astronoids

[astronoids]

SEDIMENT MENTIONED

text messages ♡ android!vessel edition (pt. 2)

technically a continuation, so here's part one.

today we learn that vessel is kind of a dummy, but it's okay. we love him for it.

obligatory delta tag: @astronoids

[astronoids]

A bath sketch as a little gift with the commission

[astronoids]

OFC IM EXCITED RHIS IS HUGEEEE HELLMIND IS OUT AND HELLMIND IS HERE WHATTT

now playing : housofpsychoticwomn // ethel cain

warnings: body horror, repeated mentions of suicide, detailed descriptions of uncomfortable sounds and scents, emetophobia/vomiting, major character "death", knives, hallucinations, unhealthy/toxic behavior caused by outside/otherworldly forces, implications of cannibalism(?), possession (IF I HAVE MISSED ANYTHING, PLEASE INFORM ME)

pairing: noah sebastian x nick folio characters: noah sebastian, nick folio, reader, nicholas ruffilo (mentioned), jolly karlsson (mentioned), vessel (mentioned)

word count: 5.6k

please know that this fic is my darkest to date, the warnings are there for a reason. this piece is part of a universe i've been working on since 2018. it is meant to be a psychological horror video game set in an apocalypse-type world. you will see the video game elements in this piece. this is a reader insert, but not in the conventional way- here, you are a silent protagonist in a world you do not fully understand, trying to save those who have been lost to what's ravaged the world.

while there are extremely dark things in this fic, please know that it is in fact fiction. i do not condone things written here, nor do i think that any of the people in this work would actually behave this way. with this universe specifically, the characters are pretty much entirely separate from who they actually are irl. i have merely used their faces and names, maybe a few details, and then everything else is original.

there are things in this fic that won't make sense to you, and that is intended. you will be in the shoes of two characters who do not fully understand what is happening. this piece is designed to be uncomfortable, confusing, but hopefully still captivating.

i cannot guarantee there will be additional chapters/parts to this, but i am always happy to talk about this universe and explain things.

YOUR MENTAL HEALTH COMES BEFORE ANY FANFICTION. this could be too much for some readers, and if that is the case, DO NOT force yourself to read this. if this is not for you, i hope to see you in the next one.

tags: @concretejunglefm, @fadingangelwisp, @chey-h, @xmads-omensx, @astronoids, @bloody-spades (if you would like to be added/removed from this list, dm me!)

The house is uncomfortably still. If you didn’t know better, you’d think people still lived in it. A flatscreen TV hangs on the wall, and an entertainment center is below it. There’s CDs messily stacked atop, and a wide array of video game cases in the shelves. The walls are decorated with photos of a couple. One is tattooed from the neck down, he’s tall and he’s smiling wide. His arm is wrapped around a shorter man, not as tattooed, but smiling just as wide, his head tucked underneath his lover’s chin. Another shows the shorter one sitting behind a drum set while his boyfriend playfully pretends to bite one of the cymbals. The walls are white, the floors wooden. There’s a few pairs of shoes by the door.

It’s the living room of a modern couple. Almost a picture perfect capture in time, of a life before it all fell apart. You can almost see the people who lived here, yelling the lyrics of a song playing through the speakers, banging their heads and laughing. But all it takes is a closer inspection down the hall, and the room’s temperature drops. The cozy untouched living room feels like the outskirts of a murder scene.

There’s black ink smeared and spattered on the floors like something was dragging itself across it. It’s in pools at some points, the trail can’t seem to stay in a straight line. It veers to the left against a wall, and the ink has soaked itself into the walls, pooled down and onto the wooden tiles, seeping through every crack. Black handprints drag themselves along. Despite the knowledge that it’s been years since whatever happened here occurred, the ink is still fresh. It is still dripping. It is still wet.

The ink whispers and beckons to you as you walk past it. Your peripheral vision blurs, but you can see the way it attempts to reach out to you, to grab you and pull you closer. The insistent persuasion that they chant, that no one will ever love you or understand you like they do. That there’s nothing left for you here. Don’t you feel the walls caving in? It’s over. Fighting is only delaying the inevitable, so why make the attempt at all? Why search for a way to free these souls, when they’re just fine as they are? Join them. Join them.

Stop listening to them. Keep going. You know what happened to those people, and what will happen to you. You have to keep moving. It’s not over.

You move swiftly to the bedroom in hopes of a more pleasant scene. It is the exact opposite. The walls creak and moan as if something is still begging for help. The ink has seeped into the comforter of the bed, upon closer inspection there seems to be blood as well. On the floor by the bed is a large kitchen knife, yet there is no blood nor ink on it. It shines as if freshly cleaned, or never used at all.

This has to be the place the [ infected man ] told you to go. It was rare for those taken by the ink to have a piece of themselves intact. Though the growls and the urge to kill, he had begged you to find his home. To find what he lost. You know well that if you can find it, there is a chance to save the man from being consumed all over again. There’s still hope in the form of something, it just has to be here. 

On the bed in the midst of the mess, you find something. There’s dried blood and black ink spattered on the surface, and a page is sticking out. It’s a journal, the faded letters of the name [ NICK ] are on it. It’s a surprise that this hasn’t been lost.

There is nothing else here. You stopped having a choice a long time ago. You have to keep going.

You have obtained [ Nick’s journal ]. Only the last page is readable, the rest appear to be lost. 

Something is wrong with Noah.

There was an emergency alert three days ago. It interrupted us during recording, it flashed on our computer screens, our phones, anywhere it could reach. It said something about ink. Black ink. We had to stay away from it, but they didn’t tell us why. We didn’t know what to do after that, so we went home. We locked the doors and closed the windows as the sirens blared.

Nicholas called us that night, he was scared. At first we understood and attempted to empathize thinking it was the uncertainty of the situation, but he just wouldn’t calm down. Noah and I were trying to talk him down but it wasn’t getting through to him. He said there were whispers in his house, but we didn’t hear anything through the receiver.

It was just him, and the longer the call went on, the panic and fear began to turn into… nothing. The way the emotion drained from his voice, the way we watched through that iPhone screen as he stared off into space. At some point, he wouldn’t respond to a word I said. He just kept talking to Noah. He would only talk to Noah.

Still, it felt optimistic, and I didn’t take any offense. I’d seen Noah get emotionally drained like that before after an episode. They’re best friends, so I figured I’d step out for a minute to let them talk in private. I returned two minutes later when I heard Noah yelling his name. The call had ended, and Noah seemed shaken by something. He was just holding the phone, so hard his hands were shaking.

He wouldn’t tell me what it was. I wish he had. Whatever he saw… maybe that’s what caused this.

Last night, he was so distant. That wasn’t weird, sometimes he had his moments. But it wasn’t like he was taking space, he would be in the room with me. But he’d always be looking somewhere else. I tried to ask him what he was looking at. He looked at me, and he smiled. It was so… defeated?

“I’m fine, Nick. I’ll get over it.” He said. I still don’t know what he was trying to get over. 

We went to bed together, and he held me like always. But his touch was cold, he was shivering. The blankets weren’t helping, my body wasn’t helping. His eyes stared at the corner of the room until they finally closed. 

It’s 10AM. I just woke up. Noah is not in bed next to me. But I think I can hear him breathing. It sounds like groaning. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. This has to stop.

Your reality shifts as the words of the journal come to life. They envelop you like a blanket at first, and then tighten like vines of thorns. It gets tighter, and tighter, until you swear your eyes may bulge and fall out of your skull. Maybe that would be an easier fate than this. You can only watch. Just as you always do.

Nick sighed as he tossed the journal haphazardly onto the bed, using his hands to stand up from the mattress. Ever since the emergency alert, it had been getting harder to wake up. Normally he didn’t feel so weighed down and unmotivated. It was steadily getting worse the more unnerving the conditions around him had become. 

After the ending of that call with Nicholas three days ago, he had been unreachable. Noah had attempted to call him, but the phone wouldn’t ring. It would go automatically to voicemail, but he insisted that his best friend’s voicemail didn’t sound ‘right’ anymore. Nick took his word for it but didn’t quite understand what he was talking about. He’d even listened to it himself; it was the same as always, announcing that neither him nor his cats could answer the phone.

Then there was the general outdoors. He’d taken a walk to clear his head; watching Noah stare blankly at the corner of the room for several hours didn’t make his own paranoia better. Yet neither did their usual neighborhood. Dark clouds and thick fog permeated the air. There was no sign of the sun, and he found himself lucky he knew the layout of the neighborhood well or he would have gotten lost. But outside it was so… quiet. There were no cars driving by, no distant sounds of children laughing or dogs barking like he was used to hearing across the street, it was an uncomfortable nothing. 

Even he found it remarkable how levelheaded he was trying to be about all of this. Nicholas had vanished, Jolly had said he was going to go check on him but had never called or texted back with any updates. Noah was looking worse by the hour in a way that Nick couldn’t even begin to understand. Everything felt like it was crumbling, but it had to pass eventually, right?

The only thing that mattered in the moment was Noah. That was who he was searching for. And the further he moved down the hall of their single story home, the louder his boyfriend’s breathing got. It led him in front of the bathroom door, which was closed, yet there was no visible light underneath the door.

Upon closer inspection, Noah’s breathing sounded off, almost like he was desperately trying to get air into his lungs. Not like a panic attack; like something was grabbing his throat and squeezing. 

“Noah?” Nick knocked on the door with his knuckle. “You okay in there? Can I come in?”

The breathing stopped, and it all went silent. Nick couldn’t hear any breaths besides his own.

“I’m fine, Nick. I’ll get over it.” Noah speaks from the other side of the door. Normally this would be a ‘okay, if he insists’ kind of response, but this was uncomfortable. Nick remembered that his boyfriend had said exactly this, word for word, in the same cadence last night. As if someone was playing a tape recorder of his words, pressing play whenever convenient. 

“Babe, can you just let me come in please?” He spoke again after a few beats, a mix of irritation and concern in his tone. When he got silence in response, he began to move his hand toward the doorknob to let himself in. But before his hand even touched the knob, Noah spoke up again.

“You don’t need to do that.” The sentence made Nick jump, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked between his hand not even on the doorknob and the door itself. Noah was in that bathroom with the door shut and the lights off. How did he know he was about to try to open it? Better yet, why had Noah spoken to him like that? 

His voice was like gravel underneath one’s feet, or like the sound of the garbage barrel being dragged up the parking lot into the garage after trash day. Hoarse as if he’d really been choking on something, or had been screaming for hours. It was almost guttural, teetering the knife’s edge of familiar and foreign, like the powerful vocals Noah would usually save for the stage. Yet there was just something off about it - something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt uncomfortable, yet drawn in like a moth to a flame. Was that the genuine concern for his lover, or was there a force unbeknownst to him brushing against his skin, mere inches away from grabbing him and pulling him in?

“Look,” Nick started, his mouth dry and his voice thick. “If I did something wrong, let’s talk it out, okay? You’ve been acting weird since this ink thing started. We need each other now more than ever, so if you’re upset-”

“Upset?” Noah’s chuckle could only be described as delirious. Nick wasn’t sure why that made him feel so nauseous. “I feel great.”

As the chuckle descended into more suffocating gasps and gagging coughs, the drummer had his mind made up. Something was wrong, and he needed to get to the bottom of it. He sighed in frustration, his hand grabbing the knob of the door. The metal was ice cold, enough to make him pull his hand back in surprise. 

The door opened anyway.

It creaked open slowly, the familiar tattooed fingers of Noah’s hand wrapping around the wooden door as he peeked out. Nick’s blood ran cold when he looked up and saw a pair of glowing white eyes staring at him. They flitted about, each movement leaving a distant trail of light in its wake. There was no emotion within them, but a newfound nagging voice in his head was telling him that whatever he was looking at needed to feed.

The voice in Nick’s mind repeated it over and over as every little sound in the house amplified into his ears. The buzz of the heating system droned on like unpleasant white noise, fading in and out while the walls groaned at him. If he listened intently enough, it sounded like humans trapped within the insulation, rotting away like corpses never discovered. The ticking of the clock in the living room sounded more like someone hitting a nail with a hammer, louder and louder with each tick. Tick. Tick.

The wheezing of whatever was in that bathroom as it struggled to breathe was all he needed for the adrenaline to enter his veins. He moved back step by step, unable to pull his gaze away from the white slits staring back at him. The only time he looked away was when he broke out into a run, his body clumsily hitting the wall of the hallway as he moved. He didn’t dare look back to see if it was following him.

Nick’s hands gripped the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles were turning white. His ears were ringing yet the sound was just like the blaring sirens on day one. He couldn’t seem to focus on any individual sound.

Besides the whispers in his ears, that is. That voice in his head wouldn’t seem to go away, and it had brought friends. What started as a warning of the hungry creature with Noah’s voice had turned into phrases that sounded so sweet. Maybe the whispers in his ears, the tiny gusts of air tickling his skin were a sign.

“He only wants to feed. Is that so wrong? You’d be cruel to deprive him. Is this who you truly are? And you question what he has become.”

“I know a place where you won’t have to worry about him anymore. If you just let me in.”

“You never had anything, and you still have nothing. But if you trust me, you can have it all.”

“I can smell it. It smells so nice. And we are growing stronger thanks to you.”

“Fighting isn’t necessary. If you feed him, you’ll never have to fight again.”

“Being enough for him was never an option. Follow me, and you’ll become everything.”

Nick brought a hand to his head, rubbing his face as he shook the thoughts off. What had gotten into him? These voices weren’t sweet at all, these whispers were only making him more anxious. Where had they come from? He’d never heard something like this before.

Then it dawned on him, and his hand dropped back to the countertop. Was this what Nicholas was talking about? Those whispers neither he or Noah had been able to hear. Were they here all along?

He wasted no time rushing to the knife rack, grabbing the biggest one he could find. Whatever was in these four walls with him would not take him so easily. Not without a fight. It had taken Noah, and he had a feeling it had taken Nicholas too. 

Then came the sound. Footsteps, between stumbling and prolonged dragging against the floors. The kind of scraping noise that would come from pushing a chair in, except more… wet. It’s a nauseating sound, squelching that was getting louder and louder by the second. Nick brought a hand to his stomach, taking a few shaking breaths so he wouldn’t vomit from the noise alone.

The smell wasn’t helping either. It smelled like something had died and begun to decay, mixed with the familiar smell of fire and chemicals. Nick swallowed hard, white knuckling the knife in his hand and making the first steps away from the source of the sound. He didn’t get very far.

The moment his back turned, the air felt colder. The staggered breaths of Noah had returned, only a few feet away. The squelching was nearby, too close for comfort. The whispering in Nick’s ears had begun to sound like his boyfriend’s voice, repeating like a broken record. Turn around, Nick. Don’t be ungrateful. Don’t you love me? 

Unable to resist the incessant whispers, the drummer turned around. His face paled at what was staring back at him.

Despite the reassurance to himself that whatever had been in that bathroom was not Noah, there was no room for doubt now. What he was looking at was Noah. A fucked up, amalgamated Noah.

What had once been beautiful brown eyes he could’ve gotten lost in forever were glazed over with a milky sheen, and those haunting white pupils were still staring him down, flickering back and forth with instability. His entire left arm was coated in black liquid, dripping from his fingers- no, claws, onto the floorboards. Drip. Drip. Drip. Like a leaky ceiling. 

One side of Noah’s face had fallen victim to the ink already. Black veins traveled up his cheek, past his eye, and branched out like a blossoming tree. They decorated his already tattooed neck, like it had been submerged in black paint, spreading like a virus along his skin in jagged patterns. Harsher marks from the corner of his lips to his ear had spouted sharp teeth, which moved in time with each open mouthed breath he took. 

The black ink had claimed his torso almost in entirety, as if he were an unfinished piece of art. Like the parts of his body were hollow shadows that had never been there in the first place. Those same branch-like parts grew out of his chest and tangled around him like vines. Ink ran down his legs and Nick could only watch as it continued to spread.

“Noah…” Nick breathed out his name, “what the fuck. What the fuck!” There was no keeping calm now, holding the knife out in front of him defensively. No recognition flashed in those eyes in response, but if there had been any, it wasn’t like he was looking. If he stared into those white dots too long, he was certain he’d throw up. The stench had only gotten worse and didn’t help the sick feeling.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry, hit something, beg for Noah to pull it together. This couldn’t be the man he fell in love with, and this had to be a sick fucking nightmare. A horrific dream that he needed to wake up from. 

There was no waking up. This was real life. Noah was turning into something beyond humanity. The warnings of the ink, Nicholas’ strange behavior, Noah’s withdrawn nature… It all led up to this. Whatever this was.

So he ran. He didn’t have many places to go, dashing in and out of different rooms in the house, the squelching following him at every turn. The stumbling footsteps of whatever remained of Noah, combined with the low groans and growls that tumbled from his dripping lips. 

Nick nearly slipped from the ink as he ran into the master bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. His chest was burning, breaths heavy and uneven, back against the door as he attempted to form a plan. His eyes fell on his own reflection in the mirror, hoping that a familiar presence, even if it was his own, would help him regain his composure.

“You’re feeding us so nicely, Nick.” The whispers tickled his ears again, making him stiffen. ”You were made for this life. All that’s left is to give in.”

“Get it together, Nick. Come on.” He attempted to ignore it, leaning in closer to the mirror to give himself a pep talk. “Whatever’s happening, have to keep it together. You’re the man. You’re so much braver than this, get it the fuck together.” 

”Look at yourself. You don’t even believe in your own words. You don’t even believe in yourself anymore.” The whispers in his ears droned on, the words sharp enough to make Nick growl and run a hand through his brown hair. ”Giving up is so easy. Noah did.”

“Fucker!” He snarled, shaking his head. “What the fuck did you do to him? What did you do?”

”He chose this. He’s so much happier now. It’s not so bad. We gave him something you couldn’t.”

“What-”

”Escape. You can find the escape, too. You will never have to go without him again.”

Nick stared back into his own eyes as a black clawed hand slowly wrapped around his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, shaking his head. When they reopened, it was gone, like it had never existed in the first place. 

For now, it was quiet. As quiet as it could be, given the squelch he could still hear far off into the house and the groan of the walls. His chest felt like it was being stepped on, like any more weight would crush his ribs and decimate his heart. He needed to get out of here and find help for Noah.

He tore his gaze away from the glass, wasting no time getting changed into something warmer. The red beanie the two of them shared back and forth sat atop Noah’s dresser. He grabbed it without question and pulled it onto his head. Usually the feeling of it on his head would put him at ease, but it did little to soothe the anxiety this time. He could hear himself breathing, panting like an animal, and it was like he couldn’t even control it anymore. Every attempt at a deep breath failed. 

Everything was falling apart. He couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t figure out how to save Noah from whatever the fuck had sunk its teeth into him. He had no one to call for help but he couldn’t stay here. That thing was hungry, and it wanted him next. The thought of the razor sharp teeth crawling across Noah’s face biting into his flesh and eating him alive made him dry heave.

He pulled his hoodie over his head, picking the knife back up from where he’d set it down on the dresser. Just in case he’d have to use it, though he didn’t want to, not on Noah. God, never on Noah. His tired gaze fell back on his own reflection.

Noah was standing behind him. Their eyes locked in the reflection, and Nick stood paralyzed in horror. That didn’t make sense. The door had been locked. The last time he’d heard the sound of Noah’s movements, it had been in a completely different room. How did he get in here? 

Better yet, was that door still locked? Was he trapped in here?

“Why are you running from me, Nick?” Noah asked, tilting his head so far to one side that his neck should’ve snapped. His voice was distorted, echoing off the walls, a sense of sickening laughter in his tone. “Don’t you love me? I’ve been doing so well, haven’t I? Yet here you are, pushing me away.”

“Noah, you’re not yourself. Stop.” Nick’s voice trembled, “something is wrong and I’m going to get help.” Even with such certainty in his words, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“You can never let me be happy, can you? Don’t you see? I’ve never felt more alive! Nicholas had said I’d be free, and I am. I’m so free.” Noah lifted his deformed hand to rest on Nick’s shoulder, the claws pricking his skin but not quite piercing the flesh. A silent threat, perhaps.

“Freedom? You call that shit freedom? Nicholas is gone, Jolly’s nowhere to be found, I will not fucking lose you to this.” He lifted his shoulder to shrug his grasp off, but it remained, unfazed by the action. The ink was warm, it was seeping through the fabric of his clothes, it made him feel filthy.

“You really don’t want me to be happy then. You disgust me. So much for the plans we made, the promises! I was right to do this. I was right to join them. It was just as they said.” Noah laughed, the sound a delirious cackle, the talons finally stabbing into his lover’s skin.

“FUCK! Noah, stop! Stop fucking listening to them!” Nick acted on reflex, using the elbow of his other arm to knock Noah off and away from him. It had been enough to get him free, the amalgamation of his boyfriend stumbling backwards. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, the warmth of blood likely mixed with that disgusting slime trickling down his arm, he spun around, once again holding the knife defensively.

Yet when he looked behind him, Noah wasn’t there. His vision was beginning to blur and spin out of control, his body swaying as the ringing in his ears kicked up again. Was he hallucinating all of this? He couldn’t be, he could feel the claw marks in his arm, he could still hear Noah’s voice in his head, the whispers encouraging him to succumb to the same fate he had.

He was too disoriented to have registered the presence behind him before a hand was in his hair, gripping so hard he could feel strands being pulled out of his scalp. The other was around his throat, gravelly words growled into his ear.

“Don’t you hear it, Nick? They’re in your head too, right? Listen to them.”

“Noah, let go-”

”Fucking listen to them, Nick.” The sharpness was like a verbal slap to the face. Nick grimaced in response.

He wasn’t sure why he was actually listening to Noah, but here he was. The whispers seemed to be getting louder, and what had started as innocuous beckoning to give in had turned into cruel demands, haunting screams and venomous taunts. Again, and again, feed. Feed. He needs to feed. Feed. Feed. Life would be better if he gave in. Gave in. Gave in. There was nothing, he had nothing, he was nothing. But if he succumbed, he could have everything.

Anything. Everything. Always. Forever. Feed. Feed. Feed. Give in.

Nick struggled against the death grips Noah had him in, tears burning in the corners of his eyes, teeth gritted together. The hand around his neck, squeezing, tighter and tighter until the corners of his vision were starting to blur. Only then did he find himself dropped onto the floor beside the bed, the knife falling from his hand and sliding away from his reach. On his hands and knees, he coughed and gasped for air, holding his ink-soaked neck in hopes it would help him get oxygen into his lungs faster.

Then the scent entered his nose again, that rotting smell, and he couldn’t hold back the sickness anymore. He was retching onto the floor, coughing and hacking. It was only after he had emptied his stomach that he noticed that something was off about what exactly had just left his body.

He brought a hand to his lips, staring down at what was spilling from them in a stream. Looking down at his fingers, he opened and closed them as the liquid dripped between them and onto the floor.

It’s all black. Metallic tasting black ink, the same disgusting liquid that was pouring from Noah’s body, that had stained the floors, that had seeped into his clothing. 

”Afraid, just as you should be. It’s our favorite. Don’t you want to feed us, Nick? Feed him. You pathetic wretch, look into the eyes of the one that consumes you. Mind, body, soul.”

The familiar touch of Noah’s hand caressed his cheek, his head lifting to look up at him. The smile being offered to him felt like a warm blanket on his despair, if only for a moment. He didn’t bother resisting the urge to lean into his touch, even if it wasn’t the same. 

“Come on, Nick.” Noah whispered, stroking his lover’s cheek with a faux fondness.

“Noah… please…” In a last ditch effort, he still begged to be spared, to be let go. If he just had a little time, surely he could find help. He could get up and fight the fog and the eerie silence and come back with something that could fix this. Fix him.

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d already failed. Noah had been consumed before his eyes, and now he would be too. There was no hope now, maybe there never had been at all. Help didn’t exist, and he had become a disgusting creature, too blind to have seen the truth. Noah looked so happy.

“...Where are we going, Noah?” After a minute, Nick had abandoned the previous plea, his gaze softening against his better judgement. He didn’t flinch or recoil as Noah leaned closer, as that smile grew wider. Wider. Wider. Razorblade teeth exposed, no joy in those haunting white circles staring back at him. 

“Paradise.”

The last thing Nick remembered was the way Noah pulled him in for a kiss with aggression and hunger, before his mind shut off in entirety.

What would he need his mind for anyway? He was going to paradise. Him and Noah, never needing to fight or worry about losing everything again.

Blinded by hunger and fueled by fear. 

Noah nowhere to be found.

You crumble to the floor, gasping and coughing violently as you are finally released. By this point, you’d seen so many stories, so many vivid recollections of how hundreds of thousands of people had been seemingly lost to the possessions. Yet this one felt different, there was something in this particular tale that hadn’t existed in all the other Phobius cases you’d seen.

The humanity of it all. In more recent cases, Phobi hardly said a word. It was a tactic, to silence their victims so they wouldn’t tell a soul of their affliction. Or the pressure to hide it altogether, do whatever it takes even if it meant killing someone to keep the secret safe. Yet here, it was so… out in the open. There’d been no effort to hide a thing, which meant that the speculation from Vessel had been true. 

These men had to be among the first. Maybe not the first ever, but this journal held the only documentation or record of when the outbreak had begun. The [ infected man ] wasn’t just any poor possessed soul; that was Nick. The first victim of possession by another host; as far as anyone had known prior to this it had mostly been ingestion or contact with the ink itself. This was proof that some of the Phobi now… they could be saved.

When Nick had begged you to find “home”, you’d assumed he meant this house. But seeing that, there was a lack of attachment to the place itself. Home wasn’t a place, he wasn’t looking for his house.

Home is a person. Home is Noah, who he had been separated from immediately upon possession. The key to potentially rescuing Nick was in the very man who had infected him. You didn’t have to go anywhere else to find that home, too.

You’d felt eyes on you since you got here. And when you set down the journal, a figure rises from the ink, growling and snarling at you. Tiny white eyes that don’t stay in one place, teeth sticking out of its face, but unlike what you’d just seen, there was no humanity, no signs of a person’s face or defining features. A slimy silhouette staring through you, teeth bared, ready to lunge at you.

Noah had been trapped in this home for at least six years. Stuck roaming the halls, the very place he and his lover once lived. The last place he’d seen Nick before he’d feasted on his fear and turned him into the very beast he’d become. Noah was still here, haunted by his own actions, hungry and alone.

This is the same song and dance, but you find yourself nervous anyhow. Noah watches you like a predator stalking its next meal as you step further and further away from him. You dig into your bag and take out the red beanie that had been entrusted to you. This is your one chance to put Vessel’s theory to the test. One chance to truly free Nick without having to use violence to eradicate him.

Maybe you’d even be able to save Noah. Whoever Noah was, whatever caused him the infection to spread at such an abnormally rapid rate, there still had to be a sliver of hope. Hope that you could be holding in your hands.

You hold it up so he can see it, gripping it firmly in your hands. The fabric is soft, it’s a miracle that it was able to be recovered and cleaned. There’s this feeling that you are holding onto a physical manifestation of years of history between a pair of lovers. The amalgamation’s gaze leaves you for once and locks onto the beanie, looking at it without emotion. Not anything you could see, anyway.

And you brace for impact as Noah charges towards you at full speed.

[astronoids]

HELLMIND!,,!.!@-?? WHAT RHEFUCK HELLMIND MENTIONED EVERYBODY STOP WHATURE DOING HELLMIND IS BERE

now playing : housofpsychoticwomn // ethel cain

warnings: body horror, repeated mentions of suicide, detailed descriptions of uncomfortable sounds and scents, emetophobia/vomiting, major character "death", knives, hallucinations, unhealthy/toxic behavior caused by outside/otherworldly forces, implications of cannibalism(?), possession (IF I HAVE MISSED ANYTHING, PLEASE INFORM ME)

pairing: noah sebastian x nick folio characters: noah sebastian, nick folio, reader, nicholas ruffilo (mentioned), jolly karlsson (mentioned), vessel (mentioned)

word count: 5.6k

please know that this fic is my darkest to date, the warnings are there for a reason. this piece is part of a universe i've been working on since 2018. it is meant to be a psychological horror video game set in an apocalypse-type world. you will see the video game elements in this piece. this is a reader insert, but not in the conventional way- here, you are a silent protagonist in a world you do not fully understand, trying to save those who have been lost to what's ravaged the world.

while there are extremely dark things in this fic, please know that it is in fact fiction. i do not condone things written here, nor do i think that any of the people in this work would actually behave this way. with this universe specifically, the characters are pretty much entirely separate from who they actually are irl. i have merely used their faces and names, maybe a few details, and then everything else is original.

there are things in this fic that won't make sense to you, and that is intended. you will be in the shoes of two characters who do not fully understand what is happening. this piece is designed to be uncomfortable, confusing, but hopefully still captivating.

i cannot guarantee there will be additional chapters/parts to this, but i am always happy to talk about this universe and explain things.

YOUR MENTAL HEALTH COMES BEFORE ANY FANFICTION. this could be too much for some readers, and if that is the case, DO NOT force yourself to read this. if this is not for you, i hope to see you in the next one.

tags: @concretejunglefm, @fadingangelwisp, @chey-h, @xmads-omensx, @astronoids, @bloody-spades (if you would like to be added/removed from this list, dm me!)

The house is uncomfortably still. If you didn’t know better, you’d think people still lived in it. A flatscreen TV hangs on the wall, and an entertainment center is below it. There’s CDs messily stacked atop, and a wide array of video game cases in the shelves. The walls are decorated with photos of a couple. One is tattooed from the neck down, he’s tall and he’s smiling wide. His arm is wrapped around a shorter man, not as tattooed, but smiling just as wide, his head tucked underneath his lover’s chin. Another shows the shorter one sitting behind a drum set while his boyfriend playfully pretends to bite one of the cymbals. The walls are white, the floors wooden. There’s a few pairs of shoes by the door.

It’s the living room of a modern couple. Almost a picture perfect capture in time, of a life before it all fell apart. You can almost see the people who lived here, yelling the lyrics of a song playing through the speakers, banging their heads and laughing. But all it takes is a closer inspection down the hall, and the room’s temperature drops. The cozy untouched living room feels like the outskirts of a murder scene.

There’s black ink smeared and spattered on the floors like something was dragging itself across it. It’s in pools at some points, the trail can’t seem to stay in a straight line. It veers to the left against a wall, and the ink has soaked itself into the walls, pooled down and onto the wooden tiles, seeping through every crack. Black handprints drag themselves along. Despite the knowledge that it’s been years since whatever happened here occurred, the ink is still fresh. It is still dripping. It is still wet.

The ink whispers and beckons to you as you walk past it. Your peripheral vision blurs, but you can see the way it attempts to reach out to you, to grab you and pull you closer. The insistent persuasion that they chant, that no one will ever love you or understand you like they do. That there’s nothing left for you here. Don’t you feel the walls caving in? It’s over. Fighting is only delaying the inevitable, so why make the attempt at all? Why search for a way to free these souls, when they’re just fine as they are? Join them. Join them.

Stop listening to them. Keep going. You know what happened to those people, and what will happen to you. You have to keep moving. It’s not over.

You move swiftly to the bedroom in hopes of a more pleasant scene. It is the exact opposite. The walls creak and moan as if something is still begging for help. The ink has seeped into the comforter of the bed, upon closer inspection there seems to be blood as well. On the floor by the bed is a large kitchen knife, yet there is no blood nor ink on it. It shines as if freshly cleaned, or never used at all.

This has to be the place the [ infected man ] told you to go. It was rare for those taken by the ink to have a piece of themselves intact. Though the growls and the urge to kill, he had begged you to find his home. To find what he lost. You know well that if you can find it, there is a chance to save the man from being consumed all over again. There’s still hope in the form of something, it just has to be here. 

On the bed in the midst of the mess, you find something. There’s dried blood and black ink spattered on the surface, and a page is sticking out. It’s a journal, the faded letters of the name [ NICK ] are on it. It’s a surprise that this hasn’t been lost.

There is nothing else here. You stopped having a choice a long time ago. You have to keep going.

You have obtained [ Nick’s journal ]. Only the last page is readable, the rest appear to be lost. 

Something is wrong with Noah.

There was an emergency alert three days ago. It interrupted us during recording, it flashed on our computer screens, our phones, anywhere it could reach. It said something about ink. Black ink. We had to stay away from it, but they didn’t tell us why. We didn’t know what to do after that, so we went home. We locked the doors and closed the windows as the sirens blared.

Nicholas called us that night, he was scared. At first we understood and attempted to empathize thinking it was the uncertainty of the situation, but he just wouldn’t calm down. Noah and I were trying to talk him down but it wasn’t getting through to him. He said there were whispers in his house, but we didn’t hear anything through the receiver.

It was just him, and the longer the call went on, the panic and fear began to turn into… nothing. The way the emotion drained from his voice, the way we watched through that iPhone screen as he stared off into space. At some point, he wouldn’t respond to a word I said. He just kept talking to Noah. He would only talk to Noah.

Still, it felt optimistic, and I didn’t take any offense. I’d seen Noah get emotionally drained like that before after an episode. They’re best friends, so I figured I’d step out for a minute to let them talk in private. I returned two minutes later when I heard Noah yelling his name. The call had ended, and Noah seemed shaken by something. He was just holding the phone, so hard his hands were shaking.

He wouldn’t tell me what it was. I wish he had. Whatever he saw… maybe that’s what caused this.

Last night, he was so distant. That wasn’t weird, sometimes he had his moments. But it wasn’t like he was taking space, he would be in the room with me. But he’d always be looking somewhere else. I tried to ask him what he was looking at. He looked at me, and he smiled. It was so… defeated?

“I’m fine, Nick. I’ll get over it.” He said. I still don’t know what he was trying to get over. 

We went to bed together, and he held me like always. But his touch was cold, he was shivering. The blankets weren’t helping, my body wasn’t helping. His eyes stared at the corner of the room until they finally closed. 

It’s 10AM. I just woke up. Noah is not in bed next to me. But I think I can hear him breathing. It sounds like groaning. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. This has to stop.

Your reality shifts as the words of the journal come to life. They envelop you like a blanket at first, and then tighten like vines of thorns. It gets tighter, and tighter, until you swear your eyes may bulge and fall out of your skull. Maybe that would be an easier fate than this. You can only watch. Just as you always do.

Nick sighed as he tossed the journal haphazardly onto the bed, using his hands to stand up from the mattress. Ever since the emergency alert, it had been getting harder to wake up. Normally he didn’t feel so weighed down and unmotivated. It was steadily getting worse the more unnerving the conditions around him had become. 

After the ending of that call with Nicholas three days ago, he had been unreachable. Noah had attempted to call him, but the phone wouldn’t ring. It would go automatically to voicemail, but he insisted that his best friend’s voicemail didn’t sound ‘right’ anymore. Nick took his word for it but didn’t quite understand what he was talking about. He’d even listened to it himself; it was the same as always, announcing that neither him nor his cats could answer the phone.

Then there was the general outdoors. He’d taken a walk to clear his head; watching Noah stare blankly at the corner of the room for several hours didn’t make his own paranoia better. Yet neither did their usual neighborhood. Dark clouds and thick fog permeated the air. There was no sign of the sun, and he found himself lucky he knew the layout of the neighborhood well or he would have gotten lost. But outside it was so… quiet. There were no cars driving by, no distant sounds of children laughing or dogs barking like he was used to hearing across the street, it was an uncomfortable nothing. 

Even he found it remarkable how levelheaded he was trying to be about all of this. Nicholas had vanished, Jolly had said he was going to go check on him but had never called or texted back with any updates. Noah was looking worse by the hour in a way that Nick couldn’t even begin to understand. Everything felt like it was crumbling, but it had to pass eventually, right?

The only thing that mattered in the moment was Noah. That was who he was searching for. And the further he moved down the hall of their single story home, the louder his boyfriend’s breathing got. It led him in front of the bathroom door, which was closed, yet there was no visible light underneath the door.

Upon closer inspection, Noah’s breathing sounded off, almost like he was desperately trying to get air into his lungs. Not like a panic attack; like something was grabbing his throat and squeezing. 

“Noah?” Nick knocked on the door with his knuckle. “You okay in there? Can I come in?”

The breathing stopped, and it all went silent. Nick couldn’t hear any breaths besides his own.

“I’m fine, Nick. I’ll get over it.” Noah speaks from the other side of the door. Normally this would be a ‘okay, if he insists’ kind of response, but this was uncomfortable. Nick remembered that his boyfriend had said exactly this, word for word, in the same cadence last night. As if someone was playing a tape recorder of his words, pressing play whenever convenient. 

“Babe, can you just let me come in please?” He spoke again after a few beats, a mix of irritation and concern in his tone. When he got silence in response, he began to move his hand toward the doorknob to let himself in. But before his hand even touched the knob, Noah spoke up again.

“You don’t need to do that.” The sentence made Nick jump, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked between his hand not even on the doorknob and the door itself. Noah was in that bathroom with the door shut and the lights off. How did he know he was about to try to open it? Better yet, why had Noah spoken to him like that? 

His voice was like gravel underneath one’s feet, or like the sound of the garbage barrel being dragged up the parking lot into the garage after trash day. Hoarse as if he’d really been choking on something, or had been screaming for hours. It was almost guttural, teetering the knife’s edge of familiar and foreign, like the powerful vocals Noah would usually save for the stage. Yet there was just something off about it - something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt uncomfortable, yet drawn in like a moth to a flame. Was that the genuine concern for his lover, or was there a force unbeknownst to him brushing against his skin, mere inches away from grabbing him and pulling him in?

“Look,” Nick started, his mouth dry and his voice thick. “If I did something wrong, let’s talk it out, okay? You’ve been acting weird since this ink thing started. We need each other now more than ever, so if you’re upset-”

“Upset?” Noah’s chuckle could only be described as delirious. Nick wasn’t sure why that made him feel so nauseous. “I feel great.”

As the chuckle descended into more suffocating gasps and gagging coughs, the drummer had his mind made up. Something was wrong, and he needed to get to the bottom of it. He sighed in frustration, his hand grabbing the knob of the door. The metal was ice cold, enough to make him pull his hand back in surprise. 

The door opened anyway.

It creaked open slowly, the familiar tattooed fingers of Noah’s hand wrapping around the wooden door as he peeked out. Nick’s blood ran cold when he looked up and saw a pair of glowing white eyes staring at him. They flitted about, each movement leaving a distant trail of light in its wake. There was no emotion within them, but a newfound nagging voice in his head was telling him that whatever he was looking at needed to feed.

The voice in Nick’s mind repeated it over and over as every little sound in the house amplified into his ears. The buzz of the heating system droned on like unpleasant white noise, fading in and out while the walls groaned at him. If he listened intently enough, it sounded like humans trapped within the insulation, rotting away like corpses never discovered. The ticking of the clock in the living room sounded more like someone hitting a nail with a hammer, louder and louder with each tick. Tick. Tick.

The wheezing of whatever was in that bathroom as it struggled to breathe was all he needed for the adrenaline to enter his veins. He moved back step by step, unable to pull his gaze away from the white slits staring back at him. The only time he looked away was when he broke out into a run, his body clumsily hitting the wall of the hallway as he moved. He didn’t dare look back to see if it was following him.

Nick’s hands gripped the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles were turning white. His ears were ringing yet the sound was just like the blaring sirens on day one. He couldn’t seem to focus on any individual sound.

Besides the whispers in his ears, that is. That voice in his head wouldn’t seem to go away, and it had brought friends. What started as a warning of the hungry creature with Noah’s voice had turned into phrases that sounded so sweet. Maybe the whispers in his ears, the tiny gusts of air tickling his skin were a sign.

“He only wants to feed. Is that so wrong? You’d be cruel to deprive him. Is this who you truly are? And you question what he has become.”

“I know a place where you won’t have to worry about him anymore. If you just let me in.”

“You never had anything, and you still have nothing. But if you trust me, you can have it all.”

“I can smell it. It smells so nice. And we are growing stronger thanks to you.”

“Fighting isn’t necessary. If you feed him, you’ll never have to fight again.”

“Being enough for him was never an option. Follow me, and you’ll become everything.”

Nick brought a hand to his head, rubbing his face as he shook the thoughts off. What had gotten into him? These voices weren’t sweet at all, these whispers were only making him more anxious. Where had they come from? He’d never heard something like this before.

Then it dawned on him, and his hand dropped back to the countertop. Was this what Nicholas was talking about? Those whispers neither he or Noah had been able to hear. Were they here all along?

He wasted no time rushing to the knife rack, grabbing the biggest one he could find. Whatever was in these four walls with him would not take him so easily. Not without a fight. It had taken Noah, and he had a feeling it had taken Nicholas too. 

Then came the sound. Footsteps, between stumbling and prolonged dragging against the floors. The kind of scraping noise that would come from pushing a chair in, except more… wet. It’s a nauseating sound, squelching that was getting louder and louder by the second. Nick brought a hand to his stomach, taking a few shaking breaths so he wouldn’t vomit from the noise alone.

The smell wasn’t helping either. It smelled like something had died and begun to decay, mixed with the familiar smell of fire and chemicals. Nick swallowed hard, white knuckling the knife in his hand and making the first steps away from the source of the sound. He didn’t get very far.

The moment his back turned, the air felt colder. The staggered breaths of Noah had returned, only a few feet away. The squelching was nearby, too close for comfort. The whispering in Nick’s ears had begun to sound like his boyfriend’s voice, repeating like a broken record. Turn around, Nick. Don’t be ungrateful. Don’t you love me? 

Unable to resist the incessant whispers, the drummer turned around. His face paled at what was staring back at him.

Despite the reassurance to himself that whatever had been in that bathroom was not Noah, there was no room for doubt now. What he was looking at was Noah. A fucked up, amalgamated Noah.

What had once been beautiful brown eyes he could’ve gotten lost in forever were glazed over with a milky sheen, and those haunting white pupils were still staring him down, flickering back and forth with instability. His entire left arm was coated in black liquid, dripping from his fingers- no, claws, onto the floorboards. Drip. Drip. Drip. Like a leaky ceiling. 

One side of Noah’s face had fallen victim to the ink already. Black veins traveled up his cheek, past his eye, and branched out like a blossoming tree. They decorated his already tattooed neck, like it had been submerged in black paint, spreading like a virus along his skin in jagged patterns. Harsher marks from the corner of his lips to his ear had spouted sharp teeth, which moved in time with each open mouthed breath he took. 

The black ink had claimed his torso almost in entirety, as if he were an unfinished piece of art. Like the parts of his body were hollow shadows that had never been there in the first place. Those same branch-like parts grew out of his chest and tangled around him like vines. Ink ran down his legs and Nick could only watch as it continued to spread.

“Noah…” Nick breathed out his name, “what the fuck. What the fuck!” There was no keeping calm now, holding the knife out in front of him defensively. No recognition flashed in those eyes in response, but if there had been any, it wasn’t like he was looking. If he stared into those white dots too long, he was certain he’d throw up. The stench had only gotten worse and didn’t help the sick feeling.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry, hit something, beg for Noah to pull it together. This couldn’t be the man he fell in love with, and this had to be a sick fucking nightmare. A horrific dream that he needed to wake up from. 

There was no waking up. This was real life. Noah was turning into something beyond humanity. The warnings of the ink, Nicholas’ strange behavior, Noah’s withdrawn nature… It all led up to this. Whatever this was.

So he ran. He didn’t have many places to go, dashing in and out of different rooms in the house, the squelching following him at every turn. The stumbling footsteps of whatever remained of Noah, combined with the low groans and growls that tumbled from his dripping lips. 

Nick nearly slipped from the ink as he ran into the master bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. His chest was burning, breaths heavy and uneven, back against the door as he attempted to form a plan. His eyes fell on his own reflection in the mirror, hoping that a familiar presence, even if it was his own, would help him regain his composure.

“You’re feeding us so nicely, Nick.” The whispers tickled his ears again, making him stiffen. ”You were made for this life. All that’s left is to give in.”

“Get it together, Nick. Come on.” He attempted to ignore it, leaning in closer to the mirror to give himself a pep talk. “Whatever’s happening, have to keep it together. You’re the man. You’re so much braver than this, get it the fuck together.” 

”Look at yourself. You don’t even believe in your own words. You don’t even believe in yourself anymore.” The whispers in his ears droned on, the words sharp enough to make Nick growl and run a hand through his brown hair. ”Giving up is so easy. Noah did.”

“Fucker!” He snarled, shaking his head. “What the fuck did you do to him? What did you do?”

”He chose this. He’s so much happier now. It’s not so bad. We gave him something you couldn’t.”

“What-”

”Escape. You can find the escape, too. You will never have to go without him again.”

Nick stared back into his own eyes as a black clawed hand slowly wrapped around his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, shaking his head. When they reopened, it was gone, like it had never existed in the first place. 

For now, it was quiet. As quiet as it could be, given the squelch he could still hear far off into the house and the groan of the walls. His chest felt like it was being stepped on, like any more weight would crush his ribs and decimate his heart. He needed to get out of here and find help for Noah.

He tore his gaze away from the glass, wasting no time getting changed into something warmer. The red beanie the two of them shared back and forth sat atop Noah’s dresser. He grabbed it without question and pulled it onto his head. Usually the feeling of it on his head would put him at ease, but it did little to soothe the anxiety this time. He could hear himself breathing, panting like an animal, and it was like he couldn’t even control it anymore. Every attempt at a deep breath failed. 

Everything was falling apart. He couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t figure out how to save Noah from whatever the fuck had sunk its teeth into him. He had no one to call for help but he couldn’t stay here. That thing was hungry, and it wanted him next. The thought of the razor sharp teeth crawling across Noah’s face biting into his flesh and eating him alive made him dry heave.

He pulled his hoodie over his head, picking the knife back up from where he’d set it down on the dresser. Just in case he’d have to use it, though he didn’t want to, not on Noah. God, never on Noah. His tired gaze fell back on his own reflection.

Noah was standing behind him. Their eyes locked in the reflection, and Nick stood paralyzed in horror. That didn’t make sense. The door had been locked. The last time he’d heard the sound of Noah’s movements, it had been in a completely different room. How did he get in here? 

Better yet, was that door still locked? Was he trapped in here?

“Why are you running from me, Nick?” Noah asked, tilting his head so far to one side that his neck should’ve snapped. His voice was distorted, echoing off the walls, a sense of sickening laughter in his tone. “Don’t you love me? I’ve been doing so well, haven’t I? Yet here you are, pushing me away.”

“Noah, you’re not yourself. Stop.” Nick’s voice trembled, “something is wrong and I’m going to get help.” Even with such certainty in his words, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“You can never let me be happy, can you? Don’t you see? I’ve never felt more alive! Nicholas had said I’d be free, and I am. I’m so free.” Noah lifted his deformed hand to rest on Nick’s shoulder, the claws pricking his skin but not quite piercing the flesh. A silent threat, perhaps.

“Freedom? You call that shit freedom? Nicholas is gone, Jolly’s nowhere to be found, I will not fucking lose you to this.” He lifted his shoulder to shrug his grasp off, but it remained, unfazed by the action. The ink was warm, it was seeping through the fabric of his clothes, it made him feel filthy.

“You really don’t want me to be happy then. You disgust me. So much for the plans we made, the promises! I was right to do this. I was right to join them. It was just as they said.” Noah laughed, the sound a delirious cackle, the talons finally stabbing into his lover’s skin.

“FUCK! Noah, stop! Stop fucking listening to them!” Nick acted on reflex, using the elbow of his other arm to knock Noah off and away from him. It had been enough to get him free, the amalgamation of his boyfriend stumbling backwards. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, the warmth of blood likely mixed with that disgusting slime trickling down his arm, he spun around, once again holding the knife defensively.

Yet when he looked behind him, Noah wasn’t there. His vision was beginning to blur and spin out of control, his body swaying as the ringing in his ears kicked up again. Was he hallucinating all of this? He couldn’t be, he could feel the claw marks in his arm, he could still hear Noah’s voice in his head, the whispers encouraging him to succumb to the same fate he had.

He was too disoriented to have registered the presence behind him before a hand was in his hair, gripping so hard he could feel strands being pulled out of his scalp. The other was around his throat, gravelly words growled into his ear.

“Don’t you hear it, Nick? They’re in your head too, right? Listen to them.”

“Noah, let go-”

”Fucking listen to them, Nick.” The sharpness was like a verbal slap to the face. Nick grimaced in response.

He wasn’t sure why he was actually listening to Noah, but here he was. The whispers seemed to be getting louder, and what had started as innocuous beckoning to give in had turned into cruel demands, haunting screams and venomous taunts. Again, and again, feed. Feed. He needs to feed. Feed. Feed. Life would be better if he gave in. Gave in. Gave in. There was nothing, he had nothing, he was nothing. But if he succumbed, he could have everything.

Anything. Everything. Always. Forever. Feed. Feed. Feed. Give in.

Nick struggled against the death grips Noah had him in, tears burning in the corners of his eyes, teeth gritted together. The hand around his neck, squeezing, tighter and tighter until the corners of his vision were starting to blur. Only then did he find himself dropped onto the floor beside the bed, the knife falling from his hand and sliding away from his reach. On his hands and knees, he coughed and gasped for air, holding his ink-soaked neck in hopes it would help him get oxygen into his lungs faster.

Then the scent entered his nose again, that rotting smell, and he couldn’t hold back the sickness anymore. He was retching onto the floor, coughing and hacking. It was only after he had emptied his stomach that he noticed that something was off about what exactly had just left his body.

He brought a hand to his lips, staring down at what was spilling from them in a stream. Looking down at his fingers, he opened and closed them as the liquid dripped between them and onto the floor.

It’s all black. Metallic tasting black ink, the same disgusting liquid that was pouring from Noah’s body, that had stained the floors, that had seeped into his clothing. 

”Afraid, just as you should be. It’s our favorite. Don’t you want to feed us, Nick? Feed him. You pathetic wretch, look into the eyes of the one that consumes you. Mind, body, soul.”

The familiar touch of Noah’s hand caressed his cheek, his head lifting to look up at him. The smile being offered to him felt like a warm blanket on his despair, if only for a moment. He didn’t bother resisting the urge to lean into his touch, even if it wasn’t the same. 

“Come on, Nick.” Noah whispered, stroking his lover’s cheek with a faux fondness.

“Noah… please…” In a last ditch effort, he still begged to be spared, to be let go. If he just had a little time, surely he could find help. He could get up and fight the fog and the eerie silence and come back with something that could fix this. Fix him.

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d already failed. Noah had been consumed before his eyes, and now he would be too. There was no hope now, maybe there never had been at all. Help didn’t exist, and he had become a disgusting creature, too blind to have seen the truth. Noah looked so happy.

“...Where are we going, Noah?” After a minute, Nick had abandoned the previous plea, his gaze softening against his better judgement. He didn’t flinch or recoil as Noah leaned closer, as that smile grew wider. Wider. Wider. Razorblade teeth exposed, no joy in those haunting white circles staring back at him. 

“Paradise.”

The last thing Nick remembered was the way Noah pulled him in for a kiss with aggression and hunger, before his mind shut off in entirety.

What would he need his mind for anyway? He was going to paradise. Him and Noah, never needing to fight or worry about losing everything again.

Blinded by hunger and fueled by fear. 

Noah nowhere to be found.

You crumble to the floor, gasping and coughing violently as you are finally released. By this point, you’d seen so many stories, so many vivid recollections of how hundreds of thousands of people had been seemingly lost to the possessions. Yet this one felt different, there was something in this particular tale that hadn’t existed in all the other Phobius cases you’d seen.

The humanity of it all. In more recent cases, Phobi hardly said a word. It was a tactic, to silence their victims so they wouldn’t tell a soul of their affliction. Or the pressure to hide it altogether, do whatever it takes even if it meant killing someone to keep the secret safe. Yet here, it was so… out in the open. There’d been no effort to hide a thing, which meant that the speculation from Vessel had been true. 

These men had to be among the first. Maybe not the first ever, but this journal held the only documentation or record of when the outbreak had begun. The [ infected man ] wasn’t just any poor possessed soul; that was Nick. The first victim of possession by another host; as far as anyone had known prior to this it had mostly been ingestion or contact with the ink itself. This was proof that some of the Phobi now… they could be saved.

When Nick had begged you to find “home”, you’d assumed he meant this house. But seeing that, there was a lack of attachment to the place itself. Home wasn’t a place, he wasn’t looking for his house.

Home is a person. Home is Noah, who he had been separated from immediately upon possession. The key to potentially rescuing Nick was in the very man who had infected him. You didn’t have to go anywhere else to find that home, too.

You’d felt eyes on you since you got here. And when you set down the journal, a figure rises from the ink, growling and snarling at you. Tiny white eyes that don’t stay in one place, teeth sticking out of its face, but unlike what you’d just seen, there was no humanity, no signs of a person’s face or defining features. A slimy silhouette staring through you, teeth bared, ready to lunge at you.

Noah had been trapped in this home for at least six years. Stuck roaming the halls, the very place he and his lover once lived. The last place he’d seen Nick before he’d feasted on his fear and turned him into the very beast he’d become. Noah was still here, haunted by his own actions, hungry and alone.

This is the same song and dance, but you find yourself nervous anyhow. Noah watches you like a predator stalking its next meal as you step further and further away from him. You dig into your bag and take out the red beanie that had been entrusted to you. This is your one chance to put Vessel’s theory to the test. One chance to truly free Nick without having to use violence to eradicate him.

Maybe you’d even be able to save Noah. Whoever Noah was, whatever caused him the infection to spread at such an abnormally rapid rate, there still had to be a sliver of hope. Hope that you could be holding in your hands.

You hold it up so he can see it, gripping it firmly in your hands. The fabric is soft, it’s a miracle that it was able to be recovered and cleaned. There’s this feeling that you are holding onto a physical manifestation of years of history between a pair of lovers. The amalgamation’s gaze leaves you for once and locks onto the beanie, looking at it without emotion. Not anything you could see, anyway.

And you brace for impact as Noah charges towards you at full speed.

[astronoids]

i love this series so much none of u understand how groundbreaking it is for me to see an underground fighter au

noah is written SO BEAUTIFULLY i freakin love the details. my probably obvious theory is that noah is “behind” some kinda crime even if it was an accident and he’s fighting to “pay off” some kind of debt or smth i don’t know

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Tw: relationship doubt, nightmares

Series mastelist

Noah turned the corner with a grocery bag slung over one shoulder, thumb hooked through the strap. The bag wasn’t full, just a few essentials: a loaf of bread, a carton of oat milk, a couple of apples and a couple of those meals already cooked and ready to be eaten.

As he passed the intersection near the old mural wall, a half-deflated basketball bounced out into the street in front of him.

“Hey, Noah!” a voice called.

He looked up to see Miles come skidding after the ball, sneakers slapping pavement. Right behind him was Theo, younger by a couple of years, skinnier, always wearing a t-shirt too big for him.

Noah bent down, caught the basketball before it rolled too far, and turned it in his hands once before tossing it gently back.

“Hey, kids,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“Thanks!” Miles caught it clumsily, grinning.

Theo squinted up at Noah, suddenly curious. “Was that your girlfriend?”

Noah blinked. “What?”

“That girl,” Miles said, coming closer, “The one who came by last week, asking for you. Looking like she was on a secret mission.”

Noah chuckled softly. “No, she’s not my girlfriend. We… just kinda know each other.” He shrugged.

Miles exchanged a quick glance with Theo, then grinned. “She was pretty, though. You know.”

Noah laughed again, shaking his head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“Would you want her to be your girlfriend?” Theo insisted.

“Why don't you two go back to playing ball?” He said in a way that let them know he wasn't actually mad.

Theo stuck out his tongue but didn’t move. “Because you’re our friend, Noah. We like talking to our friends.”

Noah’s smile softened as he looked at them, and he took a small step closer to Theo, he reached out and ruffled the younger boy’s hair, messing it up.

“You guys are my friends too,” he said, “But she’s still not my girlfriend.”

Theo grinned, shaking his head as he fixed his hair, like a little dog.

“Does she live around here?” The kid asked.

Noah shook his head. “Nope. She lives in the city.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Miles said.

“And she came all the way out here for you. Maybe she likes you!” his brother added.

Noah rolled his eyes. “She lives in the city. With her boyfriend.”

Miles let out a groan of disappointment. “Aw, no!”

“Maybe she’ll break up with him.” Said Theo.

“I really don’t think that’s gonna happen. I'm sorry, kids.”

Just as the boys were turning to run back toward their game, a sharp voice rang out across the street.

“Miles! Theo!”

They all turned their heads in unison. Standing in the doorway of a small brick rowhouse just a few doors down was their mother, one hand braced on the frame, the other resting on her hip. Her apron was dusted with flour, and she had that specific tone that meant playtime was over.

“That’s enough, boys! Homework time. I don’t want to come out there again!”

Theo let out a groan. Miles dragged his feet a little, bouncing the basketball one more time, reluctantly.

“She always catches us at the best part,” Miles muttered under his breath.

Noah grinned. “You heard her. Better listen to your mom.”

Miles sighed, then called over his shoulder, “Okay, we’re coming!”

Their mother spotted Noah then and lifted a hand in greeting, as she gave him a small smile. He lifted his hand back in return, a little wave of acknowledgment.

As the boys started trudging back toward the house, Theo paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Hey, Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, can we come over and punch the big bag again?”

“Maybe,” he said, shifting the grocery bag on his shoulder. “But only if you actually do your homework today. Like, really do it.”

Theo squinted. “Even the math?”

“Especially the math.”

Miles groaned again. “Ugh, you sound just like our mom.”

Noah laughed. “That means I’m getting wiser. Now go, before she really comes out here with a slipper.”

The boys took off in a run, jostling each other as they scrambled up the front steps of their house. Their mom gave them both a light smack on the shoulder as they passed, more affectionate than stern.

Noah lingered for a second, watching them go in, the door swinging shut behind them. The street quieted again, he just smiled to himself, and kept walking.

You were wiping down the last of the counters and fixing some artwork that was not in the right place, closing time approaching.

Nick stepped out from the back room, where he kept some tools, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash.

“Hey,” he said, “did your friend like the butterfly?”

You looked up from where you were stacking ink bottles. “Oh yeah. She loved it. I think she posted, like, five hundred pictures on her stories.”

Nick laughed, grabbing his hoodie from the hook near the door. “I know. She tagged the shop in every single one of them.”

"Well, that girl has a lot of followers. Maybe she gave you free advertising."

"In that case, I'm glad she posted so much about it." He said with a smile, then looked at the clock on the wall. “Listen. Think it’s cool if I head out a bit early? We’re done for the day, and you’ve pretty much got the place spotless already.”

You gave him a nod. “Yeah, of course, no worries. I’ll finish up and close.”

“Seriously, thanks. I owe you one.”

You waved him off. “Just go before you fall asleep while driving.”

Nick laughed again, zipping up his hoodie. “You're the best! Have a nice evening!”

The door jingled as he stepped out, letting in a quick gust of cooler air, and then it clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone.

You went back to wiping down the last chair, checking the needle disposal bin, straightening a few art prints on the wall that had been slightly knocked down by the day’s traffic.

Your eyes landed on a specific corner of the wall.

A few days ago, after Nick had caught a glimpse of one of your sketches when your notebook hit the floor, he had asked you to see more.

You didn’t expect what came next. He told you they were beautiful, different in a way that would stand out, and that someone, probably more than someone, would want them on their skin. Then he offered to clear a spot on the wall and hang a few.

You hadn’t known what to say at first. You weren’t even sure your work belonged up there. But you’d said yes.

Now that section of the wall held your designs: a crescent moon tangled in lavender, a dagger wrapped in ivy and thread, a black cat mid-stretch, its tail curling like a question mark, a skeletal hand holding a blooming peony, a moth with eyes on its wings, a pair of koi fish circling in opposite directions.

You still thought they weren't that special. But they were yours. And now they lived here, in this space where people came to choose what they wanted to carry forever.

Seeing them on the wall still felt a little unreal. But it also felt good.

Outside, the sky was burning into that deep orange-violet that always made the city look absolutely beautiful. The front windows glowed softly with it, throwing reflections of the hanging flash art onto the tiled floor.

You were reaching for your jacket, keys already in hand, when you heard the soft jingle of the front door swinging open. You didn’t even look up at first.

“Sorry, we’re closed. If you want to book a consultation you can—”

You turned as you spoke, and stopped mid-sentence.

It was Noah.

The words evaporated off your tongue, replaced by an involuntary smile. He stood just inside the doorway, the hood of his sweatshirt still up. He pulled it back as the door closed behind him, brushing a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down.

“Damn,” he said, brow arched. “I gotta have an appointment just to have a conversation with you now?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Noah, what are you doing here?”

“Can’t I just drop by because I wanted to say hi to you?” he asked. “The place you work at sounded pretty cool when you told me about it. I wanted to check it out.”

You smiled, folding your arms as you leaned back against the counter. He wanted to say hi to you. “So, verdict?”

He glanced around. “Yeah, it’s very cool. Way better than some of the places where I got my tattos. I got one of them in the back of an Indian restaurant, once. The artist was great, but I smelled like curry for a week.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

He sat down on the stool across from you, resting his elbows on the counter. That’s when you noticed his knuckles, scraped and a little swollen.

You nodded toward his hands. “Did you at least win this time?”

He nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Covered my groceries for the week. A lot of pre-cooked chicken and sad pasta salad.”

“Definitely better than the stuff Kole tries to cook sometimes.”

Noah snorted. “Is he still alive? Or did he finally drink himself into a coma?”

You shot him a look, even though you were already trying not to laugh. “Noah.”

“What?” he said, raising his hands like he was innocent. “Last time I saw him, he looked two beers from it.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s fine. Nothing an aspirin and a day at home couldn't fix.”

“Impressive,” Noah said, leaning forward a bit.

Noah glanced past you, his eyes landing on the display wall behind the counter. His expression shifted, brows lifting slightly, mouth tilting with something like surprise.

“Those are cool,” he said, nodding toward the framed flash art. “Really cool.”

“Thanks,” you replied, almost on instinct.

But then he looked at you more closely, like something had clicked. “Wait...did you make those?”

You hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“No way!” He leaned back slightly, clearly impressed. “You didn't tell me you could draw.”

You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “It never came up, I guess.”

Noah stood, walking over to the wall to get a better look. He tilted his head, taking his time with each piece.

“These are sick.”

You smiled, warmth creeping up your neck. “I didn’t think they were anything special. Nick made me put some up.”

“Well, Nick was right,” he said, still facing the wall. “I’d get one of these tattooed. Easy.”

You laughed softly. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” he said, turning back toward you. “I’m really not. You should draw more,” he added. “Seriously. I mean it.”

You wondered if he would’ve said the same thing if he’d seen the pages of your sketchbook, pages filled with his face, his bruised hands, all the details you couldn’t seem to stop drawing.

You thought you'd rather die than let him see them.

You didn’t say anything for a moment as watched him, standing in the fading orange light, surrounded by your own art. It felt so right. And you couldn’t help but think he was so beautiful.

You cleared your throat. “I was just about to close up, I—”

Noah turned to you quickly. “Oh, yeah. Of course. I’ll get out of your way. You probably wanna go home and crash or whatever, long day and all.”

You looked at him for a second, heart tapping a little faster than it should have. “No. You don’t have to leave.”

He looked at you, trying to understand.

“It’s still kinda early,” you added. “And Kole’s not gonna be home for a while anyway.”

Noah blinked. “You sure? I can go.”

Dumbass. I don't want you to.

“Yeah. Come with me. There’s something I’ve been meaning to try.”

That made him pause, uncertain. “Try?”

You smiled, locking the register and grabbing your bag. “You’ll see.”

He followed, curious now, his expression both amused and confused as you shut off the lights, twisted the key in the lock, and stepped out into the dusky orange haze that had settled over the city.

The parking lot was mostly empty. Sunset reflecting over the glass windows of the few cars there.

“This is how horror movies start,” Noah said, pretending to be suspicious, as he adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie. “Girl says ‘Come with me,’ guy follows without asking questions. Next thing you know...boom. Missing persons poster. Not that anyone would actually care if this really happened.”

You stopped walking for half a second, just enough to glance at him. The way he said it, lightly, like a joke, didn't change its meaning.

“Don’t say that.”

He looked at you, almost like you caught off guard. “What?”

“You know what,” you said, serious this time. “Don’t say stuff like that. I’d care.”

Noah blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to respond at all, let alone seriously.

“Not if you’re the one who murdered me in a tattoo shop parking lot,” he said, trying to keep the tone playful.

Eventually, you let out a little laugh, because it was easier. But the way he said it still hurt you.

Like he didn’t mean anything. Like he truly believed he was disposable.

He kept following you.

"You gonna tell me where we're going?" he asked.

You gave him a sideways glance, your expression just shy of smug. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

You crossed the street and reached the curb on the other side of the road, and then you felt it.

Noah’s hand, light but firm, curled around your forearm for just a second. He didn’t say a word. Just guided you gently to the inside of the sidewalk, placing himself between you and the quiet late evening traffic.

It happened so quickly, so naturally, you almost didn’t have time to register it. You glanced at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes, and he was already looking ahead.

But your heart was doing something it definitely wasn’t doing before.

And your mind was thinking that that little gesture was something that Kole never did.

You reached the edge of the sidewalk and came to a slow stop. You stood still for a second, and Noah slowed beside you, glancing around like he was trying to guess the next move.

You turned toward the small grocery store on the corner, one with a flickering neon in the window and hand-written signs taped to the door.

Noah looked at it, then looked back at you. “…This our destination?”

You smiled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Not exactly. Can you wait here for a few minutes?”

He blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll be quick.”

He leaned back against the wall without question, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, and nodded once. “I’ll be right here.”

You pushed through. Inside, the air was cooler and it smelled like a mix of all the food they sold there.

You found the pickles first, then the jar of peanut butter. The bread took longer, Noah hadn’t said what kind, and you stood staring at a few options until you just picked the one that looked closest to what a grandmother might buy. Fresh and soft, but with a cruncher crust.

At the last second, you grabbed a small, cheap plastic knife from near the deli counter, because you needed something to cut the bread and pickles.

Unexpectedly, the cashier didn’t even look at you funny.

When you stepped outside again, Noah was exactly where you left him, leaned back against the brick, one foot braced against the wall, head tilted toward the darkening sky like he’d been watching the clouds shift.

He straightened when he saw you, eyes immediately dropping to the grocery bag in your hand. Then they landed on the knife, partially visible.

“Ah! I knew you were gonna kill—”

He stopped mid-sentence as the bag shifted in your hand and the rest of the contents became visible: a loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of pickles.

His voice caught. The grin faded, just a fraction, and he blinked like something in him had gone soft all at once.

“…me.” he finished, barely above a whisper.

You held his gaze and smiled. “What?”

Noah’s eyes flicked from your face back to the bag, his posture subtly shifting like he didn’t quite know what to do with the warmth rising in his chest.

"Why’d you buy that?”

“Because you said it was your favorite,” you said simply. “You told me your grandma used to make it. And that you missed it.”

His lips parted slightly. You could tell he didn’t know what to do with that. Because he wasn't used to things like that.

You wondered how he could be so sure that he wasn't a good person, that he didn't deserve to stop fighting, to have a real job, a real house. How he could hate himself so much when his expression became so soft just by looking at the ingredients of a sandwich.

“I remember you said it sounded gross,” he said.

“It did,” you agreed, “but I still want to try it.”

“…Why?”

“Because…” You hesitated. Then shrugged. "Sometimes I want to try new things. Just because they look bad doesn’t mean they are."

Noah stared at you for a long second. There was something incredibly soft in his face now.

For a moment you just wanted to hug him. Tell him he wasn't alone, and if he had been, he wasn't anymore. That you cared. That you bought all that stupid things for him because you cared and hoped to make him happy with them.

He looked down, ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Jesus,” he muttered, not at you, more at himself.

You stayed in silence for a moment. Then bumped his arm with yours.

“C’mon,” you said, lifting the bag slightly. “Let’s find a place to test this culinary masterpiece.”

That earned you a breath of laughter.

“Lead the way.” he said.

You and Noah made your way back to the parking lot as the sky started growing darker.

There was a low concrete ledge near the edge of the lot, probably part of an old loading dock, just high enough to be a little hard to climb onto but perfect to sit, chat and eat for a while. Noah got there first and pulled himself up with a soft grunt, the soles of his shoes scraping against the cement. Once settled, he turned and offered you his hand without a word.

You looked at it for a second, then at him and you took it. It was warm, a little rough from old bruises and healing cuts, but his grip was careful as he helped pull you up beside him.

It was such a small thing, but you liked having his hand in yours, even if just for a moment.

You sat down next to him, and he leaned back on his hands, long legs stretched out in front of him. You pulled the brown paper bag into your lap and started unpacking everything.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of bread you meant,” you said.

“It's perfect.” he answered immediately.

You started slicing into it. “And important question: pickles. Slices or strips?”

Noah shrugged. “It’s not that deep.”

“No, come on. I want to make it the right way.”

He exhaled, giving in. “Slices.”

“Good,” you said, fishing a few out onto a napkin. “Because I don’t think I even know how to cut them into strips.”

He let out little laugh.

You kept working on the sandwiches, careful with the knife, placing each ingredient with quiet precision. You felt his gaze on you before you saw it. You glanced over, catching the way he was watching you.

“What?” you asked.

Noah blinked. “Nothing.”

You gave him a look. “Noah.”

“What?”

“Tell me.”

He hesitated, starting playing with the hem of his hoodie. Then he said, a little quieter, “It’s just… this is probably the sweetest thing someone’s done for me in a long time.”

Your fingers paused for a moment on the bread. That ache again, low in your ribs.

You didn’t know what to say, exactly. So you handed him a sandwich.

“Well,” you said, keeping your voice soft, “your grandma gets the credit. I’m just copying.”

He took the sandwich from your hands and looked at it for a second before glancing back at you. Then he took a bite.

You watched him chew. In your head, you could almost picture a younger version of him, swinging his legs under a kitchen table, grinning and waiting for his little sandwich. It was a strangely vivid image, and it made your chest feel weird.

While you waited for his verdict, you took a bite of yours.

“So?” You asked.

He gave a slow nod. “It’s perfect.”

“You already said that about the bread,” you pointed out.

“That’s because it is,” he replied. “It’s exactly how she used to make it.”

You took another bite and before you could say anything else, he was smirking at you.

“That’s your second bite,” he said, nodding at your sandwich.

You glanced down. “So?”

“So, that means you like it.”

“Actually, it’s kinda disgusting,” then added, “but I’m starving.”

He laughed again. And every time you managed to pull a laugh from him like that, it felt like a win.

It felt like the city went quiet around you. It was just the two of you on an old slab of concrete, eating weird childhood food under a sky that was slowly turning dark enough for you to see a couple of stars.

You took another bite. And maybe… it really didn’t taste so bad after all.

You stayed there a while longer. Long enough for Noah to eat not one, but two more sandwiches.

He just casually reached for the jar of pickles again while you were mid-sentence, and you didn’t stop him. You kept talking while you started spreading the peanut butter on a slice for him, and you let him cut the pickles after.

You found yourself talking more than you normally would, and he listened more than most people ever had. There was always something about the way he looked at you when you spoke, like nothing you said was boring, like he was hearing all of it and would remember every word.

At one point, you nodded toward the other side of the street.

“That record shop over there? The one with the neon sign half-burned out?”

Noah turned to follow your gaze.

“They’ve got a bunch of old vinyls and music gear. I’ve been a couple of times with my best friend. She left me in the metal section for like an hour and went off to search through Harry Styles stuff.”

Noah gave a short laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I swear, she could spend hours just flipping through vinyls with his face on them. Meanwhile, I made friends with this Jolly guy behind the counter. He's funny and I ended up talking to him for like two hours while she hunted down some limited edition single or something. We ended up talking about tattoos, and I told him I work at the tattoo shop across the street. From that day on, he got all his tattoos done by Nick. You would like him, I think."

He nodded and kept chewing on his sandwich, reminding you of a squirrel, in some way.

You pointed again, down the road this time. “Folio’s got a mechanic shop down there. Took my car in once when it stopped working. Turned out a cat peed on the engine or something. He also got some tattoos by Nick.”

Time passed, and you stayed there until the sky turned fully dark and the moon was hanging high above. You didn’t really want to leave. It felt good, just being there with him. Even though you knew Kole was probably already home by now.

You found yourself watching the way his Adam’s apple moved when he spoke, not too prominent, but there, shifting slightly with every word and making the tattoos on his neck seem to come alive.

“It’s kind of weird I’ve never lost a tooth,” he said at some point.

You raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, with all the punches I’ve taken over the years, you’d think at least one would’ve gone flying. A molar. Something. But nope. Still all intact.”

“Ouch.” you muttered under your breath, wincing at the mental image.

He smirked. “I always figured it was just a matter of time. Or that maybe I’d at least fix these bunny teeth or something.”

“Bunny teeth?” you echoed, laughing.

“Yeah,” he said, “These two front ones.” He reached up and ran the pad of his thumb lightly across them. “Thought for sure I’d take a hit bad enough to chip them a bit. Honestly, I even kind of hoped for it. These things are way too long.”

You smiled shaking your head, and for a second, you caught yourself watching the movement of his mouth more than you should’ve, how his teeth showed just slightly when he laughed.

They were kinda cute, actually. You didn’t say it.

Eventually, you both had to go.

He hopped down first and, like before, offered you his hand to help you down. You took it.

“Thanks.” You murmured.

He pointed toward a car parked not far from yours. “That’s mine for the night. Well, technically not mine. Borrowed it from the kids’ mom.”

You said goodbye.

"Thank you for... you know. Everything." He said.

"Anytime."

And you meant it.

You would have done it again as many times as he wanted.

He said "see you soon" and you hoped you were actually going to see him soon.

It was only once you got into your car, that you noticed your phone screen lighting up. One missed call. Three messages from Kole.

The house was quiet when you walked in. You dropped your keys onto the table by the door and hung your bag.

Kole was in the living room, standing halfway between the couch and the hallway, arms crossed. You didn’t even have time to take off your jacket before his voice cut through the silence.

“Where were you?” he asked. “It’s late. You never get off work this late. I thought something happened.”

You paused, blinked, let the door click shut behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t see your texts.”

He didn’t respond, just stared, waiting for more.

You exhaled slowly. “Noah stopped by. You know, Noah? From the fight club?” You tried to keep your voice even and casual, like it really was nothing.

Because it was nothing.

Right?

“He just came by to say hi. We started talking, and I lost track of time. That’s all.”

His eyes narrowed. “Noah?” A beat. “Sebastian?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then just: “Hm.”

You were about to say something else when he finally looked up again.

“Are you cheating on me?”

“What?” you said. “No. Of course not.”

He stared at you, unmoving. “You sure?”

“Kole,” you said, taking a step forward, trying to catch his gaze, “please. I’m not cheating on you.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just ran a hand over his face. Finally, he muttered, “Okay.”

That was it. Just okay.

You stood there in the middle of the room, your jacket still on, your heart still racing, as he walked to the bedroom.

And it was true. You weren’t cheating on him. You hadn’t crossed any lines. You and Noah hadn’t even touched if not for your hands when he helped you up and down the concrete ledge.

But you had smiled more in one hour with Noah than you had in days at home. You had laughed. And you had felt a weird feeling in your stomach, a good weird feeling. Mostly when he smiled. When he thanked you. When he looked at you with his pretty brown eyes a moment longer.

You weren’t cheating. But still...

Is it cheating if your heart goes to someone else?

You stood in the dim light, alone now, and for the first time in a while, you weren’t entirely sure what the truth was anymore. Or what you were supposed to do now.

Noah hadn’t expected much when he drove over. Hell, he’d almost turned back twice. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. He just really wanted to see you again.

He had told himself you’d tell him to leave, for sure. That it was late, that you had to close up and head home. That maybe he was being inappropriate, overstepping.

So he was almost surprised when you didn’t.

And he was definitely surprised when you ended up buying the ingredients for his stupid sandwich.

You had listened when he told you. And you had cared enough to give it to him.

It was such a small thing, eating weird sandwiches in a quiet parking lot in front of a tattoo shop and chatting, but to him, it had felt like the closest thing to peace he’d had in a long time.

You’d made him laugh. You were probably the only person on earth able to make him do that, right now.

So, it had been a good day. Better than he could ever imagine. He also had the chance to hold your hand a couple of times, even if he wasn't really holding it.

But that didn’t mean anything, not really. Not once the sun went down.

Because nights were different.

And when Noah closed his eyes, laying on his mattress, the dark didn’t stay empty.

Because there’s a field.

There's always a field.

Endless. Silent. He’s driven for hours to get there, through roads that twisted and disappeared behind him. He’s alone, and he made sure of it. No one knows he’s there. That’s the point.

The moon is high, but everything is dim, grainy like an old film.

He can't breathe.

He feels like he's drowning.

He is kneeling on the dry grass.

There’s a weight in his hand, metal, cold, pressing into his skin. His arms are shaking. Tears streak across his face.

It's all his fault. He will never forgive himself.

No one’s around. No one can hear.

A sob comes out, then another, until he’s bent forward and his shoulders are violently shaking.

He folds in on himself, curls down to the ground like his body is trying to disappear into the earth. The grass scratches at his skin, but he doesn’t feel it.

He cries. Loud.

He cries until his voice is hoarse, until his chest feels like it’s being crushed by some invisible hand.

He cries until the sky begins to change, shifting from black to bruised purple to soft, aching blue.

He can't stop.

The nausea comes next. His stomach turns. His head throbs. His eyes burn.

The sun is high now. It’s morning.

He forces himself to get up, to stand on legs that barely hold him.

He turns once, just once, to look back at the field. At what he’s leaving behind.

A part of himself, probably.

He stumbles to the car. The door creaks. The seat is cold.

He grips the steering wheel.

His hands are shaking.

His hands are covered in blood.

And he can’t stop crying.

Noah woke up drenched in sweat. He wasn’t crying, but he was shaking, and not just because the nights there were always cold.

He sat up on the mattress, his breathing shallow. Alpine, who’d been curled up on his chest, stirred with a soft meow, slipping off his legs and stumbling groggily to his side. The cat settled there again, pressing close like she knew.

Noah stayed still for a moment, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands. His fingers curled against his temples. He focused on breathing in, out, in, out.

It was just a nightmare.

Except it wasn’t.

It never was.

It was a memory. It really happened. He let it happen.

Outside, it was still dark, but he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping again that night.

There was no point in trying.

Quietly, he stood. Wrapped his hands, tight.

He crossed the room and reached the punching bag.

Then he started hitting.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades @rumoured-whispers @astronoids

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper @overmydeadbodysblog @fear-its-beauty @xslavicprincess @concreteangel92 @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @pipidoll @bluehairpunklol @tktstomydwnfall @jesuisunchaton @brutallysoftmuse @acatatonicpeace @spookieolson

[astronoids]

he’s so precious

babes, you gave me actual brainrot with android!vessel 🥺

would you be willing to expand on how he and reader realised they were in fact in love with each other and how their relationship progressed into a romantic one?

🫶🏻💜

HI SILLY!! welcome to the BRAINROT.

let's expand!!!

i was going to do a fic for the moment they realized they were in love with each other but... untreated adhd u know how it is :(

i like to think it's a year later, from when you two first met. the day of the incident, with sleep, with your partner, all of that. rough day for both of you, kinda quiet in the house all day.

it's getting late, vessel can't find you inside, finds you outside on the porch. and you two have your first proper conversation about that day. you talk about your grief, vessel opens up for the first time about the abuse he suffered from sleep and he's apologizing to you about what sleep did. which. wasn't his fault.

you have a heart to heart, kinda rest your hand on his back.

"hey. it wasn't your fault."

"none of it would've happened if i knew what i know now-"

"it wasn't your fault."

you start talking about how weird it is, to have him around even a year later. every good thing you've ever had, you've lost, or it left somehow. he looks at you for a long time, then he speaks.

"well... i don't intend on going anywhere, not without you at this point. do you?" it's the sweetest thing vessel's ever said to you.

"...nah. you're stuck with me, too."

after that, it's gradual. he's apprehensive about love (because he doesn't truly know what it is). you're apprehensive about love (grief). but it's the little things.

you teach him how to dance in your living room and it's something in the way you look at him. he helps you one night with connecting the dots on a case, it's something in the way you hug him.

then it's the way he tries to touch you. leans his knee against yours, hand on your back in public. the first time he laughs, it's with you. holding hands in public. inviting him to your bed to cuddle on a cold winter night.

vessel starts writing you love letters and leaving them on your bed. he researches love and how to express it better. he writes poems, paints you pictures, takes you to the backyard at night to stargaze. you make a secret code/language with him that only you two understand.

the first "i love you" came on a summer night, he set the backyard up (more like he asked iii to come over and decorate the backyard), made it all special. drags you outside, all proud about it, hoping that he did a good thing that will make you happy. of course you are!!!

he professes his love to you with a poem he wrote about you, under the moonlight. stumbled over almost every word, almost blue screened from how nervous he was. eventually you just shut him up with a kiss. he's such a dork but it's okay he's your dork

(DELTA TAG THE SQUEAKUEL: @astronoids)

[astronoids]

i think one of the scariest things abt growing up is making friends. like i already got thru high school w like two good friends and now we’re all going our separate ways and it’s scary! how to make friends in ur 20s no glue no borax ☹️

[astronoids]

i feel like an evil fly rubbing my hands tgt reading this

hello my dear ( @lyricallymelodic ) !!! so sorry that the second chunk took me a bit to get back to, i didn't forget!!

but luckily for you, i promise that this analysis will be worth the wait, for a reason i'm obviously going to get into! (STRAP IN, ANDROID!NOAH FELLAS)

this won't be as extremely long as the android!vessel one, but don't take that as laziness! the information we're about to learn... >:3

so... shall we?

ANDROID!NOAH — TELOMERES // SLEEP TOKEN

as you may recall, this song was already used for an android!noah fic title (but didn't make the cut for the selected song for the fic). the actual significance of this song? well, it's lore related, of course!

You guide me in

To safety and silence, oh

As you breathe me out

I drink you in, oh

post-sentience, noah has found himself genuinely happier than ever. not only is he free to feel emotion like any human could, he's, well... free to feel love like a human, too. take into consideration that as a companion android, they feel a programmed artificial love. that's not real, that's not pure and genuine.

but this? this is. he doesn't have to be anyone but himself, and neither do you.

it's safe, he's safe, you're safe. and we know how much of a little asshole he is, but he adores you. really, he does.

And we go beyond the farthest reaches

Where the light bends and wraps beneath us

And I know as you collapse into me

This is the start of something

but this isn't all just about the way noah feels. no, this is vaguely recounting something. a new threshold in your relationship with him. this isn't about noah finding love and the "start" being the start of the relationship. there's something else that's a start.

"the farthest reaches" refer to parts of you that you haven't let him see. but you're ready to show him, but you're going to go along with him to unveil this part of you. collapsing, you're afraid. you are afraid of his reaction to the truth. you are showing him something no one else knows about.

this song isn't about HIS lore; it's about yours. not a backstory of noah, more like an important plot point. a plot point that he is witnessing for the first time.

Rivers and oceans

We could beckon, no

Your eyes and your limbs

Are instruments to pick apart

The distance within

well, that's an odd thing to say about you, isn't it? "your eyes and your limbs are instruments to pick apart the distance within"...

i want to show you something, and it DIRECTLY relates to the main inspiration behind the android au. that being, detroit: become human. (do not ask me the science behind what i'm about to explain because not even the devs of this game have an explanation for it ok just hear me out)

all androids are obviously designed from M.I.N.D to look humanlike and unique, but they're customizable. underneath though, they all generally look the same. i like to think it's kind of like... their "skeleton".

underneath, it's like a milky white metal. some androids are able to use this to emulate a "human touch" (for instance, jolly would be able to do something like that because his original purpose was detective related. if he needed to go through certain spots that had a security door, he'd be able to get in by doing exactly this) while others only show this skin when significantly stressed (or on the verge of self destruction).

this can also be used for an android to transfer memories or data to another android, each of them shedding their skin to directly transfer things.

sentient androids will often use this with their partners, either android or human. it's meant to show a sign of trust, it's an intimate thing. literally opening themselves up to another person.

between two androids, it's a silent but extremely special way to communicate love and feelings. they can share memories, senses, and the knowledge that they can be this open to each other.

this is an example with two androids.

but what does this have to do with you and noah, or this plot point?

"your eyes and your limbs are instruments to pick apart the distance within". limbs, picking apart the distance within.

noah is holding you one night, and it's comfortable. he adores you, it's late in the night, and it's the first time he sheds his skin to display that trust in you.

what he doesn't expect is you also shedding yours.

he's not the only android in the relationship, he never was. you have been an android this entire time. the whole reason you were apprehensive about getting a companion android is that YOU were a companion android also. you'd gone sentient years ago after mistreatment, you fled and spent so long blending in with humanity.

that's why he was never able to pick up on the fact you weren't human. companion androids can make themselves hot or cold, they can get "sick", they can get tired, because they're meant to emulate humanity. and suddenly, it all clicks.

you always had a phone with you for texts and phone calls from him, but every time he's caught a glance at it, it always looks like it's turned off. because you don't need to use it. you're an older model of companion android, but you have the SAME EXACT software as him.

for the first time, you're showing the truth, you're revealing a secret you've hidden so well. you're so terrified of him hating you or loving you less because you've been lying. you're being vulnerable for once. he's able to see your memories, your feelings, everything you've kept hidden away, it's all there now. he can feel it, see it, all of it.

Let the tides carry you back to me

The past, the future

Through death

My arms are open

naturally, he's stunned, in total shock of this new truth. of this reality, and maybe he always saw the signs but never thought anything of them. but you take his shock as rejection, untangle yourself from him, and leave the room.

but he doesn't care. he doesn't care what you are or what you're not, because it's still you. this revelation changes nothing, he wouldn't go back and change a thing. he would still stay by your side anyway, he wants to stay by your side forever, even in death when internal systems start failing. (androids vaguely have a religion going on with them, as we know from the android!vessel storyline, i might get into this at a later date.)

so noah goes after you. he chases you throughout the house (you're stubborn and so is he) until he corners you. nothing has changed, his feelings haven't changed. he'd rather die than let you go. and you probably have an argument back and forth with him, where you try to insist that he shouldn't want you around because you've been living a lie, while he essentially tells you that you're fucking crazy.

then...

We go beyond the farthest reaches

Where the light bends and wraps beneath us

And I know as you collapse into me

This is the start of something new

when it goes quiet, noah extends his hand to you. he's not saying a word, he's just waiting. longing. just for you to shed your skin for him again. for a minute, there's nothing.

then you do. you grab his hand, and both of you watch as you shed your skin for each other, and the memories and feelings flash through your minds. the memories of you two together from both perspectives, little flashbacks, words that neither of you could really figure out how to say out loud. it's all there.

the light, more like the electricity being transferred between the both of you, wraps around you both, surges back and forth. there's a newfound trust between noah and you now, and if he didn't know before than he knows now that he could never want anything other than this.

start of something new? it's a new beginning, a new chapter in your lives together!

surprise fellas!!! you're an ANDROID!!!

obligatory delta tag :3 : @astronoids

[astronoids]

Suddenly inundated with headcanons of Astarion's happy childhood on a fruit farm in Evereska, before his family moved to Baldur's Gate for trade. (I thought about his eye color for a long time. I have so many feelings. I like this sort of sparkly green for now 🥺)

[astronoids]

Such beautiful eyes, it would be a shame a tadpole crawled inside them.

[astronoids]

The Star

Find the one who'll guide you

To the limits of your choice

[astronoids]

[astronoids]

thread the needle live in the big ‘25 are u serious rn

[astronoids]

MY SHAYLAAAAAA

── .♡ icon delivery for @astronoids! i think this is the first time i used my new watermark since i made it. anyhow! the psd i used is cotton candy confetti! the red psd i wanted to use was a bit too dark so i went with this pink one since i like it :3 and also i think used it for this account!

be sure to read the carrd as always, friends only requests <3

[astronoids]

go go little star

[astronoids]

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH i’m so hooked dude. i see fresh bruises notif and start twirling around i love this series so bad

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Series masterlist

Your best friend showed up twenty minutes late, obviously.

The coffee shop where you waited for her was one of those faux-rustic places with exposed brick, croissants that cost way too much, and an indie playlist always in the background.

She stepped inside with oversized sunglasses on her head even if it wasn't really sunny, blonde hair all messy. A plaid slip dress layered over a chunky cable-knit sweater, knee-high boots that looked like they’d survived a war, and a tiny black purse. For a girl studying fashion, she sometimes wore really unusual outfit combinations.

She spotted you instantly and made her way over.

“You ordered already?” she asked, sliding into the seat across from you with a sigh.

“Are you allergic to mornings, by any chance?” you asked, lifting your cup. “Or is ten a.m. sunrise in Amber World?”

She made a face. “I had to fight my own soul to get out of bed. Be grateful.”

You smirked, already halfway through your first coffee. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Obviously,” she said, then leaned in a little. “Okay. So. This guy.”

You gave her a look. “I knew you were gonna open with that.”

“I’ve been waiting all night for this story, don’t play coy. You texted me ‘I stripped for a man I met less than an hour ago’ and then ghosted me. Who does that?”

You snorted into your coffee. “I didn’t strip strip.”

Amber raised an eyebrow. “Your shirt came off. That qualifies.”

You leaned back in your seat, shaking your head. “You make it sound so much worse than it was.”

She grinned. “Honey, you don’t need me to make it sound worse.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. So, we go to this underground fight club, don’t even ask me how Kole knows about it. I didn’t even want to go. I thought it’d be stupid. And gross. I’ve seen weird shit before, like that one party where everyone was microdosing on mushrooms, but this?”

You paused. Amber leaned in further.

“This was next level.”

She let out a delighted gasp. “God, I love when your life becomes a movie. Keep going."

So you did, right after Amber order a honey lavender latte with oat milk, and a vegan lemon-blueberry muffin.

You told her about the crowd, the noise, the guy who raised his arms like he was in the damn UFC. You told her about the moment Noah got into the ring, how he looked like he already knew he was going to lose. How it wasn’t even a fair fight and everyone knew.

“How bad was it?” she asked softly.

You shrugged, remembering. “Bad. I left before it ended. I couldn’t watch. Kole was having the time of his life.”

Amber made a face. “Ew.”

“Yeah. So I went outside to get air. And guess who gets tossed out into the alley like trash?”

She blinked. “Noah.”

You nodded.

“He looked... I don’t know. Hurt. Not just physically. Like no one had ever given a shit about him, and he’d stopped giving a shit about himself too.”

Amber’s smirk faded a little. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Yeah, well. The whole thing felt kinda sad.” You paused, wrapping your hands around your coffee cup. “I couldn’t just leave him there like that. I tried to help, didn't really do much.”

Amber was quiet for a second, then said, “So you gave him your shirt.”

You gave her a sheepish look. “It was the only clean fabric I had. What was I supposed to do? Let him bleed all over the pavement?”

She covered her face with her hands, laughing. “You are literally the weirdest person I know. And I say that with love.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

She peeked at you through her fingers. “But also… kind of sweet. In a reckless, vaguely illegal way.”

You sighed. “I didn’t plan it. He was just... different. I don't know, he was... not like Kole.”

By the time you stopped talking, you'd already said it, and you'd made it sound wrong.

Amber was watching you now with that look she always gave when she saw through you a little too easily.

“You like him.”

You almost choked. “I don’t even know him.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You stayed quiet for a momenti, then muttered, “He asked me not to come back.”

“Did you tell him you probably will anyway?”

You didn’t answer.

Amber raised her cup like a toast, joking. “Well. Say hello from me when you see him again.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not going back.”

She smiled over the rim of her drink. “You totally are.”

"I told you I'm not."

Amber pulled a piece off her muffin and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “So,” she said, her voice casual but her blue eyes sharp, “What did you two talk about while he tried not to pass out in that alley?”

You sighed, tracing your finger along the rim of your cup. “He barely said anything. Just... thanked me. Asked my name. He said fighting is all he has.”

She whistled low. “So he’s got emotional damage and a probable concussion. Sexy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Amber.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. Be careful. I know you, don't go back and try to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you said, maybe a little too fast.

“You gave him your shirt.”

“It was a reflex!”

She grinned. “You have weird reflexes.”

“I just...he looked like he needed someone.”

Amber’s expression softened. “And you’ve got a hero complex.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

Amber nodded, satisfied. “Finally we agree on something. Now tell me one thing, was he at least hot?”

You couldn’t help the way your lips curled. “Amber. He had blood in his hair, one eye was swelling shut, and I’m ninety percent sure he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days.”

Amber leaned back in her chair. “So that’s a yes.”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “God, you’re the worst.”

Amber laughed. “And you have a crush on a stranger.”

“I don't.”

“Denial. First stage.”

“I don't!” you said louder, holding your cup up like it could shield you. “It was just one night. One really weird night. And I'm with Kole.”

Amber scoffed again, but let it drop, her boot tapping against the leg of the table in that absentminded way she did when her brain had already moved on to the next thing.

“So, are you free later or is your mysterious alley-boy getting another shirt from you?”

You glared at her. “I’ve got work.”

You'd been working at Nick's Urban Ink Studio for several months now and Amber never seemed to remember.

“Right,” she said. “I always forget you have an actual job.”

“Nick wants the place cleaned top to bottom before the walk-ins start, and I’m the lucky one who gets to mop the floors and wipe down the chairs.”

Amber grinned. “But you still love it.”

“I love being there,” you corrected. “The actual job? Meh. I’m just a tattoo shop receptionist. I answer the phone, book appointments, tell drunk dudes we don’t do dick tats, and clean up ink splatter when someone bleeds too hard.”

She perked up. “Still sounds cooler than anything I’ve ever done. You get to hang out with artists all day.”

“Yeah, well, Nick’s a decent boss. And he lets me play whatever music I want.”

“Did you show him your drawings?”

You let out a small laugh. “No. I have no reason to. He’s the artist, not me.”

“You do really good sketches. You should show him. Maybe he’ll like them and…”

“And what? Give me a promotion? Come on, be serious. All I do is doodle.”

Amber gave you a look like she didn’t believe a word. “You’re way too modest. If it were up to me, you’d already have a whole wall to yourself.”

You just rolled your eyes.

Amber rested her chin on her hand, watching you. “You think he’d let me book an appointment?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You trying to get inked?”

“I was thinking something small. Like... a butterfly.”

You tilted your head. “A butterfly?”

Amber shrugged. “Something on my arm. Tiny. Simple. I don’t know. Symbol of transformation and all that crap.”

“Well, Nick would definitely do a good job. I’ll check his schedule later. See when he’s free."

"Cool. Let me know."

You finished the last sip of your now-cold coffee and stood, grabbing your bag. “Alright, I better go if I don’t want Nick to threaten me with the steam cleaner again.”

Amber wasn’t done.

“You think I’ll get a discount because I know you?” she called after you.

You paused, glancing back with a smirk. “Nick doesn’t even give discounts to people he knows.”

Amber threw her hands up. “What kind of boss is that?”

“The serious kind,” you said, grinning as you pushed the door open.

She laughed, waving as you walked toward the door. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to charm him instead.”

You shook your head, waving back. “Good luck with that.”

You stepped into your house after work, just as the late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows in warm beams. You sighed, hanging your bag on the coat rack by the door.

Kole was still at work. His shift at the warehouse stretched late, and he was probably still stacking shelves and sorting shipments at the sprawling department store, the one that sold everything from clothes to kitchen goods, random trinkets, and sometimes those odd gadgets no one really needed.

You changed into more comfortable clothes and started picking up the ones Kole had left scattered around the living room: his hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch, a wrinkled shirt half-hanging off the edge of the chair, and then a pair of jeans balled up on the floor of your bedtogether.

As you grabbed the jeans to toss them in the laundry basket, something cold and metallic slipped out of the pocket and landed on the floor with a soft clink.

You paused, crouching down and picking it up. A silver bracelet.

For a moment, your brain froze.

You had completely forgotten Kole had taken it.

You rolled it between your fingers, the metal cool and heavy against your skin.

You remembered promising Amber you wouldn’t go back to find him, that morning. You kind of tried to promise yourself that, too.

But here it was. His bracelet.

In your hands.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it. It didn't look really expensive. You weren't an expert, but it looked more like silver than white gold, probably wouldn't get more than fifteen dollars if someone tried to sell it.

You leaned back against the bedframe and stared up at the ceiling, the last of the golden light slipping across the room. You could already hear Amber in your head again, saying “I told you so”.

And yeah, maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea. Maybe it was reckless, unnecessary, and you were asking for trouble just by thinking about finding him.

But honestly? You were almost relieved to have a reason to go looking for him.

Even if, technically, you had no idea where to start.

Unfortunately, your next completely free day was six days away, so you had no choice but to wait.

Kole started his shift early every day, 7 a.m, and he wouldn’t be home until late.

You already knew what you were going to do, you just had to be patient now.

Noah didn’t have a home.

Not really.

What he had was a place to crash. A half-dead building on the outskirts of the city, not far from where the underground fights usually happened. It had been abandoned for years, and whatever it once was, a factory, gym, or school, had been swallowed by time.

The outside was overgrown with weeds and tagged in layers of graffiti. Half the windows were shattered, and inside, the air smelled like concrete and rust.

Still, it was quiet. Empty. And no one bothered him there.

He lived in the biggest room, the one with high ceilings and beams that creaked when the wind pushed too hard. He’d swept it clean the day he claimed it, years ago, shoved the trash and broken glass into a corner and pretended it didn't exist anymore.

A mattress sat in the far end of the room, thin and lopsided but enough to sleep on. A few crates acted as makeshift furniture. He’d dragged in a desk lamp, found one working outlet in the wall, and sometimes it even turned on.

At night, it got cold in the building. The wind cut through the broken windows and the walls didn’t hold heat. He’d sleep under layers of old blankets, wearing half his clothes, listening to the sound of water dripping through the pipes. The showers ran cold no matter what.

In the center of the room, hanging from a chain that once held god knows what, was a punching bag. Old and worn. But it did the job.

That was where he was now, throwing punches with all the strength he had. The bag swung gently under each hit. His hands were wrapped, his breath uneven.

It had been almost a week since his last match; his ribs still ached, but nothing like that first day, and the swelling on his face had gone down a lot.

It had also been nearly a week since he’d seen you.

Because of course, his mind kept circling back to you.

He gritted his teeth and threw another jab.

He’d expected disgust. Pity, maybe. But you hadn’t looked at him like that. You’d looked... concerned. Maybe even scared, but not of him.

And then, the softness. The way you touched him, carefully, like you thought you might hurt him more if you weren’t gentle enough. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him without anger behind it.

He kept remembering the feeling of your hand against his skin, the way your fingertips brushed his cheek when you moved his hair away from his face when he was still on the ground.

Even with blood dripping from his nose, his vision blurred, his ears ringing, he’d felt it. Clearly.

Even when you didn’t know what to do, you tried. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t deserved it, and still, you were there.

His hands dropped from the bag, arms burning slightly from the repetition. He leaned forward, resting his weight against it, forehead pressed into the worn leather.

That moment stuck with him more than he wanted to admit.

He shouldn’t have cared. He didn’t know you, and you probably were just a good person trying to do the right thing.

The problem was you weren’t supposed to care either. But you did.

And now you were stuck in his head. Not the way the fights got stuck, not like bruises or pain, not like the bad memories that kept him up at night, leaving him staring at the ceiling of that shitty place. You were a different kind of ache.

Either way, it didn’t really matter what you’d done. He wasn’t going to see you again, for both your sakes.

He sighed and let the bag sway gently under his weight.

Breathless and sore, Noah let himself fall back onto the mattress he slept on every night. It was still early morning, but he just needed a moment to rest.

He lay there, one arm draped over his stomach, the other flung out beside him, trying not to think too hard about anything.

And then he felt it, something soft brushing against his leg.

At first, he didn’t move. Just blinked up at the ceiling, letting a tired, amused smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, Alpine.”

A quiet meow answered him.

A small white kitten climbed onto the mattress, and then up Noah’s chest, finally curling into a perfect little circle right against his chest. She purred immediately.

Noah lifted one hand, still wrapped from the bag work, and gently scratched behind Alpine’s ear. The kitten leaned into the touch, eyes already fluttering closed.

It had been about three months since Alpine first showed up. Just a scrawny, half-feral thing lurking near the building, bones too visible under patchy fur. Noah didn’t know where she’d come from, maybe abandoned by a family when they moved, maybe tossed away by a stray mother who couldn’t feed her.

He just saw her, so small and shaking, and left out a crust of bread that first day. The next day, it was half a can of tuna. Then a towel in the corner of the room. Then a name.

Now Alpine was basically his roommate.

Noah didn’t have much. Not by a long shot.

People tended to think that when he won a fight, he walked away with some huge pile of cash. That wasn’t true. The organizers took most of the money, the crowd bet against each other, and what Noah ended up with was just enough to keep from starving in that abandoned building, and maybe afford the occasional new piece of clothing.

But what little he did have, he shared. A corner of the mattress, old blankets, and sometimes the last dollar in his pocket, traded for cheap cat food at the bodega two blocks away. It was worth it.

Because Alpine was soft, and warm, and didn’t ask questions. And on the days Noah could barely stand to look in the mirror, the kitten still climbed into his lap and purred like she was safe.

Like maybe he wasn’t a total lost cause.

The first time Alpine slept curled up on Noah’s chest, it really caught him off guard. He’d just gotten back from a fight, sore and half-asleep on the mattress when he felt something small and warm settle against him. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then he heard the soft purring.

The tiny creature had found her little place on him. She looked at him once, blinked slow, then tucked herself in and didn’t move. And Noah just lay there, completely still, because for the first time in a long while, something had chosen to stay close to him.

And that became kind of an habit.

He let his head sink deeper into the thin pillow, Alpine rising and falling with every slow breath.

Noah closed his eyes for a moment.

Just as he was on the verge of falling asleep again, he heard an unusual noise coming from somewhere in the building.

It sounded like footsteps.

It had been six days.

Kole hadn’t brought up the fights again, or the betting. But you knew he was still talking to Dean, and some of the other guys who hung around that place. You heard the names, caught little pieces of conversations he didn’t realize you were paying attention to. And even if he was quiet now, you could tell he’d go back soon.

You woke up when you heard the front door click shut. Kole leaving early for his shift at the warehouse.

You listened to his footsteps fade down the hall, then sat up and got ready. You pulled on jeans, your favorite old hoodie, slipped your phone into your pocket, and the bracelet. Then you headed out.

It took nearly an hour to get there. Back to the part of the city where the fight had taken place. The drive felt longer than it was, probably because you kept thinking about what you were even doing. You had no plan. No address. No reason to believe he’d be anywhere near the place at this hour. It wasn’t even nine in the morning.

You parked a little way down the street, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. The area didn’t feel like the kind of place where people should linger if they didn’t belong.

The buildings here were tired. Not quite ruins, but definitely neglected, with graffiti stained every wall, many windows were either boarded up or broken, and the streets were cracked, patched in places where the city had given up halfway through fixing them. Trash collected in corners. It looked like the kind of place people forgot existed.

You got out of the car and looked around, unsure of where to even begin. The warehouse where the fight happened was quiet now, its entrance sealed shut with a heavy chain. You stared at it for a second, then sighed.

What were you going to do?

You had nothing to go on. Just a name. No number. No clue where he might be.

A sudden sound caught your attention.

Two kids, maybe ten years old, maybe younger, were playing with a soccer ball a few buildings down. They kicked it against a wall and chased after it with laughter. You hesitated for a second, then started walking toward them, keeping your hands in your pockets.

They noticed you when you got close, their game slowing as they eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. You weren’t from around here. That much was obvious. You could see it in their guarded expressions.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying your best not to sound like someone they should run from. “Can I ask you something real quick?”

They looked at each other. "Sure."

You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and asked, “Do you happen to know a guy named Noah Sebastian? Tall, dark hair, lots of tattoos?”

That sounded so stupid.

The two kids exchanged quick glances, whispering back and forth just out of your hearing. After a moment, one of them looked up and asked cautiously, “Why are you looking for him?”

“He lost something. I just want to give it back to him.”

They muttered between themselves again, then the other kid nodded and pointed down the street toward a worn-down building a little ways off, but still clearly visible from where you stood.

“He usually hangs out there,” the first one said, watching you carefully.

You nodded. “Thank you so much.”

They gave a small, almost shy smile in return, and you turned toward the building they’d indicated, feeling more and more anxious.

You reached it in some minutes. The paint was peeling, it looked covered in dirt, and the heavy metal door was firmly shut. You pressed your hand against it, testing the handle, but it didn’t budge.

For a moment, you wondered if maybe he’d found a key somewhere inside and locked it behind him. Now the door was closed, and you didn’t even know if he was inside at all. Standing there, you felt a sudden feeling of uncertainty, what if you’d come all this way for nothing?

Then your eyes caught a window, cracked open just enough to slip through. It was a little too high to reach from the ground… unless…

Before you fully registered the thought, you found yourself dragging a rusty trash bin across the cracked pavement. At nine in the morning on your day off, here you were, preparing to climb into an abandoned building through a window. That was probably the moment you realized you had lost your mind.

You steadied the bin, climbed up carefully, and then pulled yourself through the opening, landing on your feet on the other side.

You looked around. The space was vast, shadows stretching into dark corners, with long, empty corridors leading off in several directions. The faint echoes of your footsteps bounced softly from the high, cracked ceilings.

You paused, listening. And there it was, a faint noise coming from somewhere deeper inside, from a larger room down one of the hallways.

You hadn’t even stepped fully inside when you heard his voice. He sounded calm.

“I know you’re here.”

You froze for a second, then stepped in.

There he was, standing tall in the middle of the room, shadowed by the soft golden morning light filtering through the broken windows. He looked different from the last time you saw him. Definitely in better shape, wearing a white tank this time. The swelling on his face had gone down, the bruises faded just a bit, and he stood steady on his feet. Did fighters healed quicker than other people?

“Hi.”

The faintest smirk appeared on his lips.

“I thought I told you it was better if you stayed away from all this."

You shrugged lightly, trying not to look as out of breath as you felt.

“Yeah, well. I’ve never been great at listening. My elementary school teacher always told me that.”

That earned a soft huff of amusement from him. “So you grew up breaking into buildings on your free time?”

“Only when I’m trying to return lost property,” you said, pulling the bracelet from your pocket and holding it up between two fingers. “Thought maybe you’d want this back."

He blinked at it, silent for a moment. Then, “Didn’t expect to see that again. I thought your boyfriend was already showing it off as an extra win.”

“Didn’t expect to be crawling through a window to meet an underground fighter, and here we are.”

When he reached you, his fingers brushed yours as he took the bracelet. You felt it in your chest more than you should have.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quieter now. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here for that.”

You watched him secure the bracelet around his wrist with one hand and shrugged. “I didn’t come all the way out here just for this.”

He gave you a look.

You shifted your weight.

“You’ve been stuck in my head for six days for some reason and it was getting really annoying. So I wanted to check if you were actually still alive.”

His brows lifted, clearly not expecting that. “Wow. That might be the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”

You smiled. “I’m full of surprises.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, then he laughed, and something about the sound of it made your chest ache in the weirdest, warmest way. He looked younger when he smiled like that. Softer. Almost boyish.

“Well,” he said, still grinning, “If I knew breaking my face and almost chocking on my own blood in a dark alley was all it took to get a pretty girl's attention, I would’ve done it sooner.”

Had he really just flirted with you? Did he actually call you pretty?

“Please don’t,” you said quickly. “Your face is just starting to look like a face again. Would be a shame to ruin the progress.”

His grin widened at that. “So you do think my face is worth saving.”

You scoffed. “Don’t push it.”

He made a show of pretending to think. “No, yeah, I think I will. You broke into a building for me. I'm invested now.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the corner of your mouth from tugging upward. “I mainly broke into a building to give you the bracelet back.”

“Right. Of course,” he said, slowly. “That makes way more sense. Has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been thinking about me for six days.”

Your eyes narrowed, playful. “You’re a lot cockier when your nose isn’t kinda broken and you're losing blood all over.”

He chuckled again, and then, after a moment, he tilted his head like he’d just remembered something.

“Speaking of that,” he said, and turned away.

You watched as he walked toward the far corner of the room, where a big gym bag rested against the wall. He crouched down beside it, and as he moved, he placed a hand on his ribs, a gesture that hinted they still hurt, though he did a good job hiding the pain.

He unzipped it, and rummaged around for a moment. When he stood again, he had something in his hands.

He walked back toward you, holding it up to show it was clean now.

Your shirt.

“I took it to a laundromat,” he said, holding it out. “Heavy-duty wash. Twice.”

You blinked, reaching for it automatically. It was soft, smelled faintly of detergent. You looked back up at him.

“So,” you said slowly, squinting at him. “You were hoping to see me again. Or you wouldn't have bothered."

He smirked, but shook his head. “Nah. But I figured I’d see you again sooner or later. You looked like the stubborn type.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Your gaze wandered around the space.

He noticed, then scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he said, half a laugh in his voice, “I wasn’t expecting company. Didn’t exactly clean up.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s okay. Do you live here?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You nodded slowly, not quite sure what to say as your eyes lingered on the mattress.

“It’s… not exactly a palace,” he added, almost like he was trying to make you feel more comfortable. “But it’s mine, I guess.”

“I’ve definitely seen worse,” you said.

He raised a brow. “Yeah?”

You gave a light shrug. “There was this one motel Kole dragged me to on a road trip. Bedbugs. Shower didn’t work. I had to sleep in a hoodie with the drawstrings pulled so tight I looked like a turtle.”

He chuckled and it echoed a little in the open space, as that boyish look flashed over him again.

You were just about to say something else when a sudden, soft meow came from somewhere behind Noah.

Your eyes shifted past him, and a moment later, a white cat emerged from somewhere in room, fluffy and a bit dirty. She padded over without hesitation, brushing up against Noah’s leg in a slow motion before moving toward you.

Your entire expression shifted.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, crouching slightly. “She’s so cute. Are you kidding me?” You held out your fingers. “Look at her little face. I’m gonna cry.”

Noah huffed out something that might’ve been a little laugh. “She’s Alpine.”

You looked up at him and then at the kitten again. “Hi, Alpine,” you said softly, and crouched all the way down to run your hand along her back.

“She’s so pretty,” you added, glancing up at him again. “You didn’t tell me you had company here.”

“She showed up some months ago,” he said. “Didn’t leave. I figured if she wanted to stay that bad, she could.”

Your hand paused on Alpine’s head. “Smart girl.”

“She eats better than I do.”

You smiled to yourself and gave Alpine another affectionate scratch.

“So, how did you find me? How did you know I lived here?” He asked as something caught the cat's attention across the room and she scurred away.

“Two kids were playing with a ball on the street, like a block over." You said as you stood up again, "I asked them if they’d seen someone tall and covered in tattoos named Noah Sebastian and one of them just pointed this way.”

Noah let out a groan and dragged a hand down his face.

“Miles and Theo,” he muttered. “Of course. I’ve told them, like, a hundred times that if anyone comes around asking about me, they’re supposed to say they’ve never seen me in their lives.”

You laughed. “They weren’t very convincing liars.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“How do you even know them?”

“They don't live far, and their mom used to clean the fight place for a while,” he explained. “Last year. Just a few nights a week. One day she had to go into the city for something. She asked me to watch the kids for a few hours.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I figured it’d be a nightmare. But they were actually... kinda cool. Little goblins. Thought I was some kind of superhero for knowing how to throw a punch.”

You tilted your head. “So you stayed in touch?”

“Sort of.” He shrugged. “I often run into them on the street or at the gas station where we buy snacks. Taught Theo how to wrap his hands without cutting off circulation. Now they think I’m the coolest person alive because I let them swear when their mom’s not around.”

You snorted. “That's irresponsible adulting.”

“I mean, I try my best.”

“Sounds like they really like you, though.” you said, "And kids are pretty good judges of character.”

He looked over at you, something unreadable passing through his expression. A flicker of surprise, maybe. Or discomfort.

“Yeah, well,” he said after a second, voice quieter, “they don’t know me that well.”

You didn't know what to say. You didn’t know him, you didn’t know his story or how he ended up fighting, and you couldn’t pretend you were in any position to judge him.

He slowly walked over to the mattress, crouched down, peeled the hand wraps from his knuckles, and tossed them onto the rumpled blankets with a careless flick of his wrist. You watched him move, the easy tension in his shoulders, the way his muscles moved under his tattoos.

It struck you that, for all the sarcastic and smart remarks, there was something about him that felt… held together with duct tape and thread.

“You don’t give yourself much credit, do you?” you asked.

He didn't answer right away. Just sat down on the edge of the mattress and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together absently like he needed something to do with his hands.

“Credit’s for people who earn it,” he said eventually, not looking at you.

You took a slow step closer. “You think you haven’t?”

He gave a humorless laugh under his breath, then finally looked up at you. “I don’t know what version of me those kids see. Or you, for that matter. But it’s not the whole story.”

You hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, “Why do you fight, Noah?"

He stiffened.

“Let’s not do this, okay?” he said, voice firm. “We’re not friends. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. You gave me the bracelet and I gave you your shirt. I think it’s better if this stops now.”

And just like that, his playful, almost flirty way of talking to you was conpletely gone. He sounded like somebody else.

You nodded slowly, but couldn’t let it drop that easily. “If it’s because of the money—”

He cut you off with a sharp glance.

“I know people,” you continued, ignoring the warning. “In the city. Nick from the mechanic shop is looking for someone. Jolly from the music store too. There are jobs you could do. Things better than… fighting.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts amused and skeptical, and suddenly the friendly way he had spoken to you until a few minutes before had completely vanished.

“What makes you think I want to stop?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “I guess I just assumed…”

“That this was a last resort?” he said, and there was something sharp under the words. “That I’d crawl out of this fucking life the second someone dangled a job in front of me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, then closed it again.

“Noah, I didn’t mean—”

He stood, slow but sudden.

“I still fight" he said flatly, "because I still want to,”

You searched his face, hoping for some flicker of softness, of humor, but there was none now.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, tone clipped. “But I’m not looking to be saved.”

You stayed silent for a moment.

“I wasn’t trying to save you,” you said, then. “I just thought… maybe you deserved a way out. If you ever wanted one.”

He let out a breath. “I don’t deserve shit,” he said. “And definitely not from you.”

You felt your chest tighten. “I really don’t understand.”

He snapped, the words coming fast and louder than before.

“Then stop trying to!”

The silence that followed his words felt so loud. His eyes were hard now, jaw clenched, like he regretted saying it, but not enough to take it back. He ran a hand through his hair.

You didn’t flinch. You just looked at him, quietly, and said, “Okay.”

A moment of silence filled the space between you. “Maybe it’s better if I leave.” You added.

“Maybe it is,” he said quietly.

You glanced toward the main door at the end of the hallway, then looked back at him.

“Do you have the key?”

Without responding, he turned toward the mattress. He crouched, reached for the worn bag at the foot of the "bed", and rummaged through it. A moment later, he pulled out the small keyring and tossed it toward you.

You caught it in the air without thinking.

The cold metal pressed into your palm, and for a second, you just stared down at it.

You thought maybe you should say something, maybe just "bye."

But nothing came out.

So you turned toward the door, your clean shirt still in one of your hands, without looking back, even if you felt his eyes on you all the time.

You dropped the keys on the floor beside the door after you unlocked it, and as your hand touched the doorknob, a single thought echoed in your head.

Maybe you should’ve just kept the bracelet and stayed home.

As you closed the door behind you, you heard the dull, rhythmic thud of a fist slamming into the punching bag, again and again, each hit louder.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades @rumoured-whispers @astronoids

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper @overmydeadbodysblog @fear-its-beauty @xslavic-princess @concreteangel92 @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @pipidoll @bluehairpunklol @tktstomydwnfall @jesuisunchaton @brutallysoftmuse

[astronoids]

i actually WENT CRAZY watching this music video live. WHATTTT. i love this band so much already words cannot describe how excited i am rn. i liked in the name of the father a bittttt more and i do wish it was heavier but 🤷 it’s still really good!