard to not panic. She was less worried about the monsters, but more so about what that blademaster would think about the way she and Sooga had been positioned when he’d walked in. What if he told the others? Cursing, Rose pulled her boots back on. Could it ruin her reputation if he did? Would she go from being the warrior they all feared to becoming a joke? And forget her reputation; what about Sooga’s?! No. She needed to calm down. With the monster ambush, that blademaster would probably forget about the whole incident. The only people who would remember any of it would be her and Sooga.

Picking up her katana and tucking it into its spot against her waist, Rose became frustrated. Why did things like this happen with Sooga?! Was it purely because he was the first male she’d ever been around so often? Before joining the clan, she was really only ever around the Great Fairies. Any other men she interacted with had been in a professional way, due to her bounty hunting work. Sooga was the only man she’d ever befriended. Surely, that’s just how it was? Fate wasn’t playing some cruel joke on her, was it? 

Groaning, Rose wished she could forget the whole ordeal. But, knowing her mind better than anyone, she knew it wouldn’t let her forget this. This was going to be the next thing to cause her to lose sleep, for sure. 

Just before she could continue pacing around the room, though, the door opened again as Sooga returned. That was quick.

“The monsters have been dealt with,” he sighed, removing his dual swords. “Although new traps will have to be built.”

Rose simply stood there, giving a nod to acknowledge that she’d heard him. 

“We should get back to the library.”

“But- isn’t there more to assess?” She questioned, fearing she’d have to go through all that again.

“No. If it hadn’t been for the monsters, you would’ve won. You still need practice, but I’m impressed with your skills regardless.”

“Oh,” she then smiled, just a small bit. “Thanks.”

Sooga nodded, waving her over as he turned away to leave the room. 

—

After looking through dozens of shelves for hours on end, Rose was upset to see that between her and Sooga’s searching, they’d only found a total of two clansmen records. One of which being the book they’d found the night before. 

“Don’t you think it would be a better idea to send some other soldiers down here while we're away?” Rose wondered aloud, frowning as she found yet another book about extinct monsters. How long had the hideout been here, anyway? These books were centuries old, and half of the creatures in the book were unrecognizable, nowhere near related to any of the ones that remained in present day Hyrule. Sooga had mentioned that the Gerudo excavated this place, but not when. 

“I cannot trust that they wouldn’t overlook anything,” Sooga replied, pulling out a set of papers bound together by string. “Like this-“

Handing the set of papers to Rose, she quickly skimmed through it. A battle report, but from the looks of it, it was at least two hundred years old. “There’s nothing here.”

“Look closer.”

Overlooking the papers again, something then stood out to Rose. 

“Soldier name: Zok Hana-“

Part of the last name had faded away, and was ineligible. But the first half clearly read ‘Hana’. Rose’s eyebrows popped up a small bit. “Do you think their name was Hanako?” She asked, looking up at where Sooga stood.

“The amount of space it takes up would align with it,” he said. “Though not a confirming piece, it is still evidence that somebody within your family may have been a part of the clan.”

She nodded in agreement. “I guess so. But still, we need something more… solid.”

“Indeed.” 

Setting the papers into the pile of records set aside, Rose returned to the shelf she’d been looking through. 

After five more books of nothing, she sighed. “Can we at least talk while we do this? I may go insane otherwise.”

“That wouldn’t be good,” Sooga chuckled. “But fine. What do you wish to talk about?”

“Hmm,” Rose clicked her tongue as she thought. “Can you tell me more about your past? It doesn’t have to be anything major, if you don’t wanna share that.”

“Only if you do the same,” he replied.

“Fine by me,” Rose shrugged, putting another book back into the shelf. “Did you have any siblings?”

“I didn’t,” Sooga answered. “My mother fell ill when I was small, so my parents couldn’t have any more children.”

“Oh,” Rose felt a little bad now. “I’m sorry…”

“It is fine. Though, she died a few years later,” he added, voice much more quiet. 

A pang of sadness beat within Rose’s heart. “How old were you?” 

“Eleven.”

Rose felt a heaviness in the air. He had been so young, just like herself. She wished she could hug him, but Sooga would probably reject that. 

“And your father?”

“Died the year after; he succumbed to his grief. But in the end, I’m content with how things happened, as it led me to the clan.”

“Oh, I see,” she flipped through a journal. The person’s writing was incredibly sloppy, making it hard to read. It seemed to be spy reports, though. Useless.

“I assume you also are an only-child, as you have not mentioned a sibling,” Sooga then indirectly asked, his voice sounding like it usually did now.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It was just me, although there were plenty of other kids in the village.”

“Have you been back there?” 

“No,” Rose admitted. “I don’t think I can go back,” she added, voice growing weaker.

“I understand,” Sooga moved onto the next shelf, now standing closer to Rose. “I never went back, either.”

“There’s nothing left for either of us,” she muttered. “I think you and I are more alike than we realize, Sooga.”

“I agree,” he turned to look at her. For some reason it made her stomach flutter. “I suppose we’ll discover more the longer we’re stuck down here.”

She laughed. “As much as I’d like to learn all about you, I don’t think I can handle being down here for that long.” 

“Of course not. But we also don’t have to be down here to learn those things, do we?”

“Guess not,” she hummed. “You just seem to open up more here.”

Sooga didn’t reply. Instead, he looked back to the shelf and pulled out more books to search through. Rose decided she’d ask the next question, then.

“So, on a more wholesome note,” she joked, “what’s your favorite color?”

“I prefer the deeper shades of red,” he answered. “And yours is quite clearly pink.”

She laughed again. “What? How’d you guess?” Sarcasm practically dripped from her tone. 

“Just a feeling,” he bantered. “Obviously your room and clothing have nothing to do with it.”

Smiling as she laughed, Rose continued with another question; “I know it’s more of a girl thing, but, favorite flower?” 

Sooga paused, causing Rose to raise an eyebrow. What was so complicated about flowers? She turned her head to face him, a bit surprised to see him staring directly at her. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she simply knew he was looking directly into hers.

“Roses,” he quietly said, his tone… odd. She couldn’t describe it.

But she could describe the way it made her feel. It was like her throat was tightening up all the while butterflies swarmed her stomach. Face heated, Rose averted her eyes down to her shoes. “…That’s nice.”

What the hell did he mean by that?! Something about the way he’d spoken felt so… personal. Not wanting to overthink it, Rose told herself it was just because of his mother liking them too. That had to be it, right?

“What about yours?” He then asked.

“Oh, um…” she looked back up at him. “I like cherry blossoms. There’s a tree of them that grows on Satori Mountain.”

“I’ve seen it before, from afar,” Sooga returned to looking through the shelf. 

“Maybe I’ll bring you to see it up close, someday?” She suggested.

“We’ll see.”

Excusing himself back to his quarters after dinner, Sooga felt a frustration growing within him. Something was certainly wrong with him, and Rose was the cause of it all. When they’d been down in the library, and he’d told her of his favorite flower, he’d felt so… anxious. His heart had begun to beat faster, and he’d felt so weak, as though the sight of Rose would cause him to collapse. And when he’d said the word ‘roses’, he’d pictured her in his mind rather than the thorned flower.

Pulling his mask off, Sooga huffed as he ran a hand over his face. He needed a shower.

With haste, he detached all of the belts and armor pieces from his uniform before stripping himself of it, tossing it into a woven laundry basket. He’d wash it later. Just like he needed to wash his mind free of any thought of Rose. Taking his hair down and stepping into the washroom, he felt that he couldn’t understand it; it was like every moment of his life, she was always present in his mind. Even when he slept, she’d be there in his dreams. He couldn’t escape her. Suddenly the room felt too hot, as her laughter echoed in his head, along with the way she’d bring a hand to her lips when she did so. Or how she had looked when he had taught her hand-to-hand combat earlier. The pinks of her kimono complimented her well, but the sight of her pale skin against the dark clothing she wore under the dress was something else. And her hair. Tied up in that pretty pink bow, swirls of deep brown bouncing and swaying with her every movement; how mesmerizing it was to watch.

Feeling his face burning up, Sooga grabbed onto the sink vanity, cursing under his breath. He couldn’t take it anymore. What was she doing to him?! Looking up at the mirror to see the mess he’d become, Sooga shook his head. The first thing he’d need to do tomorrow would be to talk to Master Kohga. Surely, he’d be able to help him just as he could with everything else.

—

After showering, Sooga found that it didn’t really do much to relax him. Even now, in an exhausted state as he brushed through his long black hair, the thought of Rose plagued his mind. He’d need to meditate if he wanted to get any sort of sleep tonight. As he set the brush down, he moved to sit crossed-legged on his bed, taking in a deep breath to begin meditating. 

Only he didn’t get very far at all as a knocking against the door interrupted him. 

Sighing, he got up and quickly pulled on a tank top and put his mask on, before opening the door.

It was Rose. Of course it was. 

Her blue eyes widened a bit upon seeing him. He couldn’t blame her, though. This was the first time she was seeing him in anything besides his uniform. She stood frozen for a moment, before Sooga awkwardly cleared his throat, and then she seemed to remember why she’d come.

“Um, I know this might seem strange,” she started, voice seeming uncertain as she spoke. “But… I wanted to show you something.”

“You… what?” He stuttered, confused as ever. What could she possibly show him at this hour?

“Is it okay if I come in?” She then asked. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“…fine,” he sucked in a deep breath, opening the door all the way and stepping aside for her to enter. 

Rose glanced around the room, but she seemed fairly indifferent to his decor. After shutting the door behind her, Sooga crossed his arms and waited.

Holding out a hand, Rose’s palm began to glow pink. And from the air above it, vines began to grow. They twirled around, forming into a stem that the top of then sprouted into a little red bud, which finally blossomed into a rose. As soon as it had fully formed, the glowing stopped and Rose caught the flower between her fingers. 

“I was thinking about what you’d said, about your mother and favorite flower,” she confessed. “So I want you to have this,” she held it out to him. 

He took it, finding that the stem was completely thornless. Inspecting it, it certainly looked like any other ordinary rose. The fact she could create such a thing out of thin air amazed him.

“It won’t ever die,” she then informed him. “As long as I’m alive, that is… but still,” she smiled.

“Thank you,” he managed to say, a smile forming behind the mask. “I’ll cherish it forever.”

Rose continued to smile, but her energy felt awkward again. Putting her hands behind her back, she swayed back and forth. “Um… I guess I’ll go now.” 

“Right,” Sooga moved to open the door again, holding it ajar. “Again, thank you, Rose. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” she said as she stepped past him and out the door. 

“Goodnight,” he returned, slowly shutting the door while she walked the five feet back to her own room.

When he heard the clicking of her door shutting, Sooga then fully closed his, and reexamined the flower. Removing his mask, he brought it up to his nose, finding it indeed smelled just like a real rose. It grazed his lips as he lowered it, and he sighed again. 

Placing it on his wooden nightstand, Sooga then pulled his tank top off, leaving him in just his sweatpants. Returning to his meditating position, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, relaxing every muscle in his body. 

Now, to finally clear his mind. 

[axisjr]

TIMING: August 3rd, 2023 PARTIES: Nora @honeysmokedham & Thea @notstinky LOCATION: The Crypt of Annalise Bellowmore SUMMARY: Thea decides Nora NEEDS to have a clean crypt and she's going to make it happen. Nora's just trying to be okay. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

The thing about chapels was that they didn’t have a doorbell. Thea felt wrong inviting herself inside, but she justified it by thinking of the chapel as an apartment lobby and Nora’s apartment was just down a very narrow set of stairs. She dragged her clothing rack down the stairs, tucking the stack of hangers under one arm and her broom under the other. The bow she had put on the rack so the present appeared more dressed up, had fallen off in the chapel somewhere. It was too late to go back for it. “Nora?” She called out. “Nora? Is that…is someone crying?” It was probably some recording Nora had to add to the atmosphere but Thea had to admit, the crypt had great acoustics. Why wasn’t Nora hosting karaoke nights down here? 

Nora was more paint than human, bear, whatever she was supposed to identify as, at this point. Her crypt has steadily been growing into a collection of stolen art supplies, and now, after her return from the mines, she had thrown herself into the art of creation. The only time such an act was more valuable than its sister, destruction, was when her brush touched canvas and the world stopped to exist. The world didn’t stop existing. The clattering sound of metal on stone steps brought Nora to an attention that not even the crying Munch doll could have. “Thea?” She had invited the other over, but Nora wasn’t used to people accepting invites to her crypt. This was her first official visitor. Nora extracted herself from her place in front of the canvas and moved through the empty space to the door. Babadook following close on her heels. “I told you not to buy anything.” It was a poor thanks for a gift that was so thoughtful. “Thanks.” Nora helped, tried to help with the rack and getting it into the main part of the crypt since Thea had her hands full. “Welcome to my crypt.” It was really one large room, everything in view once you got to the main area. “This is Babadook,” Nora nodded a chin to her dog. “Then Munch is the one crying, over there.” She pointed. “He’s a sad clown. I think its his thing to cry.”

Thea wanted to be polite. She didn’t say that Nora’s crypt-house smelled like dirt, dust, mold and paint— like the wet rotting corpse of an artist had crawled into the stone. She didn’t say the cobwebs were unsightly or that she didn’t exactly think it was safe for Nora’s horrifying cosplay dog to be in a space with snakes and spiders. As she did with everything else in her life, Thea focused on the positives. It was cool down here despite the summer heat and all the spiders must have been fun to watch crawl around. It was a unique place to live and, certainly, very Nora. “Hello, Babadook— we met last time, actually. I’m happy to see him in his costume again.” When the rack was settled, Thea busied herself with setting the hangers up for Nora to use, hoping that her clothes would get out of the pile on the ground and somewhere clean. She thought about the scene from Mary Poppins during ‘A Spoonful Of Sugar’ where Julie Andrews snaps and all the clothes and mess goes back into place. When she snapped, the best she got was a spider shifting on one of its many hairy legs on a web that was a little too close to her face. Thea wasn’t even going to say anything about the floating clown doll, that was, in fact, the source of the crying. 

“Were you painting, Nora?” Thea asked, picking up her broom. She had a lot of work to do— the crypt was more dirt than stone. And she wasn’t going to ask about the floating clown doll. “I am a little confused about what you do with the paint smells.” She was not confused, one sniff to the air told her exactly what Nora did with the paint smells. She was not going to ask about the crying, floating clown doll. “It’s not entirely healthy to breathe them in all the time.” She was not going to ask about the doll. “I also wonder about what you do with food… do you have a fridge or…” She wasn’t going to do it. She wasn’t going to— “How are you doing that?” She pointed at the floating clown doll, asking. “Is it on strings? Does it have a speaker? It’s moving like it’s actually floating. Is it magnets? It’s magnets, isn’t it?” 

"Oh right." Last time. Nora knew there had been a last time. Because it had been the first time Thea and she had hung out. It had been the start of their friendship, and the day that Thea had become damned for her association with Nora. Because last time was before Debbie. Last time had been before the phantom memory of the pressure it took to plunge her knife into Debbie's skull haunted her hand. Nora blinked, at the realization that last time had been a lifetime ago. Suddenly a new guilt was weighing her down. Why hadn't she been checking on Thea. Why hadn't she been apologizing to the girl who hadn't even wanted to break into a supermarket that day? Why was she letting that same innocent Thea, come into her crypt and clean it. Because Nora had already proven that she was a black hole, taking and taking, and Thea had already proven that she was better. Nora stood there, a statue as she tried to find the words. How've you've been since Debbie? Are you okay? Are we okay? Please don't clean. Please just be here as my friend. 

But words had never been her friend, and each imagined sentence never made it past the lump in her throat. 

And Thea was talking. Wonderful, kind, thoughtful Thea didn't question the black hole consuming everything she was giving without returning anything. Thea didn't stop and ask why she was carrying the conversation along with the burden of friendship. Nora swallowed back the lump in her throat and forced he voice to croak out a "Yeah.' She had been painting. It was a self-portrait of crystals consuming Nora's body, a successor to Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son. Because just like Goya, a madness overtook her in this art. An escape from the truth. 

"I don't have any ventilation." Nora kept forcing the words past the lump, begging it to disappear back inside her. Let her deal with it later. Let Thea be free from this extra burden. "No. Maybe I should get a fan." But wouldn't the fan only flow it around the crypt? It wasn't like the paint fumes would escape. "I don't have a fridge. I don't normally eat here." Then Thea was pointing at Munch, who was still sobbing. The crying clown doll was perfect for him. How Sofie hadn't noticed that there was a ghost in there was beyond her. "It's possessed. We talked about it. You can touch him if you want, but he'll punch you." 

Microplumes of dust flew up under Thea’s rocking broom. Her gaze was fixed on the magnetic clown doll. Possessed, Nora kept saying, as if it was a state of being that made sense for a doll. Thea was possessed, in the metaphorical— the only way that word could be used and mean something. Grief possessed her, memories haunted her, her body was hollowed out like the sort of fake rock her father put their spare set of keys in, thinking no one would ever look inside. Sometimes, even Thea lost that rock in the sea of real ones. She’d have to pick each of them up and shaking, waiting until she heard a ratting. No one had stopped shaking Thea. Thea was possessed, the doll was just a trick of science. Thea approached the doll. 

Thea was always a curious person, as a child, if a question struck her in the night, she couldn’t sleep until it was answered. The world was a massive, horrifying jumble of mysteries and questions; if she understood it just a little, just enough, nothing was scary anymore. Everything became normal. She ran her hands along the side, hoping she’d feel the magnetic pull on her bracelet and be down with her questions. Nothing. She tried underneath. Nothing. She tried on top. Nothing. Behind. Nothing. Thea poked it. The doll’s hand snapped out and punched her in the nose and Thea stumbled back; it wasn’t that the doll was a particularly heavy hitter, it was some mixture of confusion, fear, and the embarrassment of being punched by a floating clown doll. When she spun, regaining her footing, she opened her eyes to find Nora’s self-portrait. Thea shrieked; fear pulsed off of her in heavy waves. 

Thea snapped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry, it, um…” She swallowed, lowering her hands. “It’s a very visceral painting. It, um, for a moment…I really thought that was you. It felt like you were really…” Thea’s gaze dropped to it. “….consumed by crystals.” She turned to the doll, still floating, still a clown. “H-how did you program it to punch me? How did…” Thea turned around again. “Nora, this…” she gestured around. “…isn’t normal, is it?”  

It was weird seeing Thea come into her home with the intent of cleaning it. As if it was something Nora should want. It made Nora examine her living space with new eyes. There had been a joy in the reclamation of herself, and space, with the lack of care. A direct pull into doing the opposite of everything she’d been told to do her whole life. Keep herself clean. Keep herself presentable. Become approachable. Now her personal hygiene, the state of her home, everything about her had become a rebellious statement against that. But Thea cared. Thea cared enough to bring a broom and a clothing rack and clean up a place she’d never considered worth cleaning before. 

Luckily Thea became distracted by Munch. With Thea bothering the doll instead of sweeping, Nora got to forget the uncomfortable feeling that came with watching the back and forth of the broom. As if the broom was more than just a broom, but what the broom stood for was something she couldn’t put her finger on. Nora blinked once. Twice. Three times as Thea moved her hand around Munch until Munch punched her. Right in the nose. “Brutal.” Nora mumbled. “Munch stop, she’s a fucking guest. You can’t just go around fucking punching people.” The ghost was shouting, the ghost was in a temper. Munch was always in a temper. Nora suspected his temper was how he became a ghost in the first place. 

Thea was screaming and Nora was feasting. A tasty little snack. A treat for Nora. She walked over to stand next to Thea, tilting her head at her unfinished portrait and trying to imagine how Thea saw it. “Are you sure it wasn’t being punched by a ghost that scared you?” Nora questioned, but Thea still didn’t believe in ghosts. “I didn’t program Munch to do anything.” The sad clown ghost had flown off to a different part of the crypt to cry, and Nora kept staring at the self-portrait parsing through what Thea had said about it. The crystals had consumed her. “It was me.” Nora agreed finally. It was still the me she wanted to be. “You know those weird crystals that sprouted all around town?” Nora gestured to one that had popped up in her crypt. A large space was left around it. “If you touch it, that’s what happens. You receive the “blessing” and you become a crystal.”

The world spun and Thea stood unmoving— left-behind. The first time she saw the grainy footage of her bones shattering and fusing together into the hulking frame of a wolf monster, she’d felt much of the same. It wasn’t a new feeling then; every time a ‘bad day’ turned to days and even opening her curtains felt like too much of a chore, time stretched to swallow her. It wasn’t a new feeling now. The only thing that tethered her to reality was Nora, whose contorted face in the painting knotted Thea’s stomach with concern. Nora was hard to read and her painted face was no different; it was the words that Thea clung to. There was no blessing in the world that involved the transformation of the body into other: not a wolf, not a crystal. Thea knew that Nora didn’t adhere to the conventions of normal like she did, nor did Nora seem to find comfort in the idea, but she did understand transformation. “Did it hurt?” She asked, turning to face Nora. “When I…” Thea gulped. She glanced over at Munch, the magnetic programmable clown doll that was not possessed, because ghosts didn’t exist. Her nose throbbed. She glanced around her: all the dust and cobwebs and gray stonework. Finally, she looked back at the painting and into the crystals that couldn’t have literally consumed Nora, because crystals didn’t do that. Well, if they were going to talk nonsense, what did it matter? 

“When I transform, my bones snap and my skin stretches and—I don’t really remember it much, mostly I just feel it after, everything hurts and sometimes I just lay down for a few hours waiting for my legs to feel like legs again but—it’s like…” Thea swallowed, searching Nora’s impassive face for understanding. “It feels wrong. When I wake up… My body feels wrong. It feels like something bad happened to me and everything feels wrong. I don’t feel like me anymore, it feels like someone else crawled inside and shook everything up. And just when I start to feel like me again, it happens all over.” Thea pointed at the painting; her grip tightened on the broom’s handle. “W-was that how it felt for you?” 

A pause in time to consider the question. Did it hurt? “Yes.” Physically Nora had thought she was dying. She had ripped flesh off her face to reveal crystal underneath. Her body had torn in new ways as the crystals popped through her flesh. It had been brutal and drawn out. Answering the question, did it hurt, wasn’t what it took time to consider. What Nora considered was it didn’t hurt enough to stop. If her mind would remain her own she would touch the crystals everyday for the rest of her life to become that, become her, the portrait on her easel. Or maybe the real pain was emotional. Being given the gift of your dreams with a burden attached to it, too heavy to accept. A carrot dangled in front of her face by a master who wanted a different beast. “It hurt.” Could three words encompass the experience? Could they tie the turmoil up in a nice bow, and offer it as a shared experience? Were words that powerful?

Nora might have gotten lost there, in her own thoughts, had she not offered a shocking new turn of conversation. When I transform. The hair raised along Nora’s arms at the confession. Thea was a shifter? There had always been something animalistic about her scent, but Nora had ignored it. Part of Thea’s job, or something. She was sensitive about her smell, there had never been a reason to ask, but the picture was coming into focus. “You’re a shifter.” There was nothing in Nora’s voice. No judgment. No acceptance. Just the plain neutrality that her monotone always offered. “When the crystals transformed me it was long. I felt like I was dying.” Or had that only been the banshee’s lie that put the thought in her head? “When I turn into a bear, it’s a moment. My body breaks and remakes. Then I’m me again. As a bear.” Nora blinked as she digested the words Thea had offered. “You don’t-” She paused, trying to make sure she had this right. “You make it sound like you don’t remember when you’re shifted? What do you change to?”

“Shifter?” Thea felt the word in her mouth, the weight of each syllable and the curve of her tongue around the sounds. The word was new for her; she assumed--if she was going to assume she was anything--that she was a werewolf. It made sense to her, based on the grainy footage of her sleepwalking camera. Like most things regarding her issue, she didn’t really think about it. “I’m not a shifter,” she swallowed, scratching her forehead, leaving behind pink streaks across her skin. “I’m not a--I’m me. I’m not anything. I’m just me. I’m a normal girl. I’m a normal girl with a little problem.” The broom trembled in her grip, her fingers tight against the plastic rod. “B-bear?” Thea blinked. “Bear?” She asked again, as if the answer could change. She wasn’t a bear, her grainy recorded body was too slim and her mouth too dog-like. She knew there were big cats, like Felix, and now bears? Why had she gotten a wolf? The broom snapped in her hands. “D-do you eat people? Does the bear eat people?” 

The conversation about crystals seemed far off. She didn’t know what crystals had to do with Nora--what they had to do with the bear. She wanted to ask how different each had felt; if the crystals hurt but made her whole again or if it was just the bear that did that. Thea couldn’t get anything out but a series of hiccups and gasps. “I don’t remember,” she croaked. “Only a little. Sometimes. But I know…I know because…” Her trembling body didn’t care for the breathing exercises she attempted to employ; in, out, hold, in, out, none of it mattered. Her throat tightened. “...hair between my teeth and blood under my nails and I feel full. Inside. I feel full.” Thea sucked in a quivering breath. “It happens with the moon. I don’t know what it is. I’m normal, I’m a normal girl. It just--with the moon.”

With each stuttering word, and trembling finger Thea seemed to crumble. A shell of anxiety and emotion. Fear radiated off her friend, mixing with denial and apprehension. The broom snapped. A similar sound to her bones, their bones during shifting. Nora blinked at Thea, puzzling through the fractured broken sentences that had yet to shift into something complete. They lay wounded and open between the two of them while Nora waited for their transformation to complete. With each additional statement from Thea a form began to shape and Nora began to understand. Compassion, love or something of the like bloomed over Nora as she saw her friend painted in a new light before her. A girl alone and scared in a world that no longer made sense. A story she thought might be familiar to many of the werewolves she’d met, but they would have to know other werewolves to know it was familiar. With each panicked and hurt word, Nora felt herself become calmer and more resolved. How could she be angry about crystals and the mines in the face of her friend’s turmoil?

Nora stepped forward to her friend who just confessed to have eaten people. To her friend who didn’t want to be stinky. To her friend that had come over to clean Nora’s place because she wanted to. To her friend that had once told her she would die on the hill that nothing is a lost cause. Nora’s hand reached out, gently placing it on Thea’s arm. “You’re just Thea.” Nora confirmed. Because what else did you tell your friend who could turn into a wolf and ate people, but couldn’t remember it. “Normal can be different things. Normal can be turning into a bear or a wolf. Normal can be what we make it.” When Nora had been alone, she wished there had been someone else like her. Someone who ate fear and turned into a bear and could show her what her normal was supposed to be. Nora wasn’t a wolf, but she could make sure her friend knew she wasn’t alone. “You can be normal and the wolf. Just like I’m normal and the bear. We’re just us. You know?”

Thea whimpered, the sound caught in her throat and left a watery sob. Tears stung at the edges of her red eyes and when Nora touched her, the dam broke and they rained down her face. All her life she had wanted to be normal. She was too poor to be like the other girls in her school, her shoes had holes in them and her clothes came down from her older cousins. She was too smart to be average in class, which hadn’t felt like a curse until every hand she raised threw a series of daggers into her back and whispers burning her ears. She liked girls too much to join in on conversations about boy bands and movie star heartthrobs. No matter what she did, she was different. She was born different. Normal could be what they made it; Nora made it sound easy and Thea wanted to believe her. “C-can I hug you?” She sniffled. The second the affirmative left Nora’s lips, Thea threw her arms around her friend and held her tightly. 

She breathed in her scent of dust and mold; felt the scratchy fabric of her clothes with dubious laundry schedule; and felt more at home holding Nora than she’d felt under any roof. “You’re a good friend,” Thea whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry I tried to clean your crypt; it’s just you and I like you and I don’t want to clean you up and turn you into something else.” She’d only been trying to take care of her a little but truly, through the fog of her lies, she’d been hoping to make Nora a little more normal and she was sorry for that. “We’re just us,” she repeated, “we’re just us.”

They were a bear and a wolf and somewhere behind them a floating crying clown doll that was definitely possessed, and that was okay. That could be normal. It was only the two of them and their life and it was normal. 

[powereddonut]

"Love's Web Unwoven" I

Peter Parker is adorable, a puppy, really. He’s loyal and unwavering in his high morals. He treats everyone equally, doesn't discriminate no matter who they or you are. He believes anyone can change, but that could just be a flaw of his too. He wants to comfort those around him even when he needs it. And most of all, he loves doing the right thing, not because he may get a “thank you” in return, but because it's the right thing. 

“He’s perfect! Everything that any female would like.”

“Yeah, but you're not a female.”

“Well, uh, okay, I know that.”

“And you're like two years younger than him.”

“I-I know that too.”

“And! You are totally not his type! He's so into smaller dudes–”

“Shut up!” Cody finally shouts, an embarrassed blush crawling past his collarbone. He quickly looks around Friar’s Coffee, suddenly aware of the time and place. Turning around, he awkwardly waves to a couple in the booth behind him.

His “best friend,” Sam, snickers while sipping from his blue mug. Cody whips his head to the ginger who meets his gaze unwaveringly. Scoffing, he bites into his chocolate croissant.

It's quiet, his mind racing with thoughts about his crush– whether they're fit to be together or not. It's a dilemma he’s had for years, ever since he got out of high school, left his parent’s house, and met Peter at Empire State University. They worked on projects together when Cody had no one who wanted to partner with him, they studied (and cried) together when finals loomed over their heads, and they searched for internships together just before graduation. Peter means everything to him because they’ve been through it all, struggled through it all. Cody was even there when MJ broke up with him! That's the first time he saw Peter truly hurt, then angry, and then sad. So many emotions in a matter of a few days – he is truly something. Maybe that's when he figured he doesn't know much about Peter Parker, or that Peter Parker doesn't know much about him.

At that, he wipes the crumbs from the corner of his mouth and slouches in his seat. With a pout, he stirs the ice in his sweet tea, watching as it melts, diluting his drink.

Sam starts gathering his belongings, their time limit finally up. Cody lurches forward, gulping the rest of his raspberry tea before slipping on his jacket and joining his friend. He says a departing word to the barista, who smiles, then leaves the warm, conditioned cafe. 

Cody shivers as the autumn’s crisp air tickles his ears and reddens his nose. He buries his face in the fur of his hood, scowling at the sky. He curses the atmosphere, screwing whatever God created the seasons.

“See, that is someone more obtainable,” Sam comments, gesturing to Friar’s.

Cody quirks a brow and briefly looks behind him. Sam guides them across the busy street as he thinks about who he’s talking about. His mouth forms a small ‘o’ and then he’s grimacing.

“Heck no! He’s like, my English professor’s son or something. That is so weird,” Cody sticks his tongue out at the thought of them together. Truthfully, if he were to break the guy’s heart, he doesn't want to face the wrath of his teacher. He can't handle any more readings or stacks of paper.

Sam shrugs, immediately abandoning the topic. They chat about several other things as they make the trek back to their university. What they want for dinner, who's the hottest celebrity, how many hotdogs can they fit in their mouths– all types of stuff. Then, as if on cue, New York’s vigilante appears.

Cody giddily slaps Sam’s shoulder as he tells his story, “So that's why I was thinking of getting back into bass because Peter was astonished when I played a Led Zeppelin song! I think I actually malfunc–”

“Oh my gosh, there he is!”

“Look out, here comes Spider-man!”

“Mom! He’s real!”

Sam gasps and latches onto Cody’s shoulders, “Dude! Be cool, be cool!” he aggressively urges while swinging his friend every which way. Cody’s world spins in circles so he’s unable to witness Spider-man twirl between two trucks and do a summersault through the air.

“What the fuck? Stop! I can't see, you dick!” he pushes Sam’s face out of the way and gapes as the red and blue superhero had disappeared. The crowd of citizens disperse, some talking about Spider-man’s magnificence and others insulting his street cred. For most, it's normal to see Spider-man, but not Cody. All he can do is listen to the stories from passersbys and his campus mates. In fact, he’s never even seen the arachnid, only on social media and the pictures Sam sends him every. Single. Day.

A big smile breaks out on Sam’s face. It's cute and boyish– to an outsider. Cody is feeling spiteful, so he wants to wipe it clean off. Rounding a fire hydrant, he hums and gets in front of the university student, “See, and that is a great example of someone who’s unobtainable. You should aim a lot a bit lower, Sammy,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Sam immediately scowls at him. He jogs to catch up with Cody, who's staring him down.

“Touché, you little shit.”

“My shit’s are quite big, actually.”

Sam recoils in disgust. Cody laughs and adjusts his beanie before it’s smacked off, “You are such a fanboy. What do you expect me to think?”

“I don't have a crush on Spider-man,” is an excuse often used to change the subject, but he's been a tormenting ass for the past week. A little mockery won't hurt him.

Cody ‘pshaws,’ “What a lie. You're always on about Spider-man-this and Spider-man-that,” he changes his stance to mimic Sam’s slim figure and long strides. “‘Oh, did you see Spider-man today? His spandex was hugging his ass juuuuust right. I think I could see his gigantic balls.’”

Sam tugs on Cody’s scarf, urging him to shut his mouth as they are still in public, but the other absolutely refuses.

“You even changed your major to become an entomologist! And you call me crazy for liking a man who is dead-set on changing the world,” Cody grumbles that last part to himself, suddenly annoyed by Sam’s numerous jabs at Peter’s work. Doctor Octavius and Peter have done fine work, even if the mayor doesn’t think so. Getting rid of the bad thoughts, he grins, coming up with more nonsense to spout. “Have you told your girlfriend of your little crush? Oh! There she is now!”

Veronica Page is a lovely young woman with a heart of gold. She’s majoring in molecular biology, is damn good at her job, and has a line of internship employees, just waiting to get their hands on her. She is a born and raised scientist. Why is he going so in-depth about her? Well, maybe because she is his cousin. Wa– no! Not Sam’s cousin– Cody’s cousin. Sheesh…

Anyway, Veronica is someone easily admired, and since they’ve grown together, of course, Cody is one of her fans. They act like siblings (she’s only a year and a half older), competing over tenacity about their aspiring subjects, complaining over matching clothes but overall sticking with the color scheme, and weeping into one another’s shoulders when the world doesn’t play the cards in their hands. Although she can’t know he yearns to be in her shoes – satisfied with a positive future.

Veronica waves to them, a fresh cup of steaming hot chocolate nestled in her right hand. Her afro is colorful today, decorated with meticulously woven braids looped through yellow and pink beads. Any curly strands that would fall onto her lively face are tamed by a stretchy headband with a stylish, boho print pattern. She looks like herself, unlike Cody, who tries to blend in. Veronica is tall and slim, her skin a sepia, reddish-brown, much like the cuttlefish. Her posture is straight, her aura oozing assurances aided further by her radiant smile that exudes warmth and happiness. He would go into her style or the beauty mark directly above her left eyebrow, but he’d ruin his mood.

“Hey, you two! Thought you’d be late again!” her laugh sweeps through their ears, cheerful and vibrant. It instantly has her lover grinning and her cousin straightening his black parka.

Cody loudly sighs, “We would be here sooner if Sammy hadn’t been ogling Spider-man.”

Sam splutters while switching making eye contact with his girlfriend and best friend. Veronica holds back another laugh, completely aware of Sam’s obsession with the vigilante but wanting to play along, pretends to be hurt. 

She wipes fake tears from the corner of her eyes, and making the moment more authentic, they become glassy, so it appears as though she’s going to burst, “How could you, babe?! No– Samuel!”

Sam gawks, astonished by her betrayal, and for a second, convinced by her act, “Wha– No! I-I would never do that, V! I mean, Spider-man is amazing, but he’s got nothing on you!”

That’s another thing. Her eyes hold the rich, earthy tones of roasted coffee beans, drawing you in with a magnetic allure. Veronica is captivating, which is why Cody never introduced Peter to her because, like many others, he would be attracted by her field. A bit much (he knows), but since it’s Veronica, that’s mild.

She pouts, poking out her bottom lip, and makes grabby hands toward Sam. Cody quickly directs his attention elsewhere. He watches a pigeon perch on a lamppost, cumulus clouds calmly drift by, and a plane fly across the sky. Letting the couple be lovey-dovey, Cody retrieves his phone from his coat pocket and goes to a familiar contact. He tentatively checks the message he sent at 10:05 AM, hoping he got a reply from his favorite scientist. He’s less concerned because he wasn’t left on ‘read,’ but that doesn’t mean his mind isn’t racing.

“Cody,” Veronica calls, probably for the third time. The 21-year-old hums, listening but not staring. She rolls her eyes, albeit used to this mode of communication. “Did you finish your presentation for Professor Avery?” she asks unassumingly.

He purses his lips. Veronica always gets onto him about everything, even though he’s been on top of things his entire life. He’s never late to an arranged meeting, doesn’t miss any assignments, completes all tasks ahead of schedule, AND does extra on all projects. Cody doesn’t do it because he wants to be a good student – he is exceptional because that is what gets him what he desires. Veronica acts like he’s a slacker when he tries his best on all endeavors even when no one notices. No one but Peter.

Cody sucks in air between his teeth and stows away his device. He ignores the itchy sensation of his irritation settling on his tongue to address his cousin.

“Yeah, of course. And I’ll have you know–” he smugly reaches inside his beige fanny pack – that he expertly swings over his shoulder – to grab a flash drive. The plastic stick is presented to the duo who are in awe, “I did everything online.”

“Everything?”

“Yup.”

“Online?”

“Yessir.”

“Cody Sangster–”

“That’s me!”

“--used the internet for something that isn’t to send emails or text his family?”

“Ohoho, you know it, baby boy.”

Veronica calmly steps before him and places both her hands on his cheeks. She gives him the most serious expression he has ever seen on her, and it kind of unnerves him in a way, “We have to tell Phillip,” she states before dragging him through the courtyard with Sam in toe.

There is an upside to having her around. Veronica is good at making him feel proud.

[k00299476]

Made a GIF! Digital Editing Using the software called Adobe Photoshop, I had few skills back in the day when I was working on multiple books with animation for Christmas, I find this workshop simple with all the aspects associated in this software. I am very impressed with the Gif and how it turned out.

I placed I photo of my 3d printed onto Photoshop and added some masking layer first. I took a high-quality photo on the Web to give that graphical or more creepiness to the spider. Tutor recommended that I make an animation or a GIF of the spider skin kinda crawling onto him like a Symbiote. So I had to make 120 photos of GIF file with all different movements with numbers aligning 1 to 120, then I stacked it all and created a few seconds video of the GIF

[a-p-walker]

House of Jorogumo: Later that night.

It was dark and wet,

My friends told me, "It'll be fine"

They said, "We know these caves better than anyone,"

I took a wrong turn,

I fell down a hole,

I saw a light,

I crawled toward the light,

and I saw...

The man from the circus.

He was a tall man with scarcely a muscle on his bones,

He wore a black and white striped suit,

and a red top hat, gloves, and shoes.

He twirled and spun slowly,

dancing under a tattered, red and yellow tent nailed

to the cave ceiling.

I took a step back,

my foot betrayed me,

an unmissable crunch of sand.

The dancing ringmaster froze and spun to look at me with his pale white, rubber face.

His eyes were only sockets,

his mouth a black hole,

that whispered in a hissing breath.

"I'm lost, please help me"

He took a slow step forward as I stood frozen in place.

"Come closer. Please help me"

He took another step forward as he flapped his rubbery lips,

"I'm lost, please help me"

Another step, in the glint of light, I saw four eyes reflect in those sockets,

"Come closer, please help me"

I wanted to scream,

I wanted to run.

My heart pounded,

my throat filled with fear,

I stepped back,

He stepped forward,

My back now against the wall,

I looked at it's mask of a face,

In its mouth, I saw two hairy fangs,

they tore the mask away,

cloth ripped as 8 legs stretched out,

they grabbed the wall around it,

it lunged for my throat.

-excerpt taken from the Diary of Carol Faust

The weary detective stumbled into his apartment. Frustration and exhaustion flooded his heart. He’d spent all day combing the local caves for any sign of the missing Carol Faust, and all he’d found was a severed hand holding a diary. Fiery bile filled his throat as he remembered the hand. It was missing a finger, “gnawed off by rodents, probably,” the police said. His muddy boots were tracking sand and dirt all over the house. He kicked them off his feet as he dragged his exhausted body into his bedroom, where he collapsed face down onto his bed. Or at least what one could call a bed. In reality, it was two mattresses stacked in an empty room with bedsheets on them. He stared at the ceiling and considered getting up and using the bathroom. He groaned in annoyance and sat up.

There is a man in his doorway.

A man in a jester’s outfit, with a pale, rubbery face in a permanent smile. The detective’s heart began to race. The man in the corner must have been able to hear this because he began to slowly and quietly open his smiling mouth as if the detective’s fear gave him great pleasure. Wider. Wider. And even wider until his jaw touched his chest. Then a cloud of smoke billowed out from his mouth as a hairy, eight-legged creature silently crawled out of the man’s mouth and onto the space above him. The man in the jester’s suit collapsed in on himself like a tent. The Spider above him rubbed its mouth parts together and whispered, "Please help me.”

The Spider silently crawled across the ceiling.

It stared at the detective with its eight beady eyes. And then it began to shiver and shake like an engine. It opened its mouth and vomited on the detective. He shot up to wipe the sticky, red offal away from his eyes. And then he noticed a human finger on his lap, just like the missing finger from that severed hand he’d found in the caves. His hair stood on end when he recognized the onyx ring. His eyes darted back to the ceiling.

The Spider was gone.

He felt hairy feelers on the back of his neck.

“Please help me”

[mminhologiaa]

Nightmares make me go insane

TW: mentions of blood

WC: 1k

This is a angst/horror au based off the line "nightmares make me go insane" from the song "Paranoia" by Kang Daniel!

Face claim: Park Seonghwa - ATEEZ

They always start the same.

A hallway stretches ahead, impossibly long. Dim lights buzz overhead, flickering like dying fireflies. The walls are pale yellow, peeling in strips like sunburnt skin, and the air is heavy with the scent of damp paper and something metallic. I run, but the floor drags at my feet like it’s made of molasses. Something’s behind me, always just out of sight, breathing in sync with mine. It never catches me. It never needs to.

Because I always wake up screaming.

At first, it was once a week. Then every night. Now, the nightmares come when I blink too long.

I used to think they were just dreams, twisted things stitched together from stress and movies and whatever I ate before bed. But dreams don’t bleed into reality like this. Dreams don’t leave bruises on your wrists from where unseen hands grabbed you. Dreams don’t whisper your name when you’re alone.

They say sleep is where your mind resets, where your thoughts untangle themselves. Mine just snarl tighter every time I close my eyes.

I haven’t slept in six days.

The hallucinations started on day four. Or maybe they weren’t hallucinations. It’s hard to tell anymore. I saw a man on the sidewalk, suit pressed clean, holding a broken mirror in his hands. He smiled at me with teeth made of nails. No one else even noticed him. A shadow crawled across my ceiling last night, shaped like a spider but moving like a person. It dropped to the floor and melted into the rug.

I try to tell people. My roommate, Liam, thinks I’m messing with him. "You’ve got dark circles for days, man," he said yesterday. "Maybe try sleeping instead of playing horror games all night?"

I nodded like that was it. Let him believe that.

I went to the clinic once. Doctor Chavez told me I had "parasomnia with possible sleep paralysis" and handed me a pamphlet with a cartoon sheep on the front. I laughed. She didn’t.

They don’t understand. It’s not just nightmares. It’s something else. Something that lives in them.

Its voice is the worst part. It’s soft. Comforting, almost. But it says things no human should hear. It tells me truths about myself I never admitted. Secrets I forgot. It knows me better than I know myself.

"You're just like your father," it whispered last night. "He tried to fight it, too. Look where that got him."

My father died when I was seven. He walked into a lake in the middle of January. They said it was a suicide. I barely remember him—just the smell of pine from his coat and the way his eyes twitched when he thought no one was watching.

I wonder if he had the same dreams.

The thing in my nightmares has a shape, now. Human-ish. It wears my face, stretched too tight, like a mask over something else. Its eyes are empty holes. When it smiles, I feel my chest seize like my heart’s trying to crawl away.

"Let me in," it said last time. "You’re so tired, aren’t you? Let me carry it."

Maybe I would’ve given in if I hadn’t bit down on my tongue so hard I bled. The pain snapped me awake.

I think that was the last time I actually slept.

I keep my apartment lit now. Every bulb on. The TV plays static, because silence makes it louder. I stack coffee cups in a line by the sink, and I haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t wrapped in plastic. The mirror in my bathroom cracked three days ago. I didn’t touch it.

Tonight, I feel the edge coming. The tipping point. My thoughts spin, looping like a scratched record. I see movement in the corner of my eye—nothing there. Or maybe something is, and it’s just too fast to catch.

I sit on the floor of the living room with my back to the couch. There's a knife on the coffee table. Not for anything dramatic—just... in case. I don’t trust what I’ll do when I finally fall asleep.

Liam’s out. I don’t want him to see me like this. Last night he almost called someone. I told him I was fine. I think I laughed too hard.

"Nightmares make me go insane," I mutter. It feels like a joke, but it’s not funny. Not anymore.

The lights flicker again. I don't react. It happens too often now. I count the seconds between blinks. If I go past five, I snap my eyes open.

One. Two. Thr—

The lights die.

The air changes. It’s subtle, like the room exhales. Everything is still.

I don't move. My breath sounds like thunder in my ears.

Then I hear it.

"Let me in."

It comes from everywhere and nowhere. The voice slithers through the dark, curling in my ears.

"I can help. You’re already breaking. Just let go."

I clench my fists. My nails bite into my palms. The pain is grounding, but only just.

"I’m not real," I whisper. "This isn’t real."

But it laughs. Low, gentle. It feels like it’s behind me. Or under my skin.

"You’re right. You’re not real anymore. Just pieces. I’m what’s left."

Something touches my shoulder.

I scream.

I wake up.

But not in bed.

I’m on the living room floor, knife in hand. Blood on the blade. Blood on my shirt. I stare at it, heart racing.

A sound behind me. The door creaks open.

"Liam?" I say, voice hoarse.

He stands in the doorway, eyes wide, staring at me. At the blood. His mouth moves, but I can’t hear the words.

I look down again.

The blood isn’t mine.

[nickeverdeen]

Okay so I know this would never happen and is out of character, but I need to share my thought process tonight:

Caitlyn unlocked the front door with a sigh of relief, the cool evening air still clinging to her blazer as she stepped inside. You followed closely behind, setting down your bag filled with lab notes and muttering about the endless stack of paperwork waiting for you tomorrow.

“Well, at least things should be calmer tonight,” Caitlyn said, giving you a small smile as she shrugged off her coat. “I don’t think anything can top the chaos of last week.”

“Agreed,” you replied, smirking as you recalled the disaster. “Though I’ll never understand why Viktor thought leaving Jayce and Vi alone with a blowtorch in the lab was a good idea.”

Caitlyn let out a short laugh. “Or why he thought they’d improve anything by using it to ‘fix’ the already functional prototype.”

“That almost took out the whole building,” you added, shaking your head.

“Almost took out Piltover,” Caitlyn corrected, rolling her eyes.

The two of you were mid-laughter when a sharp yell echoed from inside the house.

“JUST SHOOT IT, VI!”

“IT’S ON YOUR ARM! I CAN’T SHOOT YOUR ARM!”

The unmistakable voices of Vi and Jinx sent both of you into immediate alert mode. Caitlyn’s hand instinctively went to the holster at her side—though she realized with growing dread that she’d left her gun on the kitchen counter before heading to work this morning.

“Do we even want to know?” you muttered as you exchanged a wary glance with Caitlyn.

“Not really,” she replied, though you were already moving toward the noise.

When the two of you stepped into the living room, the sight awaiting you was… well, not surprising, but still ridiculous.

Vi stood at one end of the couch, Caitlyn’s gun in her trembling hands, aiming it directly at Jinx’s arm. Jinx, on the other hand, was perched on the back of the couch, glaring at Vi with a mix of fury and desperation. On her bare forearm crawled a spider, blissfully unaware of the chaos it was causing.

“JUST DO IT, YOU COWARD!” Jinx shouted, gesturing frantically at her arm with her free hand. “END IT!”

“I CAN’T JUST SHOOT YOUR ARM, JINX!” Vi yelled back, her voice breaking under the pressure. “IT’S GONNA HURT YOU—OR WORSE!”

“I DON’T CARE! KILL IT!”

Caitlyn pinched the bridge of her nose while you just stared, torn between annoyance and amusement. “You know,” you whispered to her, “we really should have seen this coming.”

Caitlyn glanced at you, her expression dry. “We did. We just hoped they’d outgrow it.”

Without a word, the two of you stepped forward, each grabbing one of the sisters by the arm and dragging them apart.

“Hey! I was handling it!” Vi protested, fumbling to set the gun down on the coffee table.

“No, you weren’t,” Caitlyn replied flatly, shoving the weapon safely out of reach.

“It’s on my arm!” Jinx shrieked, glaring at Caitlyn as if she were the spider in question.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m going to remove it without shooting anyone,” Caitlyn replied, already reaching for Jinx’s arm.

Jinx flinched away but froze when Caitlyn’s fingers deftly snatched the spider and tossed it out the open window in one fluid motion. The tiny arachnid disappeared into the night, leaving behind a tense silence.

“There. Crisis averted,” Caitlyn announced, brushing off her hands as she turned to face them.

Jinx and Vi looked at each other, their expressions equal parts relief and lingering horror, as if they’d just survived a battle against an ancient, monstrous foe.

“I was gonna get it,” Vi muttered, crossing her arms and sulking.

“You were going to get your sister sent to the hospital,” Caitlyn corrected.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “Seriously, guys. A spider? After everything you’ve faced?”

“That thing was huge,” Jinx defended, folding her arms dramatically. “Like, Killzone huge.”

“It was the size of a thumbnail,” you deadpanned, earning a glare from her.

Caitlyn turned to you, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “And we thought Jayce and Vi were bad together.”

“They still hold the title of ‘most chaotic duo,’” you replied with a grin. “But these two come dangerously close.”

Jinx flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated groan, muttering something about “betrayal” and “taking my side for once.” Vi rolled her eyes, plopping down next to her.

“Maybe next time we just burn the house down,” Vi joked, earning a sharp glare from Caitlyn.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.

As the sisters continued to bicker about the merits of arachnid extermination tactics, Caitlyn caught your eye and smiled. “At least it’s never boring,” she murmured.

“Never is,” you agreed, leaning into her side as the chaos slowly settled into its usual rhythm.

[jefferyryanlong]

Fresh Listen - Alice Coltrane, Ptah, the El Daoud (Impulse! Records, 1970)

(Some pieces of recorded music operate more like organisms than records. They live, they breathe, they reproduce. Fresh Listen is a periodic review of recently and not so recently released albums that crawl among us like radioactive spiders, gifting us with superpowers from their stingers.)

I like to think that Alice Coltrane's Ptah, the El Daoud found me, in a nondescript cardboard box on the floor of another used record shop in Little Rock, Arkansas.

Already a little discouraged by by experience at Ugly Mike's, I was prepared for additional disappointment when I pulled up to the stall at the strip mall where Been Around Records and CD's was located. I was having a particularly disheartening phone conversation about work while I parked my car, and this pure quest of record digging I'd established in my mind felt tainted with anxiety about my job. Trapped in this headspace, my journey now felt like a chore, some box to be checked instead of an opportunity for wonder.

I couldn't find much on the shelves, but that was par for the course. Sheathed in plastic, the records were mostly overpriced, and if I was going to find the room in my checked bag on the way back to Hawai'i, I wanted either certified quality or a reasonable price point. In between racks of CD's I saw a row of cardboard boxes with a Mandrill cover exposed, so I bent my creaky knees and perused. Some gems: Hugh Masekela, Albert Ayler and, in a sleeve that no longer pocketed the LP as it should, and with a cover of orange background illuminating rodent god in sarcophagus embedded within carapace of scarab, the image still vibrant after years of friction sliding between other shelved records, Alice Coltrane's Ptah, the El Daoud. I hadn't yet heard any of the songs from the album, but it had been produced in 1970 and I was intrigued by Coltrane's collaborators: Ron Carter on bass, Pharaoh Sanders and Joe Henderson on saxophones and flutes, and Ben Riley on drums. The album immediately seemed worth its weight in luggage space.

My heart fell when I brought the album, along with a stack of other records I'd pulled from the box, to the cash register. The owner didn't technically own the records; someone had just dropped them off, and he needed to pick out the ones he thought he could sell. After a second of consideration, though, he just shrugged and rang the music up on a sliding price scale according to how scratchy they sounded, inspecting each on a turntable on the counter.

Since then, on and off for the great part of a year, I have been absorbed in Ptah, the El Daoud, which references an Egyptian god and the title of "Beloved." It is a fortress of a record; only four songs, two of them coming in at thirteen minutes, bookended by the title track and the equally dense "Mantra." Fortresses exist to protect people and things of great value, and within the depths of the fortress of Ptah, the El Daoud, there is a beautiful princess who reveals herself in two of the most sympathetic and and gorgeous jazz compositions in the canon: "Turiya and Ramakrishna" and "Blue Nile."

Ron Carter, an essential partner throughout the album, summons the first track "Ptah, the El Daoud" with a walking bassline onto which drummer Ben Riley adds a martial beat, as if announcing the Beloved with great fanfare, a train of camels and carts and wagons and carriages and masked mercenaries on foot, marching from the dunes of the desert onto the flagstones of the town. While Carter's bass and Coltrane's piano are more or less simpatico throughout the entire recording, it's little more difficult to get a lock on Henderson and Sanders. After the commanding opening theme, played in close harmony, each of their solos seems taken as if in a vacuum, as if transposed or transposable from or onto another tune altogether, no obvious narrative or intent .At one point, there a a few seconds of Sanders, who comes through the album on the right speaker, simply riding one squawking key of his sax. One can hear an in-time struggle to complement Coltrane and her piano meaningfully, and through multiple listens you appreciate the struggle. Riley's drum solo near the end of "Ptah, the El Daoud" breaks down the formerly purposeful caravan into its most primitive components, footsteps overlapping, tripping among themselves, as the caravan plods to the conclusion.

Sanders and Henderson lay out from "Turiya and Ramakrishna" altogether, though there are some sleigh bells shaken here and there. Despite their absence, or maybe because of it, Coltrane manifests an inspired and tender performance, revealing no less than what must be a beautiful soul. It rises up from between the piano keys, a voice of notes undeniably human in its joy and wonder and unfulfilled desire. Carter, not one to solo extensively, finds himself with the space to wander, as Coltrane gently lays out her chords so that he may never lose his way. "Turiya and Ramakrishna" is a remarkable example of the musicians' sympathy for each other.

What follows on Side Two is another mini-masterpiece: "Blue Nile," in which Coltrane expertly makes love to the harp while Henderson and Sanders, saxophone giants, exchange the horns for woodwinds and, in deference to Coltrane's vision, play very, very small. Though the song has a floating quality, it's neither mystical nor abstract. It's a space of great spiritual peace, hard-won, tall trees planted firmly in the ground, the leaves of which the air flows through in varying currents. Pleasantly disorienting is Carter's bass, which stretches and compresses time between measures, as if measures were only a suggested guideline.

"Mantra" carries forward the focused, heavy jazz dirge of the title track, with Coltrane splashing the listener with colorful, expansive piano chords, while Henderson and Sanders attempt various maneuvers to work their way into the conversation. As the song closes, Coltrane blends all the colors into a single drone, working against Carter's throbbing bass that intensifies as Riley locks in and the sleigh bells return, an extended finale when all becomes one, and Coltrane builds the expectancy until the grand consummation.

I don't exaggerate by proposing Coltrane's Ptah, the El Daoud has become one of the most important records in my listening life. The life force that may be drawn from a a second-hand, not-exactly-for-sale piece of scratched vinyl I wouldn't have considered had I not carried a certain headspace with me at a certain time.

[stupidlildumby]

The air near my childhood home is sweeter then I remember.

Perhaps there is some nostalgia in the scent of wet grass that I don't know, but the air outside feels fresher then it is. I know there is a pond nearby, and a factory less then a mile away but the scent feels fresh, like energy.

It is different inside the house, that smells of wet fur and dog piss. There is a stain in the air, something that hangs to the floorboards and floats upwards.

The house is being cleaned tomorrow morning before my parents leave, though I wonder what exactly clean means, there has been damage here that can't exactly be cleaned. The golden molding around the doorknobs is pressed in and broken, grouting on the floorboards undone.

My father was always very anal about the house being clean, and what being clean meant was that he had cleaned it, but it is a war he seems to have lost, clutter has accumulated. When my brother moved out, all the clutter went into his room. It had become 'an office'. What that did mean was that anything that guests couldn't see got stacked up in there in mountains of boxes. When it was time to come over things that didn't have a place found their way to the office.

The office has exploded out now and boxes sit everywhere, the dinner table, the island, every bit of counter space sits boxes of paper paper or objects that my brain passes over without registering.

The reason I am here, jumps up on me. Her name is Mierra, twice a day she needs insulin shots alongside her food, and there was no family locally that could be trusted to do this twice a day for a week. She is excited to see me but mostly wants head pats. She is a dog I love dearly.

We eat a quick dinner, my mother on the couch, and me and my dad standing around and talking, finding places to set our food down in between bites. There is a show playing on the tv, suave book writing detectives solving some sort of case.

I bring my things out from the car downstairs after eating and begin to set up my computer, so that I can work while here, and look around the room I had spent years in. It has become a second office space, half of the room is occupied by a desk, a cabinet of boxes. The other half with toys for my nephew to play with when he is here.

There are several brown spots on the floor, I worry are dog shit before noticing the yellow. The room seems to be a graveyard for bees, corpses of bumble bees sitting there unmoving. I bring them outside.

When I moved, I took some books, and some toys, that I had remembered particularly loving as a kid, marble run which I had received from my aunt, and as a pass me down from her children, and had loved spending perhaps too much time with, and a collection of books I had gotten from scholastic book fairs here and there.

The books sit in the corner, atop some boxes and files, untouched in the time I had left, the marble run is still open from weeks ago, sitting near the door, ready to be played with at any moment.

I begin setting my computer up, and when I go behind the desk in the room there are spiders, 3 or 4, as well as a web covered in eggs.

I resist the urge to run, or vacuum them up. Bogleech would be disappointed with me if I did. I pull the desk back as far as possible to have room, before plugging in a surge protector, and sliding the desk back into place. They will not bother me if I don't bother them, and my cords are long enough to let me set everything up away from the desk for now. Still I feel them crawling on my skin, my back and knees, my body playing tricks on me.

I boot my computer up, and I am back again, for a moment. It is quiet now, but for how long.

[mugglebrn]

@luminescenc1e cont. from here

IT'S NOT AS IF THE ATTENTION HE GARNERS IS NEW. From the very moment he had stepped foot in the Great Hall he had been the name on every girls' lips, his name doodled into many notebooks in feminine loops with floating hearts drawn around it. Even before she'd acknowledged her own attraction to him, she had noticed it, had rolled her eyes and scoffed at the schoolgirl antics, all the while ignoring the brewing jealousy that grew hot in her veins.

Now it had increased tenfold. Hermione is hardly one for public displays of affection, but not being able to lay any kind of public claim to him while watching other girls fuss and fawn over him was infuriating. Even if it's for her own protection as he'd told her countless times, even if he was breaking his own rules by sitting with her as she studied.

Not even the familiar, warm weight of his hand on her thigh is enough to drag her from her ire (which is saying something considering the way her heart races every time he puts his hands on her). "That's different. My friends don't want to shag me," she protests, glaring daggers in the direction of the Slytherin girls so intensely one might think she were trying to nonverbally avada them.

Instead, she goes for something a little different, muttering the incantation beneath her breath and executing the swish of her wand beneath the table. The effect is immediate, loud screeching coming from the girls as a large, hairy spider crawls from beneath the stacks of parchment on the desk in front of them. The girls jump up, clinging to each other and scrambling away from the creepy crawlie. The commotion is plenty enough to gain the attention of Madam Pince and Hermione quickly erases the spider from existence as quickly as she had conjured it, watching as the stern librarian chases the girls out of the library with various hexes for making a ruckus in her sacred space. Satisfied with her work, she looks back at Draco, faux innocence plastered on her face. "There. Much better."