#Depression & Other Magic Tricks

[shadesofblue7]

Benaim, Sabrina. "(i)." Depression & Other Magic Tricks.

[cityofchapin]

"another plain truth" by Sabrina Benaim

"another plain truth"we hugged.it was a good hut.if there is such a thing as a hug so good i did not wish it were a kiss Benaim, Sabrina. “another plain truth.” Depression & Other Magic Tricks, Button Poetry, 2017, p. 41.

[clown-bimbo]

Despite being transmigrated to a world of magic almost completely different to your own, with a rich history and culture you know nothing about, you are still expected to go to school.

And you can't even get any of your medications for it.

You're like halfway through the school year, and you are stressed. Maybe that's putting it nicely. You are stressed, pressed, and depressed, and studying for a history test of a world you were never a part of. And on top of all the typical school bullshit, there's also your social life, Grim, whatever bullshit Crowley throws your way. There's also the crushing dread you'll never get home again, and the depression that comes with your situation and oh yeah the depression that runs rampant in your brain without the proper chemicals to tell it to shut up.

You're fuckin S T R E S S E D.

And your buddies are starting to notice it.

Hi, and welcome to the first horny addition to Stuck In TWST Without Meds. Today we'll be taking a look at how Cater, Trey, Leona, Rook, Vil, Idia, and Malleus might fuck your brains out to distract you from the fucking everything in your life.

18+ content below the cut. minors, this one isn't for you

all characters (including you) are 18+. established relationships.

In hindsight I don't think this is at all "smutty" enough so I'm sorry!!! But I'm really proud of how each one ends. Might go back and make them smuttier or make a smuttier part two idk but I like how it is rn

🍀

Trey already typically stays up fairly late, what with vice housewarden duties and all, but he's surprised to find you have him beat. When he left you in his room, it was with your promise that you'd be done in a minute. Buy he was gone for a good half hour longer than 'a minute', and there you were, still at his desk, furiously scribbling away with bags under your eyes.

Cute.

You don't even notice when he comes up from behind you to place a small kiss on your cheek.

"I think it's about time for bed, prefect."

"Just a minute."

"That's what you said an hour ago."

That gets you to actually look at the time. You whimper at the hour gone (and little progress made), but brush him off.

"It'll only take a minute."

Trey sighs and shakes his head.

He considers for a second leaving you be, but this is the man who got Riddle away from studying for treats. He's got tricks up his sleeve. Though he is about to use some very different tricks for you.

It starts with his hands on your shoulders. Innocent little rubs to your shoulders. Another kiss to your cheek. A kiss to your jaw. A kiss to your neck... that sweet spot between your neck and shoulder. A nibble.

His hands are moving, too. From your shoulders, to your biceps. Soon he's taking your hand in his, holding it up to his lips.

"Trey--"

"Yes?"

"W-what," You suck in a breath as he leaves another love bite on your neck. "What are you doing?"

He simply hums.

His other hand gets to your thigh.

Your pen is abandoned.

💎

Cater whines your name from his spot on his bed.

"Just a second, Cater."

"But that's what you said an hour ago!"

He has that adorable look in his eyes, and if you'd only look at him!!! he KNOWS he'd have you in his hands.

But you won't, and he doesn't.

He flops back onto the bed with a sigh.

Until he gets an idea.

For a second, one foolish second, you think you have peace. Until you start hearing a quiet but telltale shlick shlick shlick.

His breathing starts to quicken. Then he's oanting. Soon you can hear quiet moans escape his lips.

And you can hear your name as well.

God damn it.

Cater grins as you finally get up from his desk.

🦁

Your stress is stressing Leona out.

He's lounging on his bed while you work on studying for Trein's test. Leona commented that you're taking freshman history, which is "baby stuff" to which you reminded him "I AM LITERALLY NOT FROM THIS WORLD, LEONA." And, to his credit, he did try to tutor you, but Leona is the kind of tutor that only works for certain individuals and you, bless your heart, are not that type.

So he gave up (lazy lion) while you continued to work. But he can basically hear your cogs turning from his spot and it's just not productive for either of you.

So, with a growl, Leona grabs you by the collar, only to start aggressively unbuttoning it.

"Leona-"

"Shut up."

"Leona, I-"

To which you are met with a 'shut up' kiss.

But you're pretty quick to forgive him once he has you on your knees under him.

"You're working too hard, Herbivore." He grunts from over you. "Give that little brain of yours a break and let me do all the work, alright?"

🏹

It's already difficult for you to continue studying when you have Rook whispering all sorts of French terms of endearment into your ear.

He's all over you, trying to coax you away from work and into bed with massages and the aforementioned French nothings.

Nothing.

He sighs, leaning back.

Until a wicked little idea brings a grin to his face.

"Mon amour," He whispers, to which you hum in reply. "I'm going to get a snack." Another hum.

A second later you feel a hand at your pants zipper. You look down to see none other than Rook, of course, hitting you with a closed eyed smile.

👑

Vil had been helping you with your homework. Bit even after he had stopped to get changed for bed, you had kept to it. And now you had vil worried about you. While he respected your gumption, you weren't going to get anything out of staying up all night and worrying yourself. You had used up your productive hours (quite productively, he would like to add) and now it is time for sleep.

He calls your name once.

...

Oh, this will not do.

He stalks over to you. He reaches out with one perfectly manicured hand and traces your jawline.

"Darling," He purrs. "It's time for bed."

"I cant." You reply. "I-"

"Uh, uh, uh, uh." He brings a slender finger to your lips. He takes your chin between his fingers and turns you to look at him.

"It's time for bed." He repeats. "Are you going to behave for me, or am I going to have to show a naughty little spud its place?"

💀

Let's be real, Idia's probably not going to sleep at a reasonable time, but he's also not staying up stewing over homework. If he's gonna have you staying up all night in his room with him it's gonna be—

W-w-w-wait, not like that!!! He was gonna say if you're gonna be staying up all night with him it would be cuz you're playing videos games! That's all!!

Oh, but now he's thinking about it... but you're working... ugh, but it's such beginner knowledge! But you're so focused... you... you wouldn't notice if he–

But you do notice. You do notice the 6 foot tall flaming haired nerd (affectionate) humping against you. It would be harder not to notice.

🐉

Malleus is concerned about his precious child of man. He can see how stressed you are. How hard you work. He wants nothing more than alleviate the troubles plaguing your mind.

And Lilia had a... curious suggestion.

Youre working away within your own dorm room when there's a knock at your door.

Malleus grins down at you.

"May I come in?"

And you say yes.

You worry about your work left upstairs, but you play the role of gracious host and prepare him a cup of tea. He takes a seat.

"You've been troubled recently." He notes.

You sigh. "I've just been stressed with all this work."

"I see." He's silent for a moment. "I dont like seeing you in so much distress." He confesses. "Might I offer my assistance?"

You blink. "Oh, sure. Yes, I'd love that. Thank you." You expect he's going to help you study.

You do not expect, however, for him to press you up against a wall and his lips against yours.

[neverniko101]

Doing Luminswap stuff in this style cuz a comic would be too much work TwT

Story:

Quasar and Nebula were twin orphaned skeletons who didn’t have anyone but each other. Quasar worked as a street cleaner but barely made any money, so Nebula turned to mugging and stealing to support them, soon forming a gang of sorts. Quasar quickly found out about this and begged Nebula to stop, but they needed the money to survive and Nebula refused. Quasar felt awful that he couldn’t take care of his brother and couldn’t stop him from hurting others, blaming himself for everything. Tensions between the two continued to rise as Quasar grew more depressed and Nebula more bitter.

One day while escaping from Royal Guards, Nebula stumbled across a huge tree filled with golden apples and guarded by a massive dragon. According to local legend, the apples granted unimaginable power to those who ate them, but the sacred dragon only gave them to those it thought deserving. Overcome by greed, Nebula brought both Quasar and a young Guard named Filigree to the cave, telling them that the dragon had been ravaging the local villages and needed to be killed immediately. Despite Quasar immediately seeing through his brother’s lie and warning Filigree, the young Guard was so desperate to prove himself that he slayed the dragon without hesitation. In addition to being very illegal, the slaying of a dragon imbues the slayer with the dragon’s magic and soul, forever scarring them with scales.

While Quasar was trying to help Filigree as he painfully sprouted scales and fangs, Nebula took the opportunity to start eating the apples. While shadowy veins began to curl across his bones, the full effect of the magic hadn’t taken place when a group of Royal Guards rushed into the scene. Barely managing to hide the tree and remaining 50% of apples before being taken away, the twins had a shouting match mid-arrest as Nebula found out that Quasar had been the one to call the Guards, both claiming that their actions were for the sake of the other and that they were betraying them. Nebula was taken to the Royal jail, Filigree to a doctor, and Quasar was allowed to leave.

When they discovered that Nebula was the leader of the gang that was the source of much of the Kingdom’s crime in addition to being responsible for the murder of a dragon and Filigree’s scarring, The King sentenced Nebula to death. Upon finding this out, Quasar was absolutely distraught, unable to eat or sleep for days. Upon being beheaded, the magic from eating the apples exploded out of Nebula, turning him into a shadowy beast covered with spindly tentacles and uncountable eyes. Nobody knows what exactly happened afterwards, only that Nebula fled into the forest with the axe used to kill him and covered in blood, the King, Captain of the Guard, and anyone else present never to be seen again.

Nebula was immediately accused of murdering the King and Captain and hunted by Guards. Managing to contain the overflowing magic and revert to a somewhat normal form, Nebula ran to the only place he thought was safe, he and Quasar’s house. Quasar, upon hearing of the murder his brother was accused of and finding Nebula on his doorstep covered in blood and head reattached, freaked out quite a lot. Nebula, extremely traumatized and upset, accused Quasar about not caring about him, second shouting match ensued, and Nebula ran away after disowning his brother. Quasar understandably loses his shit and eats the other 50% of the apples, turning into owl jester man and joining the King’s son Aster and Filigree as they try to fix the Kingdom and also catch Nebula. Nebula befriends Lark, a doctor gathering rare ingredients to cure Filigree, and Abyss, a dark priest. Chaos ensues.

Folktale:

(The rumor that the public says)

There once were two twins, one a shadowy trickster named Nebula. Out of greed for the legendary golden apples, he tricked his brother and a brave knight into killing the dragon that guarded them, taking all the apples for himself. After killing the other two, he attempted to flee the scene before being caught by the guards and executed. Because of all the dark magic, though, he transformed into a beast instead of dying and murdered the King, Captain, and anyone near before escaping into the woods. He now lurks in the shadows, devouring any human or monster that strays too far into the forest.

Characters:

Quasar:

Pronouns: he/they/it

Height: 5’6” (pre apples)/8’3” (post apples)

- He just wants everyone to be happy.

- Works for Prince Aster as a Court Jester and advisor

- Feeds off and senses positive emotions

- Has the habit of kidnapping sad people and keeping them in the castle gardens until he releases them

- The ribbons are prehensile and can grab stuff

- Very jingly whenever they move

- Physically cannot close eyes or stop smiling (unless EXTREMELY upset)

Nebula:

Pronouns: he/they

Height: 5’2” (pre apples)/5’5” (post apples)/7’4” (beast)

- Very grumpy 24/7, hates most people (but not as much as he hates themself)

- Feeds off & senses negative emotions

- The corrupted magic from the apples is concentrated in his right eye and very sensitive to light, so covering it helps him stay calm & Magic explodes from there when startled or upset

- Constantly on the run from Royal Guards and moves from place to place constantly, acting as basically a vigilante

- Physically unable to lie

- Shadows & tendrils can take on any shape & randomly sprout eyes, can also access a hammer space storage that drains the magic of whatever’s inside it

- His head’s still not fully reattached so he keeps it secure with a little bandana

Filigree:

Pronouns: he/him

Height: 6’9”

- Became Captain of the Royal Guard after the previous one’s disappearance

- Wants to capture Nebula on the desperate hope that he knows the cure (also he’s pissed at getting tricked)

- Scales continue to spread, in addition to being itchy they represent the dragon’s soul overpowering his body, give him episodes of irrational anger and animal instincts

- Is actually a silly fella who really just wants to help people, he doesn’t deserve this :(

- He doesn’t realize that Quasar is Nebula’s brother- nobody really does except Aster

- Best friends with Lark, the plague doctor

Abyss:

Pronouns: he/it

Height: 6’8”

- Alchemist and Priest of the Dark God

- Chaotic little shit

- Wanted by both the Royal Guard and the Cult of the Dark God for using ancient black magic to make his cat immortal

- Was captured by Royal Guards and freed by Nebula, feels like it owes him a debt

Lark:

Pronouns: they/it

Height: 5’2”

- Plague doctor

- Just a little guy

- From far outside the kingdom, came here to study & befriended Filigree (the only person actually nice to it)

- Wants to cure Filigree, but most ingredients of the cure are rare, illegal, or expensive since so they have to use unconventional means

(Prince) Aster:

Pronouns: he/they/it

Height: 4’0”

- Son of the missing King

- The Kingdom used to follow the Dark God, but a ritual involving the fallen human ended in the human’s death and Aster losing the majority of their soul. Following the Dark God was outlawed and Aster ran away to train as a Royal Guard, only returning after the King went missing and the Queen ran away.

- Drains the color out of things they are around for too long

Chips & Mocha:

Pronouns: he/they (Mocha), she/her (Chips)

Height (Mocha): 6’6”

- Ranger of the woods

- Takes care of Chips (Abyss’ immortal cat) while Abyss is on the run

- Runs a cafe with Fen

Fen:

Pronouns: he/they

Height: 5’5”

- color sans but his bones exploded

- just a guy

- Runs a cafe with Mocha

Castor:

Pronouns: he/they

Height: 4’3”

- Force of chaos

[vera-deville]

Between Worlds, Between Words

04/14/2025

Pairing: N/A Word Count: 1,829 Warnings: Depression that builds up from the fact that you're in a world that's not yours Gender: Gender Neutral Tags: @qaxdea, @katzline, @die-remastered Notes: Totally didn't take me like two years to write this. Inspired by this. Masterlist

It all began with a history lecture.

Professor Trein was going on and on (passionately, as always), about the Seven Great Sorcerers and the founding of the Queendom of Roses. Something-something ancient magic, something-something territorial disputes. You weren't sure. It all sounded like the dramatic backstory of an MMO.

You blinked down at your notes. You had written Queendom of Roses five times in a row, underlined one of them, and then - without fully realizing it - drawn an itty-bitty round-headed T-Rex beside the word. Your pencil hovered. You stared at the creation.

That was the moment you'd pinpoint.

The moment you realized you hadn't thought about dinosaurs or anything of the sort in weeks. Not a single pterodactyl. Not a single deinosuchus. Not a single Berthasaura leopoldinae. You used to be able to rattle off entire prehistoric eras like a party trick.

And now?

Now you were sitting in a gothic castle-school in another dimension, learning about long-dead magic monarchs, while wearing a uniform that quite literally had gold embroidery.

You raised your hand.

Trein, ever the professional, paused mid-sentence and looked up from his book. "Yes, Y/N?"

"Do you..." Your voice was very calm, very reasonable. "Do you know what dinosaurs are?" You waited for him to cause your world to crash down (and further cause you to crash out in the middle of a classroom, of all places).

The classroom fell silent. Deuce blinked at you from across the aisle. Ace looked up from where he was doodling something suspiciously inappropriate in the margins of his textbook. A few heads tilted. Professor Trein furrowed his brow.

"Dinosaurs?" He repeated.

You nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Y'know. Giant lizards? Extinct? Kind of a big deal where I'm from."

"I suppose you must be referring to the draconic species," Trein said slowly. "Dragons were once prominent in the Land of Briar, but-"

"No. No, no, no. Not dragons." You waved your hand. "They didn't have magic or fire-breathing. They just...ran around and roared and occasionally ate each other. Real chill. They had feathers sometimes. I think? And they're all dead. Very important part."

Trein blinked at you, confused. "I've never heard of such a creature."

You nodded again, eyes wide. "Yeah. That tracks. That definitely tracks."

And then you laughed.

It wasn't a cute laugh. Not a giggle. Certainly not a dainty little chuckle. No, it was a full-body, slightly breathless guffaw that escaped from your chest like it had been trying to get out for days. You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified, but it was too late. The dam had burst. You were cracking up in the middle of lecture like a sitcom character who finally snapped.

"Oh my God," You wheezed, "I'm losing it. I'm actually going insane. This is my villain origin story."

Trein just looked tired.

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You didn't get detention, miraculously. (Trein may have chalked it up to "dimensional stress" and decided not to poke the hornet's nest).

But it was only the first domino in a long, long line.

The rest fell fairly quickly.

Later that day, at lunch, you tried to make a joke about TikTok and go blank stares from every single table. You had something dumb like "It's giving ✨depression✨" and the silence that followed was deafening.

Even Grim had paused mid-bite. "Giving what now?"

You wanted to scream. Instead, you chuckled weakly and pretended to choke on your food.

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"Do you ever," You muttered to Ace and Deuce one day while walking back from Alchemy, "make a really niche reference and then realize - oh. I'm all alone. No one here gets it. I'm never going to have a meme-based conversation again."

Ace shrugged. "You could just make a new meme?"

"That's not how that works!" You cried, clutching your textbook like a lifeline. "They're...they're communal! They're sacred!"

"Maybe you oughtta get used to the memes here then. Dunno what you're complaining about."

Deuce patted your back with a concerned frown. "Maybe you should take a nap."

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It would've been bearable, maybe, if you didn't keep catching yourself saying things no one understood.

Once, in P.E., you muttered, "I'd sell my soul for a Baja Blast right now," after running laps.

Cater turned to you. "What kind of spell is that?"

You nearly bit your tongue.

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There were good days, sure. Days when the chaos of NRC felt almost normal, the strange magic of the world you'd landed in had a fairytale charm. You even liked it sometimes. The floating candles, the enchanted mirror, the weirdly attractive student body (seriously, what on Earth was in the water here?).

But then something would happen - a throwaway line from a friend, a specific smell, a distant memory - and the homesickness would sucker-punch you in the gut.

You missed your old phone. You missed a steady flow of electricity. You missed your precious animes from back home. You missed complaining about anything and everything to your friends in your group chat at 2 in the bloody morning. You missed sending them cursed memes and sobbing over fictional characters they knew you'd been in love with since forever.

You missed feeling understood.

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You think the final straw was a joke.

Ace said something stupid and punny in class. Something about cauldrons and bad grades - classic Ace. Everyone laughed.

You didn't.

Not because it wasn't funny. You figured maybe it was. Surely it had to be, with the reaction of your classmates. But you didn't get it.

You didn't understand the slang. The reference. The cultural context.

So you just sat there, frozen in place, smile tight and fake, and your laughter coming out a few seconds too late.

You felt weirdly hollow.

Not the dramatic, tragic kind of hollow. Just the kind where something that should've made you feel warm instead made you feel like a cracked mug. Still functioning. Still upright. But leaking a little.

And of course, Professor Trein noticed.

He didn't say anything at first, just gave you a quiet, thoughtful look before resuming the lecture. You sat up straighter. Tried to look attentive.

But even so, at the end of class, while everyone packed up their books and filtered out of the room in clusters of laughter and inside jokes, Trein called your name.

"Y/N," He said, tone gentle enough that you flinched a little.

You turned, your bag slung over one shoulder. "Yes, Professor?"

"If you're not in a rush," He said, adjusting his glasses, "would you...care to join me for tea this afternoon?"

You blinked. "Oh. Uh. Sure. Is this - like - a detention-in-disguise kind of tea or...?"

He chuckled softly. "No punishment involved, I assure you."

So that was how you found yourself, after classes ended, sitting in the most scholarly little office you'd ever seen, across a worn oak desk from Professor Trein, with two steaming teacups between you.

Grim of course, had no reason to be there, so it was just you, Trein, and Lucius - who sat on the windowsill like a furry, judgemental gargoyle.

Trein poured your tea and added a sugar cube to his own with great precision. His movements reminded you greatly of Vil.

"I find," He said slowly, "that I don't understand half the things my students say anymore."

You blinked.

"They speak in riddles," He continued, "about things I cannot begin to visualize. They once referred to something as 'mid." I assumed it meant middling, perhaps average. But then I was told - by Ruggie, I believe - that it was an insult?"

You snorted. "Oh, yeah. 'Mid' is like the fancy new word for 'meh.' A good way to start a fight in a cafeteria."

Trein's eyes twinkled. "Yes. Precisely. I've taught for nearly four decades and still find myself utterly baffled by whatever new linguistic virus has infected the student body."

You laughed - genuinely, this time.

"I don't get any of their references either," You admitted. "But, like...from the opposite direction. I say stuff and they look at me like I've sprouted wings."

Trein leaned back in his chair. "I did wonder about your question in class earlier this week. About...dinosaurs, was it?"

"Oh my god, yes!" You set your teacup down. "They don't know what dinosaurs are, Professor. Dinosaurs! Like - prehistoric lizards! We have museums about them! They've made animated movies!

"Fascinating," He said, and it was clear he meant it.

"They thought I was talking about dragons," You muttered, sinking in your chair. "I nearly cried."

Trein's mouth quirked into a small smile. "It must be terribly isolating."

Your shoulders tensed. "Sometimes I don't feel like a person here. I feel like a joke. Like a weird little artifact that fell out of some ancient time machine and nobody's quite sure how to categorize."

"You're not a joke," He said, kind but firm. "You're someone trying to survive in a world that was no built for you."

That hit you right in the gut.

Lucius lept off the windowsill and sidled your leg, promptly resting his head near your foot. You sipped your tea quietly for a moment.

"...Thanks," You said, voice a little hoarse. "I think I needed to hear that."

He nodded, then tilted his head, thoughtful. "Would you be willing to tell me more about your world?"

You blinked. "Wait, really?"

"I may be old, but I've always valued learning," He said. "And you're a living library of knowledge we've never had access to before."

You grinned. "Okay, then. Where do I start?"

You ended up talking until the sun dipped low in the sky. You explained your version of the internet, social media, reality TV, electric cars, and theme parks. You showed him how memes worked. You drew a rough sketch of a dinosaur. You explained your favorite movies, and how music was streamed, and how cooking shows were a national obsession. Trein took notes with the fascinated curiosity of someone rediscovering the joy of being a student.

He, in turn, told you stories about past generations of students. About how the slang used to be different even back then, about the way magic has changed, and about the first time Lucius clawed someone in the middle of class for disrespecting history.

You both laughed a lot.

You scratched Lucius behind his ears for a bit, allowing the soft purrs to lull you further into your feelings. The conversation was exactly what you needed. As you left his office, you heard him say, "You are more than welcome to come to me for anything you may need. I am more than willing to explain the ways of this world to you so that you may pass your classes."

As you walked back to your dorm, the castle halls a little quieter, a little softer in the dimming light, you didn't feel so lonely.

Not everyone got you.

But someone was trying.

And for now...that was more than enough.

Author's Note: I'd just like to say that I genuinely think that Twisted Wonderland had dinosaurs and that their existence has long been known worldwide, etc. I like to further think that modern-day dragons (as rare as they may be) are descendants of old-day dinosaurs and that they somehow magically evolved into dragons. Having said that, I thought it would be admittedly funnier if the Reader found out that the people of Twisted Wonderland don't know anything about dinosaurs, and they crash out because of it. So, I went with that for this story!

Masterlist

[pigfacedbitch]

I Worship You

summary : they fell in love with a Greek deity.

word count : 0.8k

type : headcanons

pairing/s : Jason Grace / Percy Jackson x Goddess! Reader

warning/s : large age gaps (lol).

here's my masterlist!

Note : I will also be posting the same idea with Nico, Leo, Frank, and Will.

Jason Grace

You were a Camp Jupiter regular. VIP access. Eternal backstage pass.

Unlike the other gods who ghosted their kids harder than a bad Tinder date, you actually cared about demigods.

Probably because you were one, back in your 'mortal coil' phase.

You knew the struggle. The whole, 'my divine parent left me a prophecy and trauma' starter pack.

The joy of being chased around by monsters while trying to survive longer than Zeus' affairs with women.

Jason first saw you and thought, "Wow, that’s the prettiest counselor I’ve ever seen."

He was just a kid. You were immortal. It was awkward.

The camp had to break the news that you were a literal deity because of Jason’s intense puppy dog crush, and the poor guy almost got zapped into the next reincarnation.

Reyna never lets him live it down. She brings it up during arguments to win.

"You know I’m right, Reyna."

"Fine, but remember when you almost got yeeted with your own lightning because you’re a simp?"

"I was ten!"

It works every time.

As he aged like fine wine (or a stressed Roman soldier), his teen crush evolved.

Your acceptance made him feel seen and understood. It's all he ever wanted.

Jason doesn’t just want your guidance anymore; he wants your love.

He is reminded everyday that supposed to be the perfect Roman, the champion of the gods, a celestial poster child.

But secretly? He prays to you more than any of them.

Not in the "Hey, can you back me up so I don't die?" kind of way. More like "ANYTHING FOR YOU, BEYONCE!" kind of devotion.

You’re having an existential crisis because you practically watched him grow up.

It felt questionable.

"I’ve been around before your puberty."

"Now, I’m emotionally and physically available. Growth."

"I raised you!"

"And I’m trying to wife you up. Can we please just move on?"

You were ancient. Like 'I knew Kronos when he had abs' ancient.

Jason didn’t care.

His whole life was a checklist of what others expected from him.

He had been a puppet his whole life.

Choosing you was finally something he wanted for himself.

It felt like rebellion and therapy.

And once you gave in? Oh, boy.

The golden retriever in Roman armor became yours. Completely, irrevocably, gloriously yours.

Sure, he still does heroic stuff, but you’re his top priority.

Zeus and Hera were livid.

You 'stole their chosen one', or as Hera puts it, "MY PRECIOUS BLOND TROPHY!"

They called you a temptress, a manipulator, basically what they are.

You called them irrelevant.

Because what could they do? Smite you? You've survived worse.

Percy Jackson

You've been his spiritual stalker since Quest #1.

Not in a creepy way, more like a magical support staff that whispers, "You got this!" before he punches a hydra in the face.

Unlike other gods who appear just to flex and disappear like flaky Instagram influencers, you helped from the shadows.

No appearances. No booming voices from the sky. Just vibes.

Whenever he was scared, you sent him courage.

When he was hopeless, you slipped in a little optimism.

When he was depressed, you were the cosmic version of a comfort blanket.

Percy didn’t trust it.

The gods never do nice things without expecting a thank-you fruit basket, or a blood sacrifice.

Yet you did.

So naturally, he did what any traumatized teenager would do: scream "SUS! THIS IS SUS!" in his cabin like he’s playing Among Us at 3AM.

Curiosity got the best of him, so he tried the classic 'summon the mysterious deity' trick. "Hey, mystery spirit! Can you show up before I call customer service?"

Motherfucker even used an Ouija board.

You didn’t show up.

Then he realized you only appear when he’s in real danger.

He decided right then and there that the best way to summon you like some divine Pokemon was to almost die.

Multiple times.

"Hey, Percy, maybe try not to die just to talk to your celestial crush?"

"Grover, let me have this."

When you finally appeared before him, furious and radiating 'I could kill you myself' look, he was dumbfounded.

Not by your glare, but by your beauty. You were beyond words. Probably a good thing, because his brain was busy rebooting.

Hearing his full name made him fall harder, honestly.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, PERSEUS JACKSON?!"

"That I missed you?"

From that point on, he kept 'accidentally' stumbling into peril just to get your attention.

You two became… familiar.

Extremely so.

The more you appeared, the deeper he fell.

When Percy realized he was in love, it wasn’t fireworks or cheesy Disney dance numbers, just serenity.

Just a calm, warm feeling in his chest that said, 'This is home.'

"Are you glowing or did I just eat too many pizzas?"

"That’s eight boxes."

"Shhh. I was trying to flirt."

For the first time, he didn’t feel like he had to fight, to prove, to perform.

You were the calm in his chaotic life.

The eye of the storm.

His little slice of paradise in a life full of monsters, trauma, and water-based destruction. His divine chill pill.

And if anyone tries to mess with that?

Let’s just say he didn’t inherit all of Poseidon’s chaos juice for nothing (Alexa, play Ruthlessness from EPIC: The Musical).

Because Percy’s got two moods: goofy, surfer dude from Manhattan and eldritch hurricane who tortured Akhlys in Tartarus.

Choose wisely.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

What would the twins' reactions be to seeing the whole... reader trying to unalive themselves thing? (follow up to the Jamil and Rook reacting)

The tweels hmmmn....

Wouldn't one of them [both, I mean-] be like, "thats a weak move" and then feel bad afterwards because it hits them right in the feels? [SPECIFICALLY, when you guys are close platonically or/and a love interest].

Like, as mentioned Floyd would take it out on Yuu for doing these things to koebi-chan [am I bringing this back? Yes, i love this one more than the shrimpy, but it'll depend if i want to switch again].

Dare he say reader's name? No, not yet at least. He needs ta get to know you first before calling your name out like he had known you for years.

Jade on the other hand, seems more composed, calculating,,, planning to make a disappearing magic trick on Yuu and show it to you, reader. But, for now let them deal with the current situation. That memory.

Both the tweels was in fact, not happy from the fsct that they witness your unhealthy behavior. You wanted to die. And that... they don't want that. They met you, decided you'll be theirs [depends on what this means to u], and keep you with them. They don't like it. That rope.

Now they'll have to inspect reader's pockets or room JUST in case they kept something in there,, similar to what they saw in that memory dream.

Because, yk.. when you get too depressed and feel unsalvagable, you'll be like that bird inside a cage with ripped wings. Your eyes look as if they had no hope at all. And they are willing to bring that back to you.

[justhereforthemeta]

Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball. 

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché. 

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. 

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967: 

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once. 

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat. 

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution. 

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!? 

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save. 

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

[msmk11]

okay so hear me out for an angst idea. remus x muggle reader. they’re dating and so in love and she doesn’t know he’s a wizard or werewolf yet. all of the sudden he shuts her out (cause he’s scared to tell them) and she’s stressing thinking he’s done w her and go from there where you please 😘

(also feel free to make gender neutral i just used she pronouns bc that’s what i use lol)

Magic Tricks

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

WC: 2k

CW: Angst; hurt/comfort; Remus doesn’t know how to communicate

A/n: thank you for the request lovely! I definitely tried to make it angsty, but I didn’t wanna prolong it cuz I know Remus would be trying to remedy the problem ASAP!! I hope you enjoy

The first day or so of silence you give him an out, figuring something is going on. But when he still doesn’t reach out after four days, a pit of dread begins to fill your stomach. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened to you. Not with Remus, obviously, but with other boyfriends. Disinterest was always the first step, and then silence, and then the inevitable “it’s not you, it’s me.” You just don’t understand what you could’ve done wrong. Things with Remus, at least you thought, were going well. Great, even. You were certain he was going to be the one you would marry. But now? Now you’re not so sure.

Instead of spending Friday night depressed and alone, you tag along after work to the company’s happy hour. You hope it’ll get your mind off your suddenly distant boyfriend and even help you loosen up.

You’re sitting at a table chatting with some girls from your department about one of their annoying neighbors when the restaurant door opens again and a chilly breeze blows through. You tighten your jacket as you look up at the brisk intrusion and falter There, getting seated by the hostess, is Remus. With another girl. 10,000 emotions are swirling through you, but the worst by far is shock.

Your shoulder is shaken, “hey, you okay?”

Your throat constricts in your chest and you’re not sure you can respond to your concerned coworker, “hmm?”

“You don’t look so good” another says.

“I- I’m sorry I just, I just saw my boyfriend, over there, and he’s with another girl.”

A plethora of protests and groans of disgust emit from your friends but you tune them all out. You’re hurt and confused, and before you know it, your legs have carried you over to where Remus and this redhead girl are sitting.

“Remus?”

You hate how hoarse your voice comes out, and your stomach twists in embarrassment.

The brunette’s head snaps up, eyes meeting yours and widening, “dove?”

Your eyes flit between the happy pair and you scoff, “funny seeing you here, sweetheart. I see now why I haven’t heard from you in days.”

The redhead chokes on her drink, cheeks turning a dark shade of crimson, “oh no! That’s not! We’re not!”

You glare at her and look back at Remus, arms crossed, “what the fuck, Remus? If you weren’t interested in me anymore you could’ve just said it. Instead, you’re going behind my back with other girls. That’s low.”

You turn around and begin to storm off, angry tears building in your eyes.

A warm, familiar hand grabs your wrist, stopping you, “dove, wait, no! It’s not what it looks like. I swear! Please give me a chance to explain. This is Lily! You remember her, right? I’ve talked about her before. She’s my friend from school.”

You stare at the love of your life disbelievingly, “seems like she’s more than just your friend.”

Remus shakes his head desperately, “no that’s not it. Please, let me talk. Just-“ his eyes flit around the room anxiously, aware of the many people watching the scene unfold, “can we go somewhere private to talk.”

“Now you wanna talk?” And damn it, a few tears start rolling down your cheeks, “Remus I haven’t heard from you in a week, and then I catch you with another girl. You have to know how it seems. Even if nothing happened, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve ignored me, and made me feel worthless. I- I can’t be with someone who ghosts whenever they feel like it!”

“Baby, my love, please,” he pleads, his hands trembling.

“Remus, I’m done. I can’t,” you pull out of his grasp and stalk back over to your table, grabbing your purse and leaving in a hurry of embarrassed tears.

You’ve been bawling your eyes out on the couch for the last few hours, wallowing in your own self-pity. You can’t believe it. You and Remus are really over. The love of your life is gone. You’re not sure you can ever recover. Your phone has been buzzing like crazy- likely Remus- but you choose to ignore it. You can’t talk to him right now, not after everything that happened tonight.

A knock on the door interrupts your thoughts and you stand, wrapping a blanket around you and wiping the remnants of tears from your stained cheeks. When you open it you’re surprised, but not, to see Remus.

“What are you doing here?”

“Dove. I came here to see you…. to explain….everything. I didn’t get the chance at the bar, and you wouldn’t answer my texts or calls. So I’m standing here now, before you, to just give me one chance to make things right. Please, sweetheart, I’m begging you.”

You concentrate on him, eyes scanning his form. His brunette hair is tousled and messy, his clothes are disheveled, and he looks unbelievably tired and stressed. Even though you’re angry and upset, you love him still, and your heart tells you to fight for any possible chance there might be to save this relationship.

“Fine, come in.”

You turn around and stalk into the living room. Remus’ heavy footsteps fall into step behind you and he shuts the door, sealing off the cold night. You take up home on your gray couch again, finding comfort in it amongst the most uncomfortable situation of your life.

He looks at you awkwardly and ruffles his hair, “can I sit?”

You scootch over to give him room even though your body craves to be closer.

“So, what great excuse do you have for tonight? For ignoring me?”

Remus coughs and turns a shade paler, “uhm, right, okay. Uh- I,” he curses quietly, “sorry. I. Okay I’m just gonna say it. I’ve been ignoring you because I’m- I’m a wizard. And I was scared to tell you because I thought you’d run away and think I’m crazy and I love you so much and. Yeah.”

Disbelief. That’s the only emotion you feel. You scoff loudly and glare at him, “are you fucking kidding me, Remus? A wizard. That’s your excuse? And what great one do you have for Lily, huh? Let me guess, she’s a vampire.”

“Well no she’s a witch actually and-“

Remus freezes, realizing that doesn’t really matter because you aren’t being serious.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes again and you stand up, wiping them away frustratedly, “Do you think I’m stupid, Lupin? Do you really discount my intelligence and dignity so much that you think you can use a bullshit excuse like that? I thought you’d at least grant me a mature conversation, but your behavior this past week should’ve warned me that wouldn’t be the case.”

“No, beautiful! I’m not lying, I would never, ever treat you so unkindly I- Well I know I’ve been unkind this week, but just let me show you.”

He fumbles in his dark brown coat and pulls out a long brown stick.

“Let me guess, that’s your wand. And where’s the broom?”

“I can’t afford one,” Remus says with a blush.

You only roll your eyes, “right then, let’s see you do a spell if you really are a wizard.”

He clears his throat nervously and nods. He flicks his ‘wand’ and a bouquet of red roses appears in his hand.

Your eyes widen and you’re impressed, but still not convinced. A flower- appearing-trick is an act you’re sure any skilled magician can pull off with some practice.

Remus extends them to you- “an apology. For being a right prick.”

A smile wavers on your face but you push it down and don’t accept his gift, “is that supposed to convince me, Remus? Any magician could do that.”

His hopeful gaze falters and he bites his lip, “right. Okay- okay hold on uh….Please don’t freak out.”

Remus stands up and moves to the middle of the room, and it’s not lost on you that you really feel like you’re attending a children’s magic show. He holds his hand with the wand to his head and taps twice and right before your eyes Remus slowly disappears into thin air.

Your heart quickens in your chest and you curl into the couch, “Remus! What the fuck?”

“Dove! I told you not to freak out.”

Something touches your arm and you scream, flinching away.

“Sorry, sorry, my love. It’s just me. I’m right in front of you.”

You tremble as your eyes dart around the room, brain not comprehending how you can hear but not see him.

“Baby, reach out slowly.”

You shake your head.

“Please,” he asks in a strained whisper.

With shaky hands you reluctantly reach out until your hands hit something. You flinch slightly, but when something warm wraps around your wrkdr you relax. Even when invisible you’d recognize that touch- the gentle, calloused skin of Remus’ hands.

“H-how? I- you- magic….”

Slowly Remus appears back in view and sits down, tentatively taking both of your hands into his. He almost sighs audibly when you don’t fight his touch.

“I’m happy to answer any questions you want, dove. Just, I want to know… do you still want me? Can you forgive me for lying and ignoring you? Do you think I’m a freak?”

You’re certainly dazed, but you’re awakened from your trance at those final words…. do you think I’m a freak?

Are you overwhelmed? Yes. Are you freaked out? Absolutely? Do you still not totally belive magic is real? For sure. Are you still mad at Remus? Yeah, maybe a little.

But do you think he’s a freak?

“Baby,” you sigh, eyes softening and hand moving to cup his face, “of course not. We… we certainly have a lot to talk about… both magical and communication based… but that doesn’t mean I love you any less. I’d love you less if you cheated or were a terrible person, or lied for a bad reason. But for being different than me… for being you, I could never, ever hate you. I don’t think you’re a freak baby. I love you, for all that you are. And I wish you would’ve trusted in me a little more.”

“I was just so scared to lose you,” he confesses hoarsely, his tired eyes dimming with sadness, “but I see I did that more by hiding than just telling you the truth.”

You hum and nod, running your thumb over his bony cheeks…

“Rem?”

He hums, brown eyes looking at you so softly you melt.

“I obviously have lots of other questions but first… Lily… you’re really not-“

“No! No! Dove, never. I love Lily, but she really is just a friend. She was actually lecturing me on the way to the pub tonight about how I was gonna mess things up with you if I didn’t get my act together.”

“Think I need to meet her formally…” you murmur amusedly, “we’d get along well…”

Remus chuckles fondly and carefully wraps you into his embrace.

You go nearly boneless.

“I really am sorry, my love,” he murmurs into your hair.

You inhale the scent of his sweater and the lingering smell of old books on his collar and sigh, “no more apologies, baby. Just promise me you’ll never do that again.”

Remus kisses your forehead gently, “never. But on that note, I should probably confess that I’m also a-“

[awkwardandeccentric]

I love the idea of Blitz, Stolas, Angel Dust, and Husk all meeting, but it’s even funnier because Stolas and Husk are more similar and Angel and Blits are more similar.

Stolas and Husk are both functional, depressed alcoholics. They both are too old for your nonsense. They both enjoy the performance arts, particularly, ahem, classier than what Hell usually has to offer. They’re both subdued and introverted. Both are very smart, Husk emotionally and Stolas intellectually. They would have a lovely conversation over jazz music in the human world with a whiskey neat and a questionable amount of absinthe.

If Blitz and Angel Dust ever meet…oh god. No one is safe. No one. Run for the hills, because the unhinged chaos duo is coming and they don’t take prisoners. The “Blitz is a jealous freak” crowd was right- we’ve seen him literally growl like a possessive dog over a “bird-stealing cockbag” and I imagine Angel would be just as unhinged, if not even more so, if he thought someone was coming into Husk.

I want to see Blitz get so upset at this cat-griffin thing for being able to sit down and have a conversation about books he and Stolas have both read or black-and-white films they enjoy (‘how dare that stupid fucking pussy with wings think he’s smarter than me’) and I want Angel to lose his shit over a tall, skinny submissive with an accent speaking with Husk about jazz music and fancy cocktails (how dare that pompous fucking bird think he’s sexier than me’)

Meanwhile, Husk and Stolas have, like, zero sexual or romantic interest in each other and are just happy they can info dump about their interests to someone who won’t make it weird. Bonus points if Blitz and Angel get mad at each other for insulting their respective crushes.

“Who does that motherfucking pussy think he is?! He looks like he shot out of a blender and talks like he has a refrigerator level IQ! He can’t hold a conversation about anything that isn’t goddamn magic tricks or how much he likes cheap booze!”

“Excuse me?! Your lanky fucking bird is LUCKY to be talking to someone as smart and sweet and sexy as Husk! Your bird brain of a man can’t string a normal sentence together because he’s too busy showing off! By the way, that slutty romper?! Ugly as sin!”

Meanwhile, Stolas and Husk are both deeply confused and a weird combination of insulted and turned on.

[shadesofblue7]

Benaim, Sabrina. "the loneliest sweet potato." Depression & Other Magic Tricks.

[soldierboysdoll]

It started with a mirror. A mirror Dean found in one of the bunker's storage rooms. He was searching for something, but when he walked in front of it, he saw something.

The mirror wasn’t supposed to be anything special. Just another relic gathering dust in one of the bunker’s many storage rooms. Dean had found it wedged between a cursed painting and a stack of forgotten lore, its gilded edges dulled with age. But when he wiped away the dust and caught his reflection, he wasn’t alone.

There was a woman on the other side.

At first, Dean thought he was seeing things—maybe one too many beers, maybe sleep deprivation playing tricks on him. But when you blinked, startled, and took a cautious step closer, he knew this was something else.

“Uh… hello?”

You hesitated. “You can see me?”

Your voice was soft, uncertain, but real. Dean pressed his fingers against the glass, watching as you mirrored the movement. There was no cold surface, no resistance. Just the warmth of your gaze meeting his.

Over the weeks that followed, they talked. Late at night, when Sam was asleep and the world felt quiet. The mirror, it turned out, wasn’t just a window—it was a door. But only their voices could pass through, their hands always stopping short of touch. You lived in a world where Supernatural was just a TV show, where the bunker was nothing more than a set. You knew him before he even spoke his name.

“You’re not real,” you'd whispered once, your fingers tracing the edge of the glass. “But you feel real.”

Dean laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Right back at you, sweetheart.”

You fell in love the way people do when reality feels too far away—slowly, recklessly, with words that carried the weight of something impossible.

You told him about your world, the normalcy of it, the simplicity. You talked about your exams, interest facts what he would say it's too nerdy if Sam would talk about it, but it was you, and he thought it's adorable.

He was there everytime when your parents fought over something meaningless again. He comforted you with words only he could comfort with.

He told her about hunts, about ghosts and demons, about the endless fight.

You were there for him when everything is went south and he fell into the rabbit hole of his own depression. He told you things he didn't talked about with his own brother.

And somehow, despite the chasm between you, it felt like you belonged to the same place.

But love, Dean knew, wasn’t enough. Not when it was built on something fragile. The mirror was magic, but magic had a way of breaking.

One night, as the song on your record player hummed low in the background, you whispered, “This isn’t healthy, Dean.”

His throat tightened. “I know.”

You didn’t say it, but you both felt it. The end creeping in, inevitable like the sunrise.

The last time he saw you, you stood there with tears brimming in your eyes, your fingers pressing desperately against the glass like maybe, just maybe, this time it would let you through. But it never did.

Dean rested his palm against yours, his voice barely a breath. “Sweetheart, if things were different…”

You nodded. “I know.”

And then, like all things too good to last, he lifted the axe in his hand.

The last thing Dean saw before the pieces fell away was your reflection, fractured and fading, and the way you mouthed his name like a prayer.

Then you were gone.

The mirror lay in ruins at his feet, nothing but shards and silence. Dean let out a breath, heavy and aching, and turned away before the weight of it could settle.

After all, dreams weren’t meant to last forever.

I'M LITERALLY CRYING RN I'M SO SORRY!!!!

This drabble is inspired by the wonderful song 'Ceilings' from Lizzy McAlpine, so... HATE HER, NOT ME 😭

tags: @emeraldcrs @kamisobsessed @tequilai @soldiersgirl @deansfavorite @pieandflannel

(if you want to added or remowed, just tell me 🫶)

I also made this into a C.AI bot if you want to cry babes 🩷😅

[tsuutarr]

So I may or may not be a little (aka a lot) charmed by all of your characters because, my dear, they are absolutely AMAZING and super charismatic!

and then I found myself wondering how they would react if their darlings got a little depressed about how miserable their social life has become... I mean, how do you manage to keep your mental health up with a total of ONE PERSON in your life?!

I was thinking about this because I'm Brazilian, and we are social creatures ya'know, we NEED other people to keep living and believe me, the pandemic situation DID NOT HELP IN THAT ASPECT OF US. Besides, we are touchy people, we greet each other with kisses on the cheek, long and deep hugs whenever we feel like it and I don't really think the oc's would appreciate our affection being distributed like this 😞 unless is with them, which is totally possible because if we are touchy with strangers, with the close ones we are SUPER lovey dovey.

If you could ease my curiosity about this aspect, I would be very, very happy 👉👈 and I don't mean it's just this specific scenario, just being depressed in general, begging for any kind of normal human interaction hahaha.

Anyway, sorry for this LONG text, this has been on my mind since I started reading your works (and they are AMAZING, really, I'm in love with your writing style!). As I said before, I'm Brazilian and English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes 🤗.

Wowow thank you so much for your kind words!! I am so happy you like my yandere OCs + my writing style!! Also, this is a very fun request/scenario, tysm for requesting it :3c Your English is great, please don't apologize!

Here's the answer to your request down below!!

So, Jiu's case is really interesting because he has the intellect, power, AND money to ensure that he's the closest person to you even if he DOESN'T lock you up. He's basically puppeteering your life from the background while giving you a sense of free will (e.g., you got into your specific college because of HIM, you got your specific job because of HIM, and so on). Getting him to isolate you from society would only really happen if you rejected him/began to distance yourself from him.

If you got too lonely because you could only interact with him, Jiu would cosplay and roleplay any person/character you wanted to in order to give some illusion of diverse human interaction. If you became depressed, he'd get you a therapist and anything else you might need, but... make no mistake, that therapist (while licensed properly) is NOT on your side.

On occasion, Jiu would allow you to interact with his paid workers while he's watching. Like, he'll hire a "friend" for you (who only visits at 11 AM on Fridays) and let you talk to the nanny and stuff, but that'd be it. Now, he'll be controlling your life from the frontlines rather than the backdrop and there's really nothing you can do about it, oops.

For Finley... he's actually a very clueless yandere + extremely pathetic. His emotions are very volatile so he's easy to upset/please. When he isolates you from society, it's because he thinks it's for the greater good. People are so corrupt, can't you see? He's only doing it to protect you. If you got depressed due to only being able to interact with him, he'd just cling even harder to you. After all, you're lonely because he hasn't been spending enough time with you, right (wrong)? For him, he'd understand that you seem sad, but he wouldn't understand why. He's just protecting you! Though, he may get you some pets -- he's VERY partial to animals and likes them quite a bit more than he likes humans.

Oh man, so Tynan has mind magic, so his solution is pretty messed up. He'll either hypnotize you to be okay with your situation OR give you dreams where you interact with people. His dream magic is scary because it's genuinely really hard to tell dreams from reality, so before long, you'll be tricked into thinking you spent time with the people you love when really, you were sleeping on Tynan's lap the whole time.

As for the abandoned water god... he does care about you, but not enough to let you interact with other people, even if you're feeling depressed. After you basically helped awaken him after he was forgotten for centuries, he's super obsessed with you. He doesn't need anyone else as long as he has you, so he thinks that you don't need anyone else since you have him. He'll take you to go see a bunch of sea animals, though! But those sea animals are the only other living beings you'll see. Not to mention that he's practically cursed with immortality, sooo... yeah, you're not escaping him.

Finally, for the farmer... he lives pretty isolated on his big farm anyway, so if you're his neighbor, you're already kind of isolated from everyone else. The farmer isolates you by making you dependent on him so you'll stay by his side willingly rather than locking you up. For the most part, he'll actually let some people (who are not romantically interested in you) visit you -- in fact, he actually doesn't mind it if your family visits because they all adore him (and it's so so so cute to see them tease you about how you must be dating him). But woo boy, you are very very very rarely going to be able to leave the farm. Issues crop up one way or another: blocked road, punctured tire, empty gas tank, etc... so, really, you can't leave. Unless, well, he escorts you. But it might just be better to stay on the farm since it's much more convenient, you know?

[ckret2]

What's the most fucked up thing Aku has ever done?

the thing is, Aku's from a TV-Y7 Cartoon Network show from 2001. (Season 5 moved to Adult Swim, but Aku spent most of Season 5 too depressed to leave his fortress.) So like, we probably haven't seen the most fucked up thing he's ever done.

So here, a list of a few of the things we know about:

conquered the entire planet earth and spread darkness and despair across the world for funsies. let's get that one out of the way first. he took over the whole earth, and made it bad, on purpose.

kidnapped a robot's pet dog to use as a hostage to make him try to assassinate Jack. The robot failed and died. We uh... we don't hear about the dog again.

promised a scientist that if he built some killer bots to go after Jack, Aku would spare his village; then destroyed his village anyway

we don't actually know whether Aku told Scaramouche to slaughter an entire town just to lure Jack out of hiding or if Scaramouche did that of his own volition, but like, Aku probably would have approved, so he can take partial credit.

enslaved the people of the kingdom where he was born and forced them to do hard manual labor; put their emperor in there with the rest of them and made them watch while he was forced to work alone and forbidden from receiving water

when a king tried to fight him, prevented him from receiving a noble warrior's death by imprisoning him in stone and forcing him to watch as Aku killed his family and kingdom; left him there for centuries

when a prince & princess crash landed on earth and asked him for help getting home because an evil army was attacking their homeworld, went, "oh that's so sad, whatever shall I do to end this sad story? oh i know—throw them in the slave mines!"

disguised himself as a hot chick to trick Jack into leading him to a jewel that Jack could have used to destroy him, so that Aku could smash the jewel.

disguised himself as a hot chick, again, for like a year, just to travel around with Jack, just so he could reveal himself and remind Jack that actually he's all alone. (this one's from the comics so not actually canon, but it's so fucking funny i include it anyway)

disguised himself as a swamp hermit to trick Jack into collecting three magic artifacts to summon a god capable of killing Jack

took Demongo, a guy whose modus operandi is "defeat warrior; capture warrior's soul; perpetually enslave warrior to fight for me for all time," and made him his top warrior

made Scaramouche his #1 assassin. I repeat: "slaughtered an entire town just to lure Jack out of hiding"

then executed both Demongo and Scaramouche for fucking up. (Demongo got better.)

burned down an entire enormous forest but left ONE tree standing to remind people what he'd taken from them.

invites violent criminals to earth pretty much just to make it a worse place; when they arrive, gives them a free plot of populated land to clear out however they see fit.

the instant he learned he had a daughter, possessed her to force her to fight Jack so that Jack would surrender rather than hurt her. Nearly used her to execute Jack.

sent an evil DJ to mind control teenagers with rave music

used propaganda to try to convince the children of the world to side with him rather than Jack. the propaganda was him gathering a bunch of children in a stadium and reading them fairy tales he'd rewritten with himself as a main character. it's not particularly evil, but it's definitely fucked up

there's various and sundry other acts of evil—violence, dishonesty, mocking his enemies, cheating, backstabbing, not following proper social distancing & masking practices, etc.—but off the top of my head those are the highlights

[serafilms]

song 53! magic (one direction) + percy jackson requested by @isabelboo (2023 spotify wrapped event)

you, you’ve got this spell on me, i don’t know what to believe, kissed you once now i can’t leave

Percy isn’t really sure how or when it started, but he’s pretty sure you’ve put some kind of curse on him.

His thoughts are consumed by you day and night. His vision tunnels in on you every time you’re around. Whenever you talk to him, all he can do is think of your lips. It’s excruciating. It’s nauseating. And it’s definitely affecting his daily activities, he thinks as he sits, dazed in the infirmary, with a stab wound (a very minor one!) in his side.

It has to be some kind of magic, he thinks, because he’s never felt like this. Maybe some voodoo? Maybe a trick by Hecate as vengeance for defeating the Titans. Maybe you’ve been slipping him potions in his food. It could be anything, and Percy is not as well-versed in magic knowledge as some other people at camp, so he has no idea.

But he finds himself always looking for you, asking after you. He finds himself trailing after you always, and depressed when you’re not around.

The strangest part is that nobody else seems to notice anything out of the ordinary, and he’s too afraid to ask them about it.

He mentioned something about it to Annabeth once, but she merely waved him off.

(“It’s like I can only think of Y/N,” he said.

Annabeth looked over her notes distractedly. “Uh huh, yeah, that’s great, Percy. Hey, since you’re not being any help here, would you mind getting Y/N so they can help me finish the Capture the Flag plans?”

Percy blinked. “Okay?”)

He thinks it must have started somewhere between all the times you held his hand to lead him somewhere, or the times he stood behind you to help correct your sword fighting posture, or the times you touched his hands and arms to correct his archery posture. He always ended up blushing furiously after each of those ordeals.

Or maybe it started that time he kissed you. Although, technically, you’d kissed him first (on the cheek, nothing crazy!) before he went off to face Kronos.

But then again, Percy had been the one to kiss you on the lips when he found you again after.

(“Percy!”

He heard the call of his name, registered your voice, and his head was already whipping around to find you. He found you, a strained look on your face as you hobbled towards him, and Percy rushed towards you.

No sooner had you steadied yourself by holding onto his forearms than he had leaned forwards and kissed you on the lips.)

But Percy couldn’t help it! He’d just been so worried about you, and so relieved to find you alive. He thinks maybe during one of those kisses you transferred your evil little spell.

Still, he hoped that kiss might have meant something to you, more than friendship, but you hadn’t gotten the chance to talk about it, since you’d collapsed on your broken ankle right after.

Even until now, you two have never really discussed what you are, or what the kiss/es entail for your future relationship. Because magic spell or not, Percy’s endless thoughts about you have him planning out your future (however much of it you can plan for two demigods who face certain death before their prime). An apartment in New York, close enough to his mom and Paul but not so close that it’s overbearing, college and planning schedules to match up, weekends out with your friends laughing and eating and watching movies and doing normal teenager things.

That’s all he wants. But he’ll settle for the lingering touches and smiles he gets from you for now.

But this curse, spell, whatever (because gods forbid Percy Jackson admit he’s in love with you before he’s sure you’re in love with him. They kissed you, Percy! What more do you need, for Zeus’ sake) is seriously becoming a problem, because somebody explain to him how from 30 feet away, Percy managed to see an Ares camper headed straight for you and make it over the battlefield in time to intercept it. With his own abdomen.

It was a stupid mistake, he acknowledges now. He’s been through countless battles, and he knows he could’ve incapacitated the camper from behind, or just knocked the spear out of his hand or something. But something about seeing you in danger just sets alight a fire in his mind that burns through any rational thought, leaving only an urge to stop you from getting hurt.

A little inconvenient now that he’s wincing on an infirmary bed with his side burning up. But at least you’re okay. And oh, look! It’s you! He’s not sure if he’s hallucinating now, or if you’re really standing in front of him.

“Seaweed brain,” you say, sniffling.

Okay, definitely you.

“Hey Y/N,” Percy says meekly. His side still feels like it’s on fire but his heart feels warmer with you here.

You take his hand and his heart aches at the tears in your eyes. “Hey, I’m fine,” he assures, ignoring the fact that he is definitely not fine.

“You’re an idiot, is what you are.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You look at him, at the ridiculous little smile he’s giving you to reassure you, at the bandages around his waist, and his hand in yours, and you lurch forwards and press your lips to his.

Percy jolts in surprise and feels his abdomen screaming at him from the movement, but kisses back nonetheless, feeling your lips on his once more and your tongue graze his bottom one.

When you pull back, he stares at you in a daze. If kissing is how you kept this spell on him, he is okay with being under it forever.

“You’re ridiculous, Percy Jackson,” you say, “but I love you.”

He swears his heart has never felt this warm. “I love you too.”

(“Sorry,” Leo says, looking rather gobsmacked, “they weren’t already dating?”

“Leo!” Piper throws her hands up in exasperation.

He smacks his cheeseburger back down on his plate and stares at the faces of his friends. Jason and Frank also look rather miffed, but the girls are all rolling their eyes. “Excuse me for being surprised! They’ve known each other since they were, what, 13?”

“12, actually,” answers Annabeth.

“12! When Percy woke up on the other side of America, the only name he could remember was Y/N’s, right?”

“Correct,” says Frank.

“And we spent ages on the Argo II, during which they got caught in the stables—“

“They were just talking,” says Hazel.

“—and they fell into Tartarus together! Because he refused to let go of her hand! They literally went all the way to hell, all the way through hell, and back out, together!”

Nobody says a word, all looking at Leo.

“You’re telling me,” Leo says, breathing very intensely as though he just found out that his pet dog has been run over, “that during that entire time, neither of them asked each other out?”

“Nope,” says Annabeth matter-of-factly, “and he also kissed Y/N on his 16th birthday.”

“Man,” Jason sighs, “talk about slow burn.”)

[angel-of-the-moons]

Agsfgs

He's a god of fertility, among other things

Imagine if Y/N prayed to Khonshu for their own fertility and just

Khonshu appears, offers them help with fertility, he gives them a few options. Just the regular magic method of helping or he physically helps them get pregnant... with his child, of course

Like, hot, but also can you imagine praying to a god, they show up and basically say "okay I can help you the normal way, or we can do this the fun way and make a baby together"

Obviously Y/N agreed to have a kid with him cuz like. C'mon. Look at him

He's of course a very attentive father and partner afterward. He's not blind to the struggle new life brings along with the joy

Okay, okay, I know this isn't exactly what you were picturing but--

Wings of A Prayer

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Infertility problems, mentions of miscarriages, self-doubt, depression, suicidal thoughts, sort of alcoholism, fluff, hinted at sexy times but nothing is pictured, Marc and the boys learn that there's more to the pissy old bird than meets the eye! (Naturally canon-fudging and merging with the comics again) And a major time skip! My personal headcanon that Khonshu looks like Oded Fehr rears its head once more!

A/N: Whew... this one is long! Surprisingly, no smut in this one. But I realized I am sorely lacking on Khonshu fluff since y'all are almost always just as horny for him as I am. I also did some research and... Wow. Some scary stuff. I'm sorry if this strikes a painful chord with some of you. I had to stop writing this a few times and take a break because it was making me tear up.

It had been... horrible, to say the least. Your life had been one giant trainwreck so far. Your heart had been wanting for something for so long, and... Well...

Your apartment was a gray, flat... hollow living space to you. It was lacking in... something. And that something was a giggly, chubby, cuddly little person. You thought about getting a pet, but... there was an itching inside of you. And itching for something--someone--of your own.

You had been living on your own since cutting off contact with your parents; and dating had been an absolutely dog shit experience since your teen years. But as you got older, and your friends all went their separate ways, living their own lives and starting their own families, you realized... You wanted that. To be the home you never really had growing up, a source of unconditional love and understanding.

You weren't stupid--you did your research beforehand, looked into every legal document you could. Instead of getting pregnant, you'd looked into fostering or adoption.

But you just... you couldn't afford it. The cost of adopting would have bankrupt you, and your increasing financial instability as the economy fluctuated was an obvious deterrent for most agencies. The same was for fostering--you simply worked too much to bre as present as they wanted you to be for a foster placement. And it didn't help that your particular neighborhood wasn't... stellar or "perfect" for a growing child.

The worst insult, perhaps, was when you looked into IVF after adoption and fostering were out of the question. It sounded like the best option, and so you went to your doctor. As uncomfortable and relatively invasive as the pelvic exam and tests were, your doctor assured you a pregnancy was easy enough to accomplish with the fertility treatments if you were able to get into a program.

Only... you hadn't. Your insurance wouldn't even cover half of the procedures, and your heart was sinking at the thought of going bankrupt and not being able to afford the child you so desperately wanted.

That was a low blow, but, you knew you still had options. You could get pregnant naturally. The real trick was finding a man who was willing, healthy, and responsible enough to agree to father your child.

As distasteful as sleeping with someone relatively strange to you was, you made the decision to be tactful. You made a profile on a dating website with the clear intentions that you wished to find a partner that was clean of any STIs, drug or alcohol addictions, and wouldn't cause problems for you if the impregnation was successful.

And of course, you assured that should they not wish it, you wouldn't put them on a birth certificate or come after them for child support. It would be difficult, surely, but you knew you could manage. There was always well-fare and WIC to help out with needs, as well as a few charities you could apply to. Your elderly neighbors even agreed to watch over your baby when it was born because they didn't have any grandchildren of their own; and the presence of a baby would brighten up their droll days when you needed the occasional break.

When you found a partner who was ready and willing to commit to your "requirements"--especially the STI tests with you present to be sure they were not lying--you both agreed to meet several times a week at his apartment to get down to business.

You planned your meetings carefully around your ovulatory and menstrual cycles, drank and ate anything that supposedly "boosted fertility"; and took every vitamin under the sun to help ensure it.

And then, you got the most wonderful news. You had been late on your period for nearly two months. Missing the first month wasn't a cause for alarm; after all, you had relatively irregular periods--which your doctor assured were because of stress and diet problems--and you weren't insistent upon a pregnancy test until you began to get sick during random times of the day or night and your body began to ache in places it hadn't before, such as your breasts.

You got your blood tested at your doctor's office and sure enough... you were pregnant! You reached out to the father when you got home, and after some arrangements, he agreed to send an unofficial check to you for the baby at the start of every month, but he wasn't sure if he could promise to be present for their childhood; which worked fine with you. It was more than you expected, anyways.

You immediately began to budget, alongside with the financial aid of the father of your baby, and began to prep your bedroom into a shared nursery for your impending arrival.

And as you were settling into your new routine and adjusted workload, you awoke during one night with intense vomiting. As you perched over your toilet bowl, pain began to radiate from your abdomen and deep into your body and pelvis, like sharp, pulsing, searing pain from inside of you.

It wasn't until you stood up to wash your face and brush your teeth that you realized you were bleeding. Your sleep shorts stained a disturbing shade of red. You immediately panicked; and simply ignoring the cost of an ambulance, you called 911, and phoned the father of your baby as dread began to soak into every pore.

It wasn't for several hours after all the tests and exams that the doctor from the ER finally came in with a sad, pitiful look on her face as she delivered the news.

You lost your baby.

It felt like the world opened up beneath you and you were swallowed by a void. You didn't even know you screamed until your vision went black around the edges; prompting you to take a much-needed breath. The father of your baby was sympathetic, he talked calmly to you, rubbing your back and speaking with the doctors for you while you struggled to cope.

They kept you for another day (after giving you some pill) to make sure you... passed the remains of the fetus so you didn't get sick from retained products of the conception.

You fell into a deep depression after that.

Weeks afterwards, you were a drone. You woke up, ate, worked, showered, slept, and performed the same duties again and again as if you were on autopilot. The father of your baby, Alain, checked in on you now and again, and at some point even introduced you to his new girlfriend (who was confused by the awkward situation at first, but in seeing what had gone wrong in your life, felt more pity towards you than anything).

Your elderly neighbors cried for you, made you food when you felt the absence of the want to cook or eat; and said they would offer up prayers for you.

You began to hide how... rotten you felt on the inside, after that. You feigned your old, "normal" behavior if not to just get everyone to stop treating you like some... Faberge egg that needed delicate handling. A doll so fragile from trauma and abuse you had to be put on a pedestal to avoid getting any more broken.

But deep inside you, that raw, twisted, pained feeling festered like a bad wound. It worsened when you discovered that your doctor had been horribly, profoundly wrong.

Your reproductive organs weren't in "perfect, healthy" shape. You had uterine scarring that appeared to line up with what was called Asherman's Syndrome. Your uterine cavity, as such, had a buildup of scar tissue and caused it to shrink, and the resulting damage is what likely triggered your miscarriage.

The doctor that had diagnosed your condition became suspicious, and called for an investigation into your primary doctor.

Turns out, he was responsible for many, many misdiagnoses on over a dozen patients. Many of which required some women to have hysterectomies done to save them; or have to be rushed into cancer treatments immediately. One had unfortunately lost her life due to a misdiagnosis and a fallopian torsion that wasn't treated in time. She left behind a husband and three little children who had to grow up without their mother.

The resulting lawsuits caused a media circus; and once again your life was thrown into disarray when you decided to be a part of it, having to recite the trauma of losing your poor, little baby to a bunch of strangers.

Your heart festered with rage. If you had known that your body was incapable of the one fucking thing it should have been able to do naturally, that you were one different decision away from the heartbreak you now suffered--you would never had tried to get pregnant. But like many of his patients, you took his word for it because he seemed so trustworthy. And if you couldn't trust the person your health was so reliant upon... who could you trust?

The doctor lost his license, and went to jail for the wrongful death, medical negligence and manslaughter of the woman he failed to properly diagnose and failed to treat.

The settlements were of little comfort to you all; those who suffered now-lifelong health problems, the family mourning a beloved wife and mother... and you, who mourned the life of the baby you never even got to feel kick, let alone name.

Your neighbors, Ebony and Malcolm Harris; Alain and his now-fiance, Amelia, had formed a bit of a cushion around you. Having an explanation for your misfortune, and then the financial boost from the punishment of the one responsible aided the pain somewhat... But it still hurt you so, so much.

Part of the settlement included paid-for counseling for those affected, and you took it. As dry and sour as it felt to yet again revisit the pain, you went through it.

But it still didn't help you when you looked at the toys, the unused clothes and set-up crib still sitting in your room, never to be used.

You spent a lot of time on the roof of your apartment building, contemplating... something. You wouldn't take the pills the doctor gave you. All they did was make you feel groggy and... numb. That felt worse than the guilt and grief, it didn't help.

You weren't sure anything would. You just wanted the pain to stop. You wanted to feel something, again.

You just wanted to be a mother.

"Oh, she's so... she's so..." Ebony sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief. Malcolm sat next to her, rubbing her shoulders and sniffling himself. They loved you like their own child. They had none to speak of, since their son died overseas almost 20 years ago. You were the first person whom they felt a familial connection with--who didn't treat them as pitiful, childless old folks who were one bad day away from a nursing home.

"We're so scared for her," Malcolm whispered, pursing his lips. Just like his wife, he loved you like a daughter, too. And seeing you so consumed with pain and want hurt him badly. "She's hurting so badly."

"She wanted to be a mama so badly!" Ebony warbled, her wrinkled hands trembling as her husband held her. "That poor baby just wanted her own baby! She was so excited! Showed us everything, talked about it--I even started knitting a blanket!"

Malcom's own nearly-withered features twisted in sympathetic agony, "Please... is there something--anything--you can do for her? Help her, somehow? Like you helped us?"

The man sitting behind the desk kept his hands linked together as he peered over them at the couple. It was true. He had helped them.

When Ebony grew ill and eventually required dialysis, her body had been becoming increasingly weak and fragile; they were left without options. They tried prayers with pastors and in churches--but it didn't exactly do much with an absent god ignoring another desperate worshipper.

They were nearing the end of their rope when they heard through some whispers about him--the enigmatic "Dr. Moon".

They had only seen his face once, and that was after Ebony was miraculously cured following his strange "treatments", her kidneys back to functioning better than they had in her early 30s. After that, they attended private prayer sessions with him, the second high priest, after Marc Spector, whom he had only really interacted with a handful of times... And did not like how often he went against their god, Khonshu's word.

Begrudgingly, "Dr. Moon", later known to be one Yehya Badr, had started what would be known as the "Midnight Mission" with Spector. In his constant absence, the two agreed that it would work better if Yehya saw to the Mission while Marc traveled to hunt the cult of Ammit, and Khonshu's former high priest, Arthur Harrow.

And, while watching over the Mission and the innocent people... Yehya used his healing abilities and decided to open a free clinic from within the holy place. Many were hesitant to accept treatment from a religious institution, but soon patients and potential followers alike began to trickle in from the streets. People like Ebony and Malcolm.

Yehya felt for the couple and the story they now told him, his brow creasing beneath his white mask, mouth twisting into a pained frown. You sounded on the brink--ready to take one last hurdle into the beyond for the sake of the child you never got to hold.

"Healing something like that..." Yehya sighed sadly, standing up from his chair. The wheels squeaked softly as he pushed it back, and walked to the window that overlooked the street below. "...it won't be easy. I may not be able to do it alone, like when I treated you, Ebony."

"Can't you--can't you call on Him, again? Like you did before?" Malcolm pleaded earnestly. The love these two elders had for you touched him, made his own heart squeeze in his chest.

"Please... if--if His power can come from love, just--just take ours and give it all to her... please!" Ebony sniffled, burying her face in her hands.

Yehya swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly pulled his mask away from his face, walking over to take their hands in each of his. He could feel their heartache through their frail and gentle grip.

"I will see what I can do. Your faith--and love--might help this young woman you two adore so much. But I cannot predict how Khonshu will help her, should he choose to directly get involved."

Another repetitive day. You managed to force yourself to eat some takeout you had leftover from last night and microwaved that for dinner, eating alone in front of your TV as it droned on with some boring reality show you weren't really paying attention to anymore.

For the eighth time that week you contemplated packing away and donating all the baby items in your apartment. But every time you touched them you just broke down into a sobbing fit; your heart rending itself from the reality of what had gone wrong with you.

You couldn't even bring yourself to go into your bedroom, anymore. Everything was in there.

So, you'd taken to sleeping on your couch for the past few months. You only went into your room long enough to get things you needed, clothes and the like (the former just sitting in clothes hampers unfolded after laundry days) before fleeing in the bland space that was your meager living room.

After you finished eating, you sipped at the hard lemonade in your hand. Drinking to cope was bad, but something inside of you kept you from relying on it too heavily. And you never drank to get drunk; only enough to fuzz your senses enough to let you sleep on some nights.

And tonight was one of those nights.

You were on your fourth lemonade when the lights began to flicker in your apartment; your TV freezing frames when it began. Maybe your landlord was fiddling with the power to the building again? Had a fuse blown to the building? Whatever...

"I don't need this right now..." You grunted, taking a deep swig; one mouthful closer to the bottom of the bottle.

"Wasteful." A disembodied voice rumbled, making a chill creep up your spine.

"I... What--" Your head whipped around as you tried to figure out where it had come from--your TV was still frozen, so it couldn't have been that--you were still relatively sober so it couldn't have possibly been drunken hallucinations.

Suddenly, you jumped and yelled in surprise when the bottle went flying from your hand and smashed to bits on the wall, the drink within running down the drywall in rivulets from the impact.

"What the f--"

"My priest told me of you," The voice hummed. It felt as if something unseen was circling you like a predator does with its prey. "And of the pain you have endured, little one. There are those close to you who pleaded for my aid to help you, to heal you."

You felt the presence stop behind you, crowding you in and making your blood still within you; but you just couldn't bring yourself to turn around. The lights flickered weakly once more before going dead, as did your TV, swallowing you in darkness.

As your eyes adjusted to the inky darkness, this voice's words sunk in. "Heal you". "Help you".

"Who are you?" You swallowed.

"I am the god, Khonshu. I protect the innocent, I bring justice. I heal those that ask for it."

Yeah, no. You must have slipped and hit your head. You remembered Ebony and Malcolm saying they'd pray for you--but this was... this was impossible! But... some aching, gnawing, painful part of your heart begged for you to hear the voice out.

"How could you..." You cleared your throat, trying not to sound as scared as you felt. "How could you help me?"

"That remains to be seen." The voice replied with a thoughtful tone. "How do you wish for me to help you? I was told but precious little of your story--only from those around you. Not from you. What is it you wish my aid for?"

Your eyes slowly move to where you instinctively knew your bedroom door was. Even in the dark, you could feel the depressing aura clinging to the space call out to you like a siren in the black sea. The voice seemed to be able to "see" what you were looking at, as well.

Somehow--this Khonshu knew immediately what you were too scared to voice.

"I see." He told you, his voice growing soft and somber, if a touch sympathetic. His presence leaned away from you.

"You wish for me to heal the damage done inside of you?" He mused gently, "To enable you the ability to bear a child? It is easily enough done; but I sense something else bothering you."

Your hands knotted in the hem of your shirt; your stomach twisting itself into a nasty ball of writhing, anxious snakes.

"I... I can't go through it all, again." You croaked, your voice coming out hoarse. "The stress of finding... I just... I can't. It just... I don't want to--to risk it happening all over again, even if..."

"I see..." He murmurs again, giving you your space to breathe, "Then there may be another option--a guaranteed method--to ensure a healthy pregnancy and a healthy child..."

The way your heart hopefully leapt within your ribcage almost hurt--your stomach dropping into a pit. Sure, you may be going crazy and this could be a hallucination... But would it be so bad to give in, to live in some fantasy to alleviate the pain and grief you've been suffering with for nearly over a year?

"So you... you're... offering to... what, be the father of my baby?" You whispered.

A feather-light touch brushed your arm, the feeling warm and gentle on your skin, "Only if you wish it. I can help you, but only if you want me to. I can heal you, but only if it was what you truly want. When a child is produced, I will ensure there will be no struggles for you and the babe."

"You... promise? That it'll work?"

"I swear it."

You swallowed. Thinking hard.

But some part of you had already made a decision--and that part of you spoke: "Okay."

"Very well, then..." Khonshu murmured.

In the span of a breath, you felt large, warm arms wrap around your waist, tugging you close. And then, the next thing you knew... you were laying on your back, in your bed, with him hovering above your in the dark.

Even with the dim lights in the streets below barely filtering in through your blackout curtains, you couldn't clearly make out his appearance. The shadows that were being cast merely gave you an image that couldn't possibly have been true.

"Can I see you?" You whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Only if you wish it." He reminded you softly, his hand caressing your hip, beginning a slow, sweet trek up beneath your shirt.

"I do."

The dim light of the candle at your bedside table flickered to life--the sweet scent of lavender and vanilla filling your senses.

You finally got to see him. And you weren't afraid.

Marc felt uneasy as soon as they got off the plane, and Layla soothed him with a touch as she linked her fingers with his. He didn't like being here--the city was teeming with cruelty and injustice... and he knew Khonshu wouldn't let him rest long. Him, Steven, or Jake.

"Marc, just breathe." Layla said to him as she adjusted the strap of her travel bag with one hand, her other squeezing his. "It'll be fine. If Khonshu has a problem with you taking it easy--"

Layla scoffed, blowing a puff of air from out of her cheeks as they walked out of the terminal, Marc hauling their suitcases behind him, their wheels squeaking sadly beneath the weight. Some of their less... legal belongings were being smuggled in and would be delivered to their destination later in the night.

"Well, the old bastard can deal with it. I'm here, and I'll pick up the slack if I gotta." She assured him.

Marc's shoulders sag; he can feel Jake plucking at the edges of his mind, giving him gentle reassurances and his oath that if anything happened; he would be the one to bear the brunt of Khonshu's work in his stead. Even Steven spoke up to voice his assurances that all would be well--after all, they had Layla with them!

"Yeah," He sighed, smiling at her and bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, "You're right. It's also just..."

"Just..?" She led on, quirking a brow at him.

"The last time Badr and I spoke, it kinda ended in a fist fight." He smiled warily.

"Oh, gods, of course it did..." She snorted.

"I mean, I shattered his nose and he broke one of my knees, so... Yeah. Bad." Marc grinned, earning an elbow to the ribs from his lovely wife.

"Can it, Spector. Don't make me worry about you even more!" She laughed with him.

"Ouch!" A man holding a dry erase board laughed; the writing on his sign clearly stating "SPECTOR" in bold black letters on it. He stood in front of a pristine white car. It was Marc's. Or, well... apparently it was Jake's... A purchase he'd made without Marc's knowledge at some point... like the limo back in London.

Jake would apparently make spare cash when he would take over while Marc slept and Steven lay buried. All without their knowledge, of course...

"Hitting you with the Spectorrrr, is she?" Jean-Paul grinned, his thin, pointed mustache quirking like a fidgety caterpillar. "So cruel!"

"Well, he deserves it." Layla grinned, leaning in to hug him, "Frenchy! So good to see you! How've you been? How's Rob?"

"Happy as a clam in some nice clean water! And my physical therapy has almost concluded." Jean-Paul smiled, kissing each of Layla's cheeks in an affectionate greeting when she asked about his lover.

He lifted his eyes to spot Marc, bringing him in with a closed fist to give a shoulder-hug, "I'm glad you've gotten yourself sorted, Marc. Rob and I were worried about you!"

"As sorted as a guy with two other guys living inside his head that's in service to a pissy god can be, anyways..."

"Ahhh... Right. Right." Jean-Paul said, clicking his teeth as he popped the trunk to the car so Layla and Marc could load their things up. He opened up the back door for them to climb into the backseat."

"Hey, I can always drive us, Duchamp." Marc smirked at him, the corners of his eyes creasing in humor, "After all... it is technically my car."

"No, no--" Jean-Paul grinned, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Let me do it, c'mon. It gives me something to do, today!"

Layla nudged Marc with a giggle and he relented, climbing in behind her.

Marc sighed as Jean-Paul helped them unload their bags, his eyes following Marc and Layla's to the building in front of them; the doors decorated with carved crescent moons in the frosted glass.

He had been to the Midnight Mission only a handful of times--and every one of those times was to assist Marc as his pilot during intense missions for Khonshu. And he of course met Yehya Badr, the two men had a respectful relationship. He himself had conducted a few healing rituals to help with the phantom pains Jean-Paul occasionally felt in his legs.

But he knew that Badr and Marc didn't always get along; Yehya being a die-hard and devout follower of Khonshu and Marc being a bit of a renegade who tended to go against his word and do things his own way. And he knew it had been a few years since the two parted on... well--rather bad terms.

"Well, better get the torture and inevitable lecture over with..." Marc grunted, shouldering one of the duffels. Layla helps gather the rest, letting Jean-Paul close the door and trunk.

As they crossed the threshold, Jean-Paul winced, "Oh, right! There's something you should know about, by the way..."

Marc looked at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Well, Yehya isn't the only one who lives in the Mission anymore." Jean-Paul grinned as their floors squeaked on the waxed marble floors.

"Okay, and...?"

He rubbed his mustache with his index finger, smiling a little bashfully as he looked away. "Well, er... it's kinda... Uh, awkward... Well, I mean, that is--"

"Spit it out, Frenchy." Layla smiled, rolling her eyes.

A door could be heard swinging open from somewhere down the hall as they leave the foyer, and Jean-Paul laughed, grinning from ear to ear as a small, rambunctious human suddenly appeared, colliding with Marc's legs and wrapping her arms around his legs and giggling.

"Daddy!" She giggled excitedly, rubbing her face on his jeans.

Marc on the other hand, began to immediately panic--his eyes going wide as he looked to Layla, whom in turn looked at Marc with her eyebrows risen the highest on her brow Marc has ever seen--awaiting an explanation.

Marc began to sweat, "Baby, I swear to God I didn't--"

The child looked up at him, and frowned. Her little brows creased and she pouted, her bottom lip poking out as she studied Marc. "...Oh." She said dejectedly, sighing deeply. "You're not my Daddy."

Marc's heart felt like it was gonna explode--Jake and Steven had come to co-front to see what all the fuss and anxiety was about. Steven immediately began to go on about how darling the girl was, her shiny and clear her eyes were--how smart and at the same time seemingly ancient they looked. Like polished obsidian stones, a dazzling array of lights shimmering from somewhere deep within.

Jean-Paul laughed and clapped his hands, his face turning red from the force of his laughter. The child brightened up and rushed towards him, allowing him to scooped her up and swing her in a circle, "Hello, petit gâteau!" He crooned, kissing the girl's cheeks.

"Uncle Frenchy!" She giggled as he swung her around one last time before setting her down.

"Yes, yes, it's been a while! A whole week!" He grinned down at her, letting her hang off of his hand. She swung from it for a moment, studying Marc and Layla curiously, the fabric of her dress flowing almost like water as she did so.

"This is--well, I guess this could technically be your... er..." Jean-Paul smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your big brother Marc? And Layla, his wife."

Marc and Layla's jaws dropped, their confusion and curiosity only growing more and more.

(Oh, this'll be good...) Jake snickered, rubbing his chin. Through their reflections in a nearby portrait, Marc could see Steven elbow him.

'Ay, lay off! We can be curious without bein' rude about it, yeah?' The Brit huffed.

Jean-Paul was about to explain, but...

"Savah!" You sighed in relief, running out to see them. You knew Jean-Paul, from his healing sessions with Yehya and how he loved to babysit your daughter. He was apparently a trusted friend and ally of "Moon Knight's" so you knew he was harmless.

"I... agh. I'm so sorry if she jumped you..." You smiled apologetically at them as you scooped her up, bouncing the tot on your hip as she giggled into her hands. "We were playing hide and seek--and she must have slipped out when I wasn't paying attention!"

Steven couldn't help but squee at how adorable the girl was, Jake had to concede that, yes... she was stinkin' adorable. Even Marc was having a hard time arguing the point, and he was very, very awkward with kids.

"Savah, it's one thing to go up and hug your Uncle Frenchy, but it's another to go up to strangers you don't know." You say, gently scolding her. Her little grin falters, and she frowns cutely.

"I felt it... I thought it was Daddy..." She mumbled, plucking at one of the buttons in your blouse.

"Felt" it?" You asked, raising an eyebrow and looking back at Marc and Layla.

"Right! That brings us to the introductions, eh?" Jean-Paul spoke up, rubbing his hands together. "This is Layla el Faouly--er, well, actually Spector now, ain't it?--and Marc Spector, her husband. He's the Moon Knight."

Marc jumped, his eyes going wide at how casually Jean-Paul had introduced him with his mystical alter-ego, barely even registering it when he introduced you by name; "And this lovely little bon bon, is Savah, her daughter."

"Ohhhh..." You said, your posture relaxing, "That's why she got her "funny" feeling! Sorry, she thought you were her dad."

"I, uh... No harm no foul, but..." Marc laughed nervously, smoothing his hair back, "I could've lived without the heart attack of me possibly blacking out and oops'ing a baby with somebody at some point in time..."

Layla actually laughed, "Oh, please... like you have game with anyone but me, Marc."

He looked at Layla and deadpanned; "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised at how many people swoon for Jake's "Spanish charm"."

You blinked, looking at Jean-Paul for an explanation, and he gestured to continue down the hall, "Ah... let's go and... get some tea, hm? Explain a little bit."

"Right, right, I've never actually met this one." You reply, nodding.

"Mhmm, and he definitely doesn't know about you."

Basic introductions happened over warm cups of tea in one of the furnished rooms off the foyer. Badr had shaken hands with Marc, surprisingly polite and almost friendly before he briefly turned his attention to little Savah, helping fix her doll she had accidentally popped the leg off of when she got too rough, and ruffled her hair before leaving once more.

However... Jean-Paul had yet to fully introduce the two of you to the couple. He mostly let Marc and Layla explain who they were, and what they had been doing. Since obviously, you were so trusted as to even know about Yehya's identity as Hunter's Moon; they trusted to tell you about hunting Ammit, and ultimately defeating her.

It was less than an half an hour after that, that Savah suddenly perked up again, hopping up and down into place, her eyes sparkling even brighter. The glimmering lights in her dark depths caught Marc's attention, stopping him dead in the middle of his sentence, "Uh..."

"Oh... look's like he's home after all... wonder what he was waiting for?" You muse, smiling at your daughter happily, watching her as she ran to the door when it began to open.

A man with tanned skin, graying black hair, and a short beard walked in; his white suit crisp and immaculate. His hazel eyes were stern, his chiseled features only softening as Savah rushed up to him, holding her arms up expectantly until he picked her up and cradled her body gently against his, kissing her forehead gently.

"Daddy!" She squealed, giggling as she tried to wrap her tiny arms around him. It was now pointedly obvious this man was indeed to be her father--especially because of how many of his facial aspects she had. She had your skin tone and hair color, but certainly had his looks...

You rose from your cushioned seat and walked over to them, brushing your nose affectionately against his with a smile as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

"See? See?" Savah said excitedly, grinning like mad. "I told you I felt Daddy! I always do!"

"Yeah, you do, munchkin. Yeah, you do." You snorted, shaking your head.

Jean-Paul cleared his throat and awkwardly stepped around the three of you; "Well... I guess I don't have to do the rest of the introductions after all... I'll see you two later!"

"Bye bye!" Savah called out to him as the door shut with a faint click behind him.

Savah's father looked at Marc with a rather bored expression, almost... annoyed, really. Gave Layla the same look, as well. Marc rolled his shoulder stiffly, suddenly very uncomfortable under his unflinching gaze.

"It took the both of you long enough to get here." He said in almost a sneer; his voice unmistakably, painfully familiar.

Layla and Marc shot to their feet, almost falling over themselves as the realization dawned on them. Jake and Steven were in an uproar within Marc's mind.

"Khonshu?!" They both cried.

His brow quirked upward in an unimpressed gesture, "Gah. How can you two be so perceptive when hunting artifacts and evildoers, but cannot pick up on this? I am disappointed in you, Marc. You should have figured it out, first."

"Th-that's why her... her eyes--?!" He sputtered.

Finally, the corner of Khonshu's mouth tilts upwards in a cocky smirk; his eyes flashed an almost blinding white. And when Savah looked at the both of them, they could see the lights in her eyes swirl and shine even brighter and in tune with Khonshu's, shifting and dancing until they briefly solidified in an unmistakable crescent-shape before parting in a fractured dance, again.

"Yes, this is my daughter." He stated proudly, his arm tightening around you a fraction, "And my wife."

"Wife, huh? When did that happen?" You snorted, giving him a snarky look.

"I assumed it happened sometime after Savah was born." He hummed, his snark matching your own, "After all, you live under my roof, mother my child, sleep in our bed..."

You rolled your eyes and elbowed him, "Smartass."

You looked at the couple across the room and smiled awkwardly, "I never did get to explain much... But, since that's outta the way... mind explaining to me why there's such a weird vibe in the room, right now?"

Marc and Layla merely blinked at you, before once again exclaiming in unison:

"You had Khonshu's god-baby?!"