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bogusboxed · 7 months

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Boxtobier ⊗ Day 2

"The Big Picture.”

Pairing: Helen Otis X GN!Reader

Theme: “Forbidden Love." & "Family, Friends, Love Ones."

Rating: (PG-15+)

Words: 6k

Trigger Warning(s): Brief Vulgar Language, Minor Mentions Of Criminal Deviance, Depictions Of Gore, and Psychological Disturbance.

This is recommended for ages fifteen and up; reader discretion is advised. The rights to this character, "Bloody Painter," fully belong to DeluCat.

This is a fictional, harmless piece of writing; do not incorporate it into your daily life.

Tom E. Stevens is not a real person, he's fully fictional and only serves as a reference from Bloody Painter’s original story. Any correlation to real victims is NOT intentional.

The breeze was glacial against your warm-blooded skin; it bit your nose with a numbing sharpness. You should’ve worn more layers in this type of climate, but you were in a hurry, which led to skipping a few steps in your typical routine.

Your brass keys jingled around like golden bells attached to a decorative holiday ribbon. They created an off-putting metronome sound when they clattered viciously against the steel buckle.

Your mind adapted to the noise, senselessly focusing on the sparkly ring. But, still, you pulled yourself from it, fighting it.

You tried your best to keep your head straight by prioritizing the need to reach the building because only the vultures knew how dangerous this line of work could be.

You couldn't help but question your choices from months ago because if you knew what you know now, you wouldn’t have signed up for that internship.

Working tirelessly alongside the forensic department had taken a toll on your health unlike anything else. Currently, your body felt like shit, as if every limb had been yanked from its socket, resembling the way taffy is stretched beyond recognition.

You stiffly shifted your back, feeling the aches rise and fall in an agonizing unorganized harmony. You let out a bottomless exhale, the puff of warmth diffusing in the tempered winds.

You hated clocking in earlier than what was ordered, but you also knew the piles of work they had planned out for you. So it’d just be better to get it over with at dawn and have plenty of "free time" during the day.

However, yesterday, you hadn’t been as clever and had to fight the collisions of cars. What was even worse than that was the fact you came in late, barely having the proper time to study the files.

But what was weirder was the number of cases.

Over the months, winter had finally broken out, and when it did, so did the bodies. They practically doubled in the short time frame, heightening, unlike any other season.

But it wasn’t anything you could control; you could only try to prevent it.

It was bleak; your fingers felt lifeless, suffering from the hazardously low temperatures. Your lungs were repressed, taking subtle amounts of polar oxygen inward.

Breathing seemed to only bring a sub-zero chill, dulling your system in a torturous manner.

Your watery eyes caught a detailed glimpse of the illuminated station a few meters away from you. Uniform glass windows lined the front. Icy white spiderwebs seemed to dust the rims, only having the middle of each glass plane defrosted.

The light beige building was around two stories high and was more expansive than a typical station due to housing an accompanying forensic department.

You tilted your head at the closer police cars, which were lined right at the front. The vehicles were predominantly white, marked with bold and contrasting black and blue stripes running along their sides.

A tinge of envy surged through your veins, with the wish you didn’t have an entire marathon to walk each time you went to work. Passing the oversized rides, you followed the guiding light closer to the department.

Powdery snow crunched under your soles, compacting with each movement. Every step sounded high-pitched, squeaking like a dog toy. The wintery molecules had recently fallen, barely printed on by animals or other people.

Unfortunately, though, you were leaving tracks with the way you moved your figure.

You didn’t feel secure being this out in the open, especially with the surrounding area’s reputation. A warm light glowed from the windows, refracting onto the concrete sidewalk you walked on.

Safety was near.

You should’ve been more attentive to your surroundings instead of beelining it straight to base. But you’d rather speed up than patiently get hypothermia from the Alaskan air.

Moving your weight at a timely pace, you soon made quick work of the built-in parking lot. But it wasn’t just the Fahrenheit that made you move this way; it was the added pressure of the latest murders.

The fresh kills from the man on the loose—his existence was blowing up on the internet. Hundreds were prying at the case, no matter how much your local department tried to keep it under wraps.

Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for some thirsty news articles to try to dig too deep. But this instance was different because the officials knew he stayed in one spot, and they didn't need the public to scare him off to another city.

However, in your personal opinion, he’d gotten worse. Not in the way he became clumsier, but in the way he’d gotten smarter. Because now he was starting to grasp the concept of covering up his tracks.

For the past three months, you've seen multiple carcasses.

It wasn’t anything new to see animalistic amounts of chewed-out corpses daily. But these recently submitted physiques always had one horrifying thing in common with one another.

An extended incision two inches right below the jaw.

The likeness of each mark always left an abyssal pang in the roots of your abdomen. Forcing you to churn and gush profusely, like all your acids had come together to form a nauseating butter.

Though it wasn’t like you weren’t prepared for this, you’d trained for months in college, studying what you could. Because essentially, you had sold your soul to the corporations. So in your mind, it was for the best to just stay reticent about your discomfort.

But, still. The imagery of the wounds was haunting. You were sure that if you were asked to recall how the incision appeared, you’d have no trouble.

Because the cut was always the same.

Why did it have to be the same every fucking time, and why couldn’t you get used to it? It was just a slice above the collarbone and below the human mandible.

It wasn’t like their head had been blown to bits.

The repetition, however, was appalling. You couldn’t accept that someone out there liked the fluency and the never-ending pattern left. Did they know how it kept you up at night? Could they ever reflect on how personal each cut felt?

Did they even have the capacity to comprehend the hole they left in the lives of those they harmed? Or maybe this is what they wanted. To make others feel like shit?

You just wished the mercy of the world could spare you and take away this aching remorse. You exhaled, the weight of your thoughts having the same drag of an anchor.

It was difficult to be at ease, though the closure you brought to families seemed to help.

Your dense shoes felt like they were grating against the battered concrete. Every simple scrape seemed ten times more deafening than it was. To say you were on edge would’ve been a heinous understatement.

You kept your digits stuffed in your layered pockets, no longer wanting to contend with the arctic currents. You felt your body at work, trying its best to keep you thawed and snugly toasted.

With preferable timing, you had finally completed your route.

You could feel a different torridity, leaving the parking lot unscathed. Swiftly, you began your brief climb up the compressed staircase.

You swore you didn’t need the handrails, forcing your figure to prance up the case without the added support. In the back of your mind, you knew that if you clutched onto them, you’d only get frostbite or an open, rusty lesion on your palm.

Following the gleaming lights, you hunted down the entrance of the building.

Pastry beige walls and reflective, frosted-tipped windows made most of your peripherals. Your eyes devoured the sight with the knowledge that you wanted nothing else but to be inside.

Silently, you merged, heading to the entrance of the department.

Your plush, silky lanyard bounced with each quick action, and in no time, you found yourself standing in front of the lackluster glass door. Your heated breath fogged up the float glass while you humanly debated whether or not to doodle shapes on the surface.

But you unwillingly compelled yourself to move on to more pressing matters. After a few seconds of inner turmoil, you begrudgingly retracted your hands from your fleece cavities. With your balmy clutches, you invaded the sleek metal door handle.

With an unenthusiastic heave, you hauled open the burdensome door.

A flushed breeze tenderly nuzzled your visage, completely changing your groggy attitude that’d grown from the bitterness of the cold. Taking a few unnoticeable steps inward, you let go of the door.

The heft of the gate automatically sealed the space back up, enclosing the heat from the ruthless outside.

You had no more icy waves to come crashing down on you. So, you felt the lack of need to shield your skin; taking a brief gluttonous puff of well-tempered air, you could faintly taste the macchiato that was lingering.

The smell felt almost stereotypical in the way it reverberated off each wall. You hated to admit just how many of those movies were right about the police.

Getting back on target, you looked around the foyer, and as always, it wasn’t anything special. The room was semi-upper-class, having fancy connecting hallways, an undersized reception desk, and a cramped, cheap waiting room.

Along the barren, pale walls lay a handful of plastic chairs, a box for dropping off prescription drugs, and overly artificial plants. The department strived to make the place look as welcoming as possible, but it mostly came off as out of touch and condescending.

Turning your attention to the cut-off front desk, you saw a distant coworker. Her face was slim, enhanced with sculpture-like features. A rich mixed skin tone painted her and only brightened her overall beautiful complexion.

However, what stood out most was her blinding, superstitious golden badge titling her "Lt Sara."

She currently seemed to be diligently managing inquiries and various calls. Though you’d heard various rumors of what she did before, she joined the department. (Something along the lines of British special forces?)

A dense panel of plexiglass seemed to cage the mid-toned operator inside. She didn’t pay you much mind, keeping to herself; her rich, murky eyes seemed to be glued to her rather expensive work-issued laptop.

You decided not to put your nose where it didn’t belong, ignoring your deepening innocence to ask what she was typing.

Taking a few fleeting steps toward your branch, pitter-patter-like footsteps began to tap throughout the once-muted room. Humbly walking, you were perceptive to the irritating buzzing of the incandescent lightbulb above.

Management should’ve changed it out weeks ago upon regulation, but who could arrest literal law enforcement?

Step by step, the stillness of the fruitless office was betrayed by the sound of parroting taps. The department seemed desolate and liminal in the sense that you were the only one creating any commotion.

It was almost uncanny how much the towering walls were devoid of life.

You kept your posture professional, keeping an unrushed pace down the enclosed hallway. Neutral-colored file cabinets were mindlessly lined, seeming to camouflage with the chipped beige wall. You took your regulated turns, passing by the same identifiable tables, worn-out navy chairs, and other miscellaneous decor.

You could feel a slight burning sensation in your nose, probably caused by the over-the-top cleaning supplies the facility always used.

You wordlessly questioned the janitors on why they put their entire heart into their job, but you only found yourself wishing you could have the same enthusiasm as them.

Your shoes clicked on the polished, stony-colored tiles as your eyes traced down the doors carved on either side. You glazed over multiple shiny labels, all too familiar to you at this point.

You couldn’t count on one hand the number of times you’d seen these signs. The time you spent here seemed to blur together at this point.

Who knew an internship could be this catastrophic?

The walls only seemed to bring you closer and closer to your destination, with every ridge of the painted-over brick wall now recognizable. Pursuing your common area, the doors began to seem to become more robust and excessive compared to the previous.

However, it wasn’t anything too shocking given that all the information locked inside those rooms was highly sought after. However, what was surprising was that interns (college kids) had access to some pretty sensitive records.

Speaking of your rookie classmates, they unfortunately recruited yet another intern, and worse, they were assigned to sit right next to you. Funnily enough, that was one of the reasons you got here so early.

As of right now, your desk looked like the result of a hurricane, and it didn’t help that you used the once-vacant desk next to you for storage. You internally cringed, caught up in the swirly emotion that’d be their initial impression of you.

You let out a swallow exhale upon recollection. Hopefully, they weren’t going to be the verbal bane of your existence, pestering you with lackluster questions all year.

Focusing once more, you reached for your silky, smooth lanyard. Fingers fumbled looking for your QR code identification card, given with the lowest human access possible.

You slouched downward, folding yourself. You took the sturdy card and pressed it against the laser sensor. Having pressed the densely laminated plastic against the puny square-shaped metal box, the door made a short beep.

Your hands briskly moved to the glistening door handle, now heaving it down with no resistance. A click came from the frame, letting you know the hardened lock had finally released its restless hold.

Soon, you wedged yourself inside the room, shutting the high-tech door behind you with a thunderous thump. Luminous fluorescent lighting helped to display the expansive classroom.

The space featured a variety of lengthy, soulless desks, placed as close as they could be to one another. While accompanying cheap plastic chairs were uniformly paired underneath each table. Files seemed to be anchored in stacks close to the windows, which were curtained by opaque sheets.

It was almost childish the amount of priceless work just lazily left out. Your eyes scanned the trivial room again, passing various foreign areas until you shadowed your own.

You paused.

Nothing was missing, and that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the man nonchalantly working between the brochures you left on your previous shift, and if things couldn’t get worse, you recognized him.

This wasn’t just any typical guy, however. This was the college’s award-winning artist, Helen Otis. (Someone whom you found yourself admiring a little too much.)

You’d seen his works plenty of times, each one better than the last. You didn’t know how many art competition trophies he had tucked under his belt, and you didn't know how he had so much room for them.

Sweat was building under your metaphoric shirt collar, leaving you wanting to pull it like a cartoon character. Out of everybody, why'd it have to be him? However, even with the distaste bubbling in your mouth, you could still sense a puppy-like heart race thumping in your chest.

During the years you’d been in school with him, he’d always been a recluse. He had never been the type to do a vast presentation or be among big social groups. But he had been the art kid, inaudibly crafting away in a scenic spot where no one would bother him.

Though it was still surprising, you’d never thought he would be the one to take up this line of work. You always thought he’d do something more along the lines of comical animation or abstract commissions.

But here he was at your doorstep, doing the same thing he always did: wordlessly painting strokes on a page.

Even though he wasn’t paying you any mind, you felt yourself appreciating his personal portrait. You knew neither of you had spoken to the other throughout your college years, but still, some idiotic part of you found his mysterious aura appealing.

From his murky ink tuft of hair to his cerulean stone-shaded eyes, all his facial features seem to drag you further like a fish to a hook, line, and sinker.

If your heart hadn’t been auctioned away for his looks already, his personality had to be the nail in the coffin. He was hushed and polite, always mindful of those around him with a tranquil gaze plastered on his face.

All these things combined made it unfathomable to wonder why he was in such a gruesome line of work. He never did seem capable of harm; at least that’s what you thought.

At the moment, you found yourself fixating on him more than you should’ve, promptly getting lured in by the bait of his serene features. But you hastily shut that down, making it imperative to keep it strictly professional.

All he was was your co-worker who incidentally resided right next to your seat, and it was no big deal; he was just a fresh hire, and that’s all these feelings were. (Keep telling yourself that.)

You shuffled yourself further in. Each step felt like a chain and cannonball attached to your ankle, dragging you down from getting any further. You took an unnoticeable puff before giving in to your sullen movements.

Your shoes barely squeaked on the flat, tiled flooring, efficiently making it to your spot. You did everything in your power to ignore him, which proved difficult when he was now in front of you. Though, thankfully, he didn’t seem to peer up from his current task.

You subtly began taking the diverse portfolios you abandoned the night before and neatly placing them in a lanky stack on your side. Cautiously, you continued to take back your leftovers, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions about your actions.

Luckily for you, each rustling you made was always covered by either a light tap or an oppressive rub back and forth. Pages of newer and older cases grazed your plushy palms as you needily grabbed them covertly.

The scent of vanilla seemed to leak out of the paper each time you ruffled it onto the stack. Your eyes tracked your borrowed files as you mindlessly counted their shared total.

Once you finally piled all of your belongings onto the corner of your desk, you seized a few files from the top, taking out an oh-so-familiar beige folder. Even with how flimsy the printer paper was, it still managed to send a falling sensation deep into your intestines.

Because the case inside had to be one of the most extreme and unsettling you'd seen in a while.

Taking a hasty breath outward, you knew you had a job to do, and you knew that involved making a move. Your emotions were all wack, both agitated by the folder and anxious by Helen.

But restlessly, you still made a move against the odds.

The chair creaked naturally under the sudden weight, adding even more layers to the need to die. You hate this feeling. You hated that the one person you found interest in was sitting this close to you.

You didn’t know why every breath you took felt like an arrow spearing your heart—was it him? Was it the case? Or was it a mix of both?

Being immobilized by gushy chords, the graphite scratching next to you came to a momentary halt before swiftly returning to its ordinary irregular pattern. The pause left a prickly ache and an immeasurable abyss in your soppy organs.

Snapping out of the abnormal haze, you made it mandatory to remember that, at the end of the day, this was an internship. A job that both of you didn't want, and if you did, neither of you intended to be sociable (specifically him).

You got back on track; your hands glided more rigorously on your pivotal file; delicately, you unfolded the restricted document. The folder had a presentation page, making it seem more personalized and human than it was.

In a blueish-black color, a jagged handwritten name embellished the originally empty soulless template.

“Tom E. (Enzo) Stevens.”

You found yourself drowning in thought on the marked page. He was relatively close in age to you, lived in the same area, and for an unbeknownst reason to you, that title rang a bell. You could’ve sworn you’d heard it before, but yet again, that name wasn’t all that unique.

In regards to his death, it was virtually the same as the rest of the victims. He had the staple of the slit two inches below his jaw, but instead of his corpse being on display for the world to see, he’d been shoved off the sixth floor of an apartment complex (that wasn’t too far from your college).

Tom’s death was rushed in comparison and was not nearly as time-intensive as the others. The report drew it down to the realization of eyewitnesses, and if he had taken any longer, the law would've caught up to him.

Interestingly enough, a few regular drunks had seen the man’s figure on the building minutes before the murder, and due to this, it caused his biggest slip-up yet.

Unfortunately, they all made a few vastly different statements, going from brown to blue hair, then to pale to dark skin.

But there happened to be one consistent variable: they said without a doubt he’d worn a paper-mache mask that'd been laced with a crimson grin.

Flipping the page, you are greeted with degraded photos of distinct items. Each object picture had mini-notes stapled underneath it, indicating what evidence was linked to it.

You examined each sunburnt print systematically, trying to find any correlation between them, but to no avail. You leafed pages. You spent more time thoroughly inspecting each discolored paragraph. Your glistening eyes traced each victim and the corresponding articles that died along with them.

You could feel the air trapped in your throat as you swallowed faintly. The similarities, the rate, and the age ran shivers up your spine.

You were more than a perfect candidate.

You were shaken up by the realization. Your breath was off its typical route; you prevailed and kept a stone-cold demeanor. The chances of you being caught and killed by the murderer were low, (but never zero).

You just had to be strong; you had to be for this field of work. No matter how your hands twitched, you needed to find that strength for the people who couldn’t.

Browsing through the thin pages, you could sense something was off. You were missing something from the case. You skimmed through the entire folder once more before you put your finger on it.

You were missing the composite drawings.

Your mind readily changed from the haunting cases to the fellow peer next to you. Inches away, and you’d get your answer, but you weren’t sure how to ask, considering he shouldn’t have been messing with that folder in the first place.

Your curiosity brushed itself against you like a cat; you needed to know if he had it before, you started to panic. It wasn’t like you were asking for a pencil you’d never return; you were asking for the missing drawings on a report.

This was serious, and you had to take it that way, no matter how accusing it felt. You turned from your desk to his. He smelled of graphite; its earthy and metallic aroma clouded up his station.

He seemed to be completely immersed in his work like he was in an altered reality of his own. The more seconds that flew by, the more you realized how lost in his artistry he was. You considered speaking up, not realizing he’d already noticed you in his peripherals.

As you began to open your mouth, he exhaled, stopping his precise charcoal brushing.

“Yes?”

He kept his voice conservative, not raising his tone above a whisper.

His digits remained intertwined with the slender soot utensils. He began to subtly tap at his wooden desk with the edge point like he was counting the seconds between each of your shared words.

Though he kept his face sharp and still, like an unmarked canvas.

“Do you know where the Bloody Painter composite drawings are? My folder seems to be missing them." You exhaled your words, trying to be as cushy as possible and not seem interrogative.

His melodic clicks ceased, and his clench on the pencil faltered. His pallid features stayed remote, trying to ignore the swift glint that glowed in his somber eyes.

“I took them from your file earlier this morning for reference. I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were confidential.” Tragically enough, you were unperceptive to the inflection in his voice.

He soon turned his wooden pencil horizontally, gently caressing the wood. He dotted his sea creature's eyes with yours. He seemed to search for yours like a pirate on a treasure-ridden island.

“You’re with forensic arts, right?” The second you began to speak, he retracted his vision back down to the smooth, polished floor.

He allowed the conversation to grow dry, mindlessly making his leg bounce his weight. “Mhm.”

You felt your chest being squeezed. You didn’t mean to mess up his art session, but you needed the composite drawings back before you could return the folder to the officials.

Your eyes traveled down from the side of his head, down to his triangular jaw, and then to the papers scattered on his side of the table. A certain sketch, however, stuck out to you; it varied in hues of charcoal and was dented with professional marks.

He looked around his late twenties, having semi-long strands of dark pecan hair framing his face. His eyes were dull, unlit with a murky, mud-like shade.

“Are those the composite drawings?”

An acute exhale came from his side as he now entirely rotated himself from his work to you. He didn’t keep his eyes locked on you, but he seemed more engaged, having a light rose tinted at the height of his cheeks.

He allowed the words to sink in: “Not exactly. They’re only my interpretation.”

You briefly hummed while he spoke, continuing to stare at his overly perfect works of art. It was immaculate. Of course, it didn’t compare much to the other pieces that he had full liberty over, but still, it was unbeatable.

“They look so good, though; you’re extremely talented,” you complimented, not knowing how your eyes sparkled when appreciating the craftsmanship.

Your words were more than honest and the exact thing you were thinking, but you hadn’t taken into account how he’d react to something like that. You silently huffed; he’d probably heard it a million times before, but you couldn’t help it.

Unannounced to you, he’d been gazing at you directly (for once) with no sign of retreat. Helen was taking in your eyes, and the way they glistened was full of reverence. He found himself soaking in it. He’d heard plenty of praise for his arts before, but the way you looked set the sail.

He’d need to sketch that later for better practice. He made some effort to take a detailed mental photo of it.

Stupidly enough, he stayed idly facing you, studying your features. Time passed easily, and you glanced back instinctively. He smoothly flicked his sight right back to his personal (inaccurate) composite drawing.

Unknown to him, his posture recoiled and formed an unhealthy "C," which was odd compared to his typical ruler-straight stance.

“Thank you," he gritted his teeth; like he was offended, the words even dared to come out of his mouth.

A smile found its way to your face. He was grateful that he enjoyed your appreciation, even with how passive-aggressive it seemed. You could see yourself becoming friends (or more) with Helen if he went any further with forensics.

You pulled away from your unusual lovey-dovey behavior, getting back on topic. “You do have the originals, right?”

He seemed taken aback, his once pensive expression leaving you. He tampered with his pencil; he pressed his fingers on the wood. His eyes now seemed fixated on a distant point.

He reformed his gentlemanly persona, trying not to lose concentration on the purpose of this conversation. “I do.”

You didn’t know what to make of his current wreck of emotions, but you decided he was just having a rough morning. Though you didn’t like how his interest fled again, you didn’t mention it, but you just wished he hadn’t deserted the conversation.

Helen moved his figure, reaching toward the feeble stack of paper centimeters away from him. His delicate fingers began flipping through assorted works and notes, trying to track down the originals.

The light of the class-like room reflected on his furrowed expression, highlighting his brow bone. The sound of rustling and separation seemed to recite throughout the room as you patiently waited for results.

He gradually made his way to an inked-out document, his facial features wavering.

You could see a darkly printed facade of someone’s face. It must’ve been the original, going on the new assumption that the department didn’t trust college students to not fuck with the authentic piece. Maybe they were fearful that they’d spill something on it or try to steal it to sell on eBay.

He assertively separated any remaining sticking papers before hastily handing you the official print.

You respectfully put on an artificial professional smile, being polite to the artist. As for rule-breaking, his decision was for unintentionally stealing the reprint; you decided against reporting him to the higher-ups.

He was passionate, with an amiable soul and a gullible desire to redraw composite drawings. Sure, he was naive, putting his nose where it didn’t belong, but you couldn’t fault him.

He was just an overzealous painter, and that was all.

Your sight indeliberately flocked back to his side, mindlessly trying to ensure yourself that you hadn’t forgotten anything else. You glanced over a few pencils, pens, and squishy erasers before seeing a different, tougher sheet of paper featuring a distinctive man's physique.

It was a spot-on illustration of the lengthy description you had received of the Tom S. case. Just how much had he looked into your assigned folder? The peculiar portrait could’ve been compared to his actual face; it was uncanny how close he’d gotten your mental image of Tom on paper.

“That’s a drawing of Tom, right? From Tom Steven's murder?” You found yourself intrigued more and more by his virtuosity.

You speculated on the time Helen had lost to etching out victims from the infamous “Bloody Painter” case. You understood he was a part of the forensics art department, but how much graphic painting could one take? Plus, it seemed out of character for him to drain his morning by willingly outlining something that gruesome.

There was a wordless pause as your eyes watched one of his knees buck up and down at a similar, relentless pace. You could feel a pit of solicitude gush in your lower abdomen as if you had crossed a line. That case must’ve struck a nerve, and having to draw the victim probably made the distaste in his throat more drastic.

He had a short, delayed response to your words, losing his energy to keep this chatter going. “Yeah.”

You tilted your head while studying the image’s graphics further. There seemed to be a vital mistake, leaving the drawing inaccurate and fruitless. While most of it had been on point, even having an abbreviated listing of how he was killed, Helen still managed to miss one important factor.

The constant marking, the slit that was supposed to be under his jaw

You wanted to keep it to yourself; you really did, but something in your soul ticked. You thought it over a few times, but it was futile as your compulsive behaviors made the words leak from your mouth.

“You forgot something. Bloody Painter left a laceration two inches under his jaw before pushing him off."

Like a magnet to a refrigerator, he snapped his sights back to his drawing. His neverending cavern of navy blue eyes thoroughly inspected his graphite marks. His salmon lips parted, charcoal eyebrows pressing against one another.

You knew it could’ve come off tedious and knit-picky, but you couldn’t help that nagging feeling that he’d appreciate your insight.

As you closed the space between you both to provide further aid on the unnecessary addon, he brought his attention to you. His dangerous mako eyes locked onto yours, making you feel stuck in an inescapable trance.

This was the first time he’d made eye contact with you.

He hummed one unnoticeable syllable that resembled a “hm” as he leaned an inch closer with the intent to absorb every word that came out of you. A clear indication of how deeply engaged he was.

Now that the spotlight and praise were on you, you couldn’t seem to do anything like a person getting stage fright in front of an impressive crowd.

You felt your body linger on autopilot. No person could handle this stimulation; at least that's what it felt like due to the chemicals pumping through your body. There was no need to react like this, but here you were at the mercy of his prestigious eyes.

Harboring and pleading your jittery breath away, you failed to take note of his defined hand nonchalantly creeping up on your mandible.

“Something like this?”

His pointer and middle were soon firmly planted against your flesh-covered artery. You could feel the pressure build on your sensitive throat, leaving a valley caused by his callous fingers. By this point, you were sure he could feel the way your pulse battered out of your chest.

The only solution to this was that he must’ve been a visual learner. That was the only viable explanation, but still, you found yourself warm to the touch. The air shared felt solid, palpable, and able to be cut.

But being so intertwined with your own cords of emotions, your brain glossed over the fact that he was pressed precisely where the killer always cut.

“Yeah, something like that." Your words fumbled over one another, not being able to tell if he could sense the tension he inadvertently created.

A mischievous smile was firmly tucked into his features. But before you could even pry into his preceding actions, a heightened beep buzzed from his pocket. He instantly backed his hand away from your neck, letting it rest on his thigh.

His light appearance was brought down by a sudden weight as he withdrew a slick gray phone. You caught a glimpse of the vibrating screen as he haphazardly let it ring.

"Masky. (Ignore if possible.)”

He huffed as his skinny face expeditiously contorted into a solemn deadpan. His leg went right back to a musically animated bounce before leaving your proximity.

He dragged the cellular device to his ear; his sight darted down to you with a velvety expression and whispered, "Sorry– I’ll be back.”

You reverted to your senses, getting back into gear. You affirmed him instantaneously with a nod. His mood was upended by your assuring movement as he departed from your shared space, heading for somewhere more secluded.

Once his presence dissipated, you fully accepted the circumstances. Your breath was still uneven, and you even felt way too comfortable in your once-itchy chair. Your flushed state progressively cleared up; however, you were still bubbly from the previous altercation.

Without much thought, your perception picked up on the Tom Stevens illustration once more. You didn’t notice it previously, but there was a creative liberty added to his special composite.

A tattoo. You didn’t recall the description ever stating he had an emblem on his collarbone.

Especially one with an O and an X.

Written By: Verdana. (bogusbox)

Beta [Alpha] Reader: Sara. (tobyskitten342)

Mentions: @flufftober & @tobyskitten342

A/N: It's been proofread :D

#flufftober2022 #day2 #creepypasta #bloody painter x reader #bloody painter x y/n #bloody painter x you #bloody painter #helen otis x y/n #helen otis x reader #helen otis x you #helen otis #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #fanfiction #creepypasta oneshot #x reader

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akiragatr · 8 months

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#my posts #my polls

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wedonthaveawhile · 8 months

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The Serpents Hold // Chapter Nine

Chapter warning: Graphic depictions of violence

Summary: When Sebastian turns to dark magic to cure his sister, Nova and Ominis find themselves reluctantly thrust into a partnership to aid him. Amid the disapproval of Ominis' family, Nova wrestles with her growing feelings for him and also with the nagging suspicion that Ominis knows more about Anne's condition than he's letting on.

AO3 // Masterlist

Dear Nova,

I have made a discovery within Feldcroft catacombs, but I need your help in gaining access. Meet me there tomorrow after dark. Please refrain from disclosing this to Ominis.

With anticipation,

Sebastian.

Nova's fingernails were chewed down to jagged slivers. Her eyes darted between the letter and Ominis as she grappled with the decision to confide in him. He was blissfully unaware, fast asleep at the far end of the sofa and mostly obscured by a blanket. His unruly hair covered his face as he nestled into the crook of his elbow, one arm draped across Nova's legs.

She was reluctant to disturb him, but with the clock above the fireplace ticking closer to midday, she couldn't ignore that she only had a few short hours before Sebastian would be expecting her.

"Ominis?"

She shifted her legs, prompting an indignant moan from beneath the covers. With some proficient sofa-digging, she unearthed her wand and summoned heat into a teapot resting on the table.

Her eyes were glued to Ominis as he fought himself upright, her cheeks burning as she beheld his morning appearance. It was a stark departure from his usual uniformity—dishevelled, dressed in his snug, black jumper that hugged his form, with the faint imprints of the sofa's upholstery stamped across his beauty marks.

"Good morning," he croaked, mustering a valiant effort to tame his hair back into its customary neat style.

She tore her attention away from him to fill two mugs with tea. "Morning. How did you sleep?"

"Fine, once you stopped flopping around."

"It took a lot of restraint; I hope you appreciate it," She inched a beverage into his hands and nestled comfortably against the backrest.

Ominis indulged in a stretch, impressively keeping the liquid upright throughout the gesture. "So, what's on the agenda for our Christmas Eve?" he asked, blowing away the rising steam.

Nova's mind lacked creative inspiration; she only wanted to retreat to the Quidditch tower and waste the day away.

"We could put that Quidditch pitch to good use?" she suggested, retrieving his abandoned packet of taffy. "You can teach me how to play."

"How well do you think the visually impaired can navigate the skies?"

"Oh, well, I guess that rules out a broom race through the halls," She nibbled on her sickly-sweet breakfast, joking to cloak her genuine disappointment.

"Any suggestions that don't involve me crashing headfirst into a brick wall?"

"We could venture into the Forbidden Forest and see what all the fuss is about. There's hardly any faculty around to stop us."

A faint mist of tea accompanied his startled choke at her proposal. "Are you winding me up or trying to get us killed? I don't appreciate either."

"You're such a wimp," she taunted, jogging his arm with her foot.

He retaliated by digging his fingertips into her kneecap, causing a startled squeal as a tidal wave sloshed into her lap. His laughter stopped abruptly when she tossed the soggy end of the blanket at his face.

"All right then, what are your suggestions?"

"You know what I've always dreamed of doing?" His face lit up as he rubbed off the droplets with his sleeve. "Treat myself to a bath in the prefects' bathroom."

"… That's it? We have the entire castle to ourselves, and taking a bath is your top choice?"

"Clearly you haven't been briefed on this bathroom. It's rumoured to be gigantic, with a hundred taps. And the bubbles..." He kissed his fingertips as if words failed to capture the sheer luxury of those bubbles.

"All right," she conceded, sinking into a pile of cushions. "So, my Christmas Eve agenda is guarding a door while you indulge in a bath."

His fingers lightly drummed against the porcelain teacup as he spoke, a slight rouge staining his cheeks. "If you do a commendable job, I'll allow you to escort me to the Quidditch tower for dinner."

She bit her lip, hesitant to dampen his good spirits. "So, I meant to tell you, I might not be around for dinner tonight..." Her fingers threaded through her hair as she grappled with the best way to broach the topic. "That letter I received from Sebastian yesterday. It wasn't a card. He's found something and asked me to meet him."

Ominis exhaled loudly, pushing the blankets off his lap to sit upright. "Where?"

"Feldcroft catacombs."

"Catacombs?" he echoed, his pale skin taking on a ghostlier hue. "You're not going, are you?"

"I'm not thrilled about it, but if I refuse, we know he'll go anyway. And if we had allowed him to go alone the last time..."

She regretted her words when a pained expression overtook his features. She couldn't bring herself to articulate it, but the thought of Sebastian meeting the same fate as his aunt, dying trapped and alone, was enough to solidify her decision.

"What if he tries to cast that curse again? Your tactic of rousing him to anger won't work again," Ominis pushed himself off the sofa, his steps tracing a circuit around it as he brooded. "I could go instead; maybe I can dissuade him from going?"

Nova shook her head, determined to uphold the appearance of loyalty despite her difficulty keeping secrets. "He asked me not to tell you. If we want to convince him to abandon this idea, I'm not sure betraying his trust is the best course of action."

"Then why did you tell me?"

Nova couldn't pinpoint why the question made her squirm, but it did. She had never felt fear as paralysing as under the Cruciatus Curse, writhing on the ground, surrounded by dark magic with a corpse nearby. Perhaps Ominis' being a lighthouse in the storm had made him somewhat of a comfort.

"I wanted to," she said flatly, her hands finding a place on his shoulders to halt his restless pacing. "If I haven't returned by morning, I need you to send for help."

Nova squinted through the darkness as she skidded along the icy path to the catacombs. The silhouette of Rookwood castle was just a shadow against the blackened sky, but she could feel its weight bearing down on her from the cliffs above. As she finally approached the entrance, she caught sight of a figure pacing back and forth.

"Sebastian!" she cried out, stumbling on her final steps. She managed to fling her arms around him, relishing the warmth amidst the piercing gale. "There better be a good reason for dragging me out here."

He squeezed her tightly for a moment before ushering her into the shelter of the cave.

"I found a report in Salazar's belongings," he wasted no time getting to the point, his fingers a blur as he sifted through a mass of loose parchment. "It mentions a relic hidden in a catacomb. It's linked to an ancient magic capable of wielding dark curses, and the castle where Anne was cursed stands on top of this catacomb. It can't be a coincidence."

"Sebastian, you swore you'd take a break during the holidays," she scolded, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes were etched deeper than before. "And what about Soloman? How's he reacting to all this?"

"He has no clue, I promise," he replied, somewhat missing the point.

"This doesn't seem like the most promising lead. The scriptorium was one thing, but this seems incredibly... public."

"Well, according to this report, it shouldn't be. It mentions a vaulted door, only accessible by a Slytherin descendant, but look," Sebastian ran his fingers down the jagged edge of a metal doorframe nestled within the cave's grooves, "someone has torn it right off the hinges."

Nova shot him a side-eye. For someone so intelligent, he sure was dumb.

"And you want to follow in the footsteps of someone capable of this?"

She cinched her scarf tighter around her neck, optimistically preparing for the commute back to Hogwarts. "If there was a relic here, it's evidently long gone."

"We'll just poke our heads in, have a look around. It's not like the scriptorium; the door is wide open for you to walk out again If you're uncomfortable."

Nova extended her hand from beneath her sleeve, summoning a feeble light that flickered into the gloomy nooks of the catacombs. She scanned the depths, and after a tense moment where no imminent danger leapt out to claim their lives, she turned to Sebastian, meeting his pleading puppy-dog eyes with a nod of assent.

Hundreds of candles tucked away in stony recesses flickered to life as Sebastian stormed past them. His voice echoed through the tunnel, gradually fading as Nova struggled to keep pace. "You haven't told Ominis about meeting me, have you?"

She nibbled at the dry skin on her lip, her mind racing to conjure a plausible answer. "Sebastian, we're the only Slytherins at Hogwarts, and Ominis isn't an idiot. There's only a few places he'd assume I've gone."

His prolonged silence indicated his dissatisfaction with her response.

"I presumed you two wouldn't interact much, given how he's been acting. He'd be furious if he knew what we were doing."

Nova frowned at the back of his head, "What do you mean, how he's been acting?"

"I don't know, but something was eating at him. He only lasted three days before muttering some excuse about needing to be left alone and returning to Hogwarts."

"Maybe your disagreements with Soloman were weighing on him."

"I don't think so. We've been fine," Sebastian paused for a moment before adding, "Well, we haven't been any worse than usual."

Things are more than unstable between the Sallow's. They should be left alone for the holidays.

Nova was confused. Ominis' reasoning had left little room for interpretation. Before she could pick apart his intentions, Sebastian illuminated his wand—The sudden onslaught of light stabbing into her corneas and leaving her momentarily dazed.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the musty odour wafting from the path ahead, which was barely visible through a shroud of thick cobwebs. Nova gingerly ignited them; the smouldering strands lit the passage, and in the fleeting light, she saw a twitch in the shadows.

She had scarcely muttered the lumos incantation before a force erupted from the tunnel, striking her face and sending her sprawling backwards. She clutched her cheek, feeling the warmth of her blood coating her trembling fingers. Her breath was ripped from her lungs as she was hurled into the air, and her body slammed back into the rock.

Chunks of grit rained down from the ceiling as Sebastian unleashed a blast from his wand, striking the acromantula with such force it hurtled into the cavern wall. The arachnid rebounded with a thunderous blow, sprawling onto the ground before burrowing beneath the earth.

Nova's muscles strained against the weight of her body as she fought to her feet and scoured the terrain for any sign of the beast. Before she could fully regain her bearings, a horde of infant acromantula poured out of the tunnel, their razor-sharp limbs slashing at her ankles. She ignited her wand and reduced the vicious creatures to smouldering ash.

"Sebastian?" she rasped before the colossal spider burst from the earth, quaking the cavern and threatening to bury them alive.

Nova unleashed a searing fireball at the creature's wiry body, releasing a deafening screech as it thrashed wildly.

A boulder was heaved off the ground and launched through the air. She braced herself as it collided with the creature, obliterating it and scattering shards of rock and molten flesh across the cave.

Nova blinked rapidly against the blinding red beacon assaulting her eyes. As the dust settled, the figure attached to the flashing light reached out and pulled her to her feet. "We need to get out of here."

"Are you serious? You've just cleared our path; I'm not turning back now." Sebastian brushed the dirt from his hair and pressed forward without a word of thanks to Ominis for their rescue.

"Should we go after him?" Nova tried to articulate, but her words fell out in a strangled wheeze. She brushed the dirt from her face, yelping as her fingers grazed a thick gash.

"Are you hurt?"

"It just clipped my face; I'm fine."

Ominis ran his fingertips down her cheek until he met the jagged edge of a thick wound that sliced from her ear to her eyebrow.

"We need to get you to the hospital wing," he insisted. His words had scarcely left his lips when a distressed cry from Sebastian rolled up through the tunnel.

"We can't leave him."

"You go, I'll get Sebastian." The shadows of the cavern swallowed him slowly as he inched towards the passage. "I'll come find you. If we're not back by morning, get help."

He disappeared into the darkness.

Nova staggered for a moment, absorbing the gruesome carnage splattered across the cave before trailing after him.

Sebastian paced restlessly around the circular tomb, his heavy footfalls crunching over charred remains of infant acromantula that lay strewn at his feet.

"Don't open the coffins," he cautioned with a ragged breath.

"It wasn't at the top of my list of priorities," Nova appeared by Ominis' side, who let out a weary sigh at her presence.

"You shouldn't be down here."

"Neither should you. I specifically asked you to—"

Before she could lay into him, he cast a lumos straight at her face without warning.

If one of these boys assaulted her sight one more time, she was seriously considering sealing them in.

"Sebastian, how bad is Nova's wound?"

Sebastian had been running his fingertips along some etchings he'd discovered on the walls, blowing away chunks of dust from the grooves. It took him a moment to tear his eyes away and throw a glance at Nova's blood-stained face. His response to Ominis' question was a flat, "Oh, shit," which wasn't particularly comforting. "Are you okay?"

"No, she's not okay. We need to get her to the infirmary."

Sebastian shifted his focus back to the symbols. "You should take her. I can't leave without thoroughly searching this place."

"I won't leave without both of you." Nova was straining to hide that her legs were on the verge of buckling. The adrenaline had waned, and the pain from her slashed ankles was clawing higher up her legs. With every blink, the grit clinging to her skin burrowed deep into her eyes. "I'm fine," she insisted, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake."

"Ominis, if she says she's fine, trust her judgment. The sooner we explore this place, the quicker we can get her to the nurse, so you might as well lend a hand."

Sebastian ignited his wand and seared away layers of dried vines, the firelight accentuating a rugged groove etched into the wall.

"It looks like the number four," Nova said.

"Sebastian."

"It's not a four," he brushed off Ominis' disapproval. "It's the wand movement for the Imperius Curse."

Nova's vision swam, and she grasped one of the protruding posts near the wall for support, recoiling in abject horror when she realised it was crafted from human vertebrae. Her stomach twisted violently when she crunched onto the skeletal remains scattered around the sarcophagus.

"Why are there so many bones outside of a casket?" she asked, examining the columns of backbone encircling the coffin, each crowned with a flickering flame. "Here, give me a hand with this."

"I thought opening coffins wasn't a priority." Sebastian joined her side, his muscles tensing as he lent his strength to shift the heavy lid aside. Guiding her wand through the crack, they found it devoid of any remains. The only feature was an inscription of an archway crafted from bones by two spine pillars.

Nova gestured toward the towers of vertebrae towering beside the Imperius engraving.

"I knew enlisting your help was a good idea. I felt it in my bones," Sebastian turned to her with his mouth agape, awaiting his applause. Instead, he received a cloud of dust from the rotting coffin swiped in his direction. "So, I cast the Imperius Curse and have you make an archway with these bones. Sounds straightforward."

His words and the ensuing visceral memory of cruciatus struck Nova like a knife to the chest, but Ominis' hesitant steps offered some semblance of comfort as he approached them.

"I'll take the curse."

Sebastian cast the Imperius Curse without a hint of hesitation, ensuring that no second thoughts could cross Ominis' mind.

The curse crashed into him like a thunderbolt. A surge of azure lightning crackled across his body before illuminating his eyes with an otherworldly glow as he stood to attention. Sebastian's unwavering stare pierced into Ominis, who, in silent obedience, executed the unspoken command. His wand sliced through the air, commanding the scattered piles of bones to rise and intertwine, forming an archway that spanned the gap between the two spine posts.

The wall crumbled away, and Nova winced as a fresh wave of grit invaded her senses, exacerbating the cuts on her battered legs. Behind it was a chamber no larger than a broom closet, with a stone cube intricately carved into the cave's natural rock. The object instantly captured Sebastian's attention, breaking Ominis free from the grip of the curse.

"Are you alright?" Nova caught his elbow as he swayed, the eerie light in his eyes fading into their standard milky blue. He nodded.

"This isn't the relic, but I've seen this before," Sebastian muttered, primarily to himself, his hands shaking as he frantically sifted through the crumpled papers in his cloak pocket. He shoved them back in individually, growing more agitated when he couldn't locate the specific page. "It must be back in the Undercroft; we have to get back there."

The congealed blood clinging to Nova's eyelashes made retracing her steps through the cavern agonisingly unbearable. Every light dip or groove made her stumble. Sand dug deeper into her raw tear ducts with each attempt to scrape it out. When she crashed into a wall for the second time, Ominis called back to ask if she was alright.

"I'm okay, just can't see."

A clammy hand landed on her forearm, trailing down to clasp her hand and tug her through the tunnel. They followed his wand's sporadic crimson glow and staggered back to the Feldcroft Floo.

Nova drew in a trembling breath, the common room's warmth soothing the lingering chill on her skin. She scanned the room for Sebastian but assumed he had chosen a more direct path to the Undercroft when Ominis appeared alone.

"I don't want to go to the hospital wing," she told him before he could insist on it. She leant her weight against the cold wall, not yet ready to tackle the staircase. "Too many questions, and I'm not a good liar."

Ominis brushed the snow from his hair, his hand still marked by the stubborn stains of her dried blood. "Good thinking. A sizable scar will raise no questions."

"The cuts aren't that deep," she lied. "I just need to wash the grit out."

A smile battled through his concerned frown. "I know just the place to run you a phenomenal bath."

She rested her head on his shoulder, mustering a feeble laugh. "Yes, please."

With a gleeful flourish of his wand, Ominis activated all one hundred taps at once, unleashing a torrent of soothing, lavender-scented steam. Instantly, it began to work its magic, relaxing her burning muscles.

"I'll be outside if you need anything."

Panic clawed its way up to her chest as he began to leave, a lingering sense of claustrophobia stemming from her near-death experience in the catacombs.

"Ominis?" She called before the door could fully close. She walked toward him, silently cursing her own vulnerability. "Would it be alright if you stayed here with me? If you're comfortable with that, of course."

His knuckles turned bone-white as he tightened his grip on the doorknob, his cheeks flushing a startling shade of crimson. Her heart sank, and she immediately regretted her words—She’d overstepped a boundary.

"I thought... Just...that you wouldn’t look," she giggled weakly.

Her attempt to diffuse the tension failed, and a few seconds of painful silence hung between them as Ominis struggled to articulate something.

As she hovered on the brink of slamming the door in his face and shutting him out of her life forever, he leaned in, his lips finding hers in a clumsy, unexpected kiss. She froze. Suspended between her prior humiliation and an intoxicating rush of giddiness. He pulled back, equally as surprised by his own impulsiveness.

She reached for him, her fingers threading through the soft strands of his blonde hair, drawing him back in for another kiss as she guided him back through the doorway.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy ominis #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts oc #ominis gaunt #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #hogwarts houses #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #mc #hogwarts mystery #ominis #ominis gaunt fic #the gaunts hc #the gaunt family #hogwarts legacy headcanons #sebastian sallow headcanon #ominis gaunt headcanon

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jadegretz · 3 months

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Felicia's Secret: The Enigmatic Black Cat by Jade Gretz

Felicia Hardy, the Black Cat, slunk through the moonlit maze of rooftops, her sleek form a whisper against the night sky. The city sprawled beneath her, a glittering mosaic of secrets waiting to be unraveled. Tonight, the target was a discreet auction hosted by a consortium of enigmatic collectors, rumored to be peddling forbidden relics. Felicia craved the thrill of the impossible heist, the dance with danger that pulsed in her veins, amplified by the potent cocktail of curses she'd acquired over the years.

Her luck, once a whimsical companion, had morphed into a mischievous beast, twisting probabilities like taffy. A stray glance could turn a casual stroll into a fortune, a whispered curse could crack the most secure vault. But the power came at a price. Every twist of fate, every fortune pilfered, left a residue of misfortune hanging in the air, ready to snag the unwary, like the barbed hooks she used to scale the buildings.

Reaching the auction's rooftop perch, Felicia's emerald eyes narrowed. The venue, a repurposed cathedral, pulsed with an unsettling aura. Gargoyles leered down from the facade, their shadows writhing like tormented souls. Her senses, usually sharper than a diamond's edge, hummed with discord, a subtle undercurrent of wrongness beneath the veneer of opulent revelry.

Slipping through a stained-glass window, Felicia landed amidst a hushed congregation of veiled figures and shadowed men. The air thrummed with a low, rhythmic chanting, emanating from a raised dais draped in crimson velvet. On it, a masked figure held aloft a tarnished silver amulet, its surface etched with glyphs that sent shivers down Felicia's spine.

She recognized the symbol – the Mark of Misfortune, an artifact rumored to amplify ill-luck, a catalyst for disaster. In the wrong hands, it could plunge the city into a maelstrom of misfortune, twisting lives like pretzels dipped in despair. Yet, a perverse curiosity snagged at her like a barbed hook. Perhaps, by stealing the amulet, she could control its chaos, redirect its malice, use it to twist the world to her own whim.

The thought was intoxicating, …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

#jadegretz #ai #batman #superhero #dc comics #black cat #felicia hardy

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sketchzecri · 6 months

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Tell me Abt choco pretty please. R they a cereal mascot

Worse.

Choco is a very pathetic sopping wet cat of a man (ive comissioned molty for him twice!! :3)

Literally where do i begin.

So. Necromancy in my world is very complicated magic. And verrry forbidden because instead of just making a corpse move it drags their spirit back to their body repairing the damage if done right. But thats HARD to do. Like super duper hard. In fact, the only way to consistently and effortlessly revive people like that is to have it in your bloodline.

Obviously this kind of magic is scary and weird. So it becomes punishable by death, (some places killing you just for having that magic in you at all. Fucked up)

But they never caught my girl FREYJA AYYYYYYYYYYY

Freyja is Choco's mom. She escaped the law by leaving the city walls and living in the woods :3 She has Choco first then later Cloud. Both of them inheriting her magic. (They also have a skeleton cat named Keke but shes largely there to be cute)

One day, while fucking around in the forest, our young Choco runs into Kaveah, who had ran away to explore the woods. After freaking out about seeing another person, the two hit it off quite well! Choco shows Freyja his new friend and Freyja is like what the fuck that is literally the princess what. Kaveah promises to not tell anyone because she would also get in heeps of trouble for sneaking out.

Womp womp her dad finds out

And he is FREAKING OUT.

Mars has like. A whole onion of issues but tldr he freaks, attacks their family, kaveah defends them, she loses her eye in the process oopsies

After calming down (and realizing he just nearly killed his daughter oops) he stops sucking and is like you know what you mean a lot to my daughter and youve cared for her so much so for as long as i remain king i will keep you and your family safe (to freyja) and they cool now

Womp womp fire

So remember how i mentioned cloud? Yeah that's choco's dipshit brother from hell. He lights the cabin on fire with the intent of killing Freyja and Choco (he's like. Maybe 7 here i think i cant remember.) But dumbass gets HIMSELF killed instead! And freyja

Choco gets out of there

And my boy is NOT doing too hot pun unintended

From then on he lives in the palace with Kaveah then they grow up get married yadda yadda have a son hisbname is Taffy (picked it out himself (hes trans))

So heres where it gets messy. Im not gonna try to come up with anything on the spot but Taffy gets impossibly sick so he calls upon a spirit of some kind to fix him it works YAY

Something happens so he goes to do it again but GUESS WHO ITS CLOUD BITCH KABLAMO and so cloud switches places with Choco. Stealing his body and sending Choco to afterlife hell (its not really hell its complicated not gonna talk abt it here)

And thats kinda it for choco. Theres a few plotpoints that he helps in with other characters but in terms of big events thats it.

There is something here about multiverse travel but thats post-story fluff and roleplay physics

#sorry this is REALLY messy these characters have existed for literal years so their lore is all over the place.#this like. set of oc universe is mostly having fun and playing with dolls.#artificial intuition is more solid in its lore but BARELY silly #sorry chat this isnt going under a readmore you followed the alt blog theres no structure here

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ask-the-clergy-bc · 2 years

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So, since ghouls can be summoned anywhere, what's the experience like for the ghoul themselves?

Because I always make myself laugh at the thought of a ghoul just lounging around in the Clergy, then suddenly they feel The Summoning™ and a void appears, sucks them in and spats them out in the middle of a corn field with some random cult LOL or is it more of a, "Hey guys, guess who's being summoned right now? 🤪✌🏼" and they have more control on if they want to fulfill the summoning or not?

LMAOOOOOOOOO!! I can't even begin to imagine how confused everyone would be!! Because I can also imagine it being one of the band ghouls and having to call Copia in the middle of no where.

"Please come get me, there's corn everywhere..."

But I'm always happy to talk about Ghoul Geographic!! <3

Also Quick Content Warning for Physical Pain and Misplaced Ghoul Kits

Ghouls During Summoning

~Typical Clergy Sanctioned Summons (there is an important distinction) are always scheduled and based on need. Summonings are difficult both for the summoners and the ghoul being brought to Earth. Lucifer will reach out to the acting Papa or Ministry if there needs to be a SPECIFIC powerful ghoul in Hell He wants brought up. And a sanctioned summon is a VERY different experience from a summon that isn't authorized or performed by amateurs.

~From Hell, a ghoul can always tell when they are being summoned. Days leading up to it (Hell time is MUCH different than Earth time) a ghoul will feel restless. Not able to shake off the feeling that change is on the wind. But when it finally happens and the magics start to pull them, the ghoul will immediately recognize it. The call of their Dark Lord for something greater. To most it's like the mixture of purpose and overwhelming fear that tugs at every fiber of their being from mind to soul, ready to pluck them from their lives in Hell. It's an unmistakable NEED to answer it.

~A ghoul ALWAYS has the choice to not answer the call of the Clergy, but it's rare that a chosen ghoul would be one who is unwilling. Lucifer tends to pick his willing servants. In most ghoul tribes it's considered an Honor to be strong or skilled enough to be needed. So most are happy to go, albeit many reluctantly. Ghouls who don't want to go can dissipate the summoning magic with their own element. Usually as just a reflex from the ghoul to protect themselves rather than necessary.

~Physically, the ghoul will be consumed by both Hellish energies AND their own element. Imagine sitting next to your friend and suddenly the wing picks up and winds around them. Then you see bursts of color and shimmer surround them followed by them catching on fire and then suddenly disappearing. That's pretty much what other ghouls see during a summoning.

~Many ghouls have described the actual travel as off putting and strange. Like being pulled around like taffy but without the pain. Well, until the ghoul reaches through the metaphysical barrier that connects Earth to Hell. Then it's described as being painful. Brief moments of every cell in your body being both on fire and frozen as you are restructured into a new physical being. It eventually passes and the ghoul has to feel the weight of their summoning circle and bizarre new creatures who babble at them.

~Many ghouls also report a bit of a shock after being summoned because Earth FEELS fundamentally different than Hell in so many ways. Many are cut off from the main source of their power, so feel like they are wearing kit gloves all the time. That, and gravity seems lighter here. Others find it equally overwhelming because their senses are almost SHARPER on Earth. So the noises and lights are suddenly intense all the time.

~Unfortunately, you do get outside cults who steal summoning magic (though rare), AND you can get ministry members who get too big for their britches and think they can summon a ghoul by themselves. This is incredibly dangerous for both the summoner AND the ghoul, which is why it's so forbidden and harshly punished. What's worse this either can result in an angry and possibly injured ghoul being summoned against their will... or a ghoul kit being summoned because the summoner is not strong enough for an adult. Again, VERY HARSH PUNISHENTS for this- even more so if you are a clergy member.

~It's possible for a ghoul to be summoned to a different part of the Earth, but incredibly unnecessary. But then again, humans can also be 'summoned' if they have the right ties or loyalties. A same plane summoning might be attempted if the ghoul is missing or thought to be captured- but that has it's own risks.

#the band ghost #ghost headcanons #nameless ghouls #ghouls #national geographic on ghouls #content warning #physical pain #summoning

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yeoldemothmemes · 3 months

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Sentence Starters from my Watch Later 76

Feel free to change the pronouns and otherwise alter as needed

"That's what you do when it's winter, just chill with your buddies until spring comes" "Hates or loves, I don't know" "I'll beat them up. Nicely" "I can't be trusted" "I literally just got this shirt" "Sounds like we are nested cozily inside a jet engine" "That took forever" "Forbidden taffy" "This has been tinfoil 101" "I think they are precious and I love them" "Welcome to my natural habitat, the floor" "I love winter.... I love it" "How are you real?" "It's crafting time" "Hi. I'm on the floor" "What are they doing in the yard?" "That was the longest game of hide and seek I've ever played in my life" "I'm not dealing with that, I'm going to sleep" "I'm not dealing with that, I'm going back to sleep" "I am the opposite of smart" "I like walking through the forest" "Thank you for taking pity on me" "I have a feeling I'm not getting any BLANK" "What makes you think you could get any BLANK"

#youtuber based sentence starters #watch later rp sentence starters #rp sentence starters #sentence rp meme #roleplay sentence starters #roleplay sentence meme #rp meme

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dzthenerd490 · 1 month

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File: Tommy Taffy

SCP#: AFJ

Code Name: Tommy Taffy is here to help ;-)

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-AFJ has been contain at Site-AD, his body has been wrapped by the immortal never rotting skin of Mobile Task Force Tau-5 "Samsara" members including Dr. [data expunged]. Doing this has ensured that SCP-AFJ will never escape containment again. Testing has not and will never be approved due to fear of allowing SCP-AFJ to escape and attack more civilians.

Description: SCP-AFJ is an anomalous humanoid seemingly of Caucasian ethnicity with short blond hair and blue eyes. Upon first sighting it is quite obvious that SCP-AFJ is made of plastic and has a handsome yet sinister face and smile. SCP-AFJ is immortal on all aspects, though his body can be destroyed it will always regenerate even form complete body incineration. SCP-AFJ has great strength able to lift a grown man with a single hand and can burst through hard wood doors with minimal effort. Bullets do nothing to SCP-AFJ, not even being able to slow him down, he is truly an unstoppable force.

Furthermore SCP-AFJ has a "Schrodinger's cat" type of ability allowing him to disappear and reappear anywhere when not being seen. There are times where he can be at two places at once, though he is not able to copy himself beyond that. There is always only one SCP-AFJ in existence even when it seems like there is two. How this works is not well understood, theories have ranged from temporal abilities to simply hallucinations. Unfortunately, it is for this reason that testing is forbidden yet without testing we are unable to see how far this anomalous ability can go. A frustrating loop to say the least.

SCP-AFJ for whatever reason regularly invades the suburban area of [data expunged] forcing families of the area to have him live with them and do whatever he says. SCP-AFJ often acts as a guide for the family and tells them to do whatever he thinks is necessary. If anyone disobeys him, they will be beaten or a family member of theirs will be beaten. Because SCP-AFJ is immortal he will always come back so no matter what the civilians do he WILL get what he wants or kill someone else first. SCP-AFJ is extremely sadistic seeming to only come to this suburban area to torment the locals especially their children, he very much enjoys telling them to do things and forcing them to obey through the fear of what he will do if they don't.

SCP-AFJ was discovered in 1988 when a child called the police saying that a scary man named tommy was living in his house. The child quickly went silent and a strange, yet calm voice got on the phone telling the police everything was alright and that his son was just exaggerating. Before SCP-AFJ hung up the same child was heard screaming for a split second before the call ended. The Telecommunications Monitoring Office recorded the call and gave orders to the sherif to have all units investigating the incident to stand down.

Foundation agents disguised as Police officers went to the area and investigated for anomalous activity. They immediately encountered SCP-AFJ thought were unable to contain him due to his anomalous effects. Please see Addendum X-40 for details.

***

Addendum X-40

The following is a recorded encounter with SCP-AFJ as Foundation agents tried to get into one of the apartments of the suburbs where the anomaly occupied.

Begin Recording

FA3: Hello? Is anyone in there?

Banging can be heard form agents knocking on the door. Soon the sound of the door opening can be heard.

Civilians: Uh? Yes, can I help you?

FA4: Good evening, ma'am. We were wondering if you have a young boy here. We believe he had made call to our department for help.

Civilian: O- Oh! That, yes uh... Well, I do apologize but as the boy's father already said that was just a prank call.

FA3: That may be true, but it also may be true that your son is being abused by your husband.

FA4: Ma'am for your safety and the safety of your son we need to investigate the house.

The woman looks at the two agents in confusion then to the neighbors in fear, one of the agents turn to look where she is looking and see's the door quickly close. It is believed it was SCP-AFJ threatening the woman to keep them out of the house. The agents are rightfully suspicious of this and call on their radio.

FA3: ... I need an agent at that house over there.

Civilian: No! You can't go in there!

FA4: Why?

Civilian: Uh... I uh... Those are my neighbors and their very sick, please they don't need anyone bothering them right now.

FA3: I'm going to have to insist we have that house investigated, in the meantime you need to let us in your house to investigate.

Civilian: I uh... I know the law! Without a warrant you can't force your way in here!

FA4: Ma'am we have reason to believe your child is being abused if you refuse to let us in then we will arrest you. Then we'll have to come in while your child is scared, confused, and without his mother. Is that what you want?

FA3: You see ma'am we don't need a warrant when we have suspicious of a crime taking place and your being very suspicious.

Civilian: ... Please... Please I am begging you, just go away.

FA4: Alright, that's it, cop play is over, get the fuck out of the way!

Civilian: NO!

The woman tried to slam the door, but Agent 4 pushed it open with his strength making her fall to the ground. Upon entering inside there was SCP-AFJ with an extremely furious frown on his face.

FA4: What the fuck?! Who the hell are you?

Civilian: Please! I'm sorry! I can make them go away!

SCP-AFJ: No, you've done enough [data expunged], it's time for the man of the house to take care of business. But after I'm done, I'll need you to put a hot iron on your face. Okay?

FA4: Hey! I'm talking to you, asshole! Who the fu-

SCP-AFJ slapped Agent 4 so hard his head ripped off sending it flying into the living room of the house.

FA3: HOLY SHIT!

Agent 3 started firing at SCP-AFJ but he smiled and laughed as the bullets hit through his body and he just walked closer. Agent 3 then looked back to the other house seeing Agent 1's mangled corpse thrown into the street. SCP-AFJ then walks out of the house holding Agent 2 by the neck before snapping it. Agent 3 looks back to the van they drove in and ran too it.

FA3: Send the data! Send it now-!

A second before Agent 3 could finish talking he was grabbed form the back by SCP-AFJ and his head was torn off. The agents inside the van quickly started a link to the Foundation command and sent all recorded data while livestreaming any recent data. One of the agents then went to the front of the van to start it and get them out of there. Suddenly SCP-AFJ showed up in the passenger's seat, grabbed the seat belt of the drives seat, and used it to strangle the agent. He then suddenly appeared behind the two remaining agents within the van and bashed their heads into the computers until they died.

SCP-AFJ: ... I know someone is listening. So, listen well... Stay the hell away. Whoever you are, you can't stop me. I'm unstoppable and I'll always come back no matter what. Hehehe, you might think I'm a serial killer, a terrorist, or something worse. No, I'm just tommy, and these people need me. I'm not leaving until they get what they need.

Recording Ends

***

Because of the overwhelming threat of the anomaly and the predicted loss of life, Mobile Task Force Tau-5 was deployed immediately. They weren't given specialized gear and weapons for overwhelming killing efficiency and defense like normal missions. Instead, their standard automatic arms cannons with tracker rounds and harpoon guns to ensure they could grab SCP-AFJ and never let him go.

SCP-AFJ was spotted almost immediately and captured by MTF Tau-5 however he threatened the locals that if they allowed Tau-5 to take him away, he would come back and torture them all worse than before. The local civilians grabbed gardening tools and weapons to attack the agents, but their skin was too tough and the few wounds they got regenerated extremely fast. In the end SCP-AFJ was considered caught and after the civilians gave up, Tau-5 sent him to sent to Site-AD.

It was concluded that the only reason they caught SCP-AFJ was because of their natural immunity to nearly all anomalous items and organism. This was quite easy to tell as Agent Irantu was holding SCP-AFJ in his arms like a hug and that alone left SCP-AFJ powerless, the entire time. As such Mobile Task Force Tau-5 was skinned and said skin was used to wrap around SCP-AFJ's body to keep him in place and never be able to leave the Foundation. Dr. [Data Expunged] also volunteered his skin and with the help of Dr. Haselhurst they were able to make the perfect containment cell to ensure SCP-AFJ never gets out.

The civilians at the suburban area were later given medical aid and Foundation compensation money. Granted they all interfered with the containment of an anomaly, but not only did they fail but they did so out of fear, so the Foundation saw no reason to punish them. Furthermore, they all agreed that if they ever tried to talk no one would believe them so the swore to the Foundation to never discuss the incident ever again.

"It is imperative that SCP-AFJ never leaves it's containment. We still don't know why but it is drawn to that area vigorously. Even if there was a small tear in that bag of skin it will allow SCP-AFJ to teleport right back to the area. Then he'll kill everyone in that place. I must wonder as to why the O5 would want to keep him alive considering he's practically worthless. We can't extract DNA, can't do testing, instead we're just wasting valuable resources on keeping him contained. I know it would make us no better than the GOC the O5 seem to hate so much, but I still say it would be better to annihilate this SCP-AFJ. At the very least so doctors like me can focus on more worthwhile research." -Dr. Haselhurst.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

#DZtheNerd #SCP: Horror Movie Files #SCP: HMF #SCP Foundation #SCP Fanfiction #SCP AU #SCP #Creepypasta #Tommy Taffy #Dr. Haselhurst #SCP-049 #SCP-AFJ #Site-AD #Keter #Mobile Task Force Tau-5 “Samsara”

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