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cookiesupplier · 8 hours

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Prison of Stone and Flesh

Prologue

Pairings: Chris x transfem!Vinny, Justin x Transmasc!Ricky, Chris x Justin x Ryan, Chris x Transmasc!Ricky, Ryan x ONBC, Ryan x transfem!Vinny, ryan x transmasc!ricky

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon (To be added to)

Christopher, Justin, and Ryan are members of the Gargoyle Order, soldiers fighting in the angels war against the demonic supernatural evils of the world to protect human kind. Through the years they lost comrades and now just the three of them remain in their little town. They have long since been abandoned by the angel that had been sworn to keep them safe and protect them during the day while they were trapped in stone.

Now, Ricky and Vinny are moving into their church to renovate and live in the space due to Ricky always found it as home as a child, stirring up old and new feelings, along with the past, posing the challenge of navigating this new chapter in their lives.

Can they navigate this path successfully and break free of the prisons that is their lives of both stone and flesh, or will they all be trapped forever in a world that could prove to be a constant misery?

Taglist: @embracethereaper42 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica

(please comment/message to be added to taglist)

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier and @faceless-mirror.

Christopher Abraham Barak Cerulli. That was his name. It had been given to him by the angels that had created him. The Gargoyle Order had been created with the purpose of protecting the humans from the darkness of the demons that wanted to corrupt them. Corrupt and taint the world of humanity. Gargoyles were the footsoldiers, while angels were the generals that lorded over the world from the wonders in the clouds of Heaven.

Christopher looked down on the humans scurrying along the streets from high up, on the balcony where his platform sat. Responsibility. That was the virtue that was etched into the plaque on his platform, that he was to stand on, day in, day out. His massive talon-like claws scraped over the ledge, he as a rumble softly emitted from his throat as he took in the sight of the world below. The mortals never knew just how close oblivion was for them, and if they did their job correctly, they never would.

Justin, Ryan… Loyalty and Trust respectfully… they were all that was left of his unit, his family, and it pained him. But they stood still in their stone prisons just as he did, guarding their home, their church, as they always had.

The church was mostly silent, a few pigeons roosting now, when the door whined open revealing a small but familiar form to the gargoyles. She was small and sweet as ever, dressed in a heavy grey and pink sweater, if not a bit more rough than usual. She collapsed into a pew wrapping herself in her thick black coat, and a few bags of clothing- why would there be clothing- normally only her backpack, but that was missing. Long blonde hair a mess and tears in beautiful blue eyes. She looked up at the gargoyles and sighed, smiling at them weakly. Ricky had always found comfort here in the church, surrounded by ‘monsters’ as her father called them.

Ricky knew they weren’t monsters. They protected her… everyone. “H…hey…” she said, relaxing some, “I did it. I stood up to my dad… I had to call my grandparents…” she whispered exhausted, “Father kicked me out… but I’m…” she took a deep breath, “It's going to be a long time til I can keep my promise.”

Most people would think she was crazy… but she knew. She knew they would listen. “I’ll come back… I’ll keep you safe…”

Christopher watched as Ricky, dragged in bags of clothing, and if any of them weren’t trapped in their stone forms… If any of them weren’t required to not move in front of humans, they might even be tempted to jump down from their platforms to help her. This one, this one had come to see them many a time… She was such a sweet human, which is such a rare quality these days, and Christopher wished there were more like her out in the world, who didn’t treat others like they were beneath them. Simple human compassion, was that too much to ask for? It pained him though, whenever he sees Ricky, he is always reminded about that bastard Jerahmiel. Jerahmiel was the angel that was their handler.

He had abandoned them a good century ago after more and more of their unit had been descended to the depths of Hell, never to return. The angel had always made it abundantly clear just what he thought of gargoyles, how beneath him they were. They were worth even less than the cockroaches that humans went and squished under their boots, ready to be scrapped off onto the pavement.

Still, the man had been their handler, and it was his job to help them, and while he was here, he had been helpful. Keeping track of this town, and all the goings-on of the entire supernatural presence that they had to keep in check, he could use the help.

“I’ll be moving to Washington with my grandparents- I’ll be okay. I promise…” she murmured, “Also… I wanted to tell you guys officially… I’m not a girl… I’m a boy… I’ll be back…” he mumbled softly, exhausted by everything, shivering as the sun started to set, and a breeze rushed through some of the broken windows, whimpering softly. He groaned softly, “They should be here by morning… or tomorrow night. I hope you don’t mind me staying here tonight… it’ll be the last time for a while, Loyalty, Trust, and Responsibility.” he whispered, yawning softly as his blue eyes grew heavy.

Justin looked down at Ricky, his talons tightening against his platform. Hearing that she had finally stood up to her father made him so proud. His eyes blinked with tears that he could not shed in this form… He had sat there and listened to her as she told him about how abusive that monster of her father far too many times.

Be free young mortal, be free mortal. For all of her promises, the only thing he wanted for her, was for her to find her happiness, to be free of that man.. Of her prison here.

The hollow sound of wind rushing through the church's beams was a soothing lullaby that Ricky was accustomed to, “I’ll miss you guys… my friends.” He had known them since he was eight after his mother’s death, it had been so sudden. Closed casket. And she had been pregnant with Ricky’s baby brother, who sadly hadn’t made it either after the Accident. They had just found out the gender and Ricky had been excited to be a big sister.

A boy. Ricky was a boy. Humans and their binary genders were so ridiculous to him, Christopher would never understand them. Hearing others come into the church and lament over the issues, condemn others, and now hear the weight with Ricky admitting it to them. When the reality was, he should never have had to question such a thing, not before them. As the sun set, he could feel the muscles in his back twitch, the stone of his form start to recede. Without the forced transformation of the shift of the day, it took a conscious effort to retain the facade of their stone form so that when the human below glanced up and saw them. He would see nothing amiss.

Justin blinked, now that the sun was setting, and they were free of their stone prisons, they had more control over their forms. That was why it took more strength of will for him not to leap from the rafters down to the boy. All he wanted was to demand information as to his father’s whereabouts now that Ricky’s life was no longer dependent on the man, so he could finally take care of the vermin that he was. He had wanted to for some time, but Christopher forbade him, killing humans was against their edicts. Their entire purpose was to protect humans, not kill them. They descended demons and all things evil from supernatural means, humans had their souls, they would fall under holy judgement.

No, he couldn’t move, Ricky didn’t know, they were nothing but statues to him. Statues that brought him a form of comfort in his time of need. When he spoke of whether they minded him staying the night, it broke his heart, of course, they would never mind. Ricky was always welcome there with them, always. If anyone was going to run him out of here, it would be the mortals, and they’d have three glaring gargoyles staring down at them when doing so.

It didn't take long before the human was asleep, curled up in a ball and wrapped tight in a blanket. He was conserving as much body heat as he could, breathing slow and steady as he smiled, body relaxing as he let sleep take hold.

It was almost perfectly silent except his soft breaths, almost like music. The abandoned organ letting out a groan of low notes from its damaged pipes.

With the boy asleep below, the gargoyles could now move, slowly, albeit so they didn’t disturb him. Alerting him that they alive would be a disaster and against everything they existed to maintain. As it was, the fact that he was here, one of them would have to stay behind while the others patrolled the city tonight. Usually, one always at least stayed within the vicinity of the church, their neighbourhood as it were, but the other two swept over to patrol the rest of the city. Thankfully, they did not have a large territory, but larger than some. Still, despite the loss of so many of their unit over the many centuries past, no-thanks to Jerahmiel before he abandoned his post as their handler, they managed. Over the past century without him, they had managed to thwart many an attempt at the demons in the city to destroy them. The demon underbelly was always brewing, and they were always having to smack it down where they could.

It was Christopher and Ryan that took to the skies tonight, leaving Justin behind to watch over Ricky’s sleeping form below, the gargoyle retaining his beast form knowing it would be the most familiar should the boy jolt awake. Not that it would help if for some reason he woke so early that he was aware before the others return, long before day break. They would return before the rising sun, it was required, otherwise they’d be trapped in their stone forms in an unsecured location in the city.

Not that this location was that secure these days, since it had been abandoned.

Ricky slept through the night, only turning over now and again. His long blond hair draped over the edge of the pew as he breathed steadily. His cheeks a light pink by the time the sun began peering into the church, and he groaned, hearing his phone go off, rousing him from his uncomfortable slumber.

His grandparents were on their way to the church…. He sat up slowly looking up at the rafters to the gargoyles, his eyes watering. “I'll miss you… I'll be back… soon as i can…” he whispered before slipping out of the church to wait.

Sure enough, Christopher and Ryan returned with time to spare, both with tales to tell of creatures they’d had to descend to Hell. Not that they spoke of it with the sleeping form below. It would wait for another time. As they all took their places, and the sun arose from the horizon, the stone of their skin forming, in times like this there was no choice, it was a forced chance, a prison of the day's making. It was a mistake to think that while the gargoyles were in their stone casings, they did nothing but sleep. While one could compare this state to be a form of restfulness, and yes, there was a form of meditation, Justin’s mind wondered today… to the boy just outside the doors of the church, sitting with his bags, waiting. Sighing, hours, hours, he was outside waiting.

Justin wished he could be outside waiting with him, but the sun had been his enemy for a long as he had been alive. His enemy, and yet, something he had longed for. He could sit and watch the sunrise, only to be forced into stone the moment it rose into the sky. Doomed into his prison for the day, pained with the knowledge he’d never actually enjoy the warmth of it on his skin like he’d heard humans speak of. Now though, the sun was never mind, his only worry was that boy. Justin had been watching over him for years, watching him grow up, protecting him, as much as he could anyway. He knew there was little he could do, but as much as he protected this entire city from the dark underbelly of the world, Justin liked to think some days, he watched out for Ricky most of all. It was easier that way.

After hours of waiting, he was picked up and looked at the church, not wanting to leave it behind. He loved it… so much… he would be back.

When questioned about his expression, he explained the church had become home. His grandparents smiled sadly in understanding, making a stop by a realitor before their flight left.

His home would be waiting for him when the time came. It was something he couldn't help but be grateful for.

The sun was just starting to set again by the time his grandparents arrived, the long hours passing by of the day.. Justin, feeling them in his bones ticking by and hating that Ricky was just left to wait. Now, though, a feeling that was both more hopeful and infinitely worse arrived…

Three figures, the gargoyles having finally fully shifted into their humanoid forms now, with Ricky leaving the church to step out onto the balcony, watching the car drive off. Justin’s voice was the one that sounded out of the three of them.

“We’ll miss you too, Ricky.”

Him most of all.

#vinny mauro #chris motionless #justin morrow #ryan sitkowski #miw fanfic #gargoyle fanfic #ricky olson #motionless in white #fanfiction #fanfic #miw #chris cerulli #au fic #ricky horror #motionless in white fanfic #fic: prison of stone and flesh

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cookiesupplier · 14 hours

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Prison of Stone and Flesh

Pairings: Chris x transfem!Vinny, Justin x Transmasc!Ricky, Chris x Justin x Ryan, Chris x Transmasc!Ricky, Ryan x ONBC, Ryan x transfem!Vinny, ryan x transmasc!ricky

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon (To be added to)

Taglist: @embracethereaper42 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica

(please comment/like/reblog/message to be added to taglist)

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier and @faceless-mirror.

#vinny mauro #chris motionless #justin morrow #ryan sitkowski #miw fanfic #gargoyle fanfic #ricky olson #motionless in white #fanfiction #fanfic #miw #chris cerulli

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cookiesupplier · 14 hours

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daily fave ricky 💙

Credit for this beauties goes to @faceless-mirror

#ricky olson #ricky horror #motionless in white #miw #miw band #daily ricky olson #daily ricky horror

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cookiesupplier · 14 hours

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daily fave folio 💕

#nick folio #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens band #folio #daily folio

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cookiesupplier · 2 days

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my fucking lord

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I have been well fed tonight, but Lord this is hungry work. Ruffles is serving..

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cookiesupplier · 2 days

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cookiesupplier · 2 days

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FOLIO FRIDAY'S ARE MY FAVORITE DAY!!!!!!

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cookiesupplier · 2 days

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he’s the fucking king

📸:brybarian

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult

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cookiesupplier · 2 days

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Noah the precious.

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Noah in black&white 😩

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cookiesupplier · 2 days

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Power Play // Chapter Seven // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV.

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

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

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @curse-bearing-hips @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @moranastray @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @collective-heartbreak @littlefoxkota @somebodyels3 @thisbicc @jakeygvf21 @cind6547 @lma1986 @loeytuan98 @xxkittenkissesxx

Despite having no obligations or reasons to rise early, I find myself waking before dawn, a nagging sense of unfinished business rousing me from slumber. I rummage through the cluttered closet, pushing aside the detritus of my old life to unearth a relic from simpler times: my pristine white ice skates, barely used since training gave way to textbooks and 12-hour shifts. Running my fingers over the smooth leather, I marvel that they have waited so patiently while life pulled me away. I dress in fleece leggings and a sweater as I grab my purse and head to the car.

The rink should be empty, the guys left around four this morning, as I pull into the parking lot it’s already six. I see some of the players' cars parked in the garage as I head to the elevator to enter the rink. The lights are on, but that’s to be expected, with the team gone, deep clean can commence. Yet as I walk through the quiet, empty halls of the arena, the familiar sounds of hockey emanate from the rink ahead. The rhythmic slapping of a composite stick striking a frozen puck echoes down the corridor. Scraping, swishing - the nostalgic melody of steel blades carving arcs across the freshly resurfaced ice. I push through the heavy wooden doors and gaze out at the rink. There before me a solitary figure glides smoothly about the ice, stickhandling a puck through an intricate array of cones.

Noah isn't in a uniform, just his athletic wear and skates, simple winter gloves on his hand as he skates around. The cold air nips at my cheeks as I observe him gliding effortlessly across the smooth, glassy ice. He looks so graceful and at ease, carving gentle curves with each push of his skates. I suddenly wonder if I should continue with my plan. It's been years since I've set foot on the ice. The last time I tried skating I clung desperately to the wall, my ankles wobbling with each tentative stride. I was that bumbling, awkward beginner all over again. What if I make a fool of myself out there? What if I slip and stumble repeatedly in front of Noah, struggling just to stay upright while he floats by with poised confidence? The thought makes me hesitate. I don't want to embarrass myself or look incompetent compared to Noah's natural skill.

"What are you doing here?" I call across the rink, seeing him turn and find me by the benches. He pushes the puck back and forth between his stick, the repetitive motion seeming to soothe his obvious frustration.

"Medics benched me for two games, to make sure my shoulder isn't seriously injured," he responds, and I can hear the pain in his voice - not physical, but emotional. Being forced to sit out is agonizing for any athlete, but especially for someone as passionate and competitive as him. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to watch his teammates head off without him this morning, their bus pulling away as he stood there, barred from joining them.

“Why are you here?” he ponders the question to me and I feel my cheeks go red as I stammer a response.

“Came to um-um-skate. But I didn’t expect…it’s okay, I’ll go.” I turn to leave. But I hear the hard scrape of blades on ice as Noah skates to the wall close enough to me I can smell the scent of his body wash from his shower.

“Where you going? Let’s see what you got, little fox.” I feel my heart race and my palms grow sweaty as Noah's intense gaze bores into me. His muscular frame towers over me, broad shoulders and chiseled torso accentuated by his tight black shirt. I'm frozen in place, mesmerized by his masculine beauty and commanding presence.

“Lace up. Get out here." he teases as he skates out to the rink, picking up the cones he'd laid out. I am not sure what propels me but I do as he says, slipping into the leather slippers and double knotting the laces. I stand on the blades feeling the unusual balance of them as I take long steps to the ice. The blades touch the ice and suddenly I'm wobbling on my knees as one hand grips the wall and the other wraps around myself trying desperately to hide the embarrassment. The empty ice rink echoes with each scrape of his skates as he circles me like a predator stalking prey.

I tentatively step onto the icy surface, the razor-sharp blades beneath my feet gliding smoothly at first. But as I push off, my ankles wobble precariously, threatening to tip me face-first onto the cold, unforgiving ice. I flail my arms, grasping for something, anything to steady myself. My hand finds the wall just in time, saving me from a humiliating fall. Meanwhile, he is gliding effortlessly around the perimeter, his strong strides propelling him forward with ease. I watch enviously as he picks up speed, the toes of his skates carving graceful arcs into the glossy surface. My own skates feel awkward and foreign beneath me, the thin blades clacking loudly with each uneasy step. I wrap my free arm around my middle, trying in vain to conceal my evident lack of skill. This was a mistake. I never should have let him goad me out here.

Noah skates around me, effortlessly turning his feet outwards to slow himself before sliding to a smooth stop, sending ice shavings scattering across the glossy surface of the rink. He looks back at me with a playful smile, taking in my awkward, shaky form as I struggle to maintain my balance on the slippery ice. I clutch the wall, my legs stiff and tense, my movements rigid and unstable. Noah glides back over to me, the blades of his skates slicing rhythmic patterns into the ice, and holds out his gloved hands, wiggling his fingers invitingly. "Here," he says, his voice warm and reassuring.

I eye his outstretched hands warily, hesitating. A painful memory surfaces of myself as an awkward thirteen year old girl, when a boy in skating class had offered to help me up, only to let go and trip me instead. I had fallen hard on the unforgiving ice, the wind knocked out of me, my pride injured far more than my body. I had never forgotten that humiliating experience, and since then, I harshly refused any offer of help when trying to skate, not trusting anyone to not let me fall.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Noah grumbles, breaking me out of my bitter recollections. Not waiting for me to decide, he takes my hands firmly in his, enveloping my fingers in the soft wool of his gloves. Then he begins skating backwards, pulling me along with him, his strokes smooth and steady. My legs tremble violently, overtaken by the fear of falling and I cling to his hands for dear life, as if I'm moments from plunging to my death. My ankles wobble and feet slip on my first few strides, struggling to find my balance. But Noah's graceful momentum carries us, and slowly I feel my legs begin to glide in sync with his, my rigid muscles easing. My confidence builds as Noah patiently guides me around the rink, the ice smoothly passing beneath me.

“I figured the coach’s daughter would know how to skate.” he teased. I rolled my eyes at his assumption that just because my dad was the hockey coach, I would naturally be an expert skater myself. Sure, growing up as the coach's daughter, I had spent countless hours at the rink, watching practices and games from the stands. And yes, I had even taken some basic skating lessons as a kid. But that was years ago now, and so much had changed since then.

“It’s been a while,” I countered, “I had other things going on.”

“Let me guess,” he looked at the white leather of my skates and smiled, “Figure skating.”

“Nope. Just lessons.” The truth was, once I hit high school, skating had faded into the background. I became absorbed in academics, friendships, and other activities that didn't involve blades on my feet and cold rinks. Sure, I had taken some recreational lessons here and there to appease my dad, but nothing stuck. “Dad really wasn’t a fan of figure skating, some unspoken rivalry with Hockey I think.”

My hold on Noah’s hands relaxed as we glided hand-in-hand across the ice rink, my fingers barely holding onto his gloved hands anymore. As we swayed our hips in unison, Noah gently turned our wrists, overlaying our hands before interlacing our fingers together. His soft yet firm grip provided a sense of security and balance as he led us around the rink, periodically looking back over his shoulder to navigate and ensure we wouldn't crash.

“And mom?”

“Mom wasn’t, the mom type.” I confessed with a sigh. I felt a familiar pang of sadness in my chest at the thought, dropping my head a little in shame. Noah raised an eyebrow, prompting me to reluctantly explain further. “Divorce. Just before I was twelve. Mom moved down to Florida with her new boyfriend, got the occasional birthday card then silence.”

“I get that,” Noah nodded in understanding, releasing our clasped hands so we could skate shoulder-to-shoulder, my legs now gliding on their own as we lazily circled the rink.

"Your mom too?" I asked gently.

"Dad," he replied tersely. "Wasn't the dad type. Mom did her best, but I lost her." His words sank in, my own petty grievances seeming trivial in comparison. While my mother may have been absent, at least she was still living. Noah had no one left, both parents gone, leaving him truly alone in the world. A swell of empathy rose within me, along with a new appreciation for the family I still had, dysfunctional as we may be.

As we glide, our skates' soft swish and measured breathing form a quiet harmony. All too soon, our wordless waltz comes to an end. I make my way to the bench on rubbery legs, fumbling with the laces and easing my numb feet from the rigid boots. Noah gathers his stick and returns to his solitary target practice, slapping puck after puck into the empty net with a methodical rhythm. The sharp crack of composite meeting vulcanized rubber echoes through the cavernous arena. I watch him for a moment, marveling at his self-contained focus. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I turn to leave, savoring the lingering chill on my cheeks. But then his voice stops me - that gentle tenor tone that never fails to make me shiver.

"Sarah," he says, my name emerging soft as a caress from his lips. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #bad omens band #hockey player noah #hockey #bad omens au #bad omens smut #hockey romance #hockeyomens #hockey player!noah #badomensau #hockey!au #hockey player x reader #hockeyromance #bad omens bandom

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cookiesupplier · 2 days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I feel the need to scream but nothing comes out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Going back would be cat-astrophic."

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #wonderland!au #alice in wonderland retelling #bad omens smut #bad omens au #wonderland!omens #madhatter!noah #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction

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cookiesupplier · 2 days

Text

Sharp Dressed Man

Pairing: Nick Folio x Reader

Content Warnings: mention of smoking (weed), suggestive tones

Word Count: 552

A/N: just a quick something :)

Tag list: @circle-with-me @foliosriot @cookiesupplier @concretenoah @sitkowski @missduffsblog @ladyveronikawrites @meekahy @baddestomens @dominuslunae @poisongirl616 @deathblacksmoke @Gretavanomens @shilohrosechicken @sprokat

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Folio Masterlist

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Nick’s voice carried through your shared bedroom.

“Almost!” You replied, struggling with the clasp of your necklace.

You looked towards him to ask for help but lost your words.

He was rolling up the sleeve of his black button up, the tattoos on his forearm on full display. It hugged his body nicely. Nick wore the dark denim jeans you had to convince him to buy—he even wore the dress shoes he begrudgingly bought as well. His thick, heavy silver chain, dangling cross earring, and slicked back hair completed his look.

Oblivious to your gawking, Nick smiled at you, eyes soft and full of unconditional love.

“Need some help?” He asked, finished with his sleeve.

You nodded, still unable to speak.

In a few short strides, he stood behind you. Even after his shower, you still could smell the joint he had earlier in the day, mingling with the overwhelming heady scent of his aftershave and cologne. Some might think Nick wore far too much, but you would gladly suffocate and drown in him.

There was no way to describe his intoxicating scent. It was so uniquely him—all man and woodsy outdoors, but also the soft, gentle and warm comfort of a sweater fresh from the dryer. You’d even come to love the permanence of his weed. Somehow it tied everything altogether in a neat, pretty little gift topped with a bow.

He took the necklace from you, fumbling with the clasp. You watched his reflection and the creasing of his expression as his fingers struggled to work. Eventually, he secured the jewelry with a proud smile. Nick settled his warm hands on your shoulders and affectionately squeezed. His eyes met yours in the mirror.

“You look wonderful.” He pressed a tender kiss to the back of your head.

“Thank you,” you said, placing a hand over his, “So do you.”

Nick kissed your cheek, a tooth rottingly sweet smile accompanying.

Your eyes fell to his hands, just now noticing that he’d found the time to have them done. The red almost matched that of your outfit perfectly. He followed your gaze then held out a hand so you could see. Your cheeks flushed as images of his manicured hands roaming your sink, his pretty nails digging into the flesh of your thighs and ass, caressing the most intimate parts of you.

“Do you like it?” His voice was low, almost a rumble in your ear. It made your heart pick up its pace.

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. The simple “yeah” struggled past your lips, the sound so quiet and minuscule, you wondered if Nick heard.

A glint flashed in his brown eyes, knowing and intent. As if he knew where your mind would wander next, he delicately placed his hand on your neck, fingers wrapping and splaying tenderly around. The years of calloused skin from working on his bike to his drums to whatever wilderness survival he taught himself felt blissfully unholy. Your eyes briefly fluttered as he squeezed just ever so. It was hardly enough to be considered choking, but still your breath halted.

“I should do my nails more often,” Nick rasped, his words blazing a trail of fire down your neck. “I like the way my hand looks around your throat.”

#nick folio x reader #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #nick folio fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic

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