#help me mitosis

[katsettee]

Studying for my biology finals by associating everything with how I think it would apply to Shadow the Hedgehog

[if-you-heart]

uhh we’re so sorry to hear about your brother that passed away he gets five big booms. boom ! boom ! boom ! boom ! booooom !

[littlelightbolt]

My spin on how the dough boys could look like. In @neon-nick ‘ Mitosis AU.

We bare boys.

[gaylight-prairie]

Triplets born. the throne awaits..

Transparent individual portraits down here v

[bom-bombon]

Hi!!! My name is Bombón. Welcome to my blog!

I'm a Mexican American artist! I speak English and some Spanish. I'm also biromantic ace 😌 and my pronouns are she/her/ella

I mostly reblog whatever comes up on my dashboard, whatever interests me at the moment, and post silly little drawings, which you can find under the "bombon's art" tag. So, don't expect much from me!

If you're going to repost my art, I ask to at least credit me. Thank you :)

Currently, I'm sportsposting so. In terms of football (soccer), I follow FC Barcelona 💙❤️, the Mexican National Team 🥰🇲🇽 , and San Diego FC 💙🩶🩷🩵 so beware o_o

I'm kinda a shy and awkward person, but feel free to stop by and chat with me :D I love making new friends/mutuals

You can either chat with me on here (like, through asks, in the comments, DMs, etc) or on other social media (I'm more active on Discord... when Discord wants to send me notifications). Seriously, it's totally cool with me <3

[reticent-fate]

[sacredst4r]

I have mastered the art of "OC via mitosis" where every OC i have just starts as a complete self insert with no personality, then, I overthink myself in a circle enough to the point that my self insert OC is no longer myself.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

pro: slept like 10 hours which is far more than i usually sleep

con: slept through half my study time bc my internal clock usually wakes me up no later than 9:30 and i have a midterm in an hour and a half

[ocean-returns]

It didn't click for me right away, but "I'm fine because you fixed yourself. We're Time Lords. We're doing rehab out of order." is an explicit statement that, from the moment he begins to exist, 15 already has all the memories that 14 will ever accrue.

So rather than a true mitosis-style duplication like the term "bi-generation" might imply, what we actually have here is more an issue of temporal displacement and/or causality failure. 14 still ultimately feeds into 15, but with an inexplicable disconnect between cause and effect that's consistent with the reality-breaking nonsense of whatever the hell the Toymaker is. When the Toymaker says, "Your own rules have decreed I play my third game with the next Doctor.'' that's not just a fun way of saying 'I'm gonna kill you now', he's outright breaking causality to acquire the next Doctor fully formed ahead of schedule.

All of which is to say that 14 shouldn't spawn a separate regeneration chain when he dies, helping to mitigate the whole "cursed to outlive my loved ones" issue that's always the elephant in the room in this kind of plot.

[akanemnon]

Hello I would just like to say thank you because the joke about Kris going through mitosis legit helped me pass one of my end of the year tests

You go, anon!

[lady-ace]

Mitosis

(set in an AU where Mary and Freddy are both small in their champion form, and Billy doesn't work for Whiz yet.)

Almost everyone knew the marvels. The magical sunny trio, who always seemed joined at the hip. Where one went, the other two were never too far behind.

Of course, with Captain Marvel being the oldest and looking very similar to the other two (Black hair, blue eyes, you get the idea) everyone thought the same thing; “Cap is the father of Mary Marvel and Captain Marvel Jr. Come on, it's even in the name!��

No one, from the public or the superhero community ever brought it up with them, because 'Well, it's obvious!'

..And then the Captain told them they were completely wrong.

/ / /

Superman, while in a casual conversation with the other leaguers, refers to Marvel Jr. As Captain Marvel's son.

Cap, who happened to overhear: “Son? Jr is my older brother.”

[Shocked pause]

GA, gobsmacked: “Why is he called Jr then?”

Cap, a little taken aback by the apparent shock this was to the others: “Well, to be honest, when Jr was coming up with a name, i suggested Jr, because he was smaller than me, and the name stuck.”

GA, still blue screening the fact that Jr was not Cap's son: “Wow.”

GL, waving his hands frantically to accentuate his point: “Are we just gonna pass over the fact Cap just said Jr was older than him?”

Plastic man, jokingly: “Next he's gonna tell us Mary Marvel isn't his daughter either.”

[Cap shoots Plas a look, and before he can speak up, Plastic man continues, his joking tone nowhere to be seen, now in it's place, an almost disbelieving one.]

Plastic man, incredulous: “Oh my God, you are.”

Cap, nodding in agreement: “She's my twin.

[Que various noises of surprise all around the table.]

/ / /

After a few days of Marvel trying to clear up the misunderstanding, it was quite clear a lot of the leaguers simply didn't believe him. Either chalking it up to magic shenanigans or just really doubting he could be younger than Freddy, even though it was so apparent he 'wasn't.'

So, they decided to pull a prank.

With the help of a spell, he aged his Champion form down to the age of his siblings, and dressed up as Mary.

They couldn't wait to see their faces when they saw not one, but two 'Mary Marvels' flying around the watchtower.

After all, they were twins. And what better way to prove it than the classic twin switch-up?

/ / /

Flash, rubbing his eyes before looking again: “I'm not seeing things, am i? Please tell me i've not gone crazy.”

WW, shaking her head: “No. You are seeing things correctly. There's two of our friend present.”

Flash, now a bit worried: “Has Mary been cloned, or is being followed by a doppelganger?”

WW, tilting her head a bit, trying to remember something: “Not that i recall. Maybe you could ask her about it? She doesn't seem concerned about the 'clone'.”

Flash, slapping his forehead in a 'why didn't i do that earlier?' way: “Good idea.”

[Flash goes over to the two Marys (Maries?). When he arrives, one of them beams.]

Billy: “Hi, Flash! How are you doing?”

Flash: “Good! Well, i've been meaning to ask you.. uh, something.”

Mary, grinning: “Well, go ahead.”

Flash, a bit too bluntly: “Why are there two of you?”

Billy, with the most cheerful voice ever: “Mitosis!”

Flash: “Mitosis?!”

Mary, saying this as if it was the most obvious thing: “Why do you think there's only one big Marvel, and the rest of us are small? We separated from the captain recently.”

Billy, holding in a laugh: “But keep it secret, okay? Me and the others trust you to never tell anyone our secret.”

Flash, who is like 'WTF did i just hear': “Uhh.. sure. I won't tell anyone.”

[The two proceed to tell everyone the supposed 'Secret.' Only years later the League would find out it was a prank, when Billy and Mary showed them their civillian forms. They still use the 'Mitosis' as a inside joke when a new member joins the League.]

[lavender-vixen]

Please please please do one with Patrick braiding the reader's hair, and she has a crush on him, but he doesn't know. No rush!

i love this <3

you're in science class, watching a film projection about cellular mitosis. the images are flickering, and the old projector equipment hums. someone from the av club had to come help the teacher set it up.

you ran a hand through your long, loose hair, trying to get rid of the tangles. finally, you took out a small comb from your pencil case and began working your way through the tangles. the sun-in you'd sprayed in your hair before school wasn't getting the proper sunlight it needed in this dark classroom.

patrick sat behind you, so uncomfortably close, as most of the desks in the room were crammed in to make space for the projector. you'd never actually spoken to him, but you'd exchanged a few glances in passing. nothing memorable. when you got up to sharpen your pencil at the back of the room, you stole a peek at him.

he looked bored, slouched in his seat, his long legs spread out in front of him, idly fiddling with a pair of scissors.

as you sat in front of him, you could feel his eyes on you. it was hard to explain, but you just knew he was staring. you try to focus on the film, but it's hard with patrick hockstetter sitting right behind you.

his presence was always distracting. he had this aura of trouble. he was all lazy smirks and slouched posture. you'd heard the stories, and seen the way people avoided him in the halls.

suddenly, you felt a slight tug on your hair, just enough to pull you from your thoughts. you froze, your heart skipping three beats.

turning your head, you spotted him holding the pair of shiny scissors, his hand paused midair, a determined look on his face.

"what are you doing?" you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady. the sight of him with scissors so close to your beautiful, long hair sent a chill down your spine.

"relax," he said, grinning like it was the most normal thing in the world. "i wasn't gonna cut it. not yet, anyway."

your jaw dropped, and a mix of indignation and shock rushed through you. before you could respond, he shrugged and brushed your hair toward his desk. "it's all over my space," he said casually.

your hair was long...too long...and practically spilling over the back of your chair, brushing the edge of his desk. silky and neat, like something out of one of those shampoo commercials, and entirely too tempting.

"here, rapunzel, let me fix it," he said.

fix it? before you could process what was happening, you felt his hands in your hair, tugging gently but firmly. he was braiding it. braiding it.

"what are you doing?" you whispered again, feeling a blush creep up your neck. you glanced around, but no one seemed to notice.

"fixing it," he said again, his tone bored but oddly focused.

you blinked in disbelief. "you know how to braid?"

he shrugged. "kinda. tied fishing knots with my dad all the time. same thing."

the tugging at your scalp was rhythmic, almost soothing, and you found yourself relaxing despite yourself. it was...nice. but you refused to let him see that.

"did you do the homework?" he asked suddenly, his voice low. you shivered slightly at how close he was.

"yeah. why?" you asked, your instincts telling you not to trust whatever he was about to say.

"because i didn't," he said bluntly. he held your hair in one hand and rummaged through his backpack with the other, pulling something out. "i'll trade you this fruit roll-up if you let me copy it."

you frowned, crossing your arms. "no."

he leaned in closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck. "c'mon. i'll even promise not to cut your hair."

your heart was pounding now, and you hated that he was getting to you. "fine," you whispered sharply, digging out your notebook and shoving it toward him.

"good girl," he said with a smirk, flipping it open with one hand. "damn, your handwriting is annoying."

you bit your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet. it was better to ignore him than give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"here," he said, holding out the fruit roll-up.

"i don't want it," you said quickly, shaking your head.

he shrugged and dropped it on your desk anyway. "take it."

you picked it up and tossed it back at him. “i said, no.”

“whatever.” then, without asking, he picked up here he left off with your hair, finishing the braid.

you glanced at the clock, praying for the class to end, but at the same time, you couldn't deny how good it felt...his hands moving through your hair, the gentle pull at your scalp. it was oddly intimate, and your cheeks burned at the thought.

from across the room, your friend caught your eye, her expression one of complete disbelief. you shrugged helplessly and offered a small, sheepish smile.

when patrick finished, he paused. "what do i tie it with?" he muttered, more to himself. "i could make a knot out of it."

"no, don't do that." you pulled the white, fluffy scrunchie from your wrist and handed it to him. "here."

he held it up, inspecting it like it was some kind of artifact. "what the hell is this?"

"a scrunchie," you said, rolling your eyes.

he tied it around the braid, though not without muttering, "this thing looks dumb."

the teacher's voice cut through the darkness from the front of the room: "mr. hockstetter, if you're done playing beauty shop, perhaps you'd like to join us in taking notes during the film?"

your cheeks flushed, but patrick just shrugged, completely unbothered. "yeah, sure, mr. andrews," he said lazily.

as the teacher turned back to the screen, patrick leaned in close, his voice a whisper against your ear. "he's such an asshole. hey, meet me after next period. i'll give you my calc homework."

you glanced back at him, frowning. his face was inches from yours. "why?"

"because i owe you," he said simply. then, with a smirk, he added, "and i'm generous like that."

after class ended, you gathered your things slowly, heart pounding. you could feel patrick watching you still, his eyes burning a hole in your back.

he brushed past you on his way out, close enough that his shoulder lightly bumped yours. "don't forget," he murmured, low and smooth, before disappearing into the hallway.

your friend melanie rushed to your side immediately. "what the hell was that about?" she hissed, glancing toward the door patrick just exited.

"nothing," you mumbled, though your cheeks betrayed you, flushing hot under her scrutinizing stare.

"that was not nothing. he was braiding your hair. patrick freaking hockstetter. you know what people say about him, right?"

you nodded, trying to dismiss her. "i know. it's fine. he's just...weird."

but even as you said it, you weren't sure you believed it. the memory of his hands in your hair and the way he leaned close still lingered.

after your next class, you were at your locker when you spotted him leaning casually against the wall across the hall. he wasn't looking directly at you, but it was obvious he was waiting.

you considered pretending you didn't see him, but something compelled you to walk over.

"hey," you said awkwardly, clutching your books to your chest.

patrick looked down at you, his smirk sliding into place. "took you long enough," he said, pushing off the wall. he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and held it out to you. "here. calc homework. told you i'd give it to you."

you hesitate before taking it, your fingers brushing against his. it was warm, and you pulled back quickly, feeling like you'd just touched a live wire.

"thanks," you mumbled, unfolding the paper. his handwriting was a mess, barely legible scrawls and smudges, but it was there.

"don't thank me yet," he said with a chuckle. "i haven't checked it or anything, but i'm hardly ever wrong."

at lunch, you were sitting with your friends when patrick strolled past your table with henry bowers. he didn't stop, didn't say anything, but he dropped a cherry fruit roll-up onto your tray.

your friends immediately started whispering. "oh my god, what is happening? why is he..." melanie started.

"i don't know!" you whispered back, feeling your face heat up.

later in the hallway, he found you again. "you done copying my homework?" he asked, leaning a little too close.

you nod. "yeah, but i still don't get any of it. i'm screwed for the test."

"good," he said, flashing a grin. "then you'll need my help after school."

"what makes you think i need your help?" you shot back, surprising yourself with the boldness in your voice.

he grinned wider, crooked, clearly amused. "i'm clearly getting a better grade than you."

"uh-huh," you said skeptically, trying to ignore how close he was standing. people were watching as they passed by. "and what's in it for you?"

patrick was already walking away. "bleachers. after school."

against your better judgement, you found yourself walking toward the bleachers after the last bell. patrick was already there, slouched back with his legs stretched out.

"hey," he said, reclining. "thought you'd flake."

"i almost did," you admitted, climbing the steps cautiously.

he pulled his notebook out of his bag, flipping it open. "alright, let's see how shit you really are at this."

the two of you worked through the math problems, but he kept teasing you about your handwriting, the way you wrinkled your nose when you thought to hard, and the fact that you had pencils with your name on them.

you found yourself laughing more than you expected. when the work was done, patrick leaned back again, tossing his pen onto his notebook.

"guess you owe me now." his smirk was back.

you glanced at him, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. "guess i do."

he studied you a moment, his expression unreadable, before speaking. "actually, there's something you could do for me."

your heart skipped. you felt your pulse quicken as another blush crept to your face. "yeah?"

patrick looked across the field at the girl's soccer team warming up with drills then back to you. "you're friends with melanie, right?" he said, tilting his head toward your friend as she did a few stretches on the field, tying the laces on her soccer cleats. "the one who's always staring at me like she's scared or something."

you tilted your head in confusion. "yeah. what about her?"

"think she'd go out with me?" he asked, as if it were a passing thought he'd spoken aloud.

you blinked, stomach dropping. the words hit like a slap, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him.

"you...um, you want me to ask if she's interested?" you said, recovering as best you could, your voice quieter than intended.

"yeah," he said, leaning back again. "she seems...fun."

you forced a smile, even as your chest tightened painfully. "sure. i mean...i'll try."

"'atta girl." he grinned, clearly pleased. he got up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. his combat boots slammed against the metal bleachers as he jumped down a row. "see ya in chem."

you sat there for a long moment after he was gone, staring down at the finished homework in your lap. you didn't know why you felt so foolish, so crushed. maybe it was the way he smiled when he said her name, or maybe it was the realization that every teasing word, every fleeting moment of attention...it was all just a way to get to her. and you knew for a fact he'd done it on purpose.

you glanced toward the soccer field, where your friend waved to you, and sighed, offering a weak wave back.

patrick hockstetter is a jerk.

[causenessus]

try again

part 0.5. MITOSIS

“he’s starting to think maybe she queues up certain songs on that little speaker of hers, knowing he’ll be out here listening to them while he’s waiting to see her. but how does that work? it’s a different song every time he comes in here and he can’t be sure they’re about him. maybe he’s crazy for assuming she’s doing something specifically for him when he’s nothing more than a used to be friend reduced down to a client who is currently trying to be friends with her again. “i want you to stay.” he likes the song she’s playing outside in her waiting room today. and the way the line repeats over and over is only feeding into the assumption he's making right now: that she’s playing these songs specifically for him. “stay the hell away from me.” okay. so maybe he shouldn’t talk to her about the songs. it still makes sense, he thinks to himself (or maybe he's just being stubborn about giving up this stupid hope). maybe she is playing certain songs for him, but she’s obviously not happy to see him today.”

note: pay attention to unsent messages :) (there's one); sorry this chapters a little ????? it's only the peas in a pod gc </3 and everyone is confused because feelings are hard </3

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

I'M SORRY IF ANYTHING WAS CONFUSING THIS CHAPTER

i'm trying to...like escalate more into what happened during their years in high school without revealing too much yet...

but!! moodboards will be coming out after this <3 because y/n's family issues have now been mentioned!! yay!!!

so the moodboards will also help provide more context i think :))

the y/n shower tweet was a joke!! just in case that wasn't obvious

i have nothing else to say about this chapter except for that i am sorry

bokuto was like the voices in my head going crazy so i feel like his texts are super abrupt

NEXT CHAPTER WILL HOPEFULLY BE MORE OF A BANGER THOUGH!!

taglist: @eggyrocks @wyrcan @guitarstringed-scars @strawberryuri @violetesensou @kakeru-eem @glmge @heytheredemonsss @mollyrolls @bemebiu @daszy @snail-squasher @0moonii @thiisisntlovely @todorokiskitten @rory-cakes @iiwaijime @iatethemochi @yuminako @savemebrazilhinata @kismyscars @bokutoko @nobodybutnnoorr @wolffmaiden @daisy-room @softpia @lees-chaotic-brain @v3nusplanetofluv @crispchocolates @phoenix-eclipses @hhoneyhan @encrypta @rockleeisbaeeee @cr4yolaas @zombriesworld @localgaytrainwreck @moucheslove @hibernatinghamster @notverymarley @certaindreampost @akaakeis @ciderscape @lucien-luna @strawbrinkofdeath @wave2mia @samuel1004 @01trickster10 @dazqa @cosmiicdust @chemiru

[the-raven-lady]

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”

Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender

The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor. 

The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.

The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.

Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.

You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.

What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.

You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty. 

The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target. 

With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it. 

A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.

You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?

…Hadn’t you?

You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.

A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing. 

At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.

Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”

You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip.

“About time,” a voice spits.

You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.

“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”

You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.

“How about I help with that?”

A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.

A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.” 

Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.

…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.

He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”

Bait. The word is sour in the air.  

“So unwilling to have fun–” 

She had just been bait. 

“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”

You were the game.

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—” 

Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.

“You stupid bitch!”

The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror. 

This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.

And wait.

…And wait.

But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t. 

Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight. 

Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.

Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down. 

Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.

Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes. 

The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.

“Get up.”

The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”

He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor. 

The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.

“Clean it,” he barks. 

You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.

[Part 2]

[wires-for-veins]

loud incorrect buzzer I have to be useful or I explode or something

hi!!! hi hello!!! how is!! your day going!!!

@wires-for-veins ))

🐇 ;; “ hello ! my days going fine so far . it's actually been better than it has been - you ? ”

[xetlynn]

Twilight- Youngest Shadow: Chapter Three, Crash It

(Alice X Reader X Jasper)

[two] [three] [four]

Today was the day of my 6th Volleyball game out of 14. It’s a Home game.

Every single game has been attended by Jacob, Quil and Embry. Sometimes Sam and Billy. Bella made it to about two. Clearly needing to do her own thing I understood. If I didn’t understand a sport I wouldn’t want to go either.

She makes me sit with her at lunch still, I got kind of close with Angela. She’s cool. She also comes to games but that’s to take pictures, helping with the yearbook committee.

Bella and I walk out of the house together. I see my bike is gone and remembered I had to give it to Jacob for maintenance. Since he offered I was getting it done for free.

It’s also raining so I’m kind of glad I don’t have to choice to ride it. Sometimes the rain drops hurt like a bitch. I lift my hood up, walking behind Bella as we go down the steps. “Great.” She mutters under her breath.

Charlie pulls in with her truck. “Dad I can drive us to school myself.” As we get closer to the bottomed step she slips and falls on her ass. Tripping due to not watching where I was going I go forward.

“You okay, Bells? [Name]?” Charlie climbs out of the truck, helping Bella up and then the both help me. I ripped a new pair of jeans, hissing in pain from my hands I wipe it on my sweater that’s not so new. Luckily I didn’t bleed at all. “Ice doesn’t help the uncoordinated.” Bella frowns at her own joke.

“Clearly.” I groan.

“That’s why I got you new tires.” Charlie points to the red truck. “The other ones were nearly bald.”

“You got me new tires. No one’s ever don’t that before.” Both Charlie and I look at her confused. “I mean… nothing.”

He glances at me, not getting it but he heads to his cruiser.

“I won’t make it to dinner or the game. I’m heading down to Mason County. A security guard at the Grisham Mill got killed by some kind of animal.” He explains to us.

“An animal?” Bella asks, confused.

“You’re not in Phoenix anymore, honey. They’ve been hunting it for a week with no luck. Thought I’d lend a hand.” He puts it simply. “Be careful.” We say in unison.

“Always am.”

“And thank you for the tires.”

I’d thought by now they wouldn’t be so awkward with each other but I am very wrong. The tension is so thick it couldn’t even be cut with a knife.

Change of pov

Rain was still hitting hard. Eric and Bella walk together into Biology. She brushes off her coat as he talks. “And yeah, prom committee is a chick thing, but I gotta cover it for the paper anyway and they need a guy to help choose the music. So I need your playlist.” Eric explains but before the girl can respond Mike comes up behind her. “Come on, Arizone. Give it up for the rain.” He shakes his wet baseball cap onto Bella’s head.

“Terrific.” She walks away, ignoring them to get to her seat.

She freezes once she notices Edward. She straightens her posture, striding to the shared table confidently. Dropping her books in front of him, ready to address him but instead he looks up at her and speaks.

“Hello.”

She stops, automatically stunned. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. My name is Edward Cullen.”

She’s too shocked to respond, she wasn’t expecting him to talk to her. “You’re Bella.” He stares, not questioning.

“I’m… yes.” She finally sits, feeling stupid.

He abruptly moves to the edge of his seat away from her. She’s baffled to say the least, smelling her hair as if she stinks.

“Onion root tip cells! That’s what’s on your slides. Separate and label them into the phases of mitosis. The first partners to get it right win the golden onion!” Mr. Molina holds up a gold spray painted onion but disappointed by the little to no reaction.

“Come on people, tick tock.”

Everyone gets to work. Edward pushes the microscope towards Bella, still keeping a distance.

“Ladies first.” She grabs it defensively and snaps the first slide in, adjusting the lens. “You’ve been gone.”

“Out of town. Personal reasons.” He was curt like her, short with his answers.

“Prophase.” She says, going to remove the slide. “May I look?” She slides the scope to him, he looks into it. “Prophase.”

“Like I said.”

He writes it down on the work sheet. He takes a deep breath, turning to her. “Enjoying the rain?”

“Seriously? You’re asking me about the weather?” She seems offended. “It appears.”

“No, unlike my sister I don’t like the cold, or the wet. Or the grey. Or the parkas. Or the turtlenecks.”

There was a small smile that played on his lips.

He actually seemed interested in what she had to say. He studies her like her sister did to him days ago. But she can’t tell if he despises her or not. “What?”

He shakes his head and turns to the microscope, switching out the slides. She continues to stare at him, appreciating his evident beauty. His cheekbones to his lips.

“Anaphase.” She snaps out of her daze to go back to giving a dry look.

“May I?” She mocks him for before, looking into the lens.

“Anaphase.”

“Like I said.”

They change the slide.

“If you hate the cold and rain, why move to the wettest place in the continental U.S.?” He quizzes her.

“It’s complicated.” Simple answer, but he’s intrigued so he pushes.

“I think I can keep up.” She looks at him quickly then looking away back at the scope. He seems to be paying attention very intently.

“My mother remarried.” Another simple response.

“Very complex. So you don’t like him.” A statement, he doesn’t question himself.

“Phil is fine. Young for her but nice enough.” She tells. “Interphase.”

At the end of school she’s still holding the golden onion. She bumps into Edward on accident. “Why didn’t you stay with your mom and step dad? Or your sister?” He waits patiently for her to say something, studying her like before.

“Alright, Phil’s a minor league baseball player, so he travels a lot. My mother stayed home with me and [Name] but it made her unhappy. And my sister has always been a daddy’s girl. So I decided to spend time with my father too.” She explains everything. “But now you’re unhappy.” He states himself again.

“No I… I just.” She turns away, embarrassed.

Back to You

At the end of the day I stood beside Angela and Jessica. Since our game was today I don’t see a point in going all the way home just to come back to the school.

I watch my sister head for her truck, shivering. Once she got there she looked back, making little eye contact with me and then staring at the Cullens. More specifically, Edward? I think that’s his name if I’m remembering correctly.

Their eyes met then there was a loud screech only getting louder by the second. A van skids out of control, heading right for my older sister.

I felt frozen for a second, running over there immediately. The van comes to a complete stop after spinning out. Like something forcefully stopped it. I didn’t see anything as it had happened so fast. The van had only hit the back of the truck, leaving a dent that was definitely noticeable to the eye.

After milliseconds everyone went berserk, roaring into screams of trying to get help, calling 911.

Mike and Eric yell if she’s okay, I watched Edward who was once at his Volvo now leaving the scene. Wanting to ask him what happened I shake my head, pushing the two boys out of my way. “Bells, Bella?!” I cried out, falling down to her level, feeling the pain in my knees from earlier but ignoring it. I took her into my arms as she was obviously in shock.

I ended up driving her and the boy who crashed into her, Tyler a ride to the hospital.

I told him to shut up on our way there. Even sitting in the room as they got checked up on I sat there glaring at him.

Minutes later, Charlie rushes in. “Bells, are you alright?“

“I’m fine dad, calm down.” She assures gun but it’s not enough. “I’m so sorry Bella. I tried to stop.” Tyler apologizes.

“It’s okay Tyler.” Bella tells him and I scoff. “It sure as hell is not okay.” Charlie says, I nod agreeing. “Dad it’s not his fault.”

“We nearly lost you.”

“But you didn’t.” She says, I pull her into a hug since Dad is glaring at Tyler like I once was. “You can kiss your license goodbye.” He sternly tells the boy and I watch his body falter.

I notice Dr. Cullen approach us and if I didn’t know anything I would’ve thought he was a movie star. I didn’t pay Trenton to what they were talking about. I focused on his face, observing him as he talked. Just like I did with his foster kids. Then I heard Tyler apologizing once again, since I was closest I closed the curtain getting a fist bump from my dad.

“It would’ve been a lot worse if Edward hadn’t knocked me out of the way.” Bella says ignoring dad and I’s antics.

“Edward? Your boy?” Charlie asks only to not get a response.

Dr. Cullen adverts his eyes, I watch Bella press. I’m guessing she knew something that was making him uncomfortable. “It was amazing he got to me so fast. He was nowhere near me.”

The blonde man smiles.

“As long as you’re safe.”

We leave the treatment area. “I just have to sign some paperwork. You better call your mom.” He points to Bella.

“You told her?! She’s probably freaking out!” He just shrugs and walks off.

She pulls her phone out and I laugh, earning an eye roll. Then we both look down the hall, hearing an argument. “Stay here.” She orders as if I was so much younger than her. She gets a little closer to whatever was happening.

Not meaning to but the curiosity getting the best of me I do the same thing.

“This isn’t about you. It’s about all of us.” It was Rosalie. I raise an eyebrow but Dr. Cullen definitely saw Bella, taking Rosalie inside his office.

I sit for a moment, but I see Bella talking to Edward so I just walk the other way, pulling out my phone as I felt it vibrating.

It’s Jacob calling, shit.

I answered it quickly. I forgot all about my Volleyball game that’s in… 35 minutes.

“Hello?” I spoke to,

“Hey, where are you? Are you okay? I heard something about an accident with you and Bella?” He freaks out, i why shush him trying to calm him down.

“Hey, everything is fine. No damage was done. Bella was apart if it but no scratches, just a bump on the head. I’m sorry I should’ve called.” I told him, hugging my self with my open arm.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re both okay, I’m glad shes okay.” He sighs like he had just been holding in a long breath.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything is good. I’m just going to keep watch on Bella for a little. Could you let my coach know what happened. I’m sure she knows but y’know?”

“Totally understand, I will let her know. Call me later tonight?” He sounded hopeful and I smile to myself.

“Of course, I’ll call around 9.” I say

“Can’t wait…”

“Knock it off.”

I was going to ask what he meant by that but I hear the other guys in the background and I laugh.

I hung up, not seeing Bella come up to me, she grabbed my shoulder causing me to jump and almost drop my phone.

“Who was that?”

“Jacob. He asked if we were okay since he went to my game as usual. Seeing I wasn’t there freaked him out.” I take a deep breath through my nose.

“I completely forgot about that. We can still make it.” She says in a hurried tone but I shake my head.

“Coach wouldn’t let me play anyway. There’s no point.” I laugh, putting a hand on her arm.

“I’m sorry.” She frowns.

“No need, you should call mom though.”

She whines to herself, pulling her phone out again.

Charlie walks out and we go outside. I drove the truck home.

Later that night I call Jacob like I told him I would. He tells me about the game since they stayed due to Quil wanting to.

“It would’ve been a better game with you for sure.” He says and I could hear the smile.

“I know, I’m just so amazing.” I brag, playing with my tongue piercing as I hear his laugh.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have boasted your ego.”

“What ego?” I jokingly say.

I look over to my clock, seeing the time and it was already 11:30.

I was surprised Charlie hadn’t come and told me to go to bed.

“Ah, we should go to bed.” I start to say, I heard a small thump from Bella’s room upstairs and I stood up carefully strutting towards the door.

“[Name]?” Jacob calls, I snap out of whatever trance I was in. Not hearing anything else from Bella’s room so I go back to my bed.

“Sorry I got distracted. Goodnight, Jake.” My voice was a little raspy from being tired.

“Goodnight.” He ends up hanging up the phone and I lay back in my bed.

Thinking about everything that happened today.

Chapter three, edited.