#ulysses; replies

[datura-tea]

some ulysses facts

ulysses is not the name he was born with; he named himself after ulysses s. grant

he's from the twisted hairs, a tribe that was forcibly assimilated into the legion after vulpes inculta "pacified" them at dry wells. their history and culture were erased, and some of their people were crucified along interstate 40. the rest were broken, brainwashed, and absorbed into the legion

he rose through the ranks of the meritocratic legion slave army, becoming a frumentarius who worked as an undercover courier for caesar

he was one of the scouts who scouted the hoover dam for the legion

he was walking the wastes when he found the community that would become the divide; there, he found a potential home. until courier six came and delivered a package that blew it all up

in the wreckage of his potential new home, ulysses was saved by medical eyebots who saw the flag on his back and recognized it

he was sent by caesar to become an emissary to the white legs, who tried to honor him by mirroring his hair, which, unbeknown to them, was personal to him, because woven in the braids was ulysses' and his tribe's histories

he left the white legs shortly after they showed him their new hair, fashioned after him - it felt like a hollow mockery of his dead tribe

he defected from the legion after the battle at new canaan, becoming a bighorner herder at wolfhorn ranch and working and roaming he wastes as a courier

he found the big mt by tracking irregular weather patterns, and there he found father elijah and christine royce

he directed father elijah to the sierra madre, knowing elijah would find his death there

he rescued christine and nursed her back to help in a cave, learning about the brotherhood of steel from her. she gave him a recorder, which he used to create the logs that courier six would find along the divide

he spoke with the think tank asked them one question - "who are you, that do not know your history?" - and this shook them, made them remember the old world. they told him about the missiles under the divide

he went back to couriering, finding out that courier six was still alive from johnson nash - he was supposed to deliver the platinum chip but somehow knew it would be trouble, so he passed it on to courier six, hoping that the job would kill them

but discovering that courier six, the person that destroyed his new home, the person that he has been obsessing over for years, was still alive, awoke his desire for revenge against them

he made a plan to teach courier six a lesson about history - his, and theirs, together - and accountability, and how one person can make such a huge impact on the world, even unwittingly

he lured courier six to the divide, to see what they had wrought, and what he has planned

his plan: aim missiles at dry wells and the long 15, two strategic locations that would cut the throats of both the legion and the ncr. whether they launch would be up to the courier after their confrontation

he does not want to nuke the world and kill millions. only two locations that would weaken both warring armies. again, the decision to nuke these locations is up to courier six

[pranklinfierce]

you're having a party, which presidents are you inviting?

Good question, very fun. I'll invite all of the ones I like, and whichever ones I'd like to see in a party setting.

James Madison is chronologically the first that I would invite. I think it'd be funny to see him at a party. I think of "nearly gets trampled on the dance floor..." I, myself, will trample him unless he brings Dolley.

Jackson is invited and I hope he leaves cheese around the house in secret spots like he did at the end of his presidency.

Van Buren is invited unless @presidenttyler continues to insist that I have to marry him or he'll summon a deadly fog (please die, Mr. Tyler.)

I would invite William Henry Harrison, but tragically, as I'm sure we've all heard, he is no longer with us </3.

John Tyler is invited unless he tries to insist I marry Martin Van Buren lest a deadly fog be summoned. Also I swear to God he's not allowed to use my bathroom. I hope he and Jackson start fighting (no weapons allowed in my house) and I get to see their skinny bones fall out.

James K Polk is invited. I want him to bring his Lady Presidentress as well. Double invited if he is the presidentress.

Zachary Taylor is invited. His daughter can come too. His daughter's husband cannot come. His daughter's husband's dog, Bonin, can come. The murderer who shares a name with Zachary Taylor's daughter's husband's dog cannot come.

Millard Fillmore is invited. He can bring the whole boiler room with him. It wouldn't be a party without him.

Franklin Pierce is invited, of course. As an old @/deadpresidents posts that I can longer find clarifies, he would indeed be a welcome party guest, even if people on Reddit don't seem to think so (I have beef with 90% of reddit tier lists, save for any of them made by @starlight-tequila.) As I've come to understand, there're no less than 4 fictional interpretations of Pierce where he's being haunted. I request he keeps the haunting at home; I don't want the watchmojo demmons to mess up the vibe.

James Buchanan is invited. I want to see him in his worst outfit, behaving as he did at Dickinson before his expulsion. He needs to bring Harriet too. WRK too, unless I decide that he's also dead.

Andrew Johnson can come because I once saw an image of him smiling.

Ulysses Grant can come. He may play with the non dog animals (unfortunately, they're all just different Martin Van Buren government assigned rodentsonas in a pen.)

As can Hayes. Hayes can bring his wife, Lucy. She actually allowed drinking in the White House on special occasions, so she would not be a party pooper.

Garfield may come, but only as Lucretia's plus one. It's what he deserves. Since Guiteau did so much for Garfield's election (and was basically the president, let's be real, guys) he can come as an honorary president. So can David Rice Atchison, even though that story is complete bs. Dr. Doctor Bliss will be shot on sight by Boston Corbett.

Arthur is invited, but Julia Sand needs to pre-approve everything that he does. Conkling may come as a plus one, but he will go in the pen with the Martin Van Buren government assigned rodentsonas (it's okay, that's where Grant is anyway.)

On no other day would I ever allow Benjamin Harrison and his shortness within my sight, but I just found a song about him and it's stuck in my head, so I think it's only right that he attends 1 single time before my kind feelings toward him dry out.

McKinley is invited. He must sing to me.

Wilson is invited. But I will lock him in a room like a creature. You-know-who gets the key. The second female president, Edith Wilson, may attend.

Warren Harding gets to come. Gaston Means may, as well. Also Calvin Coolidge and Herbert Hoover. That's about it. If Nixon were to show up I wouldn't turn him away.

I'd like the party to end by sending an anonymous tip to Carrie A. Nation, telling her there is alcohol. She can come in, destroy everything, and all's well because if everything is destroyed, there's nothing to clean. She and Guiteau can ride into the sunset, combining to be a person of a normal height. I hope they invite me to the wedding.

[historiavn]

@audaciiae sent: DREAMS | 💭] You and your soulmate are capable of visiting each other's dreams. nate & lys 🥹

ULYSSES WAS WELL AWARE THAT attending West Point would bring numerous opportunities for making new connections, but what he certainly did not expect was to meet his SOULMATE upon entering the small dormitory which he had been assigned that semester. The discovery did not occur immediately; on the contrary, Ulysses is just about to offer pleasantries and inquire his roommate’s name when the realization of the man’s identity hits him in full force.

He knows this man. In the silence which follows his arrival, Ulysses’s heart beats as loudly as a WAR DRUM summoning soldiers to the battlefield whilst he gazes at Nate with wide eyes and parted lips. His poor heart was so loud that he finds himself wondering whether this sound could be heard across the whole country. He knows this man, and he knows him like the back of his hand — because this very man has haunted every single one of Ulysses’s dreams.

This is his soulmate — the man chosen by the universe to be his partner for the rest of his life.

When Ulysses regains his wherewithal and acquires once more the ability to speak, only two words are uttered in a voice filled with childlike awe.

“It’s you.”

[udad-thecity]

Hello arachne . Do we have .,., new stories . Can I tell you stories .

- ( @storyweaver-the )

Oh, hello again. Well, I've been busy, so no new stories from me. You're welcome to tell me as many stories as you like, though.

-🕷️

[bhaalborn]

ULYSSES STOPS, one foot inside camp and one foot out. they are poised frozen with their eyes wide as saucers. caught.

" you're awake, " they HALTINGLY observe, something like insecurity bunching their shoulders, " i was just . . . taking a walk. " and the lie burns their tongue. they are a killer, a murderer, and no matter how closely an eye is kept on them there are still victims that fall through the cracks.

( the darkness echoes back- killed him too quickly, didn't you? you should have savored the slaughter. watched the life bleed out of his eyes, hacked him apart, torn him asunder, anything ANYTHING anything but allowing him the mercy of becoming cinders and ash. )

" okay, wait. if i tell you about what i was up to, you have to keep quiet about it. you'll ruin the SURPRISE if you go around chittering to every soul that may give a damn where i've been, you hear? " but they don't seem resigned, even. PERHAPS ELATED? they touch a hand to the pouch on their hip, as if they were about to reveal something about it's mysterious contents.

" . . . back at the myconid colony, we spoke to that dwarf looking for her husband. i don't think any of you were around to hear, but i spoke to their cattle as well. i discovered some- UNSETTLING information as a result of sticking my nose in their business, and when we left some time later and set up camp- well. i didn't feel much like sleeping, really. i decided to go look for her husband instead, if you get my meaning? " their mouth slants in an off-put gesture. suddenly, their touch is flitting over the length of their flute. it's a mixture of unchecked anxiety as well as anticipation that goads their actions. their next words emerge incomparably more hushed, " what happened after i found him- it's not important. what IS important is this. " their fingers finally, finally dip nimbly into their pack.

. . . and what they withdraw is the highly-coveted NOBLESTALK.

" -i was thinking, maybe, shadowheart would be keen on recovering some of the memories that shar's hidden from her? "

[not-another-baron]

-Lyf was wandering the city, trying to see if they recognized anyone (besides Eros of course) and seeing what sort of creatures resided here-

@pocketwatchinspector

Marius is busy being nosy. He’s always nosy, but more especially now that he’s dealing with bigger issues. Hell, he might even ask Ash-.. Hades if he could stay with them for a bit. Besides, sometimes being Eros was tiring, and a little boring. You can only hear about the same problems over and over before you get bored.

[halfbaked00q]

"You May Like":

Ulysses - shouted out before (many times, even, lol- so Im not gonna list the As Seen On TV source segments lmao) but I mean. this fic is gr8 lol. not technically Bond gets high. But he dooooes get poisoned! twice!! once with tetrodotoxin! and honestly it still fits myyy personal bill of "put Bond thru substance-based torment nexus" and I make the rules here, so I'm gonna count it

Alexitcric (sic) - He gets sooooo drugged in this one :3 Also previously shouted out in this post- see it for Alexiteric-related You May Also Like/web-weavings :3

Mad Honey - no on-screen mad honey usage but it's a delicious look into Bond's head. very moody & atmospheric which makes my brain go brrrrr

and ofc have to mention the drugged brownie fic (The Best Policy), although we don't rly see into Bond's head and it's more played straight (as in straightforward in its purpose of that makes sense? which is- get Bond on "weed" brownies slash truth serum) than, like, for torment nexus purposes. which is what I'm looking for more of tbh for myyyy haha-sickos enjoyment lol. so more of an honorable mention than a you may also like, but we're still in the same area code!

feel free to add/mention/shout out any others you may feel fits the bill!

need more fics or situations in which Bond gets high. for MY enjoyment. I want to see inside his head as hes goin thru it

[evesedenramblings]

Highlights of the “In-Character” portion of the Project Eden’s Garden AMONG US stream in no particular order:

Damon introducing himself as “the Ultimate Debater. A prodigy among prodigies. Someone who simply can’t be outmatched.” And everyone going dead silent before making fun of his egotistical ass

Eva hiding in the corner of the waiting room

Diana going to the corner of the waiting room with Eva to keep her company

Kai being the reason the stream started late because he couldn’t decide the perfect look for his Among Us character

All their little characters matching them so well; Wolfgang in a little suit, Grace with bunny ears, Wenona with bear ears, Tozu’s goat horns, etc, and Eva just having absolutely nothing on

Wolfgang and Jean not knowing how to play video games and just doing their best

How utterly excited Tozu is that everyone is playing a killing game and he gets to play too

Damon yelling OH GOD DAMMIT so bad the mic reverberated after Wolfgang killed him

Wolfgang being imposter, killing everyone, and going “that was fun! 🙂”, followed by Jean going “I didn’t know you had it in you!” and Wolfgang replying with “I didn’t know I had it in me either 🙂”

Ulysses mention that apparently in-world he was supposed to attend but overslept (possible explanation that is why Wenona attended)

Wolfgang doesn’t know what tiktok is

Kai and Damon sticking together and doing tasks and everyone going “yeah okay”

^^^ My personal favourite is Cassidy telling everyone to come look at them doing tasks together on the cameras and Jean going “oh so those two were off canoodling somewhere”

Cassidy being the kind of Among Us player who bets everything on “you’ll be sorry” or “do it then” and expects it to work and is shocked every time when it doesn’t

Tozu dying early on in every game

Damon catching an imposter in a lie by saying he couldn’t have been the killer, because he was with “Kai, his very good friend”

Jean saying “a princess has to look her best” when Cassidy makes fun of Kai taking too much time in customization menu and then adding “welcome back princess” when Kai finished

Wolfgang hitting Damon with “it’s just a game” when Damon was locked the fuck in on busting Wolfgang as imposter

Diana going for Tozu first as imposter and still being an absolutely terrible liar

Cassidy correct guessing Damon as the imposter begging him loudly not to kill her in voice proximity, so he actually can’t kill her anymore, so instead he scoffs and goes “wish” before trotting off

Damon being revealed as imposter last minute and Eva yelling about how she trusted him. Kai also being there.

Grace and Wenona very clearly not knowing how the game works but refusing to admit it

Cassidy calling Wolfgang Grace’s boytoy

[when-the-pawnn]

Penelope and Ulysses Departing Sparta for Ithaca (1789) by Jean Jacques Françoise le Barbier

“When Icarius gave Penelope in marriage to Odysseus, he tried to make Odysseus himself settle in Lacedaemon, but failing in the attempt, he next besought his daughter to remain behind, and when she was setting forth to Ithaca he followed the chariot, begging her to stay. Odysseus endured it for a time, but at last he bade Penelope either to accompany him willingly, or else, if she preferred her father, to go back to Lacedaemon. They say that she made no reply, but covered her face with a veil in reply to the question, so that Icarios, realizing that she wished to depart with Odysseus, let her go, and dedicated an image of Modesty; for Penelope, they say, had reached this point of the road when she veiled herself.“

- Pausanias 3.20.10-11

[datura-tea]

do you have reccomendations for ulysses/courier fics? I tried ao3 and didnt find many

the courier/ulysses fics in my head sorry haha

hmm i have to admit that i haven't been reading much courier/ulysses fic lately so the ones i'll recommend would be the ones i read long ago. honestly there's really not a lot of courier/ulysses fics... the 92 on ao3 right now is actually like double? triple? what it was a few years ago. yeah. so there's more now, but it's still scant if you compare the number to say, courier/boone. such is the fate of a rarepair

as for the fics, i can't recommend the mean old lady series by meanoldauthor enough. it's quite long, but it's complete, and there's so much happening there and it's all so interesting... there are some courier/ulysses fics in there, but it's mostly about adal, the titular mean old lady. it's really good!

for soft and fluffy fics, i absolutely love the one that my friend @dragonie wrote for me a few years ago (breakfast's on me)!! check out her other stuff too, she has a lot of great courier/ulysses fics featuring her courier jane! also love the courier/ulysses fics from my friend @couriers-mile and his courier six ezra :) my favorite is the blood and the bones but he has a series too

but honestly though if you can't find anything to your liking... be the change you want to see in the world and create your own fics and art!! that's why i started making fanart in the first place :) i promise it's so fun and rewarding!!

[morphemeta]

As it turned out, the face that appeared before Kaz now was a familar enough one. He didn't often bother to darken to doorway of the Daily Diem, not without a specific reason or purpose, but he'd dealt with them long enough to recognise enough of its team. Whether or not the team was fond of Kaz was neither here nor there, so long as the owner of the place remained fond of the little deal they'd worked out together. Now, despite this little detail (a matter some people might just consider illicit behaviour), Kaz was generally quite keen to stay on good enough terms with the people of Anchorage, if only because a decent reputation provided fewer obstacles. That, and he didn't particularly revel in being wholly unpleasant to people who didn't deserve it.

Graveyard? The only response Kaz could muster up was a look of tired disappointment, upper lip curled and an eyebrow raised. It was the sort of look that said, 'whatever you've just said is very wrong and I have chosen to take that as a personal affront '. Kaz crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, in what was an intentionally grating display, before finally replying. Whether or not it was a joke, Kaz wasn't particularly interested; he was far more ready to wrap himself up in semantics and details. There wasn't much that Kaz took too seriously but, alas, his beloved horror literature had become something bordering on sacred to him. "It's Dracula. Dracula's Coffin Club," he said, a finger pointed towards the sign dangling from the eaves that overhung the shop's entrance. There were bound to be different opinions on the matter, depending on who you asked, but visible dead bodies did not strike Kaz as paritcularly vampyric.

"Tacky," said Kaz, with another exaggerated sigh. He pronounced the word with the vowels elongated and the consonants fully enunciated. "The candy corn, that is. I can't have anything cutesy." This part, he said with a little more patience, having grown conscious of the fact he was being needlessly short with the editor. "Why, is the scary stuff not sitting well with you?" A laugh, although not an unkind one. He glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "I suppose it is an acquired taste."

Ulysses was in the midst of pressing the tip of his middle finger to the pressure point on the inner corner of his left eye. He often did this when he felt a migraine coming on — especially one which formed due to tension. These days, everything was so fucking tense, all the time. Too many headlines to run, too many grammar errors to catch. When was a guy supposed to get a break? Never. To be a journalist, even one stuck at the editor's desk, cigarette smoke wafting from the forgotten nub as he combed through his cropped hair, was to constantly be on. Constantly be on the search, the prowl, the hunt. He wasn't that old yet, but a bloodhound was still a lazy dog, and that was precisely what Ulysses named himself to be.

Being snapped at, like aforementioned dog, bristled him as it might a naughty one who needed more obedience training. ( He can be a dog for — not for you. Nope, not for you! ) The exhausted sneer formed before an opinion actually did. What was that thought he just had? Always having to be on? Much less to a city councilman. Even if that man was — well. You know. ( Ulysses didn't know. He only ever had his intuitions, which blended with natural suspicion. That was why he hunted. ) "Uh. Well. I'd say you got the basics covered. Fake blood trail, upright coffin showing off the velvet." Five o'clock shadow bristled too beneath his wandering fingertips as he stroked his chin. "Just need a real body, right? Graveyard's open for business."

He delivered this rather deadpan. This might be a suggestion, or it might be hinting around. Or it might be a joke. Ulysses loved to be a mystery. He often failed. Often was too hellbent on being truthful, or uncovering it to his own demise. "Don't take my word for that. Maybe we go the opposite direction. Those, uh, paper candy corn or pumpkin streamers, right?" Observing Kaz's deep thinking. "Kinda gotta add some kitsch to it, or else it'll scare everybody away."

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (11 - Nightmares)

Chapter Summary: “Trust me, I didn’t go easy on her,” Clint replied gruffly. “Her brother came to her rescue. I blinked, and they were both gone.” You frowned, not entirely sure if you could take Clint's word for it. You chastised yourself for not being more vigilant during the encounter. Next time you faced off against Wanda Maximoff, you promised yourself, it would end differently—she would be subdued at the very least. Her powers were admittedly terrifying, and you couldn't help but wonder how your seniors intended to handle her capture. 

Or if perhaps she posed such a threat that she would be better off dead.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.4k | Chapter Tags: None

A/N: Welcome to Part 2, To Build A Home, or basically the history of Y/N and Wanda before Westview, starting at the end of Ultron. Most of Part 2 will be told from Y/N's perspective. Part 3 will be Wanda's. Without further ado... // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The place smelled like rust and copper—of blood. The warehouse was enormous and maze-like in its structure, and somewhere in the distance, metal groaned like a wounded animal. You had just put two of Ulysses Klaue's men down—clean shots and no hesitation. Their bodies lay cooling on the concrete as you readied yourself to confront anyone else who stood in your way.

You tapped your earpiece. “Nat, Clint, what's your position?”

Static replied, a white noise that filled your head like ocean waves crashing inside a seashell. 

You tapped the communicator, harder this time. 

“Do you copy?” More static.

And, weirdly enough, more silence. Just a minute ago, the area was crawling with hostiles. Now, you could hear your own muted steps. You were always light on your feet, just as you were trained to be.

You glanced over your shoulder. The two men you took out were gone. The floor where they fell was clean, no blood, no bodies. You blinked hard, but the scene didn't change.

“What the—” you muttered to yourself before you took a step and the ground beneath you suddenly felt like it was made of quicksand.

Before you could react, the floor gave way entirely. You plunged downward, swallowed by the very ground you stood on. The sensation was disorienting—a free fall through darkness that seemed to stretch on forever. Your stomach lurched as you tried to grasp at anything, but your fingers closed around empty air.

Then, as suddenly as the fall began, it ended. You landed softly, as if the air itself cushioned your descent. You found yourself standing in a bright corridor with white walls and sterile white lights—nothing that indicated a warehouse. The air smelled of antiseptic and faintly of lavender.

A distant cry erupted down the haul—a child's wail. The sound of it dug into your bones and you followed its source because you had to, because it was pulling you like a magnet draws steel.

You walked down the corridor, vaguely unaware that you had none of your weapons with you, the armor you donned replaced by a white hospital gown. Doors lined the walls, each identical, each a possible gateway to something you weren't sure you wanted to face. The cry came again, more urgent this time. It was coming from the last door on the left. 

Taking a deep breath, you turned the cold knob and pushed the door open.

Inside was a small hospital room bathed in harsh fluorescent light. On the bed lay a woman and  recognized her immediately. Your mother, but younger, frail and exhausted. Her eyes were closed, and her hands rested gently on her swollen belly.

A nurse glided quietly around, checking the beeping instruments, scribbling on a clipboard. She glanced up and looked directly at you, but it was as if she didn't see you at all.

Your mother stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Is he okay?” she asked weakly.

The nurse smiled reassuringly. “You're doing fine. Just rest.”

Your heart thudded, the hairs on your arms rising without your consent. This was the day—you realized—the day everything changed. The day you were born, and your twin brother wasn’t.

A doctor entered the room, his expression serious. He whispered something to the nurse, and they both looked solemn. Your mother noticed. “What's wrong?” she demanded.

The doctor sighed. “I'm sorry, but one of them didn’t make it.”

Your mother’s face twisted in anguish. “No... no, that can't be.”

She looked down at her belly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Which one?”

“The boy,” the doctor replied softly.

A raw, wrenching sob broke from her. “It should have been her,” she cried bitterly. “I wanted a son. Not... this.”

Something inside you shattered into a million pieces. You wanted to reach out to her, to tell her you were sorry, to convince her it wasn’t your fault. But you couldn't move, rooted to the spot by an invisible force.

The room started to blur, its edges bleeding out like ink on damp paper. You blinked, and suddenly you found yourself in a darker corridor, its walls creeping closer with each heavy step you took. 

You heard footsteps behind you—a slow, deliberate pace that sent a chill down your spine. You quickened your stride, but the footsteps matched your speed. You broke into a run, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Rounding a corner, you slammed into a figure. Stumbling backward, you looked up to see your twin—the shadowy figure that resembled you but wasn't you. Its eyes were hollow as if they had never fully formed.

“Why did you take everything?” It spoke.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you whispered.

It leaned closer to you.

“Yes, you did.”

Voices overlapped, a cacophony of accusations and doubts and things you believed in and kept running away from.

“You're just a thief.”

“A murderer before you were even born.”

“Who's the real villain here?”

You clapped your hands over your ears and screamed at the top of your lungs but no sound came out.

The ground shook, cracks racing across the floor, chunks tumbling into the dark below. You struggled to stay upright.

“It should’ve been her.”

“Sickly girl.”

“What a waste.”

“Y/N!”

A jolt ran through you as someone shook your shoulder. Instinct took over. Your hand flew to your sidearm, drawing it in one fluid motion as you spun around.

The shot rang out. 

“Whoa! It’s me!” Clint exclaimed, ducking just in time as your pistol aimed where his head had been a split second before, the bullet embedding itself in a stack of crates behind him.

Horror washed over you as you realized what you’d almost done. “Clint... I...”

He retrieved your pistol from the floor, hesitated, then handed it back to you butt-first. “It’s okay, kid. You weren’t the only one.”

—

“You didn’t even read the briefing, did you?” Clint smirked, handing you a bottle of water. You took a long gulp, wiping your lips with your thumb when you were done. No matter how much you drank, you still felt parched. Glancing around, you spotted Steve and Tony whispering. Judging from the look on their faces, you could tell that what happened to you also happened to them.

“What is she? Some kind of witch or something?” you groaned, massaging your temple. 

“Steve sent us the profiles on the Maximoff twins well before we boarded the Quinjet. It was all in there,” Clint added, sitting down beside you.

You kept quiet, avoiding his eyes. You rarely did your homework before a mission—why would this time be any different?

“That’s exactly why you walked into her trap,” he snapped, taking your silence as an answer. “Knowing your enemy is basic, whether you’ve got a god on your side or not.”

You nodded, taking the ribbing with good grace. 

“Maybe if you hadn't gone so easy on her,” you retorted, leaning back against the curved bulkhead of the jet. You briefly closed your eyes, only to snap them open immediately, not wanting to be haunted by the persistent vision. You wondered how long the after effects of the Maximoff witch would last.

Clint chuckled, shaking his head in a way that was unmistakably patronizing. You hated when he got like this. Hated how your random outbursts never affected him.

“Trust me, I didn’t go easy on her,” Clint replied gruffly. “Her brother came to her rescue. I blinked, and they were both gone.”

You frowned, not entirely sure if you could take Clint's word for it. You chastised yourself for not being more vigilant during the encounter. Next time you faced off against Wanda Maximoff, you promised yourself, it would end differently—she would be subdued at the very least. Her powers were admittedly terrifying, and you couldn't help but wonder how your seniors intended to handle her capture. 

Or if perhaps she posed such a threat that she would be better off dead.

“What did you see in there?” Clint suddenly asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You shrugged, not wanting to revisit that experience even in your mind. The mere thought of it sickened you. Only someone truly evil would subject another to such a nightmare for tactical advantage. Physical violation was one thing, but to invade the mind? That was a trick only a truly depraved person would consider. 

“Nothing,” you replied curtly.

“Talking can help, you know?” he offered gently, but he was already rising from his seat, giving you the room you seemed to need.

“Maybe that works for old-timers,” you tossed back. “Never worked for me.”

—

When Ultron ultimately went down, it felt far from victory. Survivors moved like ghosts, blank-faced and aimless in their direction, clutching what’s left of their former lives. You stood there, surrounded by twisted metal and smoldering ruins—another battle won, another piece of yourself lost. 

Your eyes landed on Wanda. She perched on a heap of debris, crimson energy fading from her fingertips like the last wisps of smoke. She stared into nothingness, eyes as clear as shore but with nothing there to find.

You knew that look. The emptiness when half of you is gone. Both of you were twins once. Now, both alone. You never got to know the boy you lived with for nine months because he never made it outside your mother’s womb. But just knowing he was there, that he existed, left a void that would never be suffused. You’d always feel incomplete, forever wondering if you truly deserved to be the one who lived.

You understood her pain, at least in an abstract, cataloged kind of way. But empathy was a luxury you couldn't afford, not with the bitterness festering inside you. Ever since she got into your head and forced your past to rear its ugly head, you haven’t been able to properly sleep for days on end. You fundamentally opposed Steve's choice to collaborate with the Maximoffs, believing they belonged in a containment cell, not on the field. You saw how Wanda fought off Ultron’s droids. She was extremely dangerous—maybe even more so when she felt so strongly.

The quinjet touched down at the Avengers facility, its engines winding down with a low whine. You disembarked with the other quietly, dirt and grime clinging to your skin and suits like mold. 

Steve called everyone to the landing pad. He looked over the team—bruised and battered, yet standing. Morale was low, but Steve saw this as an opportunity for growth. You preferred Tony's approach. When things went sideways, he'd hit the bottles and maybe blow off steam by blowing up a few empty depots. His way of coping suited you better than Captain America's endless supply of pep talks.

“Good work out there,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. “Get some rest. We'll debrief in the morning.”

He turned to you as the group began to disperse. “Could you show Wanda to her quarters? They're next to yours.”

You met his eyes and scowled. The nerve of him to ask that. Without a word, you turned on your heel and headed down the corridor toward your room.

“Hey!” Steve's voice followed you. “I'm talking to you!”

“Let it go,” Natasha murmured to him. You caught it, just barely, over the pounding in your ears.

“That's not acceptable,” Steve argued.

“She's been through hell,” Natasha interrupted. “We all have. Give her some space.”

Wanda stood where you'd left her, eyes fixed on the floor, as if she wished it would swallow her whole. She hadn't reacted to the exchange, lost in her own head.

Steve ran a hand over his face, the first signs of weariness lining his forehead. “Fine. Can you take Wanda to her room, then?”

Natasha nodded. “Come on, Wanda,” she said, tilting her head toward the direction they needed to go, the same one you disappeared into a moment ago. “Let's get you settled.”

Wanda allowed herself to be led away. Steve watched them go before his thoughts returned to you and he shook his head; there were battles worth fighting, and this wasn't one of them.

In your room, you slammed the door shut, making a sharp sound that hurt your own ears. It’s exactly as you left it—sterile, impersonal, a place where nothing bad had ever happened because nothing had ever happened at all. 

You paced the length of the room, muscles coiled tight, every nerve ending tingling with restless energy even though you were sure earlier that you had given it your all on the battlefield. Steve has sided with a known terrorist, and now he's brought her to the doorstep. This compound might never have felt like home, but still, it was your sanctuary—a place to let your guard down once in a while.

A few minutes later, after you had been sitting on your bed, staring at the blank wall, there was a soft knock at your door.

“Go away,” you muttered.

The door swung open abruptly, and you let yourself collapse onto your back near the foot of the bed with a sigh.

“Steve's worried about you,” Natasha stated, peering down at you as you gazed up at her upturned figure.

“Steve worries about everything.”

“He asked me to check in.”

“Consider me checked.”

She studied you for a moment. “She's not your enemy anymore, you know?”

“Tell that to Banner.”

“People change.”

You shrugged. “Not that much.”

Natasha crossed her arms and then sat beside you. There were a few beats of silence, a moment for both of you to gauge each other before you sat up and looked over at her.

“She gave you nightmares, too, right? Even if you never told me what they were, I doubt they were pretty.”

Natasha's face remained docile, not betraying any sign that she was merely keeping up appearances or that she secretly despised Wanda too. You envied her control over her emotions, how she concealed herself from the world while still managing to be a good friend without restraint.

“Worst I've had in years,” she admitted. “But she was on the other side then. Doing what she thought was right. Fighting for what she believed in.”

You scoffed. “That's supposed to make it okay?”

“No,” she said softly. “But maybe understandable.”

You didn’t have a comeback for that. You knew Natasha had a point. You’d do everything you could to neutralize an opponent, and the twins simply did the same thing.

“We can't fault her forever for surviving,” she continued. “For doing what she had to do.”

You didn't say anything. Admitting she was right—like she always seemed to be—felt too much like giving in. You've never won an argument with Natasha, and it was both infuriating and impressive. Each time you tried to best her, it ended the same way: with you respecting her even more for her relentless logic.

She glanced at you. “You don't have to forgive her. No one's asking you to. But dwelling on things that are over? That's a prison of your own making.”

“Easy for you to say,” you snapped. You knew you sounded juvenile, but you couldn't hold back. "Not all of us can just flip a switch and turn it off.”

She gave a small, mirthless laugh. “There's no switch. Just choices. Every damn day.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means you can distract yourself if you have to. Find something else to focus on. Just so you don't have to think about it all the time.”

“And if I don't want to forget?”

“Then don't,” she said softly. “But don't let it consume you either.”

She stood up, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her suit. “Get some rest.”

As she made for the door, you couldn’t help but fire off one last parting shot. “You can bet I won’t forgive her. Not anytime soon, anyway.”

Natasha paused but didn't turn around.

“Thanks for the therapy session,” you said, laying down again and rolling onto your side with your back to her.

You expected her to leave after that, but instead, she lingered, sharing an unwarranted piece of information.

“Wanda's in the room next to yours.”

“I know,” you said, getting up to close the door after her.

—

The walls of the quarters were supposed to be fortress thick, but when you dragged yourself out of bed for a midnight raid on the fridge, the sliver of light bleeding from under Wanda's door was impossible to ignore. So, she was awake. You paused, your gaze fixed on the thin glow, suspicion worming its way through your thoughts. Was she plotting something in there, alone with her powers at this ungodly hour? You shook your head slightly, dismissing the creeping paranoia. If Wanda decided to turn on them, well, that was Steve's headache to deal with. With a shrug, you turned away, your mind settling back on the rumble in your stomach as you headed towards the kitchen.

You assembled the basics: bread, peanut butter, jelly. The ritual to your favorite snack was almost therapeutic—the smooth glide of the knife spreading peanut butter thick, jelly thin, just the way you liked it. You grabbed another knife to cut off the crusts, a habit you never quite outgrew.

As you began slicing the edges, a figure materialized through the wall beside you.

“Jesus!” you yelped, the knife slipping and nearly nicking your finger. Your heart leapt into your throat as you stumbled back.

“My apologies,” Vision said.

You took a deep breath, clutching your chest. “Could you not do that? Ever heard of using a door like a normal person?”

He tilted his head, considering your words. “You are correct. I should adhere to conventional modes of entry. I will take note of that next time.”

“Great,” you mumbled, turning back to your sandwich with a huff. Your hands trembled slightly as you resumed cutting. It was still strange to hear J.A.R.V.I.S’ voice coming out of this being’s mouth.

Vision stepped fully into the kitchen. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Vision.”

You eyed him warily. “I know who you are.”

“May I inquire about your culinary creation?” Vision asked.

“It's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

He stepped closer, examining it with keen interest. “The coloration is intriguing. I haven't encountered many purple foods in my lifetime.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You've been alive for, what, three days? Not exactly a lifetime.”

A subtle smile crossed his face. “An accurate assessment.”

You chuckled softly. “Grape jelly. A classic. You should try it sometime.”

“Not sure if I could,” he replied. “But perhaps I will.”

Vision hovered. The silence stretched just long enough to become awkward. You were too spaced out to bother breaking it. 

“Speaking of food,” he began, “Miss Maximoff hasn’t eaten. Nothing in over twelve hours.”

You were about to take your first bite, but the mention of Wanda left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“And why is that my problem?”

“Given that her quarters are adjacent to yours, I thought you might be concerned,” Vision said.

“Concerned? About the person who messed with my head? Hard pass.”

Vision regarded you with those unblinking eyes. “Holding onto resentment can be detrimental to one's well-being.”

“Did you read that in a fortune cookie?”

He seemed unfazed. “I simply thought informing you would be appropriate. Miss Maximoff appears... isolated.”

“Not my issue,” you grumbled, but the image of Wanda alone flashed through your mind. Despite yourself, you felt a pang of sympathy.

Vision nodded slowly. “Very well. If you'll excuse me.” 

He turned to leave, this time opting for the doorway instead of phasing through the wall. You watched him go, a sour twist in your gut.

“Wait,” you called out before you could stop yourself.

He did, looking back at you expectantly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Look, just... take her something to eat. Here.” You shoved the sandwich plate toward him.

He glanced down at the offering. “It might be more meaningful if you delivered it yourself.”

“Yeah, that's not happening.”

He accepted the plate. “I will relay the gesture.”

“Don’t,” you rushed out. “I mean, don’t tell her it’s from me.”

Vision appeared to hesitate, but acquiesced with a nod. 

“Great,” you said, already regretting the impulse. “Gotta run.” You grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair. 

“Are you going out at this hour?” Vision asked.

You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Might as well own the night.”

“Do be careful,” he advised. “The city can be unpredictable after dark.”

You managed a faint smirk. “Unpredictable is where I thrive.”

You were due for a night out anyway.

[ghostycritter]

Post Chatter Silence ☆

Context - Silence in between small talk is a happening that's gifted upon acquaintance upon acquaintance. Due to hesitation between topics similar to a sailboat with no wind— a boat with no motor is a raft. How would you and your 'acquaintance' handle the unspoken moment that is transitional silence?

Characters - Wolfgang Akire, Grace Madison, Ulysses Wilhelm, Mark 'Mayhem' Berskii

Warnings - none

A/N - Mb if Grace is OOC, I liked her writing better during chap 0 so i based it off that. Idk why... don't come @ me but chap 0 Grace on top!!!

Masterlist (✧) P:EG Masterlist

[🐑] Wolfgang Akire -

Silence remains a law that's inevitable. Simply a slope that none could get out of— especially during times where you'd strike up an idle conversation.

Chatter becomes a temporary solution towards lull. Even so, you attempted to initiate chit-chat with the Ultimate Lawyer. It feels reckless to construct such casual words in the presence of a very prestigious man. However, his soft spoken nature churned the mood to a sensual lightheartedness. Imbuing it with a warm and intimate stimuli that made you feel strange.

Butterflies — that's the scientific term to describe that tingling feeling in your gut when he'd respond to your little inquiries. Despite the guarantee of him having these types of discussions an uncountable amount of times— He made the current one you both reciprocated feel special.

His replies would always feel thoughtful. It was never generic or vague, the responses were made for *you*. His words were a gentle reminder that your sentences were invaluable. You wonder if everybody felt this way when he'd commence a conversation like this, or if this was something special.

The exchange dissolved into an unresolved mute. Just as you expected. Although, it didn't feel uncomfortable, definitely not the quiet you dread. In fact, the silence was welcoming. As though you shouldn't feel burdened by the lack of reaction, instead you should let go of the interaction.

The mute stretched between you both. Unbroken until Wolfgang glances back at you.

"You're pleasant to chat with, Ms/Mx/Mr [Surname]." His smooth voice is soft yet so determined.

A spark in his eyes spoke for himself, the glimmer told you what his words did not:

He'd love to talk again.

[🐰] Grace Madison -

Silence remains a law that's inevitable. Simply a slope that none could get out of— especially during times where you'd strike up an idle conversation.

Striking a chat with *the* Ultimate Golfer was a gamble. Disclose something mindless or uncultural you would get met with a verbal bash to the face. Yet, despite the topic being surrounded regarding the unbelievably difficult industry— you still got a marvelous chuckle having a chat with her.

It's challenging for you to commit a reply to Grace. She's so swift and unstoppable with her words, a few drops of your head giving her a nod is enough signal to let her continue her harsh sentences.

"...So, what about you?" Her question was like she crafted a new full-stop to the conversation.

The unexpected question caught you off-guard. Unsure of what to respond with. What could you say? Did you have any struggle regarding the industry? You gifted yourself a halt to brainstorm her question. Eventually, enough thoughts form a coherent feedback.

For the first time, you had the freedom to express how you felt. But your nervousness got the best of you— desaturating your sentence to a more anticlimactic anecdote.

"Exactly what I expect! We both can't catch a break, can we?" You felt a thrilling astonishment bubble within you. Grace relates! Her engaging comment ignited a conclusion in you:

She cared for your input.

With that, the noise withdrawal. Leaving you both in a silent trance. You expect for it to be broken by one of her lines, but no attempt was made to do so. Rather, you both sat in the basking lull. Still, you expect her to strike, like a pounce from a predator to a prey. You never expected such a sentence—

"You know what? You're pretty sensible."

That was the nicest thing she had ever said.

[🦉] Ulysses Wilhelm -

Silence remains a law that's inevitable. Simply a slope that none could get out of— especially during times where you'd strike up an idle conversation.

You found yourself having a conversation with none other than the insomniac Ultimate Historian. It was a rare privilege, like conversing with a living history book in front of you. Every single word that escaped your mouth was a scribble etched to the pages of his journal. It was a natural habit for him to record his entire daily interactions, however it gave him no time to give you full responses.

Your conversation unfolded on a superficial level. Yet, Ulysses paid extreme attention to what you have to input to the casual talk, making it feel as if it's more significant.

The conversation traveled at a comfortable pace. You both— or rather you only— is now on the subject of your recent accomplishments that earned you a place at the academy. As the explanation spilled out of your mouth, similar to what you rehearsed to what to tell friends and relatives; Ulysses spoke up, pausing his quill equipped hand.

He revises his notes, the silence overpowering the moment. You felt still. It was such a contrast from how much you talked about and now suddenly you were quiet. The silence was obvious, the words no longer formed in your mouth. You felt burdened from chattering too much, you fear it etched a high-ego image on your person. 

"Would you please elaborate on the event part? I'd love to know more." A spark of interest glittered his steady, indifferent tone.

As each word came to be his question. It felt like your talent was renewed and celebrated in a different perspective. He wanted you to clarify further!

You continued your explanation, offering him the vivid details of how your contributions during this 'event' came to be. As you finished up your story, he seemed to still be jotting down the specifics of your anecdote.

He lets out a yawn as he deliberately dotted the tip of the quill onto the parchment insinuating a period.

"That was interesting." He briefly commented.

[🐊] Mark 'Mayhem' Berskii

Silence remains a law that's inevitable. Simply a slope that none could get out of— especially during times where you'd strike up an idle conversation.

It's an ambitious challenge to converse with the Ultimate Music Producer. To say the least, he's extremely aloof, nearly impossible to approach. His distant demeanour made him tough to converse with. However, it's difficult to imagine how you even got into this situation.

Small talk was futile. Idle chats didn't work on Mark. He did not seem to be fazed by anything you attempted to say to spark up a chat between you both— you'd always be met with an unyielding silence.

Finally, you take matters into your own hands and start to introduce yourself.

Mark didn't seem too interested by your rant, your efforts seemed to be brushed off the more you tried. The only responses are stares— glares, in fact. It's obviously shown that he limits his interactions as much as possible.

You said one last conversation starter. He just gave you a small nod. The bare minimum of a response.

A heavy sigh escaped you. You aren't irritated, rather tired. At least you tried, a nod from Mark Berskii himself? That's well enough for you.

You continued with a subtle end to the conversation, not wanting to push him further. Probably for the best, but you didn't feel too pleased.

"What's your talent again?"

His voice was just as aloof as he is. There was no insinuation of welcome, but you'd gladly answer.

It was hard to believe that was Mark. A small humble smile graces your face as you respond with your talent.

A sentence from Mark Berskii himself?  That's surely something worth celebrating!

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅲ▬ ⁽ 𝒹𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 ⁾ ¹

part two

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₈˖₁ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW, death, gore (??) demon/human, fluff (??) ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : i had to split this into two parts since the entire one-shot was 15.8k words long--- literally crying rn. ˙◠˙

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : you wake with no idea where you are, trapped in a room by yourself, the only form of escape is a rusty metal door, though, who's knocking on it?

꒰m!demon ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

𝒴 ou softly groan while cradling your forehead in your palms, eyes quivering open.  The space you find yourself in is dimly lit, save for a faint glow in the corner. Sitting up is difficult and you release a small wheeze of pain, noticing the faint bruises of different hues covering your thighs. Your eyebrows twitch as the gravel beneath you digs into your palm, marking your skin with painful indentations. Groaning, you struggle to find your footing, the world around you spinning and bouncing within your disoriented vision. When you find balance, you take notice that the air carries a slight chill, and it brushes against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise in welcoming. It causes a tremor to course through your body, and you can almost swear that you feel your bones rattling beneath your flesh. Seeking comfort, you wrap your arms around your abdomen in a hug and pivot to examine the enclosure. It suddenly dawns on you that there is an eerie silence, with only the sound of your labored breaths and the gentle trickle of water from the pipes on the wall, echoing softly in your ears.

  Your eyes finally find an exit and with a deep breath, you move towards the thick, rusty, metal door; heart thundering in your ribcage. Unwinding your arm from your midsection, you form a fist and tap on the door, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach. The silence is deafening for a moment, only broken by the sound of dripping water growing louder and then a knock responds from the other side. Your body jerks back in surprise, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. Your heart races, thumping rapidly, as if it wants to burst out of your chest. Then, there's another knock, this time with a bit more force. The door's thickness muffles the sound, but a faint 'hello' manages to catch your attention.  Cautiously, you move forward, your knuckles gently tapping on the door once more. In reply, a quick knock reverberates through the air. "Hello? Can you hear me?" A barely audible 'yes' reaches your ears, prompting a sigh of relief to escape your lips. Collapsing to your knees, you lean against the door, the jagged rocks cutting into your flesh. You gnaw gently at your bottom lip, bones aching and protesting. "Do you know where we are?" "No." Disappointment surges through your like a tsunami and you inhale deeply, taking in the smell of mold and damp concrete; it makes your stomach churn and you once again wrap your arms around your midsection. You wait in silence until the voice speaks once more. "Who are you?"   Instantly, you blurt out your name, your lips cracked and dry. "What about you?" The room falls silent, only the sound of water droplets can be heard. Doubt creeps in and you worry if they are somehow involved in your predicament. Suddenly, a calm, reassuring voice responds, releasing the tension from your body, the cold racking a shudder through your spine. “Ulysses” The lack of a last name doesn't bother you. The room's silence seeps into your thoughts, leaving you restless, and anxious. The chilling grip of fear tightens around your heart, making you wonder if your family is searching for you. Have they reported you missing? Were you going to die? The thought of death at such a young age, having recently turned twenty-four, is unbearable. Just as despair takes hold, a deep and comforting voice breaks through, providing a much-needed sense of relief. “You're thinking too much, calm down.” Your breath escapes in a deep shudder as you lean against the door, the sharp metal flakes digging into your skin. You wanted to― needed to feel some sense of connection, of not being alone in this moment of panic. How did he sense your impending breakdown? The question lingers, but you push it aside.   His voice is a balm, offering both comfort and an unfamiliar sense of security. The flickering light on your left momentarily distracts you, as a shadow flits by and disappears. Intrigue fills your mind, prompting you to rise slowly, your legs trembling beneath you.   As you approach the narrow opening, barely taller than yourself, you tiptoe on the edge of your shoe. A surge of anticipation rushes through you as you realize there are people nearby! Students bustle through the corridor, disappearing into what you presume to be classrooms. The sound of footsteps grabs your attention, prompting you to extend your hand through the gap, only to be met by a pale wall. The wall possesses a captivating iridescent hue, a blend of gold and orange, shimmering under your touch. The longer your palm rests on its surface, the more intense the heat becomes. Startled, you swiftly retract your hand, cradling it against your chest, and observe with fascination as the wall gradually fades away, dissolving from your view.

"What the hell?"  Your mind is a whirlwind of confusion, unable to process the events that just unfolded. In the midst of your mental fog, a piercing creaking noise assaults your ears, reminiscent of nails scraping against a chalkboard. To your surprise, the small gap you were standing in front of seemed to be moving farther away. Panic sets in as you realize that you are being transported somewhere. Suddenly, a thunderous pounding on the door shatters the air, accompanied by blood-curdling screams that bear no resemblance to the person who was just speaking to you.   Determined, you limp towards the door, dropping to your knees in haste. "Ulysses? Ulysses!" you call out desperately, but there is only silence in response. The once familiar sounds of dripping water and the cool breeze from the draft have vanished, replaced by the antiseptic scent of bleach. As you take in your surroundings, you realize that you have been transported to an entirely different room. As you glance around, your eyes swiftly capture the sight of crimson splatters on the wall and the disarrayed gravel just a few steps from where you stand. The question lingers in your mind: had, Ulysees been in this room? You didn't want to think about it any longer. The thought becomes unbearable, prompting you to shut your eyes tightly and shield your ears with your hands, trembling against the icy touch of the door's rust.

Knock As your eyes slowly open, you find yourself reluctantly lowering your hands onto your lap. Startled by another knock, a soft stuttering hiccup escapes your body.  Filled with apprehension, you clench your fist and knock back, unsure and frightened. "Hello? Hello!" The voice that responds is higher pitched, a stark contrast to Ulysses' deep voice just minutes ago. You casually wipe your nose on your sleeve before pressing your palm against the door. "Who's there?" The only reply is a prolonged silence, then a soft shushing noise from beyond the door.

"They'll hear you if you're too loud."   The room falls silent once more before a man finally speaks up. "My name is Charles Langston." 

A storm of questions rages through your mind, desperately seeking answers. Who will hear them? What in the name of all that is holy just happened? Were you ever gonna get out of here? Nevertheless, you gather your resolve and take a deep, shuddering breath. "How long have you been here?" Your voice is barely audible as you question him from behind the heavy door.

With a soft sigh, Charles rests his head against the rusty door. He couldn't stand being asked that question because he had lost track of time; it could have been days, weeks, or even months since he arrived. The only certainty he had was that they were under constant surveillance. (Not to mention he had been stuck here for more than 13 cycles.)   Charles wasn't always alone in this room; there were two others, twins named Riley and Nick. They had stumbled upon a small hatch on the ceiling, and Riley, the brunette had successfully navigated through it. The boys were optimistic that she might uncover an escape route. They could go home! They couldn't have been more mistaken. It had been mere minutes since she entered, and now they found themselves sitting on the rough gravel floor, their hearts pounding in a frenzy. Thump, Thump, Thump, Thud.   A warm and moist substance splattered against Charles's cheek, prompting him to instinctively reach up and feel the liquid. As he pulled his hand away, his wide, terror-filled eyes beheld the scarlet blood staining his fingertips, slowly dripping down to collect in his palm. Casting his silver gaze toward the ground, he found the expression of terror and horror on Riley's head― now detached from her body― waiting for him and it filled him with revulsion.

Her head had been severed, her body was probably still lodged in the hatch, stuck. Nick's screams reverberated in the room as he clutched the head, eyes wide in horror. "No, Riley, please! Riley!" The room fell into silence as a gentle warmth enveloped his face, seeping down to his neck and chest. Nick's body slumps to the side, his head coming to a rest near Charles's feet. With a swift motion, the boy muffles his mouth with his hand, smearing the blood across his lips. He stayed quiet, retreating to the corner of the room. They were dead. “Charles? Are you still here?” The boy's eyes blinked rapidly, a clear sign of his inner turmoil as he vigorously shook his head, desperately trying to shake off the haunting thoughts. "Oh, sorry. I was just lost in my thoughts for a moment. A couple of days at least."  He lied, concealing the gruesome truth that the bodies had already begun to decay while he was still trapped in that room. The putrid stench of death lingered in the air, making it difficult for him to suppress the rising bile in his throat. He knew all too well that it took around 3-5 days for bodies to enter the decomposition stage.  And when he closed his eyes to sleep, they had vanished without a trace. Waking up to their absence brought a bittersweet mix of relief and sadness. Now, he found himself completely alone in an unfamiliar place. “I don't know how long I've been unconscious, I woke up 30 minutes ago- I'm guessing anyways.” Charles despises the silence that envelopes the room as you fall into a momentary recluse. He can’t help but scoff under his breath, reminiscing about the times he used to tell his mom how much he enjoyed the tranquility when his siblings were away. The stillness of the house provided him with the perfect environment to think and focus on his training. However, after being confined here for days on end, with only silence as his constant companion, he has grown to despise it. The quietness that once welcomed his thoughts now feels unwelcoming and suffocating. “I met someone. . .” Beyond the thick door, the person resting acted as a much-needed distraction. Your soothing voice is akin to a slow, calming stream, instilling a feeling of safety and reassurance in him. A soft hum escaped his lips, his tired eyes fluttering with fatigue. After the twins vanished from the room, it was difficult for him to sleep. "His name was Ulysses, after the room switched, I couldn't hear him anymore." Charles let the name ferment in his mind. Memories of the countless people he had encountered flooded his mind, triggering an excruciating headache that made his eyes involuntarily roll upwards. Gripping his head tightly, his body convulsed on the rough gravel, as if trying to shake off the torment. A sudden wail breaks free from his mouth, catching your attention from the opposite end of the door. Charles can make out the muted pounding of your knuckles—yet it's as if his mind is submerged in water, the sound is distant and blurred.  The images in his head are murky and jumbled, like scattered pieces trying to piece together the memory unfolding in front of him.

In the dimly lit room, Charles lay bound to a table, his eyes fixated on the mesmerizing figure that stands imposingly before him. With an otherworldly, purplish grey skin and stormy red eyes. His physique and face were nothing short of extraordinary, resembling that of the mighty Greek gods. Charles tried to listen to the man's words, but no sound seemed escaped his lips. Bound to a table, he found himself surrounded by bottles of liquid gold and burgundy red. Charles couldn't budge an inch; his limbs felt as heavy as lead. It was only upon closer inspection that he noticed the astonishing four additional arms sprouting from the man's back, a detail he had failed to mention earlier. As the man inches closer, his eyes are like a bottomless pit; devoid of any emotion, and the sight sends shivers down Charles' spine. At last, the boy begins to comprehend his words. "Check the surrounding area. Remember these five names. Velteox, Dowlat, DragonsBane, Helka, FalconsBreath. If you help my mate escape safely, I'll contemplate whether or not to kill you." The words he spoke were laced with deceit, indicating he had no qualms about the boy's fate, but Charles remained unfazed. Without warning, darkness envelops him, as the names of people he knew or had heard of flicker before his eyes, each one appearing and disappearing in rapid succession. Yet, amidst this whirlwind of names, his own is noticeably absent, like a missing puzzle piece. Riley, Ulysses, Nick, Elijah, Sophie. Charles pondered over the sequence of names, perplexed by their significance as he desperately tried to make sense of the events that had unfolded in just a matter of minutes. To his surprise, the letters composing the words started to fade away, leaving behind only the first letter of each person's name. Charles furrowed his brow, his eyes tracing the delicate, wispy blue letters that floated in front of him. However, amidst the disappearing names, a sense of unease washed over him as he noticed the absence of your name. R U N E S Recalling the man's instructions, he grimaced at the memory of the unsettling encounter. 'Scan the area. Memorize these five names: Velteox, Dowlat, DragonsBane, Helka, FalconsBreath.' But who was this 'mate' he was referring to? Charles dismissed the thought, focusing on the task at hand.

  Was it possible that the man was hinting at looking for the ancient runes in the room? Could that be the key to escaping this place? As he struggled to catch his breath, the only sound that echoed in his ears was the sound of your voice.

 “Charles?! Are you alright?”     With a trembling hand, the boy reached out to tap on the door, offering you a moment of calm. Charles lay motionless, struggling to breathe, his chest heaving with each gasp.  His eyes darted to the wall, scanning the monotonous grey surface. Suddenly, a flash of iridescent colors drew his gaze, a blend of teal and fuchsia dancing before him.  As he concentrated, the colors began to take shape. Charles was spellbound as a falcon materialized before him, wings spread wide as if soaring through the air, its beak slightly agape, and wisps of air seemingly escaping. That was it, that was the RUNE: FalconsBreath. Quickly, he scanned the wall once more, and there it was - a striking mix of green and pink hues that drew his attention. The shape extended upwards, tapering off into pointed ends. Antlers! His gaze traveled downward until it landed on the source of the movement, an elk— his eyes widened as he fought to rise to a sitting position. That was the RUNE: Helka Charles once more cast his gaze in every direction, desperately seeking any alternative emblem. His eyes moved swiftly, like a hummingbird in flight. Yet, to his dismay, there was no other iridescent color that shimmered and rippled.

He stumbled over your name slightly as he talked. Moving towards the door, he held onto the hope that his assumption was accurate. “Charles? Are you alright? What happe–”

"Sh, I'll fill you in later, but right now– do something for me. Okay?" You fell silent for a moment, and he could almost hear the cogs whirring and grinding inside your mind.

“What is it?”

With a shuddering breath, the man nervously tapped his foot, his eyes fixed on the wall behind them. "Take a glance at the wall behind you, do you notice anything shimmering?" Despite feeling somewhat ridiculous uttering those words, it was their sole hope for progress. "Charles, what's going on? Are you sure you're okay?" "Just do it! Please." After a brief pause, he picked up on the sound of your movements and then a sharp gasp. "What's happening? Did you find something?" His voice carried a sense of desperation, tinged with just a bit of hope. “It's a yellow and silver color, it's shaped oddly like an Ox?” That was it! It was the very first rune uttered by the man: Velteox. His heart leaped into action, pounding vigorously within his chest.  He wracked his brain to remember the last rune shared by the man, edging closer to the door, his body tightly pressed against the peeling rust and metal. "Good, good-" he muttered, his voice stuttering slightly as he regulated his breathing and took a long, replenishing breath.  " Look around again, do you see an owl anywhere?" He could hear your muttered frustrations, but he didn't let them get to him.

“No? I don't think so- wait- it's on the floor. It's massive. It's pink.” " You might think I've lost my mind. But trust me, I need you to press those runes, even if it seems pointless. Okay?" He sensed your skepticism, but this was the only chance they had to get out of here. After a moment of silence, you finally gave in and agreed. Charles came to a sudden halt, his eyes scanning the surroundings anxiously. Where on earth was the Dragon? Both he and you had managed to discover two of the mystical animal runes, but one remained elusive. Frustration gnawed at him as he absentmindedly chewed on his thumb, his teeth tugging at the skin. Suddenly, your voice jolted him out of his reverie, bringing him back to the present moment. “The door, the door is a dragon.” Charles moved closer to the door, a puzzled expression on his face. "What do you mean?" Silence. He reached out and touched the door, observing as small metal fragments disintegrated and fell to the ground. Brushing his hand over the pieces, he finally understood your message. The more fragments fell, the clearer the image of the Dragon became.   "Good, good, listen and follow carefully. Hold your palm on whatever animal I tell you, alright?" He could hear your voice clearer now that he was standing closer to the door. Your agreement makes his body relax and he prays that whatever he planned on doing would work. "The Ox, place your palm against it." Scrambling away from the door, you discovered the shimmering Ox rune. Upon touching it, a strange yet comforting warmth enveloped you in a welcoming embrace, unfamiliar yet reassuring. Charles called out to you, his voice resonating in the chamber. "Now, the Owl." You reluctantly pulled your hand away from the Ox and strode to the middle of the chamber. Kneeling, you pressed your hand against the Rune, feeling its intense heat. The sensation is almost unbearable, yet strangely comforting, much like the Ox. With a resolute tone, Charles uttered, "Leave the rest to me." With a heavy sigh, the boy released a deep breath and pressed his hand against the Dragon, only to feel a searing pain as it turned a deep shade of red. Reacting swiftly, he pulled his hand away and clutched it to his chest, his eyebrows furrowing and a groan escaping his lips. Taking cautious steps backward, he pivoted on the balls of his feet until he spotted the Elk. Still wary of the previous encounter, he extended his other hand with trepidation, relieved when it didn't burn.  Charles's lips thinned as he closed his eyes, silently uttering a prayer. He desperately hoped that he hadn't given you false hope about their chances of escaping this place. Gathering his resolve, he approached the Falcon and hesitantly laid his hand upon it. 

   Nothing. With a deep frown, the boy dropped to his knees, realizing that escape was impossible. He had deceived you, leading you to believe that the RUNES held the key to their escape. Lost in self-blame, Charles remained oblivious to the door opening noiselessly, despite its rusty state. As you stood up from the floor, tears welled up in your eyes, causing your vision to blur. "Charles?"  His appearance matched the vulnerability in his voice- a bit scrawny with untidy brown hair and clothing. Startled, he tensed and turned his head, his eyes widening as tears also clouded his sight. From a simple walk, it swiftly evolved into a brisk jog and then escalated into an exhilarating sprint as you tackled him into a warm embrace. With a soft thud, he collided against the wall, but he didn't let go, instead, he tightly wrapped his arms around you. He whispered your name softly, his voice tinged with disbelief as if he couldn't fathom the reality of you being there beside him.

 With a nod, you stepped back. Meeting him in person was an exhilarating experience, as he was the first person you had encountered face to face. "I can't believe it, I'm here," you exclaimed. Before he could utter a word, a piercing, high-pitched creak echoed through the room, resembling the grating sound of nails on a chalkboard. Once again, you found yourselves rotating. In response, both of you huddled closer together, holding your breaths in anticipation.  It seemed like an eternity before the rotation finally halted.     You found yourselves in a fresh room, facing a new door that was starkly different from the old rusty metal one. This door was a deep black, standing out against the now-white walls. Charles confidently got up, leaving you behind as he made his way to the door. You shook your head, inching away. There was something about that door that felt familiar. The sensation it evoked was akin to the Runes you had handled earlier – a mixture of warmth and safety, but with a subtle tinge of danger. Your mind was flooded with warning signals, urging you to proceed with caution. "Wait, Charles!" The door felt familiar to Charles. It was reminiscent of the Dragon Rune he had encountered. Aware of its perilous nature, he still yearned to be back with his loved ones. With determination, he twisted the doorknob, causing the lock to click open, revealing a dark corridor. Charles huffed out and smiled, casting a glance in your direction. "See? It's fine, let's g-." Warmth splattered across your face, sullied your hair, drenched your clothes, and colored your left eye. Charles collapsed to the ground, his knees hitting the gravel loudly and his body lurching forward. His head rolled towards you, still spurting out blood. Your eyes widened, mouth agape as you locked eyes with Charles' head. You could do nothing but sit there, heart pumping a mile a second and breath faltering. There was a scream lodged in your throat, wanting to escape but too scared to even attempt. "Charles?" The enclosure trembled under the weight of heavy footsteps, but you were too terrified to even move, horrified at the death of Charles. Something monstrous crouched to enter the doorway, large and muscled, with grey-tinged skin and husks protruding from its mouth. "I apologize deeply for the delay My Lady, I pray to the Demon Lord for your forgiveness." it rumbled, dropping to its knees and inadvertently crushing what was left of Charles. Blood splattered the walls as you lost consciousness, your eyes fluttered and then rolled to the back of your head. The Beast's eyes widened and he rose from his position, and with two large steps, he was able to pick you up, nestling you within his arms. He looked down at the head that rested just a few feet away from you and sneered. "Farlila filth." With your well-being as his top priority, he swiftly exited the room and embarked on a journey down the seemingly endless hallway. "Letter Master Ulysses, we have the Queen."

Watching your lashes quiver and your nose twitch, the woman sees your eyes open, squint, and then close once more. With a gentle smile, she approaches you.  "Good Evening, My Lady, my name is Elmira De Brawnheller, it is an honor to serve as your personal maid." In an instant, your eyes spring open, and you hastily retreat to the far end of the bed, putting some distance between you and the mysterious woman. "Who are you? Where am I?" you blurt out, your voice filled with a mix of confusion and alarm. The woman's smile widens as she gracefully takes a step back, revealing her identity. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Elmira De Brawnheller, the esteemed head maid and your personal servant. As for your current whereabouts, you are in the second bedroom of the illustrious Vempes Palace, under the watchful eye of the Master." Vempes Palace, what the hell was that? Where the hell was that? And could you get home from there?  You rise from the bed with a puzzled expression, "Where exactly is Vempes Palace? I just want to go home." Elmira's mouth contorts into a frown. "Vempes Palace is situated in the Lomaliue Region, under the dominion of the Master." As she explained, you seized the opportunity to dash towards the door, escaping while Elmira observed you with concern in her eyes. "Madam! Please don't sprint in the corridors! You might harm yourself!" Paying no heed to her caution, you yanked the door open and veered right, your feet moving silently on the luxurious velvet floor.  Your head swiveled back and forth, searching for an alternate corridor to explore, gliding past other women dressed as maids. Elmira, who follows behind you, casually waves the women away, silently telling them to leave you be, before continuing her trek. She gasps softly when you crash roughly into Ghallahan, hitting the floor with a thump. The knight immediately drops to his knees, hands hovering over your body. "M-my Lady, I didn't see you, I apologize for my lack of attention, please, punish me." You shuffle back from him quickly, bumping into Elmira behind you. The woman grabs your hand and pulls you up. "My Lady, I understand that you're confused, I know that you would like to go home, but this isn't a discussion you should be having with us– rather the Lord of this palace." You pull away from her, standing sandwiched between the two of them. "Where is he? The one who kidnapped me–." You whirl around to face Ghallahan, the pieces of your memory falling into place, "You murdered Charles."  Elmira furrows her brow. "My Lady, Master is the one who rescued you, once someone enters The Rotation Chamber, it's nearly impossible to escape." Your face twists into one of confusion, your little human heart pumping a mile a minute. Elmira, sensing your turmoil, wraps an arm around you and steers you back in the direction of your room. "Let's wait for Master to get back, I'm sure he'll explain everything." Elmira doesn't mind your lack of answer, just smiles at Knight Ghallahan and leads you inside the room.

As Elmira skillfully weaves your hair into intricate plaits, you find yourself lost in a trance while gazing into the mirror. The elegant dress drapes your figure in a long, pristine white, gently cascading down but still clinging gracefully to your curves. Its fabric is almost translucent, yet you observe how it magically transforms into a denser material, cleverly concealing your bosom and lower body.     "Elmira, when will he get here?" The lady softly hums as she delicately places a diamond-encrusted pin in your hair. "Master will be back later today following the triumphant plunder of the Esdeath Organization and Rotation Chamber. You are requested to join him for dinner." Your time at Vempes Palace has been just shy of two weeks, with Elmira and the perpetually flustered Ghallahan being your main companions. The luxurious lifestyle, the constant pampering, and the extravagant meals are things you have yet to embrace. In truth, you find it all quite distasteful.

 "What is he like?" Elmira, surprised at your question, sucks her teeth softly and stops her movements, a small smile gracing her lips. "Master is warm, reliable, fair, understanding, and above all else, honorable." Your eyes find her face from the mirror and you notice the wispy look of recalling on her face. However, her sudden change in demeanor leaves you puzzled as she mentions, "Nonetheless, Master is not very communicative, and tends to take a lot upon himself." You grunt softly in acknowledgment and drop your eyes down to your lap, your hands laying bunched together, wrist adorned with pearls and other small dainty jewelry. Elmira's voice startles you as she speaks again and you look up. "While Master may appear distant and aloof, My Lady, please know that he would never do anything to hurt you. He values your happiness above all else and would never do anything that goes against your desires. " A scoff escapes you involuntarily. "But here I am, trapped against my will, and utterly bored." The sentence is muttered under your breath, but Elmira, a feline demon, catches every word and her lips tug into a gentle frown.   Without fail, you begrudgingly adhere to the same monotonous routine every day at Vempes Castle. Get up. Have breakfast. Bathe. Explore the greenhouse. Listen (albeit unwillingly) to Ghallahan's war stories. Enjoy some tea. Dinner. Sleep. "Is there a library?" A spark of enthusiasm ignites in Elmira's eyes as your question reaches her ears. It's not often that you seek anything while under her watchful care, and so her surprise quickly transforms into pure elation. "Of course My Lady, Shall I be your escort?" She does her best to conceal her immense happiness, relieved that you're slowly but surely finding comfort within the grandeur of the palace.

You can't help the delicate smile that touches your lips at her enthusiasm. "Yes, please Elmira." If you were going to be here for a little bit, you might as well enjoy the small things you loved while being in your world— or were you still in your world? It didn't matter, you enjoyed reading books and would do so now. Elmira steps away from your seated position and you rise from the white chair, glad that she had put you in flats rather than heels. Despite your involuntary confinement, you find yourself growing closer to Elmira as you intertwine your arm with hers.   Elmira, the head maid, has a unique way of guiding you through the castle. Instead of leading from the front, she walks beside you, subtly influencing your path while respecting the hierarchy. (Though seeing as Elmira was the head maid, she had a bit of leeway. ) Despite your protests about the rigid rules and your lack of royal status, Elmira remains firm. The walk isn't too long, it passes by as you take in the castle decor while stopping to politely greet the servants and knights ( who always take their job a bit too seriously by dropping to their knees, leaving you to fuss to Elmira all the while helping them up from the floor). 

 The two of you stop in front of a large pitch-black door that stretches high to the ceiling. The doorknob, on the other hand, gleams with a pristine silver hue. Elmira notices the awe in your eyes and takes a step back, releasing her hold on your arms. "This is as far as I go, My Lady. Servants are not allowed inside of the Library." Your eyebrows knit together and your lips form a cute pout, reflecting your disappointment. "Well then, let's find something else to do," you suggest. The feline demon shakes her head and gracefully bows to you, a knowing smile gracing her features. "I'll be waiting just outside if you require my assistance," she assures you. Her voice urges you to enter, and with a hint of reluctance, you grasp the handle and gently push open the surprisingly light door.

  The moment you step into the room, the cozy atmosphere embraces you. The library is like a sanctuary of knowledge, adorned with an assortment of books, maps, globes, and charming trinkets. With a soft thud, the door closes behind you, undeterred, you venture deeper into the library, twirling in awe. "Oh my goodness, this is incredible!" you whisper in disbelief. Your fingertips glide along the dusty railing, leaving a trail in the layers of cobwebs. Your immediate thought is to find a book about the language spoken here. While Elmira and Ghallahan are fluent in your language, the majority of the staff communicate in a foreign tongue, unfamiliar to your world.

With narrowed eyes, you scan the area for the elusive letter 'L', carefully descending the stairs to expand your field of vision. A spark of excitement ignites within you as the golden letter finally comes into sight. However, instead of rushing towards it, you take a leisurely approach, exploring the room and daring to touch forbidden objects along the way. Eventually, you arrive at the bookshelf, and your quest is met with instantaneous success. Lomaliue, the name Elmira had mentioned, is the place where you were held captive. Lomaliue Region. Your fingers glide gently over the book spines, but alas, your efforts prove fruitless.   A frown creases your brow as you raise your gaze, your eyes eagerly scanning the shelves until they alight upon it—just beyond your reach. You spot a ladder nearby and with a determined grip, you tug it towards you, grappling with its weight. After positioning it perfectly, you embark on the climb, your legs trembling and your annoyance growing at the impractical length of your dress. Finally, you come to a halt at the 7th shelf, clutching the ladder with unwavering strength, leaning in to retrieve the book that had ensnared your attention.

 "Aha! Lomaliue Language and History."

At the sound of your sudden exclamation and excitement, your grip on the ladder momentarily slackens, causing you to sway backward. Your eyes widen in alarm as you frantically wave your arms in an attempt to regain your balance. "Whoa, whoa, oh shit." The ladder starts to tip backward, now standing upright away from the shelf, leaving you flailing in mid-air as you struggle to lean it back against the shelf. "E-Elmira!" Your heart pounds in your chest as you finally steady yourself against the bookshelf. However, the impact of your landing causes the bookshelf to come crashing down, taking you along for the ride.

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, preparing for a jarring collision, but it never happens. Instead, you experience a sensation of weightlessness, as if gliding through the air. You cautiously open one eye, then the other, feeling a surge of tension as you realize you are indeed floating. Before you know it, you and the bookshelf both touch down on the ground. 

 "You're quite the clumsy one." A shudder travels down your spine and to the tips of your toes, sending goosebumps to trail up your arms. The voice, deep and velvety, lacks any emotion yet feels strangely familiar. There's an elusive quality to it, hinting at hidden secrets just beneath the surface. Inside the dimly lit library, your eyes dart nervously from shelf to shelf, desperately trying to locate the source. You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest, only to collide with an unseen obstacle behind you. Your panic-stricken eyes find nothing, and as your breath catches, you reluctantly close your eyes. With trembling legs and an urgent need to relieve your bladder (because, let's be honest, you were on the verge of peeing yourself), you turn around and come face to face with... another bookshelf.   Placing your hand on your chest, you let out a sigh of relief, even though the danger wasn't completely gone - the person was still lurking in the library. Gritting your teeth, you gather your dress and take a deep breath, determined to make a break for it. Grateful for your choice of flats, you sprint off, book clutched tightly in your hand.  You swear you hear a chuckle of amusement behind you, but frankly? You did not give a flying fuck. Reaching the entrance in record time, you push open the door and collide with a surprised Elmira, who embraces you. Finally feeling safe, you relax in her arms and exhale deeply.

Just for a moment, she looks surprised before breaking into a smile. But that smile doesn't last long once she catches sight of the book you're holding. She's quite the expert at changing moods, isn't she? "Ah, My Lady, books within the Library must st-." She pauses abruptly, her gaze shifting to the Library doors closing behind you. Her demeanor changes once more, a grin returning to her face. "Forget about that, let's head to the greenhouse instead." You put on a smile and nod, following her lead, but you steal a glance over your shoulder and catch sight of a pair of warm, glowing eyes right before the door closes. Is it possible? You shake your head in disbelief and continue walking with Elmira.

As you step into the Greenhouse, a wave of familiar scents engulfs you - the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle and lilacs. It's as if the air itself is whispering tales of home, tugging at your heartstrings. You can't help but feel a pang of longing for the place that seems to be slipping further away with each passing day. Deep down, you sense that this sanctuary might become your new haven.  Elmira, the ever-silent companion, offers no false promises or illusions of this castle "Master" taking you home, she didn't delude you with hope.   Outside, darkness encroaches, but within the Greenhouse, an eternal sunshine prevails. The birds, their cheerful chirping filling the air, find solace in the majestic tree that stands tall at the center. Butterflies gracefully flutter about, their delicate wings brushing against the vibrant flowers that adorn the winding paths. Here, all sounds are hushed, as if the world itself has taken a pause. This sanctuary, your sanctuary, offers respite from the monotony of the castle. And Elmira, as always, stands ready to lend her silent support, should you choose to accept it.

As you make your way towards the cozy seating area (thoughtfully installed after your request to have a spot to sit outside.) you sink into the cushions and lean back, pulling the book out from under your arm. With a gentle tilt, you position it to bask in the shade provided by the branches and leaves above. Here you are, sitting beneath the trees, engrossed in the stolen treasure from the Library. Yet, in reality, you are captivated by the soothing melody of the babbling brook flowing behind the Greenhouse. This enchanting spot has become your refuge within the castle, and with each passing day, you find yourself drawn to it even more. What a truly magnificent place it is. In all honesty, there's no need to be scared of this place. They weren't doing anything to harm you. You were fed when you were hungry, given a hot bath (though it would be better if you could clean yourself) this beautiful Greenhouse— you wouldn't count the haunted Library, that place was out of the picture and Elmira— yeah you'd count her. But aside from the bathing situation, it wasn't all that terrible. You weren't naive (maybe a few missing brain cells, but...), you knew there was no way out even if you wanted to leave. Where would you even go? You had no idea of your location or what lay beyond, but for now, you were safe. Still, you couldn't help but miss your phone and movies.

 "Why are you so scared?" You halt what you're doing and lift your gaze, seeing as you had said the question out loud. The inquiry hits you like a punch to your chest, leaving you momentarily speechless. 'Maybe because I'm surrounded by monsters, have no way of getting home, and I'm trapped here.' However, what awaited you upon your return home? Was it a distant family? A physically demanding nursing job that left you exhausted, or the monotonous routine of eating ramen noodles and hot dogs for every meal? Maybe it was the solemn reminder of your dog's ashes. Your life may have been a complete mess, but it was undeniably yours. With the book placed delicately on your chest, its Lomaliue text unintelligible to you, you close your eyes and surrender to the soothing symphony of the Greenhouse. Its harmonious melodies embrace you, guiding you into a tranquil sleep.

  "Cold." 

  When he arrives to fetch you, your voice is soft, sweet, and still heavy with sleep. Elmira, unable to bring herself to disturb your much-needed rest, alerts the Master of the castle instead. He pays no mind to the fact that you had essentially missed meeting him for the first time and had exited the Library to bring you back to your room. Elmira observes as he carefully removes the book from your chest, stooping down to admire your delicate features and the slight drool escaping your lips. His chuckle holds small traces of humor and is almost carried away by the wind. Retrieving the stolen book, he sets it aside and lifts you effortlessly into his arms, like you weighed nothing but a feather. Turning to Elmira, he nods, "You're dismissed for tonight, 'Mira. Thank you." With a bow of her head, the feline demon watches him depart, her hands tightly intertwined in worry. She knows all too well that Master would never bring harm to the Lady, but her concern for the poor girl lingers.   As you gradually awaken, your eyes flutter open, clouded with sleep and fatigue. Your head and cheek find solace against a comforting warmth, while the hands that gently grasp your thighs and curl beneath your back make you feel as though you've awakened in the heavenly realm. 

Their voice, with its deep resonance, melts you into a warm, sticky puddle. It's velvety and profound, similar to before but with an added allure. "Sleep, little human, I've forgotten just how weak your kind is." Despite the urge to take offense, there's no malice in his words, just a simple observation.   But who is carrying you now? It's not Elmira or Ghallhan. Before you can even ponder further, his voice soothes you once more. "You're thinking too much, calm down." Oddly enough, his words bring a sense of comfort, even though they shouldn't. ( probably because you were half asleep. ) Your soft, drool-coated cheek rests back against his chest and your eyes flutter ( and scarily roll back ) shut. Back into sleep.

Waking up from your deep sleep, it feels like an eternity before you manage to crack your eyes open. Stretching your body like a lithe feline, you let out a small groan. The room is bathed in a soft moonlight glow, indicating that you haven’t been asleep for too long. Without much time to observe your surroundings, a deep, tranquil voice suddenly speaks.

  "You're awake, good."

A tremble races down your body and you hop out of the bed, crumpling to the floor in a heap. You whine at the pain but you quickly refocus your attention, scanning the room with wide eyes before stopping, finding it- him? Sitting there. His skin is a deep purple-grey, his features sharp, eyes narrow, and gaze like an empty void, which contrasted with his dark red eyes that appeared almost bloody. His ears are pointed, and his muscular frame seems to take up the whole room. Wait, are those four additional arms?

     "Who the hell are you?! Elmira!" With an exasperated sigh, the man's eyes rolled dismissively as he got up from his chair, casually tossing a bundle of documents onto the table. "Elmira won't be around tonight. You'll have to wait until morning to see her," he stated matter-of-factly. He watched as his firey little human mate stumbled backward, nearly tripping in her haste. 

 What a clumsy little thing she was.

     "You didn't answer my question." You bite out. "Why should I?” He observes you intently as you struggle to respond, but his teasing expression softens as tears begin to form in your eyes. Stepping towards you, he tilts his head slightly as you take a step back, his flowing black hair framing his face."I am the sovereign of this realm, of this dreary fortress. You may call me Ulysses."   Ulysses nearly breaks into a grin as your eyebrows knit together, a look of recognition washing over your eyes before being replaced by bewilderment. "N-no, that can't be right." The voice you recalled was gentle, and comforting. His, however, was anything but. .

.

.

“Who are you?” Instantly, you blurt out your name, your lips cracked and dry. “What about you?” The room falls silent, only the sound of water droplets can be heard. Doubt creeps in and you worry if they are somehow involved in your predicament. Suddenly, a calm, reassuring voice responds, releasing the tension from your body, the cold racking a shudder through your spine. “Ulysses” 

.

.

.   Despite his apparent indifference to whether you believed him or not, he takes a step closer, and this time, you stand your ground. Swallowing thickly you lift your chin in defiance and glare, you didn't care if he was The Pope, or hell Barack Obama. "Why am I here? I want to go home." Ulysses clasps his hands behind his back and lifts his gaze to your gown, noticing how the fabric that would usually hide your perky breast is bunched and amiss, from your bizarre sleeping patterns and abrupt fall from the bed. This reveals your enticing round areolas, a detail that might have gone unnoticed had he been a mere mortal. With a voice that exudes honesty and is devoid of deceit, he delivers a harsh reality that you struggle to accept. "Nothing is awaiting you there, no family who truly cares," he states matter-of-factly. The fact that your vanishing in the upper realm didn't even cause a ripple in their lives is unfathomable. Filled with disbelief and anger, you take a determined step forward, challenging his words. "You're lying!" He moves closer, his aura enveloping you, causing your skin to tingle like static electricity. "Why would I deceive you? Tell me, ao bewl ¹, if I were to send you back home, what would be your next move? Missing a month of work has made you lose your job." ( my love ) ¹   Ulysses observes the way your pretty eyes widen, mouth gapes open, eyebrows twitch, and doubt fills your gaze.  "A month? I've only been here for two weeks." Is that why Elmira seemed to skip the conversation when you asked about how many days you had been here? ( Instead from then on, you started to just count the days when you woke up. )     "Time seems to slip away faster than you can fathom, little human." His eyes flicker down to his wrist, stealing a glance at his watch. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he looks back at his petite "captive" and suggests, "When you feel ready, Elmira will guide you downstairs for breakfast. Take a little more time to rest." Even with the lack of response he takes his leave.      Your trembling bottom lip and the pressure of your nails digging into your palms reveal your distress. Why is this misfortune befalling you? What have you done to deserve it? You have always been compassionate, kind, and patient. How could you have possibly erred in your short existence? Suddenly, the sound of raindrops dancing outside grabs your attention. The balcony doors grant you a front-row view of the natural world, and you yearn to immerse yourself in its wonders. With a heavy heart, you rise to your feet and reluctantly make your way towards the doors. As you forcefully pull them open, the cool air and gentle raindrops caress your face and skin. You find solace as you lower yourself onto the concrete, resting your head against your folded knees, and allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

[ophelia-ophelian]

Research you

Mr. Silvair x reader

AN: okay listen— i have no clue if there is fanfiction out there about Homicipher at all so, I’m still trying to figure out how to do their language within our text. I am actually brainstorming a way to fix it😼 but I digress, I love this dude he’s so cute. Also I saw the poll of keeping in game language, but since this is longer I’m doing what @/dav-ulysses suggested and mixed it. maybe shorter blurbs will be in game talking

Warning: blood/syringe, suggestive but not much, experimental writing

As you wake up, you take a look around to try and remember where you are and what you were doing. You see the tattered walls that enclose every room in this magic world and swing your legs over the bed you were resting at. You hear a giggle in front of you and see Mr. Crawling sitting near the door staring at you through his hair. 

“Leave?” He squeaked out, tilting his head.

“No, I’m just going to go explore,” you respond as you open the door and leave. As you turn around, you realize he’s going to follow you as normal. Despite him being so scary and monstrous looking, he’s been more friendly and helpful than most people you’ve met since coming here. People? You give a thought, I can’t tell if I would say people or creatures? You brush off the thought and look around to see Mr. Chopped’s head laying on the counter in the main area with Hand resting next to him. 

You hear a hum as you turn to see Mr. Silvair, “Hello. You okay?” You smile back as an affirmation as he continues, “Want research you.”

You try to reply using their sounds, “Erm…Why research me?”

“Me interested human body. Me want research you,” a pause, “Your likeness previously human. You human here, yes?”

Ah, he wants to research humans. You knew Mr. Silvair was interested in them, given the amount of tools such as syringes, scalpels, and the like whenever he mentioned his research. You also recall his small musings about helping Mr. Chopped get a body of his own, but being warned about how dangerous it would be since it might completely change him and destroy his sentience. Mr. Silvair pulls you out of this rabbit hole of thoughts by clearing his throat and ushering you back into his research room. You smile as confirmation of letting him study you and you follow him into the back of his room. He beckons you to lay, and as you do, he begins talk to you about what he’s been learning. Given the time passed you tried to keep track of, you were starting to understand the language of this world, give or take a few words that you could fill in with context.

Once he is finished his mini rant to himself, he waves his hand to get your attention, “I want to test the difference between human blood and our blood, and what could possibly be leading to the rot of your body, the longer to stay in this ‘realm’ you talk about. Can you let me take your blood?” With an affirmative, he rolls up your sleeve and wipes down your skin with some type of wet cloth and gripping your bicep to make your veins protrude more. “If you do not like watching, do not look,” and with that, you feel the prick of his syringe and the coldness of your blood draining creep in. Before you know it, however, he pulls back and gives you a bandage to cover your bleeding. Looking up at you, he mentions “Humans do not heal like us, but given your time here, you seem to be adapting. It is irregular and I want to know why.”

He pulls back and puts his syringe behind him on a desk with a number of other liquids that you could probably guess would be other creatures’ blood. Some were colored like yours, and some were darker, but most seemed as similar to yours in color than you expected. Mr. Silvair notices this and talks about the difference, but since his back is turned to you, its harder to decipher what exactly he is explaining since you can’t use the crutch of reading his lips to try and match the sounds to the vocabulary words in your dictionary – which Mr. Crawling so kindly gave an empty journal one morning when you offhandly mentioned there are so many words to learn that you are losing track of and need to write down to remember them all.

Seemingly done with his lesson, Mr. Silvair turns back to you and places his hand over your chest. You flinch backwards, questioning what he’s doing and he tilts his head, explaining that he wanted to measure heartbeats since he knows all humans have them, but they are different for some reason. You reply with your knowledge from high school biology about hearts the best that you can and he nods.

“Thank you. Can I check yours to make sure that you are healthy?”

Taken aback, you figure its from a good intention as you remember that certain creatures here have different understands of emotions. Such as Mr. Hooded doesn’t understand liking people and fun and Mr. Crawling thinks being cute is wearing human eats like a cat. You give Mr. Silvair consent to a body check and he thanks you in return. He then places a hand on your chest, the other on your back, and instructs you to breathe deeply. As you do, he seems to be humming in approval and his hands change position across your chest, applying slight pressure each time. 

He does this a few more times before furrowing his brows, “Your heartbeat is getting faster. You okay?” He hums inquisitively before tilting your head up to meet what would be his eyes if not for the fabric covering it. “Its speeding up now that I’m looking at you. Could it be that I make you nervous?” He questions. Your eyes, face suddenly feeling hot, breaks eye contact and you stare at anything other than him. You admit, he is one of the best people here given he taught you so much when you barely understood “yes” or “no,” and continuously took care of and protected you. Not only that, he cares for Mr. Chopped, who is unable to do anything unless you or Mr. Silvair carry and help him. You also admit how charming he is with his long, silver hair, and his handsome face, and–

“I see,” he continues, leaning in and moving his head to look into your eyes again. You lean back, attempting once again to look anywhere other than him. He follows and soon, he is towering over you, slyly smiling as his hand that isn’t holding your face grasps one of your own hands, bringing it up to his chest. Though faint, he does have something resembling a heartbeat, maybe because he’s more human-like than the other creatures here, he might actually have a heart. He moves your hand over his chest till it lands opposite of where a human’s heart would have been. It makes sense, their world is very different and opposite than ours. “I also happen to relate to your heart, human. I enjoy your presence more than I initially expected. Most humans succumb to the festering of their bodies here, or are killed by the hostile others. But you,” he drops your hand on his chest and holds your other hand, bringing them together, and then closer to him, so that you are now mere inches apart, “are exceptional. You are strong, you are smart, you have resisted most of the effects of the festering. You, are special. Very special. I am interested in you. Moreover, I am interested on your body. How strong is it and what would cause it to break, I wonder?”

Feeling the heat in your face spreading through your body, embarrassment evident now, you gasp as he pushes you further with your back on the table. “How are your reflexes, I wonder,” he softly says as he slams a hand near your head, causing you to flinch. “Interesting,” he notes, “How would you react to different types of touching? You react differently based on the individual, I’ve noticed. But I’ve never tested myself. Let’s see…” He then traces ever so light lines up and down your thigh, noting your shivers. “Fascinating,” he continues, then he uses that same hand to caress your face, using his thumb to reassure you. As you lean into it, he hums inquisitively with hints of satisfaction before completely removing himself from you and turns to his vials of blood again, jotting down notes. Stunned, you continue to stare at his back mouth agape before he waves you off saying that he has concluded most of his research and will call upon you again once he needs you. You shift your position and get off the table, quickly readjusting your clothes and heading back out into the main area, Mr. Chopped still asleep with Mr. Crawling sitting outside the room.

“You okay?” he chirps.

“Yes, I’m okay,” you respond, giving him two peace signs which he reciprocates with a giggle.

Well, that was certainly something. 

Tag list: @kiatheinsomniac

[bhaalborn]

ulysses had spent a disproportionate amount of time trying to go about addressing this recalcitrant part of themselves, a well-kept secret until they felt as though not saying anything about it would be a betrayal in itself. it aroused questions- pits of self-deprecating thoughts of scenarios that were MORE than likely to come to pass.

. . . because perhaps they weren't as subtle about it as they had lead themselves to believe. maybe they had already been branded as some deluded, BLOOD-THIRSTY monster and at this point their companions were only indulging in their hypocrisy. they want to sink their teeth through the tongue. to feign ignorance that speaking was a thing that they were ever capable of.

" -we need to talk, " they blurt suddenly, when most of their companions have succumbed to sleep, trying in vain not to be SWALLOWED by thoughts as thick as shadows, " it's important. and private. something i should have told you sooner. "