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crimson-calligraphyx · 12 days

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Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter Three // Wonderland AU

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

A.N.- Although Characters may have face claim to the Bad Omens band as well as Poppy, I have changed their names for the sake of the story. Despite this change I hope everyone still enjoys the story as a whole!

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people's faces but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @poisongirl616 @ladyveronikawrites @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @littlefoxkota @silentglassbreak @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @catharsis-in-darkness @dsireland86 @skulliecadaver-blog @laurpartyprogram @faceless-mirror @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @thisbicc @cncohshit

The wind rushes past my ears as I plunge deeper and deeper into the abyss. With each passing second, the light above grows fainter while the darkness below swallows me whole. I’ve lost all sense of direction, unable to discern up from down in this vortex of shadows. My stomach lurches with each flip, tossing and turning without control. Strands of hair whip wildly across my eyes, blinding me further in this endless freefall. I flail my arms, grasping at nothing but air that slips through my fingers.

I feel the need to scream but nothing comes out.

The grey swirling mist around me gives way to dark tree branches as I see the forest come through around me. My heart leaps into my throat as I desperately grasp at passing branches and shrubs, trying to slow my momentum. Just when I think my fall will never end, the sleeve of my cardigan snags on an outstretched tree limb, abruptly halting my descent. I dangle helplessly in the air, my feet kicking below me as I struggle to regain my composure. Adrenaline courses through my veins from the sudden shock of my fall and narrow escape. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, clinging tightly to the branch as it sways under my weight. The quiet creaking barely registers before an ominous snap pierces the silence. In an instant, the branch gives way and I plummet the remaining distance to the forest floor. I land flat on my back, all the air forced from my lungs on impact.

My eyes focus on the sight above me. Gloomy grey clouds swirl in whirlwind circles, like the way a hurricane might look - dark, menacing, and ominous. As I take in the dreary sky, the clouds appear to be spinning faster and faster, morphing into a giant whirlpool directly over my head. I can almost feel the power emanating from their rotation like a vacuum trying to suck me up into oblivion. Sitting up slowly, I feel the soreness in my bones, as if I had slept on the hard ground all night long. The aching penetrates deep, making even the slightest movements arduous and painful. I check for broken bones, wiggling my fingers and toes, bending my arms and legs, and nothing is seriously damaged.

My hands are covered in dirt from the forest floor, if a forest is what you call it, I brush the soil from my hands as I scan the dreary trees around me. The floor is not covered in grass or moss, but a dark and crumbling soil that clings to my skin. It is as if the very life has been sucked from this place, leaving only dust in its wake. The trees that surround me are gnarled and twisted, with branches like boney claws grasping desperately at the oppressive gray sky. They are barren - not a single leaf or bud in sight, just rough bark that seems to slough off in scales. There is an unnatural stillness here, and a damp chill that seeps into my bones. The only movement comes from the fog that swirls eerily between the skeletal trees. It dances just out of reach, sinuous tendrils of mist that seem to have a mind of their own as they curl and twist. The fog circles me like a predator, watching closely but never coming close enough to touch. There is something sinister about this place, as if the very air is heavy with malice.

The world around me is eerily quiet - it's as if someone has hit the mute button on life itself. No birds singing, no rustle of leaves in the breeze, just deafening silence. All I can hear is the rhythmic ticking of a clock, though I see no timepiece nearby. The steady ticks seem unnaturally loud in the void of sound, almost oppressive as they count away each passing second.

I stand from the floor, whipping my head around slowly to find the source of the ticking sound. When she surprises me, she steps out from behind one of the trees. Her long blonde hair cascades straight down to her waist, and I see her soft caramel eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of my dirt-covered self. I jump back in surprise as she stands still where she is, her nose twitching ever so slightly. I relax a little, recognizing the girl from the coffee shop as she steps around the tree, a lace-covered hand still holding to the black bark as if it will save her should I be dangerous.

I feel the panic set in when I see what she is wearing, even more so what rests on her head. Platform shoes that are taller than her feet are wide support her, white stockings disappear under periwinkle leather shorts, which cling tightly to reveal subtly muscular legs. A navy and white corset pulls her narrow waist in dramatically, leaving her body in a perfect hourglass figure. The long tail of her navy trenchcoat brushes the back of her knees as she walks, the black lace at the hem an elegant and beautiful touch. On the top of her head protruding from the platinum locks are two white bunny ears, they stand straight up twitching as she stares at me intently. She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out a silver pocket watch placing it in the palm of her lace gloved hand. Regarding the time, one of her ears flops over as she tsks softly and looks back up at me, stating simply in a melodic voice, "You're very late." I stare in bewilderment, wondering if I'm hallucinating this strange yet alluring sight before me. The girl tilts her head quizzically, bunny ears perked up once again, as she waits for me to respond.

“I…I…late for what?” my voice cracks a little, I have been sucked into this dream again and it’s starting to get old.

The young woman smiles trotting over to me before taking my upper arm, pulling me along as she skips merrily down the forest path, her sheen white hair bouncing with each step. "Come now. So very little to do and so much time," she sings, her voice light and melodic. I hurry to keep up, worried she'll twist an ankle in those heels as we push on through the uneven ground littered with sticks and stones. She stops abruptly and I nearly crash into her back. Turning to me, her face grows pensive, her brows knitting together in concentration.

"So little time, so much to do. Yes, yes, that's it!" she exclaims, having sorted out some internal debate. She resumes her brisk pace, heels clicking on the hard dirt before sinking into the soft soil.

"You should have come through the door. You would have been closer to Hatter that way," she advises as we walk. "But the mirror will do. They are tricky, tricky, tricky. You could have come through completely upside down!" She elaborates on the precarious magic of portal mirrors - how I might have emerged feet where my head should be, eyes planted squarely on my chin. Such a disturbing image, but she seems utterly unfazed by the prospect of such chaos.

"Upside down?" I ask, unable to grasp how that would even work.

"Oh yes!" she readily confirms, no trace of doubt in her voice. Stopping short again, she spins to face me, eyes narrowed.

"Let me see your hands," she demands. I hold them out obediently as she inspects them for the proper number of digits. Satisfied, her expression clouds again. She leans in close, peering at my face intently, and whispers "Do you have hands on your feet?" Mystified, I shake my head no, and she relaxes, beaming.

"Good!" she declares cheerily before pirouetting away once more down the path.

"I'm sorry," Her brisk pace through the winding forest path leaves me struggling to match her graceful steps. She glides effortlessly over fallen branches and mossy stones while I stumble clumsily behind, longing to pause and catch my breath. The further we go, the more I yearn to turn around, retrace my footsteps and return to the place I began. But the mysterious maiden shows no signs of slowing, so I press on, determined not to lose sight of her flickering white dress between the trees up ahead.

"Who exactly are you?" I ask. She giggles white lace glove covering her soft pink glossy lips. My blunt question elicits a melodic laugh as she conceals her mouth with a dainty hand. I fail to grasp what amusement my inquiry brings her. With an elegant twirl, she stops abruptly and faces me, throwing her arms out wide as if presenting herself to an invisible audience.

"I am all that I am and all that I will be. I am Melina, herald to the late white queen," her face falls a little growing somber as she delivers her final line, "and the great red queen." Her prideful introduction gives way to melancholy, ears falling ever so slightly as she seems to choke on the word ‘great’.

After sharing a somber beginning to our encounter, her demeanor suddenly shifts as a radiant grin spreads across her face, lighting up her cheeks with a rosy flush. Her long, snowy rabbit ears, which had drooped mournfully just moments before, now perk up with delight. With renewed enthusiasm, she begins merrily spinning and skipping down the forest path, practically bounding with each step. Her movements are graceful and spirited, reflecting her improved mood. I hurry to keep up as she continues on ahead, but struggle to match her graceful, nimble movements.

“Okay,” She effortlessly scurries up the side of the path, climbing over a large fallen tree blocking our way with ease. I attempt to follow her over the obstacle, but cannot mimic her graceful agility. “Next question, where am I? How did I get here? Isn’t this just a dream?”

Stumbling clumsily back onto the path, I watch her continue on, now skipping backwards so she can face me as we talk. Her mood is clearly much improved from when we first met, transformed from melancholy to positively gleeful in mere moments. Yet while her sadness has passed, my confusion remains. I hurry after her down the path, determined to make sense of this strange world I've found myself in.

“That is three questions, shall I answer in order or answer the ones that would make more sense?” she giggles continuously.

“Nothing makes sense!” I argue looking directly at her soft white bunny ears knowing for certain no person could have ears like that all the time.

"Well, you will never know that something makes sense unless it is said." Her response is not wrong but it doesn't sound right either, I can feel my head splitting already as I touch my temples. Her cryptic words echo in my mind, their meaning just out of reach.

“Where you are is, Otherland. I already told you how you got here-or how you should have come here.”

“The door,” I nod along as she speaks, acting as if I comprehend, but my confusion only grows. Her guidance feels less like truth and more like riddles. I want to believe her, to latch onto any clarity amidst the haze enveloping my mind. Yet as much as I strain to assemble the fragments, the full picture eludes me. “But, I can never open it.”

“Well, now you couldn’t, not with red queen guarding it with her life.” Her elusive responses just leave me grasping at ghosts, the truth always dancing out of reach. If only she would just tell me plainly, perhaps then I could make sense of this madness.

"I hear what you’re saying, but none of it is making sense." I try again to comprehend the confusing words and concepts she is conveying, but they continue to elude me, slipping through my grasp like smoke. She lets out a soft sigh, her eyes rolling upward in frustration as if searching the empty void above for divine inspiration.

Realizing the futility of her abstract explanations that seem clear to her but remain a jumble to me, she concedes: "I am horrible with explanations, too many thoughts scampering about in my head. Dax is far better, he should be with the hatter now. We should keep moving."

At the mention of "the hatter," vivid images from my shadowy dreams flood my mind - a tall, lean figure lurking in the darkness, clad in an impeccable black suit and glossy top hat. Could this be the mysterious man she is referring to? As I recall his chilling words uttered to me in the dead of night - "Ember, set me free" - a shiver runs down my spine. I sense this puzzling dream world and obscure reality are somehow connected, but the link remains just out of reach, as obscure to me as my companion's convoluted elucidations.

We delve deeper into the sinister forest, the canopy now so dense above us that not even a sliver of the gloomy sky peeks through. All around us come unnerving cries and screeches from unseen creatures lurking in the shadows. I flinch with every sound, imagining the unseen horrors to be stalking us, waiting to strike. Never could I have imagined that venturing farther into the impenetrable darkness would reveal such thriving, albeit twisted, life. A screech erupts frightfully close by and I can't help but let out a yelp of fear.

"What was that?!" I exclaim, my voice quivering.

"Bandersnatches," Melina replies matter-of-factly, not missing a beat in her brisk pace. "They roam wild in these woods but won't bother you if you just keep moving." I scurry to stay right on her heels, her flowing jacket now within arm's reach. If any nefarious creature is out to get me, I want to stay as near as possible to my guide through this nightmare realm.

Without warning, another shriek pierces the stillness, causing Melina to halt abruptly in her tracks. Her tall white ears stand erect, nose twitching as she scans the darkened trees around us. I stop short as well, peering anxiously into the shadows, though I know my human eyes are no match for her heightened animal senses. Through the tense silence, the forlorn howl of a hound echoes.

"And that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I follow the mysterious girl through the dark forest. She pauses and turns back to me, silver hair glinting as if it is radiating it’s own light.

"Harlan," she says just as quietly, a hint of urgency in her tone. "The hunt has begun." Her words send a chill down my spine as somewhere in the distance, I hear the baying of hounds. "No, no, no, I'm late," she mutters, checking the silver pocket watch she wears around her neck repeatedly, mumbling "no" to herself as she scrambles up the mossy forest walls on either side of the narrow path.

"Wait!" I cry out desperately, stumbling after her, not wanting to lose my strange guide in this ominous wood. But she halts and holds out a slender hand to stop me as the chilling howl of the hound cries out once more, closer now. She looks frightened, almost torn between staying to lead me through the dark trees and fleeing from some unseen pursuer.

"No. Stay on the path. Move with haste, but stay on the path," she instructs firmly, her luminous eyes boring into mine, willing me to heed her warning before darting off into the blackness of the woods. I'm left alone on the winding trail, my heart pounding as the baying grows louder, wondering who or what hunts these woods at night and what fate awaits if I stray from the path.

I continue the way we were headed, my feet moving with much greater purpose now. The sounds disappear behind me and I feel my heart rate slowing, the dark forest breaks free and I can see the sky once again. The winding forest path stretches on endlessly before me, narrowing as it snakes between the ancient, towering trees. Their gnarled branches reach out overhead, blotting out the moonlight that had briefly illuminated my way. The ground underfoot grows more treacherous, littered with loose rocks, tangled roots and fallen limbs that threaten to twist my ankles with every hurried step. I've been walking for what feels like hours now, though it's impossible to tell in this timeless dreamscape where minutes blend seamlessly into days.

I look down and I no longer can see the clear path in front of me, I panic just slightly turning to see where I may have lost it and think I can retrace my steps to find it again. But behind me the fog has curled over the path like a cat curling around my legs, obscuring any signs of the trail in a thick, milky haze. All I can see now are mangled branches and other forest debris emerging from the mist. Oh fuck, I'm lost.

I turn on my heel, ready to run back and find the path again, afraid I may no longer know my directions in this featureless sea of black. What if I am lost among this forest forever, doomed to wander endlessly through the featureless void? I'm stopped only by a soft whisper, turning I can see the fog whispering in curls as if the wind is blowing through it. The whisper is a soft low sound, rhythmic, like snoring...no, purring.

"I wouldn't if I were you," the disembodied voice purrs, its notes echoing off the trees and curling around me like the fog itself. The voice seems to emanate from the fog itself, surrounding me with its hypnotic susurrus.

"Going back would be cat-astrophic."

#GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

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crimson-calligraphyx · 13 days

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i need to be sedated

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crimson-calligraphyx · 13 days

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We love you, Star! For all that you create and do 🖤

A few announcements!

We have reach 1000 followers :) I wanna thank you all for being here! There is endless support and ideas and inboxes that honestly helps me get through some tough days! I love writing, I love this blog and ofc I love you all here and I want to shout out to my wonderful wonderful mutuals here and who are the sweetest, funniest and just nicest people to interact with here ❤️❤️thank you all so much!

In this case I’m gonna have to ask for no more inboxes for a bit because I do want to organize and clear everything out because I do wanna do a follower special !

Muah Muah Muah! I love you all so so much!

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crimson-calligraphyx · 18 days

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Thank you to everyone who reblogs and/or leaves comments on my work. Y’all hold a special place in my heart.

#please reblog content creators’ work #it means a lot more than you think

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crimson-calligraphyx · 18 days

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um.

#where tf is this from? omg

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crimson-calligraphyx · 18 days

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Hearts/Wires: Bride of Frankenstein!Noah AU

Hey 👋 just wanted to drop off another snippet of Frankenstein!Noah. I really appreciate the support and patience y'all have for this! My work schedule is going to be a bit bumpy lately due to us losing three employees lol! But, I am working on this every bit I can! It's about 60% done! In the mean time here's another, longer sneaky peak! <3 thank you, my lovelies.

If anyone else wants to be tagged lmk! 🧡 💚

Tags: @thefallennightmare @mitchhbitch @veronicaphoenix @sorrowsofsilence @concreteemo @poppy-in-the-woods @cookiesupplier @sammyjoeee @burning-outx @happi-goth @calleyx13 @poisongirl616 @flowery-mess @lilmonster218 @collapsedglasshouses @lma1986 @artificialbreezy @somewhere-diamond @madomens @illmakeyousaywow @philomenie @spicywhenspeaking @crimson-calligraphyx @shilohrosechicken @bluebird19 @heyyoplayer @cind6547 @viofcrows @lilhobgobbler

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Folio looked down at his feet; guilt fueling his veins. Just as he went to reply his voice died away as a strange, hoarse yet soft vocal tremor erupted from the direction of the door. A haunting, piteous song, like that of a lost and scared animal.

Dr. Ruffilo and his assistant; friend- in the foreground. Both face the door, Ruffilo slowly backing from the panel as the knob of the door slowly begins to turn, revealing the Monster himself, his large stature almost surpassing the frame.

This creature was strangely not hideous, they think. Quite beautiful, in fact. Not grotesque, but an inhuman figure with darkened almond eyes, circular shades of grey contouring the delicate sharp features of his face and hair seemed to still be slick with oils; parted down the center noting the obvious ridge defect of where his brain was replaced. The wisps of bang just above his brow.

The mammoth figure supplies the only semblance of human nature. He simply stood there in the doorway, starting out of the unseeing eyes at the two men. No movement, the two men could see the fear and confusion surrounding his aura. A slight twitching, about his mouth alone denotes life.

Dressed in an old black suit and coat of Ruffilo’s which was certainly a little snug for him. The ankles of his dress pants reached just above the outline of green socks he had placed on his feet. This made him almost look shrunken- It wasn’t lost that the man still had thickened muscle in his biceps, Making him give shape in the colorless sack like garb. Perhaps he looked almost too enchanting in this state, maybe even vampiric. odd.

His flesh was a warm undertone of yellow with fades of pearl-grey on the skin; his lips a shell pink with blotchy black spotting giving them an ombre effect. It was also apparent that he was becoming used to the dim lights, given his excessive squints and blinking.

Folio took a couple steps back, visibly alarmed but stood his ground. Dr. Ruffilo walks closer towards the man; after a few more however, he stops in fascination, his mouth a gape and eyebrows raised high. Hardly knowing what to expect.

Putting both hands up in surrender, turning one of them motioning towards the creature; “Come out! No need for you to be inside there any longer. You’re alright.”

Slightly swaying to gather his bearings, the creature looks as if he’ll fall down. The bones and joints are stiff, almost frozen inside him as he attempts to make use of appendages again. Somehow he gathered perfect balance. Pride warmed Ruffilos chest as he observed him, not walking like a robot, gliding forward with a slightly fluid, rhythmic movement.

Ruffilo, as he, backing slowly, led the giant to a chair. Still facing the creature, he makes half-hypnotic, half persuasive gestures with his hands: “Please. Sit down.”

It seemed as if he was failing to understand the action, but his eyes trailed over towards Folio, who took a deep panicked breath as he decided to pull out another chair for himself to sit.

The creature began mirroring him, with slow, jerky tentative movements, assuming his posture. Ruffilo says, through quivering and painstaking excitement; “He’s learning from you! Give him time! See? He’ll be just like you and I.”

A light chuckle of a scoff left Folio’s mouth; with uncertainty. “I wonder..”

“I’ll prove it brother. You’ll see the daylight will help him. Watch!”

Dr. Ruffilo goes to the wall, turning the wheel which moves the sliding roof. The bright and warming sunlight streams in on the creature. He makes a face squinting and scrunching, these tiny expressions only bringing him more to life.

The man was startled by what he was seeing. Opening and widening his mouth, letting out a “Ah-Eh.” Sound. Beginning to gaze with growing wonder at the sky; slowly rising, bringing his hands towards the sunlight; moving his new fingers at it, pretending to glide over the clouds in child-like wonder.

He then placed light touches of his stiffened fingers, a slow caress and wiggle to the slope of his pointed nose, it was almost as if he imagined the body of a monarch butterfly giving him a slight tickle and flutter.

Triumphant in creation, Dr. Ruffilo turned to his friend and began clapping gallantly; placing his index finger to his head; a bright bulb idea went off without a hitch. “I must name him! If he’s going to be human again. He needs a strong name, don’t you think?”

“Well..yeah, I guess so.” Folio agreed.

The creature stood with his hands in the air, the sunlight radiating on his face; allowing himself the pleasure of feeling the heat of the sun as Ruffilo and Folio began listing off names; none of them sounded correct. “Richard? Yuck!”

“Edward? No! too weak.” He spit, placing the pencil in his mouth and began nibbling on the eraser.

“Ivar? No.”

“Ah! No-Ah. What about Noah?”

“Noah?” Folio asked; twirling the black pen he held between his fingers, making drumming taps on his thighs.

“Yes! It means rest and repose. Which, if we’re being real is basically what he’s been doing till I got ahold of him and resurrected him.” Rufflio was exulting with energy and ego as his friend continued to shake his head in disbelief at the man, now known as Noah, who continued to stand in the sun.

#I love this #hehehe

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crimson-calligraphyx · 18 days

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Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter One //

Wonderland Romance AU. Mad Hatter Noah

by @ladyveronikawrites

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

Taglist (click to be added):

@cookiesupplier @badomensls @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @viofcrows @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @itsafullmoon @ladyveronikawrites @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @meliferafaerie @poisongirl616 @littlefoxkota @darling-millicent-aubrey @th0ughts-pr4yers @silentglassbreak @shilohrosechicken @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @latenightmusiclover

The work below contains fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

My heart pounds as I sprint down the endless corridor, the dizzying checkered tiles seeming to swirl beneath my feet and tilt the walls at odd angles. Doors of all shapes and sizes line the hall - some tall as giants that I can't even reach the knobs of, others no bigger than mouseholes, just large enough to slide my hand through. I rush past them desperately, knowing exactly which one I seek. The same door I always seek, the one that will lead me out of this maddening maze. It's made of dark, worn wood, the brass of its hinges tarnished with age, its yawning keyhole gaping open like a mouth, just waiting to swallow the right key. As I race toward that familiar door, freedom seeming so close I can taste it, her voice echoes through the empty passageway, stopping me dead in my tracks. The voice I know so well, now twisted with bitterness as she calls out, "It was supposed to be you."

It’s been the same dream since I was a kid, ever since my cousin Alice came to stay with us that fateful summer. I never liked my cousin Alice. To be honest, I never really knew her, but after her brief visit with my family, I begged my mom to never invite her again. She was always greedy and whined incessantly about everything. She would snatch my toys without asking and hide them around the house, intentionally breaking things and then blaming me for the damage. I still vividly remember that evening after dinner when we were supposed to play hide and seek outside.

Alice hid herself so well that night that I eventually gave up looking for her as the sun began to set and the sky faded to a pale blue. I was playing alone on the front lawn when Alice suddenly emerged from the shadows. Her Mary Jane shoes were scuffed and filthy, her dress was stained and disheveled, and her normally tidy blonde curls were matted and caked with some type of dark, viscous fluid. Her fingernails were also covered in what appeared to be red paint. She looked completely deranged and insane. Her eyes were bulging out of her skull as she stared directly at me and uttered in a haunting tone: "It was supposed to be you." Even now, years later, that bizarre encounter is seared into my memory, and Alice's crazed voice still appears in my nightmares.

My cousin had always been troubled, even when we were young. There was a darkness in her that I didn't understand, a swirling chaos behind her eyes that frightened me. As we grew older, her mental state deteriorated. She became unpredictable, prone to violent outbursts and deranged ranting. My family did their best to help her, but it was no use. The day she was finally taken away, restrained and sedated, came almost as a relief. I felt guilty for feeling that way, but I could not deny the lightness in my chest when I knew I wouldn't have to face her manic presence anymore.

That relief was short-lived. Though she was gone from my daily life, her memory continued to torment my dreams. I would find myself wandering endless hallways, hearing her sing-song voice taunting me from the shadows. Her eyes would appear around corners - wild, darting, devoid of reason. No matter how far I ran, she was always there. I would wake with a start, heart pounding, soaked in sweat. Sometimes I awoke screaming.

It's been years now since I left that house, since I got away from the ghost of my cousin. But still she haunts me. In the dead of night she comes creeping back, seeping into my subconscious to wreak havoc in my dreams. I wake gasping for breath, blinking into the darkness. I check the time on my phone - 4am again.

I don't bother with more sleep, tossing the blankets off my body as I stumble my way out of the bed to the bathroom. The light blinds me momentarily before my eyes adjust, taking in my sleepy form in the mirror. My amber locks are braided and resting over my shoulder, with some strands falling out of the tight coils I made the night before. The silver ring in my left nostril catches the light, as does my septum piercing and medusa lip ring, sparkling briefly as I groggily search the messy vanity for my toothpaste. My fingers fumble over tubes and bottles, knocking a few things aside before finally grasping the minty toothpaste. I pop open the cap and squeeze some onto my toothbrush, the sharp mint helping to wake me up slightly as I begin scrubbing the night's sleep from my mouth. My eyes are still bleary, barely open as I brush and rinse.

As the fog of sleep lifts, I mentally revisit the bizarre dreamscape that moments ago had felt so real and tangible. The stark black and white checkerboard floor spins dizzily beneath me, its sharp diamond tiles swirling together into a dizzying optical illusion. All around me are doors - doors of every shape and size imaginable. Circular portals, square wooden doors, even sideways slanted doors that defy logic and gravity. Most peculiar of all is a breathing door that slowly inhales and exhales, its wooden surface magically undulating in and out of the wall itself. Of course, in the rational light of wakefulness, such an animate door seems patently absurd. But in the illogical realm of dreams, where the mind is unbounded by natural laws, anything is possible.

I walk down the narrowing hallway, the walls seem to close in around me, making the space tighter and more claustrophobic with each step. Ahead is a door that has become very familiar to me, though I've never entered it. I can't help feeling a sense of belonging when I see the door, like it is a lost part of me I'm destined to reclaim. The door itself is quite elegant, despite the dilapidated state of the hallway around it. It has a shiny brass doorknob and ornate brass hinges that gleam like gold in the dim light. The dark wooden door contrasts with the cracked and weathered plaster walls, standing out like a jewel in a dusty setting. When I reach my hand out to open it at last, I am filled with longing and excitement to see what awaits on the other side. But each time, just before I turn the knob, a chilling, disembodied voice whispers "It was supposed to be you," and I am shocked awake from the recurring dream.

I spit out the foamy residue, watching the minty bubbles swirl down the drain as I turn the faucet off with a squeak. My studio apartment descends into silence, the calm only broken by the ticking of the clock on the wall. While the confined space may seem claustrophobic to some, to me it's cozy - a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. After growing up in a sprawling suburban home cluttered with dusty tchotchkes and my parents' eclectic art collection, I find comfort in the simplicity of my minimalist apartment. I don't need much - just a bed, a couch, and a small kitchen. The lack of clutter soothes my mind. I enjoy the openness, how there's no visual noise competing for my attention. The blank walls and empty surfaces allow me to think clearly and focus on what's important.

The stillness of the air is broken only by the faint murmur of my name emanating from an unseen presence. At first I strain to make out the hushed utterance, unsure if it's real or just my imagination playing tricks. But the more I focus, the clearer the gentle tenor becomes, beckoning me from the shadows. Though no physical form manifests, I feel the voice resonate within my core, igniting a warmth and calm I've never known. My pulse quickens at the thought of this disembodied visitor serenading my spirit, his cherubic tones blanketing me in an otherworldly embrace. I dare not move or speak for fear of severing this ethereal connection. I close my eyes, bathing in the velvety notes that seem to stroke my soul, stirring sensations and emotions I can't articulate.

I shake it off.

Hearing voices was never a good sign. That’s how it all started with Alice, I was not Alice, I would never be like Alice.

Alice had been sent away years ago, but just a few months back I’d gone home to visit my parents and saw Alice’s sister and father over for a visit. They said something about how Alice was released and after several months back home she told them she no longer felt like they were family and she was going somewhere she belonged. At first, I was confused, Alice had always been close with her family when we were younger. However, it seems that after being sent away, something had changed within her. Her father's eyes seemed dull and defeated while her sister looked on the verge of tears as they explained how Alice had rejected them and renounced their family ties.

After their visit, my mother confided that Alice had stopped taking her psychiatric medications and severed all ties to society, essentially vanishing completely off the grid by her own choice. When I returned home I double bolted my locks, an unsettling fear in my chest that Alice was one day going to come back for me.

The dull repetition of my daily morning routine is painfully familiar. I mechanically go through the motions of getting ready - carefully applying just enough makeup to look presentable, loosely pulling my hair back into a ponytail, and throwing on whatever clean clothes I can find. I feel like I could get ready with my eyes closed at this point. Once dressed, I grab my oversized work bag and shuffle out the door of my tiny apartment building. The refreshing spring air hits my face as I begin the brief five block walk to the coffee shop where I work. It's mid April, so the weather is finally warm enough that I don't need a heavy coat, but still cool enough that I'm not breaking a sweat on my short commute. The temperatures are perfect for walking. I breathe in the crisp morning air, taking in the sights and sounds of the city coming to life - birds chirping, early morning commuters hustling by.

The coffee shop is its typical whirlwind of activity in the middle of a hectic Wednesday workday, with customers streaming in and out grabbing their caffeine fix on the way to their next appointment. Behind the counter, I'm immersed in the controlled chaos - filling orders as fast as my hands can move, hearing the hypnotic hiss of steaming milk from the espresso machine competing with the insistent beeps of microwaves. Voices layered upon voices create a steady din that reaches all the way up to the exposed pipework ceilings. It's a symphony I know well after years in the food service industry.

As I go about my normal routine, filling orders and handing out drinks to the steady stream of patrons, I've become adept at tuning out the more eccentric customers that pass through. But today, as I prepare a lavender tea and call out the order, I find myself momentarily transfixed by the young woman who steps up to claim it. Her long, straight platinum hair cascades down her back like corn silk, with a few strands elegantly pulled up into neat buns on either side of her delicate face. Dressed in white high-waisted skinny jeans and beige heels, she cuts a stylish figure. But it's the antique pocket watch attached to her belt loop that catches my attention. As I hand over her tea, she tilts her head quizzically while consulting the watch, as if carefully calculating the passage of time. After a pause, she looks up, fixing me with an intense gaze.

"You're late," she says simply, causing me to stammer an apology before she turns abruptly, her long hair trailing behind her like a cape billowing in the wind.

I shuffle through the day, walking through the lobby to clean up the drinks people have rudely left on their tables. Wiping them down as I clean up. I pick up a paper cup about to throw away the half full liquid. But as I turn the paper cup in my hands I see someone has written under the lid in sharpie the words, ‘Drink Me’. I bring the open mouth piece to my nose taking a quick sniff. Lavender and Chamomile and something else. As I inhale the floral aroma rising from the mysterious concoction, I pause, transfixed by the cryptic message and alluring scent. Curiosity battles with apprehension as I contemplate the unknown contents. I toss the cup in the trash anyway, wiping down the last of the tables before heading behind the bar again.

Typically, I thrive on the pace and the social interaction with customers and coworkers alike, but today the commotion is too much. The constant demands have drained my mental energy. I feel the weight of exhaustion seeping into my bones. As soon as the clock hits the end of my shift, I make a beeline for the door into the blissful quiet of the outside world. Wolfing down a quick lunch, I start the familiar walk home, already dreaming of my cozy bed. By the time I've unlocked my apartment door and stepped inside, I can barely keep my eyes open. I don't even bother changing clothes before I collapse onto the mattress, surrendering instantly to a deep sleep.

#oooooo shit!!!!#this is gonna be awesome

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crimson-calligraphyx · 18 days

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A subtle breeze coasts down my exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I whine, tightening my grasp and burrowing my face further against Noah in search of warmth, only to come to the realization it wasn't him I was clutching to me. I cracked open an eye, my pregnancy pillow coming into view instead of the sight of my slumbering husband.

I furrowed my brows in perplexity; I know I had fallen asleep in Noah's arms.

With a groan, I rolled as far onto my back as I could, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes before pushing myself out of bed—which was getting progressively more and more difficult as the days went by. "Noah?" I called, trudging out of our bedroom with a hand on my back. "God, it's fucking freezing," I grumbled to myself, a chill running down the length of my body the further I walked down the hall. The air conditioning was on full blast as usual, thanks to Noah.

I call his name once again, but there was still no definitive response, other than a muffled 'fuck'.

There wasn't any music playing or the faint smell of toast cascading through our home, so he wasn't in the kitchen or studio. The only other option was the nursery.

I waddled my way towards what used to be our spare bedroom, peeking through the door left ajar. I grinned to myself when I saw him hunched over a piece of paper, tiny screws laid out in front of him in neat piles. I pushed the door open gently and leaned against the doorframe, giving it a light tap to announce my entry.

"Hey you," I greet him. "Whatcha up to?" "Building the crib," he replies, clipped. I scrunched up my face at his curtness, shaking my head lightly. "I see... Been here long? I didn't even feel you get out of bed." "Couple hours. Didn't want to wake you."

I stand up straight, pulling my brows together with a small frown. I was not appreciating his tone.

I take a gander around the room, seeing he had put together the white bookshelf my mom had gifted us and the nightstand we got from Ikea. I loved seeing that things were coming together, bringing me a sense of security and joy, but I could still feel the rigidness permeating from him.

"Everything okay? You seem a little tense," I ask. He sighs harshly. "Yes, I'm fine. There's a few pieces missing, so I'm a little annoyed with that." I shuffle on my feet. "Well, we could take a break. Make some breakfast. Plus, we still need to paint the walls, so we can figure out the missing pieces afterwards—" "We?" He scoffs. "I'm the one putting all this shit together."

My mouth opens, but no words come out. I snap my mouth shut; I'm left blinking as I register the words he just said.

I ball my hands into fists as I feel anger simmering in my veins. "It's a little more difficult for me to sit on the floor and put things together, Noah." "Then maybe we should've done this sooner before it got too difficult for you," he mumbles with a roll of his shoulders. "Excuse me?" My jaw drops and my hand flies to my chest, absolutely appalled. I give him a chance to explain himself, but we're left in a tense silence as I watch him continue to fidget with a piece of the crib. "You know what? Go fuck yourself. I can't believe you just said that!" I take hold of the door knob, pulling the door towards me as I begin to make my exit. "Sorry for being eight months pregnant," I snap, then slam the door behind me.

Tears are burning my eyes as I stomp to the kitchen. From there, I don't waste a second and pull out the griddle, aggressively putting it on the counter and plugging it in to heat up. It might be hard for me to build a crib and paint the walls, but it certainly wasn't hard for me to cook breakfast for the both of us. Even if I was pissed off to no end.

After throwing several strips of bacon on the griddle, I made my way around the kitchen and grabbed everything that I needed to make pancakes with haste. I whipped together the batter as the bacon cooked, never minding the fact that Noah was now standing by the island, watching me.

"Olivia," he says my name gently, closing the distance between us. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." "I'm cooking." I shoulder him away when he places an arm around my shoulders. I see him stiffen in my peripheral, letting his arm drop to his side. "Would you like some help?" "Nope."

We're back to a rigid silence, nothing but a quiet sizzle filling the room as I poured batter onto the griddle in perfect circles. Noah is hovering behind me, and it doesn't help alleviate the tension. Instead, I realize it was making it worse as I fisted the spatula with such aggression, my knuckles turned white. My hand even trembled a little bit while I watched the pancakes start to rise, speckled with tiny bubbles.

"You're gonna burn them—" I grit my teeth. "I know," I grumbled, flipping them harshly one by one. I knew they would burn if I let them cook any longer, he didn't need to tell me. He sighs, sidling up behind me and placing a hand on my waist. "I'm just trying to help, love—" "You can help by parking your ass at the table and leaving me be." I feel him flinch and slowly retract his hand before he returns to the island, where I hear him take a seat on one of the stools.

Minutes pass; I take the pancakes off the heat and split them between two plates. I had already laid the strips of bacon on paper towels to soak up the excess grease before serving Noah the chewier pieces, and me the crispier.

I may be done cooking breakfast, but I was certainly still stewing in aggravation as I grabbed the bottle of syrup and slide his plate in front of him. I glance at the sullen look on his face before I turned and retrieved my own plate, sitting across from him. He thanks me in a quiet voice, but he doesn't so much as move a muscle while I dig into my breakfast.

"Olivia, I'm sorry," he tries again. "I was just frustrated, I shouldn't have taken it out on you and said that." I picked up a piece of bacon, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, you shouldn't have." I shrug and take a bite of the bacon, savoring the hint of applewood as I chewed, and he sighs. "You gonna eat?" "I'm not all that hungry."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head lightly in annoyance, finishing the strip of bacon in hand before picking up my fork and digging into one of the pancakes.

"You know, that's how I felt when I spent hours putting those things together, just for you to come in and tell me we still had to paint the walls, Liv." "Seriously, Noah?" In an instant, the anger flared up again and I finally brought my eyes to him, shooting daggers in his direction. I slammed my fork on the table, his untouched silverware rattling from the aggression. "Why are you being such a dick?" He pressed his lips into a line as he leered at me, his eyes bouncing between mine while the tension between us was once again pulled taut. "Forget it," I grumbled, standing abruptly from my seat.

I picked up my plate and brought it to the sink, practically tossing it onto the counter, and turned to make my way back to the bedroom. I brushed past Noah with tears in my eyes and he calls my name, but I ignore him and continue down the hall. My throat burned as I tried not to cry.

It was like a flip of a switch with him, and I didn't understand it. Yesterday he was so kind, gentle, and helpful during the entire shower. He helped set up the event, helped me open gifts, cut and served the cake and other food, put everything away—hell, he barely let me lift a finger. But this morning? He made me feel like absolute garbage for not being able to do these things. I can't lift more than 10 pounds, I can't sit on the floor for very long and put together furniture, I can't paint the walls by myself.

I took a seat on the edge of the bed, my cheeks burning hot as tears rolled down them. Noah comes in shortly after and crouches in front of me, taking my hands in his with a gentle squeeze. He says my name quietly and I bring my eyes up to his face, which screamed nothing but remorse with a definitive crease between his brows and a heavy frown.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "Please don't cry." "Why are you so... flippant this morning?" I mumbled, struggling to find the right word. My lips quiver and he lets go of one of my hands to cup my cheek, his thumb swiping the trail of tears dry. "I don't mean to be," he sighs, shaking his head. "I'm just stressed." "So, you take it out on me instead of talking to me about it? Yesterday you were fine, and now... this," I motioned between us. "Did something happen?" "No, not exactly..." he trails off. I shake my head, not understanding. "Then what?"

He remains silent, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. He licks his bottom lip before biting it lightly, most likely mulling over his words before he cradles the back of my head and presses his lips to my forehead.

"I didn't want to upset you by telling you I was nervous about having the baby." He's kneading his fingers in the back of my head as he says this, his eyes heavy with concern, begging for forgiveness. "And don't think that means I'm not excited to have him, I'm just... I'm in my head, you know? It's a lot and I'm worried that... that I'm not ready or that I won't be a good dad." I felt my heart sink hearing his words, my whole jaw trembling trying to hold my emotions back. "W-why didn't you say anything before, Noah?" I sobbed, shaking my head as fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.

"Because it didn't hit me until yesterday," he tells me, squeezing my hand. "Seeing all the gifts, seeing how excited everyone was for his arrival, knowing you're nearly 9 months pregnant. It hit me all at once. We have so many things to put away, so many things to do for the nursery; it freaked me out." I lock eyes with him, his chocolate irises glistening with sincerity. "And you know how I get when I have a task on hand—I don't stop until it's finished. Til everything is perfect. I just want everything to be perfect for you and him." He cups my face with both hands, once again trying to dry my tears with his thumbs. "Okay? I'm sorry for being an ass, from the bottom of my heart."

I nod shallowly in his hands, and he brandishes a soft smile before pressing his lips to mine delicately. I let out a single cry against his mouth and cling onto his shirt, melting into him shortly after, and we stayed like this until neither of us could breathe.

Though him saying he wanted everything to be perfect was reassuring, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't the least bit worried about what comes after childbirth. The irritability from lack of sleep, and the arguments that would ensue from it. The disagreements, the crying, the screaming. Things won't be perfect, and that's what scares me—what if he gets sick and tired of trying to make things 'perfect' and leaves?

"Come on," he breaks through my thoughts. "Let's finish breakfast, cuz I know you're hungry," he chuckles, and I huff a quiet laugh. "Then we can set up the room to start painting the walls. How's that sound?" "But what about the things you already put together?" "I'll move everything to the center and put a tarp over it. We have to put one down over the rug, anyways."

I nod with a quiet 'okay' and he gives me another reassuring kiss before standing, pulling me to my feet. He takes my hand in his, bringing me back to the kitchen where we finished our now cold breakfast before he left to set up the nursery for painting.

In the meantime, I cleaned up the kitchen and changed into clothes that I didn't necessarily care if they got ruined or not. I threw my hair up into a messy bun and made my way into the baby's room, seeing Noah had finished the task of tarping everything and covering the trim in painter's tape. He was now beginning to pour paint into the pans.

"Ready to get painting?" he asks after putting the lid back on the can. He stands, picking up one of the rollers and attaching it to an extension pole before handing it to me. "I figure it would be easier for you, not having to bend or reach as much. I'll get the nooks and crannies when we get there," he winks, holding up a wide, angled brush. "Thanks," I chuckle. "Let's get this party started," I say, glancing around the area to survey where to begin. I dip the roller into the pan, coating it in the sky blue color we picked out, and started with the wall opposite of the door.

The idea of painting was a lot easier said than done. It wasn't all that bad at first, just a little burn in my arms from extending them time and time again, but after a while, my back started to ache quite a bit. I was breaking a sweat, and was even a little winded, but still, I pushed on through it, knowing this had to get done—I couldn't let Noah do it all himself, considering our little tiff from earlier.

We had just started the third wall when I couldn't handle the back pain anymore, which was beginning to spread to my abdomen. I set the roller down gently and excused myself, making my way to our bedroom where I lay down, hoping to alleviate some of the ache. It doesn't take long for Noah to follow me in, a look of concern spread on his face as he closes the gap between us.

"You okay, love?" he asks, brushing my bangs back to press a kiss to my forehead. "Yeah," I let out an exasperated sigh, my face scrunching from the uncomfortability. "My back hurts. I just need to rest for a minute and I'll be back to help finish painting." He frowns. "I'll finish it up, I don't want you over-doing anything. Sit tight, I'll grab you some water, okay?" "But—" "I mean it." He shoots me a pointed look before exiting our bedroom.

I huff with defeat, settling against the pillows with an arm draped over my face, my other hand cradling my belly where the twinge of pain remained. My muscles tighten briefly, and I let out a quiet groan just as Noah reenters the room. I move my arm away from my face and take the glass of water he offered, thanking him before taking a few tiny sips and putting it down on the nightstand.

"You doing okay?" "Yeah," I nod lazily. "It's going away. I just needed to rest for a minute," I reassure him. He pulls his lips to the side, a look of doubt strewn across his face as he places his hand on my bump, rubbing slow circles against it. "Alright, if you say so. I don't want you painting anymore though, okay?" "Noah, please, I'm fi—" My face contorts and I let out a hiss. "It's just a cramp," I tell him through gritted teeth. "Liv," he says my name warily. "You don't think you're going into labor, do you?"

My heart jumps into my throat, my eyes flashing to Noah's as panic starts to creep in. I can't be going into labor; I still had 5 weeks left to go.

#fanfic #fan fiction #noah sebastian #fanfic writing #quandary #fantasy #romance #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fan fiction

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