#Is Black Magic Real and How to Remove it

[howtoexloveback]

Use black magic to avoid the issues from love life

It is the best experience in our home being in love or a beautiful relationship. You are about to contact with a person who holds the same feeling. It is a blissful time to being in a relationship that is ending up with marriage. It is only possible when you and your partner are dedicated to marriage or you have true love. But sometimes things are not working like as you planned. You have to do…

[islamicspecialistforloveback]

Learn Here How To Destroy Black Magic By Dua

Today we talk about Dua to destroy black magic from where it came from, We all have our vices. Identifying them and overcoming them is what makes us humans and separates us from animals. Anger, hatred, and jealousy; these emotions are normal. But, a good human doesn’t succumb to these emotions. But, at times – people are not strong enough to fight those emotions. That’s when they turn to things…

[obeymeluv]

Enchanting a Fae - Malleus x Reader

A random Malleus x Reader

Malleus isn't sure why he comes to your dorm so often. His booted feet take him there automatically, he supposes. If Lilia were to ask him, he's just making the rounds on his usual haunts and looking for pieces of forgotten grotesques and gargoyles in need of cleaning. Ramshackle was a prime destination for all things forgotten and dusty, after all.

Perhaps it can also be a home to things muddy and sopping.

A small smile twists the edges of Malleus' lips as he blinks rain from his emerald eyes. It's ironic that he, future King of Briar Valley and fifth most powerful mage in the world, was caught unaware by the weather.

How very human. It's a beautiful experience, to drown in the quiet hush of rain.

He steps lightly but with purpose, long shadow breezing up the walkway to your door. It swells as lightning tap-dances behind him. Thunder rumbles, much like the sound he tries to swallow down as you crack the door open hesitantly, face melting into one of welcome.

Oh, child of man...Malleus feels the warm swirl in his chest tighten as you take his hand and pull him inside. He ducks his head, finally remembering to pull his horns down enough so they don't scrape the frame like they have in the past.. "Fae are supposed to be invited in," he reminds you. "And I told you, you always have a standing invitation." you say with a gentle dismissiveness that both humbles and endears him. You continue to show him that you care not for his title or his princely demands. You treat him like all the others. He does his best to stand on the welcome mat you thrifted, afraid the water will rot the ancient floor and leave you with something else to fix. You scurry back with towels and some spare clothes that smell like human. Not you, but human. Malleus can't stop the angry rumble in his throat as he realizes that smell is probably from your human friends at Heartslabyul. Clothes for other men? Disgusting. You always forget he has another set of vocal chords and he excuses the noise as 'clearing his throat'. "It's all I have," you murmur, unsure now if you should take the offer back. He can tell you're still debating that uncouth noise, the slip of the tongue.

"I accept your generosity." Malleus knows it won't be a perfect fit, but it would do better than your clothes. Not that he didn't like the idea of adorning himself in your scent. Turning away from you a little, Malleus removes the purple striped belt at his waist and undoes the many gold buttons on his curious coat. You can't tell what the black shirt is underneath but it sticks to him and you find yourself trying to tear your eyes away and commit him to memory all at once.

Not in the creepy way! Just in the 'I've never seen Malleus in just gloves, a shirt, pants, and boots before' kind of way. He's none the wiser, realizing he has a real problem on his hands. The gloves he chose are water resistant but they've somehow gone flush against his slick skin and feel more like a seal than a savior. His draconian nails cannot save him, blunted and useless in the leather. Should he use his teeth? What if he hooked them on the edge of a horn and just shimmied it off? You can practically read his mind and grab his hand before he can raise it near his head. "Don't do that! You'll ruin them!" you give a huffy laugh at his simple, boyish logic and it takes every ounce of control from all his decades of walking upright to keep his tail from smashing a hole in your floor.

He watches you drape the loaner clothes around your neck like some sort of scarf as you motion for his hand.

Your hands are almost cartoonishly small in his as they trace the stitching and try to feel for any buttons or ridges. Small, but so considerate and so warm. Dragons run warm from the fire and magic in their blood but he cannot explain why your touch is absolutely radiating and searing him in the most comforting way through the leather. He almost hopes you never figure out how to take them off so you can just fiddle with his hands forever. Malleus relaxes into your touch, basking in the care and attention.

His hopes are dashed when the glove separates slightly from his lax wrist and you free his hand. You pull off the other one. If he had no shame, he'd make a cool request for you to hold them and warm them. "Boots off, then change." you give him a small rag for his hands and point to his feet. Delighted and somewhat surprised to be your willing subject, Malleus obeys and starts to take off his boots.

He braces himself against your wall with one hand, mindful not to put himself through it like he almost did the mine tunnel at Beanfest. One boot off, he wrestles blindly with the other. Malleus is much more interested in how you tend to the pitiful fire in your fireplace. Your back is to him and whatever you're wearing leaves you shapeless but cozy. The embers crackle in the hearth, the light dancing across your face in a way that makes something baser claw at the pit of his stomach.

Shiny thing. Dragons like shiny things. You would be a most gorgeous shiny thing. Always ethereal, no matter what you're wearing or doing. If you would permit him, you would be his most valued treasure.

His heart sings at the thought, almost tying itself in a knot. That low, tingling feeling comes back to him and Malleus wants to croon his Dragon Song. It would fall on deaf ears, so to speak, as you have no dragon blood to appeal to. "Your eyes are doing that thing again." Malleus flinched a little, green fire sparking in his mouth as a warning puff of smoke dissipated between you. He didn't realize you'd come upon him again. The dragon relaxed, turning his head away as he exhaled the building smoke through his nose before it could send him into an undignified coughing fit.

Lilia had been consulting his grandmother on some behaviors as of late and both arrived to the same conclusion: he's experiencing draconian puberty. 'The thing' his eyes do are a sign of said puberty. It is the unfurling of all his emotions, the dilation of his eyes signaling his interest and trying to draw you ever deeper to him. In a way, it is a thrall, but it leaves him at your mercy as much as it should leave you in his.

Somehow, you don't take it as hard. If his world wasn't a sudden explosion of the scent of your skin and soap, the heat of your body, and the curious fondness with which you look at him, he would ponder this injustice further.

But he does not. Right now he can't even find the words for a simple lie, a diversion, as he breathes in the smell of you and tries not to melt. To have you touch him right now would be the worst thing but he's never wanted it more. He wants so badly to sink his fangs into your wrist, your neck, and let you wear the affectionate bruises like a family crest. His family crest.

"You're supposed to be getting changed," you admonish him.

"Mmm, but I can't," Malleus refrains from snuggling into the small towel you're blotting against his face. He closes his eyes and tries to sense the heat of your hand through the fabric as you move carefully around his lashes. "I'm being tended to and it would be rude to interrupt," he teases.

"No point in giving you dry clothes if you're going to get them wet putting them on." you laugh. He swallows thickly as you brush his throat dry. "Now go change," you swat him with the rag. Body towel and clothes in one hand, damp footprints follow Malleus to a spare room.

As he suspected, the clothes were ill-fit for his frame. Spade and Trappola were smaller than he was, being human and all. It was another thing entirely to get the shirt over his head without shredding it on his horns. He's afraid to move his arms too much and hopes he's not offending you by pulling the pants low enough to give his tail room. You've just finished laying his clothes out on dry towels before the fire and he's grateful.

It is a dying fire. You have a small supply of kindling and old papers to feed it but he doesn't think it will be enough. "I would like to repay your generosity with a gift. May I?" "You know you don't have to get me anything," you wave him off. He's not sure if it's a human trait or a you trait but you don't take easily to gifts.

"But it is practical and will serve us both," he knows he's caught your attention. He can see you trying to figure out what kind of gift that would be. Malleus approaches the fire, kneels down, and breathes it in. Dragons who can breathe fire, like himself, can convert outside sources of heat to their fire on rare occasions. You jump when he spits out a green flame and it roars to life, casting the walls in jeweled light and emitting a heat you didn't know you missed.

"Cozy!" you chirp. It was a gentle kind of heat that would be perfect for snuggling under a blanket. He sits on the other end of the sofa, a respectful cushion between you, and rests his head on a hand as he looks at you.

"And it will last much longer! You needn't fret about it getting out of control, either. It is my fire, and I can control it." he sees the beginning of sleep on you. Malleus grew up with Silver and was all too familiar with the slow descent into a nap. You make a valiant effort, he will give you that. You're in the middle of a soft argument about being rude to company and Malleus laughs despite himself.

He dropped in uninvited. Certainly that's more rude, yes?

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, the fae more amused than he has been in a long time as your eyes get heavier. You look stunning in the green glow and he can't help but think you'd look just as ravishing in black.

In a crown. On a throne. In his bed. All of these things have the Dragon Song welling up in him again. The buzzing in his chest closes off his ears; Malleus jumps to alertness as you tug gently on the ends of his dark hair. "You let your hair down. It'll get weird if it dries in a ponytail holder."

It takes some effort, but he untangles it from his hair. "What shall I do about you, Child of Man?" he muses. "I will be forever indebted to your attentiveness."

"Did you find anything cool on your walk? You always show me." your eyes twinkle with the vestiges of consciousness. This is your one final push before succumbing to sleep, he can tell. He did, in fact, find things to show you and had forgotten them until now. When you're drenched, everything just feels heavy and soaked through. Malleus fishes the random items from his coat pocket and settles back down on the couch.

You've seen all manner of things at this point--feathers, polished rocks, twisted roots that looked interesting, pieces of statues, actual gems--and it never gets old. He presents you with a rock carved into the shape of a bear, a chunk of what might have been an old cup, and a ring.

The ring doesn't catch your eye right away. You're too busy playing with the bear. He wiggles his hand so the firelight catches it and you still. Malleus takes the bear from you, flipping your hand over to slide it on your finger. "A gift, my dearest."

"Malleus, I--" you start to protest.

"We fae are no strangers to offerings, both giving and receiving. It would be a disservice to present you with anything less." he speaks over you, his words gentle but commanding. He kisses your hand.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of dating him. It just seemed a little silly--a random no-name person and the fae prince? What kind of cliche was this?

A handsome one that was staring you right in the face.

"If you'd like more, the best I can offer you is a kingdom." he teases, lounging back against the sofa. He said it so casually that it caught you off guard. You're face is almost unbearably hot and Malleus chuckles.

"A whole kingdom?" you finally recover. "I'll take it."

Oh, there it went. Malleus felt the trap snap shut on his heart. This was the lethal moment Lilia warned him. He was helplessly smitten and enchanted. Irreversibly so.

"Truly?" he's before you in a second, one hand around your waist and the other holding the one with the ring. "Now is not the time to jest, Child of Man. I offer you my heart in earnest and the reply must be just as true!" he's staring up at you through his bangs and you swear you see more scales on his forehead.

"W-Well, yeah," you stutter. "I wouldn't mind. Just kind of thought we would do more dates and stuff first," your face was heating up again.

"We shall, as many as you like!" he's scooped you up in one arm, cradling you to his chest. You threw your legs around him so you didn't fall backwards but he doesn't notice, pulling your other hand over his shoulder. "Every day, even! As soon as the weather clears, in fact!" "But it'll be dark out!" you protest. Malleus probably could change the weather if he wanted but that wouldn't stop the ground from squelching and things being nasty. He stopped excitedly rambling about walks and things to do.

"We've walked in the dark before?" he doesn't understand why you don't want to go out this particular time. "And I have seen you to your door, safe and sound every time."

"But we're already here. Together. Inside." you explain slowly. "Maybe we could...cuddle...a little."

Oh yes. Splendid idea! Malleus all but dives for the couch at the suggestion. It is a paltry nest but it's yours. You're still recovering from the recoil, glad he fell back first and didn't squish you.

Did you just hear something rip? You hope he didn't break the couch. You don't get much time to think about it as he pulls you close and tucks you under his chin like he's been rehearsing it with a pillow. He's just the right combination of soft and muscle, of guard and gentle as he figures out where to put his hands. He settles for one supporting his head and the other cradling yours.

It's very awkward because he's mostly off the couch but he can't be bothered. You're slowly drifting to sleep in his arms and he's never felt more joy. He watches with deep interested, practically holding his breath as you sleep. Faes don't need as much sleep as humans but he doesn't think he could sleep if he tried because you've been courted by him!

Malleus is roused by his phone sometime later. The couch is small and cumbersome to him but it's held up. He begrudgingly untangled himself from you to answer it, long arm just reaching it on the table.

"Yes?"

It's Lilia. "Where are you, young man? We've been trying to reach you!"

He had fifteen missed calls from Sebek, eight from Lilia, and some text messages from Silver.

"Ensnared, I fear." Malleus smiles into the crown of your head. "I'm doomed to languish in absolute bliss. It's a very powerful enchantment, you see."

"Taken the leap, have you, Malleus?" he could hear the smile in Lilia's voice.

"I have, and I've landed in something quite wonderful."

"We fae are supposed to trick and trap, not the other way around! But...at least you're safe. Make it known that I will not tolerate--"

"Any eggs before marriage." Malleus rolled his eyes. He'd only heard that a million times recently.

"If you're not back at Diasomnia in two hours, I'll break that enchantment myself. Understood?"

"And if I object?" Malleus challenged, patting your head as you began to move.

There was a moment of silence. "I shall tell your grandmother."

Malleus hung up.

That might do the trick, he thought, brows raised. His grandmother was from an older generation of fae who were still entrenched in anti-human beliefs. Would she love you because he did? Could you enchant her, too? One look at your sleeping face, so at peace and pressed up against him, had him convinced.

Yes, he was pretty sure you could enchant any fae. It certainly worked on him.

[ashwhowrites]

Hey, so this is actually insane, but could you write Eddie being a Magic Mike worker? And while he’s working on stage dancing, stripping, whatever reader comes into the bar/place and sees Eddie. She immediately finds him attractive and goes closer to the stage to watch. While he’s performing, reader takes a video and asks for Eddie’s number, he also found her attractive obvi and gave her his number, and after the show, they do it in the bathroom. (If you don’t want to write the smut part, you can leave it out!)

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting ❤️

⚠️smut

Magic Mike

Y/N walked through the crowded bar, looking for a place to sit. It was ladies' night, and Y/N was more than ready to drool over some guys and drink until all she thought was bad decisions. She eyed the few dancers, making her way towards the front.

She heard loud cheers, making her follow that direction. She slipped through the other bodies, and she understood why everyone was cheering.

This guy was the hottest person she's ever seen. He had long curly hair, tattooed skin, he was small but toned. He wore black pants, incredibly low on his hips, allowing them to see almost everything.

Her body felt warm as she watched him dance. She choked when his eyes looked up to meet hers. She shivered as he zoned in on her as she hit the front of the stage. A fire lit inside her stomach as he dropped to his knees in front of her, rolling his hips seductively towards her. She eyed him like a piece of candy, craving to run her hands down his oily chest. She wasn't sure if she was delusional or if he truly was looking her way the entire song.

The music died out, and the lights went dark. A quick transition into the next song, she was quick to grab her phone. She handed him the phone, mouthing "number?"

She tried not to squeal in excitement as he typed in what she hoped was his real number. He handed it back over with a smile. The girls around them were screaming and trying to throw their phones on the stage, but he was moving on to the next dance. She took a small video, loving how his eyes followed her.

~

The stage lit back up as he finished his performance. Y/N made sure his number was saved into her phone when she walked away from the stage. She walked to the small bathroom, unaware that someone was watching her closely, as she slipped inside, a body hurriedly entered with her. She went to freak out, but she noticed it was the cute dancer from the stage. She didn't get a word in before his lips smashed on hers. Maybe making out with a stranger in a bathroom wasn't the best idea, but it felt like a good one as her tongue swirled against his.

He eagerly moved his mouth against hers, the kiss wet and messy. She gasped when he rolled his body against her, immediately feeling his hard cock. She was glad she wasn't the only one getting turned on by his performance. He removed his mouth from hers, a lustful look in his eyes.

"I'm Eddie, and you are?" He asked. She didn't have a clear head to answer easily. She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out as he began to unbutton his pants.

Was she really about to have sex with a stranger?

"Y/N," she finally got out. Allowing him to push down his pants until his hard cock came into view. She practically moaned at the sight, reaching towards him as she softly ran her hands down his chest.

"Beautiful name," he complimented, not caring for a response as he smashed his lips against hers. She kissed him back, enjoying the way her hands were covered in oil as she made her way to his leaking cock. She clenched her thighs at the feeling of his hard cock in her hand.

He moaned into the kiss as she moved up and down on his cock, his body shivering in pleasure. He kept his mouth busy as he slid his hand down her body and into her jeans. She sucked on his tongue and gripped his arm with her free hand as his fingers teased her clit over her underwear.

He loved how wet she felt through the small material of her underwear. They pulled away for air, Y/N moaning loudly as his fingers slipped inside her underwear. He slid two fingers between her lips, coating them before he slid both inside of her.

Her touch halted on his cock as she threw her head back in bliss. She had no shame in how soaked she was as he fingered her. She enjoyed the feeling, but she wanted to feel him inside of her.

"Please fuck me," she whined against his mouth.

"Yes, ma'am." She whined as she lost his touch, but knew what was coming next would be so much better. She began to strip herself as he tossed off his pants. He helped her remove the rest of her clothes, happily.

She moaned as he turned her around, she faced the mirror, and gripped the sink as she waited for him to push himself inside of her. He guided his cock inside of her, giving her a few seconds to adjust before he began fucking her.

"Fuck yes," she moaned, loving the way his hands gripped her hips as he fucked himself inside of her. He was long and thick, and she could feel him just about everywhere.

"Damn, pretty thing, you're so tight," he said through clenched teeth. He placed his head on her shoulder, watching her reflection as he slid all the way out and slammed back in. He watched her mouth fall open with quiet screams, backing herself up against him to take his cock deeper.

"Eddie, you feel so good," she whined. She threw her head back as her vision got fuzzy. She shivered as he turned his head, lips sucking on her neck.

"Yeah? Pussy likes my cock, hm?" The feeling of her clenching around him answered his question. He basked in his pride, moving one hand off her hip to slide up the front of her body. He grabbed a handful of her breast, not caring to be gentle. He roughly gripped her breast and enjoyed the feeling of it in his hand as he fucked her as hard as he could.

"Mhhm," Y/N agreed. He fucked just as good as he looked. Her body was burning as she opened her eyes and dropped her head forward. She clenched around him as she took in their reflection, his eyes on her as he manhandled her body. His soft grunts in her ear and the animal look in his eyes drove her insane, her cunt pulsing and clit begging to be touched.

"Touch me, please," she begged. He enjoyed the weakness in her voice. His breath was hot against her ear as he softly bit her earlobe.

"I am touching you, sweetheart."

She groaned at his comment, now aware he was the teasing type. She ignored his response, using her own hand to add pressure to her clit but he moved faster. His hand left her chest and gripped her arm. He was quick to slam it against her back, bending her over.

"I didn't say you could touch yourself, sweet cheeks," he warned.

"I'm sorry. But fuck, please," she whined. He gave in, knowing his orgasm wasn't too far behind with the way she felt around him. He reached forward and circled her clit, feeling her body tense.

"Is that what you needed? Hm?"

She nodded as her teeth chewed away at her lip. He was in perfect rhythm with his hips and fingers on her clit. She rolled her hips to match his pace, loving the way he moaned into her ear.

"Fuck, baby. Gonna make me cum," he growled as he felt his body tightening. His words encouraged her to fuck herself on him, driving him insane as his fingers sped up on her clit. She reached behind, her hand landing on his ass as she shoved him against her.

He kept his focus on making her cum, trying to ignore how heavy his balls felt as they smacked against her. "Come on, pretty thing. Cum for me. Cover my cock in your cum like a good girl."

She whined at his words, feeling her stomach getting tight. "Yeah? You want it?"

"I've been wanting it since I saw you, baby girl. Don't be mean to me now. I think I fucked you nice and hard, I think I earned it."

His words sent her over the edge, she let out a loud scream of his name as she came all over his cock. He fucked her through it, keeping his pace on her clit as she squirmed. Her body was nearly giving out, the only thing keeping her upright was his body smashing her against the sink.

"Oh such a good girl," he praised as his fingers were soaked in her wetness, circling her clit until she couldn't take it anymore. "Fuck I'm going to bust, where do you want it?" He asked through puffs of air.

Even though she was fucked out and couldn't move, she tried her best. She pushed him off, hearing him hiss as his hard cock met the cold air. She quickly moved to her knees, not wasting much time as she popped open her mouth.

She held out her tongue, and Eddie growled at the sight. He fisted his cock, jerking himself to an orgasm as he placed his tip on her tongue. He watched as the hot spurts of cum landed on her tongue and face, clearly not bothering her. He finished himself off on her face, feeling his body relax as he emptied himself. She swallowed what landed in her mouth, licking her lips as she hummed at the taste.

Eddie helped her up, giving her a deep kiss. He loved the way he could taste himself as he made out with her.

"TIMES UP! WE GOT A LINE OUT THERE!"

A loud voice came through the door, followed by heavy knocks.

They quickly rushed to dress themselves, and Y/N quickly washed the cum off of her face.

"Well, that was definitely something I'd like to do again," Eddie said as he buttoned his pants.

"I'll call you," Y/N promised as she landed a quick peck to his lips. She tried to hide herself as she ran out of the bathroom, embarrassed by how long the line was.

Eddie had no shame as he walked out. The line of girls screamed as he came into view, but his eyes followed Y/N until she was out the door.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123 @emxxblog @meetmeatyourworst

[atalana]

also im sure some people have noticed already, but since i haven't seen anything on tumblr about it yet, for people who haven't - kris has 20hp in the light world and so far that bar has pretty much always been full

in chapter four though, after kris beats the soul up, that's no longer the case!

their brief smacking it with the hockey stick/guitar in the normal route drops your health to 18. their vicious kicking the shit out of the soul in the snowgrave continuation drops it to 10. (it drops even further by the end of the chapter in a way that might have something to do with how much health you ended the titan battle with, but im gonna do a couple more ch4 playthroughs and see if i can nail down exactly what the deal with that is, and if it means that the titan can reach across worlds and damage kris' soul in a way no other dark world enemy has been able to so far)

either way, the first thing that happens when they try to move after putting the soul back in, is they stumble and fall and it takes a few seconds for them to even try and get back up. (it looks like they're tripping over the object they threw from certain angles in the normal route, but no this happens no matter how clear their path is)

regardless of whether or not it's their original soul, it is now intrinsic to their life force. any amount of damage done to the soul, even when outside their body, will hurt kris in equal amounts, and they've been doing this long enough they have to know that!

in the normal route that speaks to their level of dedication to whatever their end goal is here, that they will hurt themselves quite significantly to keep susie from finding that note on the guitar (though it's in keeping with chara being one of their two undertale parallels)

but in snowgrave pt 2. god. it speaks to how much they hate us. that route in ch4 reveals that the first thing soulless kris did at the end of ch2 wasn't creating the fountain - there was an unseen timeskip. the first thing soulless kris did after snowgrave was to sneak over to noelle's house, remove the thorn ring (that was controlling her and giving her the ability to kill with ice magic), tell her everything was gonna be okay, but that she should never mention any of this to anyone (because if she said it around kris in the future then the soul would hear)

and kris' worst fears came true. she does bring it up, because she doesn't realise kris is also included in "anyone". and to stay on the snowgrave route, like in ch2, you have to do the worst thing possible, which is manually take control of kris back (this is happening while you're the untethered soul, but kris is distracted enough you can rejoin their body without them fighting you off - but you can see their sprite shaking afterwards as they try to resist what you're about to do), confirm for noelle that all of her dream was real, tell her she's going to get stronger, and force the thorn ring back on her (at which point the screen goes black with red lines like shattered glass, and the segment in noelle's house ends there, so we don't know the full consequences of that yet)

i did talk in a previous post about the shadow mantle boss saying that kris enjoyed the snowgrave route, they just didn't want to admit it to themselves and being possessed by the player gave them a convenient excuse. but after playing this route i no longer think that's even a remote possibility.

because kris wasn't trying to hide or prevent anything by beating the soul up this time. this was pure revenge and disgust over what we did to their friend. and even knowing that whatever damage they did was also going to be done to them, they were willing to beat it within an inch of its life. your vision is blurring the entire time, kris loses half their health from this, they only stopped because asgore nearly caught them in the act. and the burning question on my mind is how much further were they willing to go? if no one interrupted, would they have stopped at all?

(and yeah the takeaway here is that going forward, kris is hurt, in more ways than ralsei or susie can heal. and also do not ever underestimate their love for noelle)

[theethighpriestess]

Chapter 1 - Magic Don't Lie, But Men Do

Characters: Elijah "Smoke" Moore, Elias "Stack" Moore, Cécile Boudreaux (OC), Angélique Boudreaux (OC), Anastasia Boudreaux (OC), Solène Boudreaux (OC)

Warning(s): 18+, MDNI, Cursing, Use of the n-word, angst, mentions of Hoodoo & supernatural elements

A/N: This is a twist from the original plot of Sinners in which both Smoke and Stack are turned into vampires by Mary. It may or may not end up having multiple parts, based on y'all's feedback, of course. The taglist here is the same one from Blood Money so let me know if you'd like to be added/removed.

Word Count: 5.1K

The rocking chair creaked in rhythm with the cicadas as twilight settled over the bayou. I sat in my usual spot on the porch, my shawl loose over my shoulders, herbs drying in bundles behind me. The scent of mugwort and sweetgrass clung to the humid air, rich and strange like old secrets. Fireflies blinked lazily across the yard, their glow reflected in the murky water beyond the cypress trees. Spanish moss swayed in the warm breeze, and somewhere out in the distance, a bullfrog croaked like it was keeping time with the evening.

The screen door creaked softly behind me, then clicked shut.

My granddaughter Isis climbed up into the chair between me and Stack, curling her bare feet beneath her. “Meme?” she asked, voice soft, curious. “How did you an’ Papa Stack end up back together after all them years?”

I glanced down at her. My sweet little inquisitive sunflower. Then sideways, towards the man seated to her right.

Stack sat in his chair, rocking slowly. A loose wife beater clung to him like old sins, and his fingers cradled a sweating beer bottle like it held all his regrets. His twin, Papa Smoke, as the girls called him, leaned beside him, his laughter low, familiar, and ever troubling.

“Yo Papa Stack always had a habit of gettin’ in trouble,” I said, giving Isis a slow nod. “And when he did, the wind always blew him back to my doorstep. The last time was no different.”

Stack chuckled, purple eyes gleaming.

“Circumstances weren’t ideal last time, though.”

“They never are with you,” I muttered.

“Mmm. Unless they wit you,” he said, shooting me a devilish grin. Smoke snorted a rebuttal.

“Cause yo ass don’t know how to shut ya mouth.”

“Says the part-time mute,” Stack fired back.

“You could learn a thing or two,” I said, crossing my arms.

Stack handed Smoke a joint. “Aaah, that takes all the fun out.”

Smoke leaned in, lit it, and muttered, “Fun, my ass…”

Isis had grown impatient, shifting her weight in the rocking chair. 

“Sooooo, what happened?”

New Orleans, 1935

The floorboards was talkin’ again.

Creakin’ all low and nosy like they know somethin’ I don’t. I ain’t bother to quiet ’em neither. This shop been speakin’ in its own tongue long before I was born. Tonight? It was whisperin’ loud.

Something was off.

My wards been itchin’ since sunset, like a scratch behind the skin. That kind of twitch only mean one thing: somebody comin’ that ain’t got no business here. I could feel it in my molars.

I moved slow. Real slow. The way Meme Célestine taught me. Don’t ever rush in when the spirits leanin’ in close. That’s how folks get bit.

I struck a long match and lit the altar candle. Flame caught fast. Yellow and blue, poppin’ like it had a mouth full of secrets. Wax was dressed in hyssop and a pinch of rue, just like always. Smelled like lemon and old tears.

Behind me, all them glass jars stood quiet on their shelves. Little soldiers full of roots and bone and dust from graveyards ain’t even marked no more. Everything labeled in my hand. Black mustard seed. Poppy pods. Snake skin. Dried okra soaked in blessed oil. My talking bottle rattled in the corner, but I ain’t turn to look. I already knew who it was stirrin’ it up.

I went to the door, fingers pinchin’ up a line of red brick dust. Drew it careful, steady, whisperin’ the same protection words my mama used to mutter in her sleep. Something moved behind me in the silver bowl, my mirror work bowl, and I didn’t need to look twice. I felt it in my chest.

Outside, in the narrow alley behind my apothecary, Smoke was crouched low, one palm on the ground, eyes cutting through the dark like he could see what was coming. He always moved like that, like the night owed him something.

"You sure you wanna go back home?" Stack asked, keeping his voice low.

"You got any other ideas?" Smoke didn’t even look at him.

Stack rolled a toothpick between his teeth, jaw flexing. 

"Nah, but she gon kill me soon as I step foot in that yard."

Smoke grinned, slow and slick. "That sound like a you problem. She still luh me."

"Mmh, I don’t see why." Stack said. "I’m the one had her trembling."

Smoke elbowed him hard enough to shift his weight. "Nigga, focus."

"I’m trying. Fuck."

"If we go now," Smoke said, peeking past the mouth of the alley, "we can make it to the shop before they smell us."

Stack checked his watch. "Let’s get ta gettin' then."

They slipped into the dark like it knew their names. Quiet as old gods.

Inside, I froze mid-grind. My hand stilled, my breath caught somewhere between ribs and reason. Something was moving. Not outside. Not inside. But in between.

From her corner chair, Angélique looked up over the rim of her glasses, her knitting needles quiet. "What’s the matter, Pooh?"

"I smell somethin’," I said, voice barely above a hum. "Somethin’ that ain’t human."

She nodded once. "Mmh. That ain’t good."

"No," I said, sniffing the air again.

Cologne. Musk. Smoke.

Realization cut me like the blade strapped to my thigh as I darted towards the front door, Angélique on my heels with her shotgun in hand.

“Who is it, Céclie?” she exclaims, pointing the gun at the trees.

My response wasn’t to her, but to the creature I knew was lurking in the shadows.

“There betta be a damn good reason why ya coward ass is at my gate, Elias Moore!” I seethed.

Stack winced twice at the harshness of my tone, but it was to be expected. He did just leave without warning. And he took Smoke with him.

“Now you know I couldn’t stay away from ya too long na’ baby,” he cooed, hoping his honeyed tone would soften the blow a little. He was wrong.

“Boy fuck you! Ain’t seen ya in 10 yeas, na’ ya wanna show up like ain’t nothin’ happened.”

“Fuck me? Shiiiit, you do that very well, Suga. And there’s a reason fa my absence. Na’ ya gone open da gate or do the Smokestack twins gotta sit out here all night?”

“Smoke is welcome hea, you ain’t,” I fired back.

“Told ya,” Smoke’s deep baritone called from the shadows.

“Shut yo ass up,” Stack growled to his brother. “C’mon na’ Suge. You gone do ya ole man like dat?”

The knife sank into the tree next to Stack’s head, quivering like a warning shot from the ancestors.

“Next time, I won’t miss.”

Smoke laughed. “How ya been, Sunshine?”

I unlocked the gate. Barely wide enough for him to slip through. That was intentional.

“I’m fine, Smoke. What y’all done got into this time?”

He scratched the back of his neck, shifting like the lie was already itchin’ his skin. “That mothafucka run his mouth too much and done got us in some shit.”

Stack leaned reluctantly against the tree out front, the way a man does when his bones heavy with regret. He tilted his head back, letting it rest against a low-hangin’ branch, eyes closed like maybe if he didn’t see me, I wouldn’t see through him.

“Uh huh,” I replied, lifting a brow, waitin’ on the rest.

“Now we gettin’ hunted.”

“Hunted? By?” Angélique asked, calm as you please, her hand restin’ lazy on the shotgun behind the doorframe.

Stack answered quietly. “Vampires.”

My head snapped up so fast it made my earrings jingle. I looked between the two of ’em like they had grown horns.

“Elijah, what the fuck?!”

“I told you this nigga run his damn mouth too much!” he barked, throwing a hand in Stack’s direction like he was some stray that followed him home.

“Yeah, yeah. It wasn’t an issue when we was makin’ money upstate,” Stack muttered, all dry and defensive.

“You wasn’t the one shootin’ niggas either,” Smoke shot back, heat in his voice.

I shook my head, tryin’ to sort the noise from the mess they brought to my porch. After a beat, I sighed and folded my arms.

“Y’all on ya own then. We can do a lot wit our magic, but we don’t deal with bloodsuckas.”

Stack’s jaw flexed. He bit down on his bottom lip like it could keep whatever he was holdin’ back from spillin’ out. Then he looked at me, really looked, before lettin’ out a low, half-swallowed breath.

“Yeah, see… There's a problem wit dat...”

He reached up and pulled the collar of his shirt down. Slow. Like he ain’t wanna show me what waited underneath.

Twin scars sat there on the right side of his neck, just above the collarbone. Pale and puckered, like silver fishhooks had kissed him twice and dragged themselves out. Not fresh, but not old enough to fade. They pulsed faintly in the porch light, a dull shimmer just beneath the skin.

I sucked my teeth and dragged a hand down my face.

“Lord have mercy.”

Then I looked over at Smoke. “You too?”

He ain’t say nothin’. Just let out a small breath, eyes dartin’ off to the side like a boy caught stealin’. That silence was answer enough.

Angélique stepped in before I could gather the curse words rollin’ up my throat. “So y’all left and got crossed up in some bad bidness. Now ya want our help.”

Smoke exhaled sharp through his nose. “This was our only option.”

“They’ve gotten to everyone else we’ve ever associated with.”

“So again, you bring the shit here?!” I screeched.

“We weren’t followed,” Stack said fast, like speed could turn a lie into truth.

Smoke rolled his eyes. “Not like you was the one checkin’.”

“Look here, you shaky-hand fu—” Stack snapped, that temper peekin’ through.

“Enough!” I hissed, voice low and sharp enough to slice clean through ‘em both. “What do you want?”

“Look, Suge…” Stack’s voice dropped to somethin’ soft and hollow. “You the only one we know who truly understands this shit. We came hea ’cause you da best an’… really the only option we got.”

He looked down at the floor like it had the answers he didn’t.

I motioned for Smoke to come inside, lips pressed tight.

As for Stack? I let my eyes drag over him one last time. Scarred, tired, neck marked with death, smellin’ faintly of iron and old sin.

“I can’t help you,” I said, and slammed the door in his face.

--

Smoke sat at the kitchen table, shirt tossed on the floor, the mark on his collarbone glowing faint like an old coal trying not to die out. Angélique leaned in close, arms crossed but curiosity winning out.

“That look like it hurt.”

He let out a breath through his teeth, jaw twitchin'.

“Not as bad as the wooden stake did when I stabbed that peckerwood in the heart.”

I didn’t speak. Just kept chantin’ low over the bundle of herbs, fingers movin’ with memory and muscle. “I crushed red brick and cayenne into a dish, mumblin’ under my breath the words my mama taught me, and her mama taught her. When the last word fell from my lips, I wrapped them tight and walked over.

“This finna hurt too,” I warned, pressing the bundle into the wound. Smoke flinched when the powder touched his skin.

“Be still. The burn means it’s workin’.”

As if on cue, my baby girl Anastasia came bouncin’ into the kitchen, bare feet smacking the warped floorboards, curls wild from sleep and tied up in a lopsided puff. She had on one of my old T-shirts, big enough to swallow her whole, slid off one shoulder and hangin’ down past her knees. The glow from the kitchen lamp hit her just right, and for a split second, I saw it. Those same amber brown eyes as Stack, that crooked little smirk she got when she was about to talk back but hadn’t figured out how yet. She was a walking blend of both our sins.

“Mama, there’s a man outside.”

“I know, Anastasia.”

“He looks hurt.”

“He’ll live.”

Smoke’s eyes cut toward her, then back to me. He ain’t say nothin’, but the way his jaw ticked told me he’d clocked it too. The math was mathin’. Ten years since Stack skipped town. Ten-year-old girl with his nose and my eyes. His face didn’t change much, but his silence said everything. He glanced out the small window in the back door, where Stack sat just barely in view, fidgeting with his blade like a nervous boy on the front pew of a Baptist church.

“Hold that there for five minutes,” I told Smoke, gesturing to the bundle still pressed to his collarbone.

He nodded once, lips tight, but his eyes followed Anastasia like a ghost he didn’t expect to see walkin’ this earth.

“Ana, bring me that jar of pickled garlic off the shelf.”

“Yes ma’am,” she chirped, already tiptoein’ toward the pantry like this was any regular Tuesday and not some magic-fueled reunion from hell.

She handed me the jar with both hands, careful and proud, like she knew she was part of something bigger than her little body could understand. I brushed a hand over her curls before turning toward the door, my palm stingin’ just from holdin’ the damn thing. Stack never could stand that smell.

Once I was sure Smoke was stable and Anastasia was outta earshot, I stepped out into the night, air thick like molasses, jar gripped tight. Stack was sittin’ at the top of the steps, back bent, long legs stretched out like he ain’t had nowhere else to go. He was hummin’ some slow, pitiful blues song under his breath, kickin’ pebbles loose with the heel of his boot, starin’ up at the sky like the moon might hand him a lifeline.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pour this whole jar ova ya wretched ass head.”

He didn’t even blink. Just kept lookin’ out at the trees like the wind might carry him an answer I didn’t already know.

“It’d burn like hell,” he muttered, voice scratchy like he hadn’t used it in hours. “And you still love me. Cuz it’s still the same for me, Cile.”

“Yo love don’t mean shit hea no mo’,” I snapped. My voice was steel, but my hands were tremblin’.

“I know it don’t,” he said softly. “But yours do. That’s why I’m standin’ on your porch beggin’.”

Same Stack. Same damn Stack. The kinda man who’d say all the right things and still leave you cold. Loved me long enough to take what I had to give—then dipped soon as the wind shifted. I knew better now. I had to.

I turned toward the door, heart poundin’ hard in my chest.

“You all I got, baby,” he called after me. “You the only woman I trust.”

I stopped, hand hoverin’ over the doorknob.

“Oh?” I said with a laugh, bitter and sharp. “Mary can’t get you outta this one?”

He shook his head, barely lookin’ up. “Mary ain’t never gon’ be you. She don’t know how to hold me right. Don’t know how to see me, not like you did. Besides… it was that lil’ octoroon got me caught up in this shit in the first place.”

He glanced back toward the screen door, where Smoke sat quiet with blood dryin’ on his collar.

“Got us caught.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” I said, folding my arms.

“It is,” he admitted. “Ain’t no lyin’ in me tonight.”

I stared hard at him, every bone in my body remindin’ me of how he left. Of how I cried with swollen feet and an empty bed. Of how I had to cut the cord on my own and name and care for a child he didn’t even know about.

“I gave you protection,” I hissed. “You remember that? That silver ring I blessed under a storm moon, after I braided your name into candle wax and prayed over your sorry ass for seven nights straight?”

He nodded, and for the first time, his shoulders slumped.

“I remember.”

“It was s’posed to keep you safe. Keep your mind right. Keep your soul from slippin’. You swore you’d wear it forever.”

“I did,” he said. “I wore it every damn day, even when I didn’t believe in shit else. But one night, we was runnin’ outta a club in Champaign, blood in the snow and fangs on our heels. It slipped off. I ain’t realize it ‘til I was halfway to the safehouse. I doubled back, but it was gone. Like it vanished.”

I felt somethin’ snap low in my gut.

“You lost it,” I said flat.

“I ain’t mean to,” he whispered.

“You always lose the things that matter.”

He looked at me then. Really looked. And I hated that I could still see the boy I loved tucked behind all that guilt.

“I ain’t just wearin’ it for protection, Cécile. That ring was you. And when I lost it, somethin’ in me broke open. I ain’t been whole since.”

My throat tightened. My fingers curled into my palm.

“You don’t need me, Elias. You need fixin’. And I ain’t no damn glue.”

“I need you ‘cause you the only one that ever made me feel like I could be more than what they said I was. Not just a crook. Not just a leech. I was a man when I was with you.”

“I can’t keep patchin’ you up,” I said. My voice cracked. “You bled me dry the last time.”

“I know,” he said. “And I hate myself for that.”

He pulled a chain from under his shirt. On the end was a small, bent silver ring. Blackened and dull from fire and age, but it was mine. The one.

“I found it again. Weeks later. Burnt to shit, twisted like it’d been through hell. But I couldn’t let it go.”

He held it up like a confession. Like a prayer.

“I still carry you. Even when you don't want me to.”

I hated him. I hated how easy it was to feel every inch of him in my chest again.

“Bring ya stupid ass in hea,” I muttered, opening the door. “But you bet not bleed on my damn floor.”

As we stepped back inside the shack, the smell of mugwort and tea hit me first. My mama, Solène—most folks just called her Solè—had taken over doctorin’ Smoke’s wound. Her hands were seasoned, practiced, the way only a woman who raised two hard-headed girls and half the neighborhood could be. She barely looked up when the door creaked open, but the moment she laid eyes on Stack, her whole face softened.

“I should’ve known you weren’t far behind,” she said with a small, knowing smile. “How long you boys plan on bein’ hea dis time?”

Smoke shifted in his seat to answer, but I cut in fast and sharp.

“They leavin’ in the mornin’.”

“‘Til mornin’, I guess,” Smoke echoed, a shrug riding his shoulders like he’d already accepted the boot.

“Evenin’, Solè. Evenin’, lil’ lady,” Stack said as he stepped further in, giving both my mother and Anastasia a slight nod of respect.

“My name is Anastasia,” she corrected with a little pout, crossing her arms like a proper grown-up. That girl had fire in her chest just like her daddy, whether she knew it or not.

Solè threw me a look, her frown deep and disapprovin’.

“Surely you not sendin’ them back out there in this condition,” she said, eyes flicking between the boys and the bundle of herbs still in my hand.

“They asked fa treatment, not shelter,” I bit back, jaw clenched. “Some of us got real responsibilities that don’t include babysittin’ grown ass men with a death wish.”

From the far corner, Angélique piped up with a hesitant voice.

“But… Meme said—”

“Meme is buried in Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1,” I snapped, louder than I meant to. My whole body tensed like I was holdin’ grief in my spine. “If they want shelter, they can go lay beside her.”

I turned toward Stack and shoved the herbs hard against the wound on his neck. He hissed through his teeth, his whole body twitchin’ from the sting.

“Sorry, lil’ miss. Didn’t mean to be rude,” he said to Anastasia through gritted teeth, trying to ease her glare.

Solè clicked her tongue and walked over, takin’ the herbs from my hands with that same no-nonsense gentleness that always made me feel small beside her.

“Nonsense,” she declared, already rinsing a cloth in warm water. “You boys can stay here ‘til you fully recover.”

I stepped back like her words slapped me in the chest.

“Fine. You can treat him then,” I said, shoving the herbs into her hands like they burned mine. “Anastasia, bed. Now.”

“But Mama—”

“No. Don’t start.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but Solè intervened with a tired sigh.

“Listen to your mother, Ana. I’ll see you in the mornin’, bébé.”

Anastasia dragged her feet on every step, arms folded, lips poked out in full-blown protest. I followed close behind, the heat in my chest rising with every footfall. I ain’t wanna look back. I knew if I did, I’d see Stack watchin’ her—our daughter—with the kind of ache I’d carried alone for the past ten years.

Angélique stayed behind, her eyes lingerin’ on the twins like she was tryin’ to decipher a puzzle she didn’t have all the pieces to.

“Well… that went well,” she muttered once the room quieted.

“Right,” Smoke agreed, reaching for the cup of tea Solè had set in front of him.

She sat across from them both, her presence as rooted as an oak tree. Ain’t much could rattle Solène Boudreaux.

“The wind always seems to blow in trouble with you boys, huh?” she asked, stirrin’ her own tea slowly, eyes not leavin’ Stack’s face.

“It’s like it’s chasin’ us,” he said, voice lower now, more tired than usual as he took a cautious sip.

“Correction,” Smoke muttered, not even lookin’ up. “Chasin’ you.”

Solè raised a brow.

“So you just tag along for the chaos, huh?”

Smoke smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Someone’s gotta make sure he don’t die.”

She looked at them both a moment longer, then exhaled slow and deep, like she was carryin’ the memory of my grandmother’s voice on her breath.

“Mama loved y’all like you were her own,” she said finally. “And she made Cécile swear she’d keep you safe.”

Stack’s eyes flicked toward the hallway. Toward the bedroom where I’d disappeared, probably pacing, probably fumin’.

“Well,” he murmured, more to himself than anybody else, “guess some oaths ain’t easy to keep.”

Solè didn’t respond to that. She just sipped her tea in silence, like she already knew this was just the beginning of somethin’ bigger.

Angélique shot Solè a knowing glance.

“Want me ta calm Hurricane Cécile?” she asked with a soft smile.

“Please?” Solè said with a tired but gentle nod.

Lique nodded back and made her way down the hall toward my room. She found me in the middle of a storm, tossing my spellbook and herbs around like I was trying to throw the whole mess out of my life. She peeked her head in first, then stepped fully inside.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Lique,” I snapped, still flinging things across the cramped space.

“I ain’t said nun, Cile,” she said quietly, watching me.

“You didn’t have to,” I muttered, slamming the spellbook down hard on the dresser in the corner. The thud echoed louder than I expected in the silence.

“Look, na’ the furniture didn’t do it,” she said softly, moving closer. “An’ I ain’t sayin’ you should help them, especially not him. But I’d at least look into who or what is after them.”

I shook my head and ran my hands through my hair, frustration breaking through my composure. “I don’t care what’s after them, Lique. Do you understand that I just got her to stop askin’ why she don’t have a daddy like all the other girls at school? Only for him ta blow his black ass on our doorstep askin’ fa protection.”

My voice cracked a little on the last words, raw and jagged. “He can break my heart a million times, I’m a big girl, I’ll be aight. But I’ll be damned if he breaks hers.”

Angélique sighed, the weight of my words settling heavy in the room.

“You know, he won’t know that she’s his unless you tell him.”

I looked her in the eye, hard and fierce. “He’s not stupid, Angélique. All he has to do is ask the right questions an’ the puzzle will solve itself. Hell Smoke caught it an’ I ain’t said shit ta him.”

She crossed her arms, pressing. “An’ you don’t think the knowledge of a kid would change his attitude about everything?”

I scoffed, bitter and sharp. “Hell no! He’ll find his snake ass back to Mary’s bed by tomorrow.”

“Well, if you’re so sure, go tell him then. If that’s so, you ain’t want him here no way, so why be upset?”

She must’ve forgotten who she was talking to. Before she could blink, I stormed back into the living room.

Smoke sat on the couch, holding his wrist steady as he checked the time. I hadn’t really noticed before, but his hand trembled, subtle like a shadow creeping. I didn’t question it. Stack sat still as a statue, the only movement Solè made was the slow, careful cleaning of the wound on his neck.

I grabbed a blanket from the shelf and tossed it to Smoke, then turned my full attention to the bane of my existence.

“At least say bye to ya daughta before ya leave dis time,” I said, voice rough and low.

Stack’s eyes went wide like he’d just been slapped.

“Say bye to my what?” he asked, sitting up straighter. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

I tried to hold back the anger but the Patois came out sharp and venomous anyway.

“Mi did a taak perfect English, yuh hear weh mi seh!”

Stack blinked, confusion and guilt mixing in his gaze.

“I– Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, looking toward the back room where Anastasia was probably listening.

“How could I? When did you give me a chance?” I mimicked him with a sneer, grabbing a toothpick to pop in my mouth like I was mocking his old promises. “Just wait fa me baby, down by the tracks. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

That memory slammed into me with the force of a hurricane, and for a moment the angry tears welled up and stung my eyes.

“And like an idiot, I did. I didn’t leave that spot for five days, Elias. An’ you neva showed. I didn’t know if you were dead or what because I couldn’t sense you. Next thing I hea, three months later the Smokestack twins bootleggin’ up north.”

He swallowed hard, voice low and steady. “I left so I could get some shit fa us. Fa us ta be free. I was gonna come back, but not empty-handed. I swea’ if I woulda known bout her, you woulda been wit me. Shit was different up there.”

I let out a humorless chuckle. “Fa us? You left fa us? I got $500 stashed in my shop.”

“Baby up there, I saw $500 a week. Swea’ fo’ God.”

“Whateva, Stack. Heal an’ get the fuck on. We been doin’ just fine without you. We’ll continue ta do so.”

“I’m not jus walkin’ away,” he said, squaring his shoulders like he wanted to stand tall in front of me.

“I don’t recall givin’ you a choice.”

“Well you know betta than anybody that I rebel.”

“You still got bloodsucka in you,” I spat bitterly. “An’ you know betta than anybody that I’ll kill ya worse than they eva could.”

He stared at me long and hard, like he was trying to read the fire in my eyes before sinking down in defeat.

“Understood, Cile.”

I leaned down so we were eye to eye, letting the weight of my words settle between us.

“Na’ heal an’ get the fuck out my house.”

He didn’t say another word. Just stood there, watching me walk away, like maybe this time he was finally seeing all the pain he’d caused. Smoke sat silent on the couch, staring at his brother. For a split second, just a flicker, he thought he saw a lone tear slip down Stack’s cheek before it vanished into the shadows.

“Get some rest, Stack. You can try again in da mornin’.”

“Sun gone burn us.”

Smoke gave him a little nod, voice soft but firm.

“It’s enough shade in da shop ta keep us safe until sunset.”

Stack nodded, his eyes stayed fixed on the full moon hanging heavy in the sky, like it was the only thing steady in his world.

I turned away and made my way toward the bedroom, my steps softer now. Peeking in on Anastasia, I saw her eyes flutter half-open, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

“You okay, cher?” I asked gently, settling beside her bed.

She blinked slowly, voice still thick with sleep.

“Yeh, you guys were just kinda loud.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

She gave me a small, shy smile.

“It’s okay, mommy. I like him. I don’t want him to leave just yet.”

I sighed, brushing my fingers through her hair, feeling the heavy weight of her innocence and hope.

“I knew you’d say that.”

Her little voice came soft and full of worry.

“I’m sorry.” She hugged her teddy bear tight to her chest, like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

I shook my head, trying to shield her from the storm I knew was coming, but knowing some lessons had to be learned.

“Don’t be babygirl. It’s not you that I’m angry with.”

Her eyes searched mine, full of earnest confusion.

“Did he leave because he was scared?”

I took a deep breath, the truth bitter on my tongue.

“He left because he was a womanizer an’ a crook. An’ as much as we may want them to, some folks never change.”

Leaning down, I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, pouring every ounce of love I had into that one touch.

“Now get some rest. You got school in the morning.”

She yawned, snuggling deeper under her blanket.

“Yes ma’am.”

As I stood to leave, I glanced back at her sleeping form. Somehow, despite everything, the room still held a fragile hope. I just prayed it would be enough to carry us through the long night ahead.

Tags: @whoaitslucyylu @omgffs @healanette @secret89sblog @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @soufcakmistress @thickemadame @blackpantherismyish @kumkaniudaku @youreadthatright @post-woke @chaneajoyyy @kissmyafropuff @empressdede @melodyofmbaku @blktinkerbell @turbulentvoids @writerbee-ffs @jasssdee1 @cerya @hearteyes-for-killmonger @theegoldenchild @theogbadbitch @honggihwa @dashhoney25 @jackierose902109 @hotcommodityyy @browngirldominion @j0ysyndr0m3 @marley1773 @theegyal @wabi-sabi1090 @thevelvetwhispers

[madefortherain]

february fic recs ⋆ ༘⁀➷

the end of february means it’s, once again, time to shout about my favourite reads of the month! (same as last month, tagging authors i know the blogs of, but feel free to lmk if you want anything changed/removed) <3

multichapter:

Astronomia Nova by sreka (@smodernlife) - T, 35k. sirius raising harry, meets beautiful librarian remus and subsequently ruins a priceless book (meet-ugly everybody cheer!!). absolutely adored this!!

Be My Baby by pixelated (prettyremus) - M, 21k. dirty dancing au!! enough said just with that, really, but also the way queer themes are woven into the original story is so cool!

The Proctor House by @eyra - M, 5.2k, MCD. i honestly think it’s best to go into this one fairly blind. just let the beautiful writing take you where it wants to, it’s so so worth it. this one has stayed with me since i read it.

you don’t have to be alone (when you’re the place i wanna go) by @quiethauntings - E, 37k. remus reunites with his friends on a trip to the scottish highlands. nostalgia bottled into a fic! a very lovely depiction of loneliness and rekindling friendships. really beautiful!

Of Prefects, Pretence, and Precedent by Whoops_E - M, 121k. shouting this one out again because it’s now complete!!! i’m immediately diving in for a full reread. i go insane for this fic and specifically think about the grape jam chapter approximately 30 times a week.

oneshots:

nightlights by sadgeminimoon - T, 9.2k. single parent remus raising teddy, & sirius who helps out far too well. the pining!! adored this. i, too, would lose it if i came home to find sirius black doing a load of my laundry.

The Best By Far Is You by orphan_account - T, 13k. padfoot and moony are tumblr mutuals, while blind remus hires sirius as a reader for his classes. i believe this one is fairly well-known, but i only just got to it and it’s so so wonderful! there are also 7 more shorter oneshots (ratings vary) following this, all of which i subsequently inhaled. really recommend the entire Tumblr Trash series! (E, 35k total)

Perfect by wanderingdonut - T, 3.7k. ace4ace wolfstar learning to love each other :’) such a wonderful acespec story, i adored this <3

A Cup of Sugar by MsAlexWP (@languagelessonswolfstar) - T, 5.3k. harry pov feat. disabled harry and disabled remus (bonding!!). so sweet, such great disability rep, and adorable little peeks of wolfstar! loooved this!!

WIPs:

Let me Believe (Ever After) by @brigid-faye - M, 6/12, 47k. ever after: a cinderella story (1998) au! sad-eyed prince remus, riches to rags sirius. such great characterisations, relationships, and storytelling. i devoured these chapters so quickly!

Brave Face by @zoemillinwrites - M, 28/?, 252k, MCD. a canon-divergent, sirius-centric fic starting in hogwarts first year. such real and raw characters, being a little in love with your friends, and some of the cleverest, most unique magic explanations i’ve ever read. seriously, can’t emphasise enough how SO insanely cool the magic is!! (also shouting out the accompanying Story Shards WIP (E, 1/?, 4.3k) for some brilliant extra character studies!)

four thousand holes by aeridi0nis (@steelycunt) - E, 2/5, 41k. pride (2014) au. lesbians and gays support the miners; sirius is part of the organisation, remus is the son of a miner. truly so so obsessed with this premise. and the writing!! incredible, incredible prose.

As You Walk On By (Will You Call My Name?) by @imsiriuslyreading - M, 6/15, 23k, jily!!!! royalty au AND university au in one! royal james and eat-the-rich lily, creating such a fun jily dynamic. + a lovely dose of background wolfstar, too :)

[cy-cyborg]

How The Owl House did amputee representation right before Eda ever lost her arm - Disability in Media

[ID: A screenshot of Eda from The Owl House, an old woman with pale skin, very large, grey hair and pointed ears in a red dress. Beside the screenshot on a dark pink background is text that reads "Disability in media, How the Owl House got amputee representation right before eda ever lost her arm." /End ID]

Dana Terrace's The Owl House has some of the best disability rep I’ve seen on a Disney channel show in a long time, with Eda, the main character’s mentor, being one of many stand-out examples.

Plenty of people have discussed how Eda’s curse and the loss of her magic can work as an allegory for disability and how refreshing it is to see a story (especially one aimed at a younger audience) who’s focus is not on her “overcoming” it, but learning to accept it as a part of her and go from there. Eda’s story tackles a lot of subjects that are often mishandled in other examples of disability representation, from the subject of parents who refuse to accept, to glass siblings and much, much more, The Owl House handles all these topics beautifully.

But one thing that dawned on me during my most recent re-watch of The Owl House is how well Eda (and later Lilith) worked as amputee representation, long before Eda actually lost her arm.

One of the side effects of Eda and Lilith’s curse is that sometimes their body parts, mainly their limbs, can fall off. It doesn’t hurt them, and Eda is seen removing them intentionally at multiple times in the series, but they can always be reattached.

[ID: an image of Eda holding her sister Lilith's hand. Lilith is a pale woman with long, black hair, wearing grey clothes. She is looking at her other arm suprised, as her hand is missing. Luz, a Latina girl with short brown hair and a purple hoodie is looking on, smiling. /End ID]

While most likely unintentional, the way the show depicts this with Eda in particular is exactly what I wish more people would do with their prosthetic-using amputee characters.

Eda detaches her limbs, especially her legs, when they’re inconvenient or when she’s relaxing.

[ID: an image of Eda laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

The fact that this is mostly played for laughs is actually a good thing in my opinion (though obviously, the show’s overall tone is part of that), as it shows the audience who are mostly children and teens, that in a world of weird and downright scary (from the perspective of the characters) things, this isn't one of them. It’s just a thing she and Lilith can do, and it can even be funny.

[ID: An image of Luz and Eda dressed as pirates. Eda is sitting on the ground, her legs detached and off screen somewhere. /End ID]

It does startle Luz and Lilith on a few occasions, but that’s more because they didn’t know the curse could do that, but once they’re introduced to it, it’s never really brought up as a big deal again.

I’d love to see more amputee characters who do this with their prosthetics. So often media is almost afraid to have amputees take their prosthetics off on camera or on the page. For some folks, our prosthetics are like a part of our bodies, but that doesn’t mean we never take them off. Show your leg amputee flop on the couch and throw their legs across the room. Have them go without on occasion, not because they have to, but because they just don’t feel like putting them on.

Likewise, the owl house creators never shy away from showing Eda when her limbs aren’t all attached. A lot of media, and kid’s shows in particular, will avoid having an amputee character’s stump visible if they ever do take their prosthetics off - treating that part of the character’s body the same way they treat gore or nudity. I’ve talked before how this actually does have a real impact on how kids in particular react to amputees - I’ve legitimately had kids I worked with cry when I took my prosthetics off, then immediately calm down when they see there’s nothing "scary" under my socks. As much as I love How To Train Your Dragon, it’s very guilty of this. Hiccup looses his leg at the end of the first movie, and wakes up with his prosthetic already attached. The Netflix series has a few instances where he has his prosthetic off, but the camera almost always avoids showing it until he can cover it up again, or is super zoomed-out so you wouldn’t be able to “see anything”. To their credit, they do get better with this in the last movie (though it's still always covered), but for the majority of the series, they are very reluctant to have any shots where hiccup’s leg is in view without the prosthetic (unless they’re very far away).

[ID: a screenshot of Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon 3, a white man with short brown hair, and one leg missing, wearing armour made of black dragon scales and no prosthetic. He is holding onto toothless's head, a black dragon. /End ID]

Ironically, Eda does (permanently) loose an arm at the end of season 2, but I don’t really have much to say about her as amputee representation on that front, since she’s absent for a lot of Season 3, and when we do see her again, everything is so hectic, the story doesn’t really have any time to focus on her missing limb (which is reasonable). I will say, I do appreciate that they kept the amputation when she's in her owl-beast form in the finale, but there's honestly not much more to say about it. We do see her again in the epilogue after she’s had some time to settle into the amputation, wearing a hook prosthetic, but it’s, once again, too quick to really say anything from a representation standpoint. There's a few little nit-picky things I could bring up, like the fact they seemed to change the type on amputation she had (when she looses it, we see the split was very close to the elbow, but in the epilogue she has most of her forearm again) but those read to me more like animation mistakes or an odd prosthetic/clothing designs rather than a representation issue - and as someone who's worked in animation, given the stress the team was under for the finale, I'm not really worried about it. Like I said, it's more nit-picky than anything.

[ID: A screenshot of Eda, her hair tied back and wearing a red robe and a hook for her right hand. /End ID]

Despite all that though, I still think Eda is still good amputee representation, but mostly because of how they depict her curse’s side effects rather than her actual amputation. She’s honestly one of the only characters that I think you could refer to as “amputee coded” (outside of maybe Teen Titan’s Cyborg), and I genuinely wish more creators would treat their actual amputee characters the same way the Owl House treats Eda in that regard.

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Healing Hands

This is just a short little fic, based on this post here. The tall, broad High-King demanded a drabble aside from the ones I'd already started about him, so what else could I do? He is the High King, after all. 🥰👑

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Gil-Galad (RoP) x Half-Elven!Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff.]

Warnings: Spoilers for RoP s2e8, non-graphic descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, soft!Gil-Galad, affectionate teasing, romantic tension, healing injuries, Gil speaking Quenya, battle aftermath, minor angst with a happy ending.

~*~

Did she truly think she was being subtle with such a limp in her step? The High King and his Herald had led their soldiers and the survivors of Eregion into a valley, establishing around it a protective, magical barrier using the rings of power.

Together, the pair had healed Lady Galadriel, but as they settled her in a soft, flat spot to recover, Gil-Galad saw his lady, clad in her own black-splattered armor, attempting to limp away unnoticed.

"Go. I'll stay with Galadriel," Elrond volunteered quietly, and with a grateful nod of acknowledgement, the King hurried through the trees after her. He hadn't even remembered seeing her struck, but obviously she had been if she was limping.

She didn't get very far. At the edge of a small clearing, he found her sitting with her back against a tree, struggling to remain conscious. His breath caught when he saw how pale she'd become. She'd clearly been hiding this for quite some time.

Without a thought beyond healing his lady, Gil-Galad dropped to his knees beside her and began slicing a window into the leg of her trousers. The cloth parted easily at the behest of his dagger, and at the waft of cool air over her skin, her eyes fluttered open.

"Ereinion?" Her voice was so shaky and quiet. "I'm sorry. Didn't...want to bother you..."

"Hush, I am here, now," he murmured as he beheld the broken-off shaft of an arrow embedded in her leg. She'd lost quite a bit of blood if the dark, drenched fabric of her trousers was any indication. Thankfully, the arrow was not lodged too deeply, and she'd left enough of it exposed for a healer to grip in order to remove it. "Fool of a girl, you should have come straight to me."

She let out a weak laugh at his affectionate scolding.

"Calling your favorite patient a fool? Ondórëa ingaranya," she murmured cupping his cheek and drawing his eyes to her own. There was no real acidity in her tone. Gil-Galad took courage in the fact that she still had enough clarity of mind to tease him. He had, in fact, healed her before, but the injuries were always insignificant and superficial. And, she'd never actively hidden them from him before.

What cause had he given her to do so? Had she been embarrassed?

Without hesitation, he turned his head just far enough to kiss her palm.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, meldanya." He hoped that she knew he referred to more than his playful jab. He also knew that to call her such, to allow such a slip, would be tantamount to a confession for which he was not certain that he was prepared. But, to call her anything less than his beloved would be a lie. Furthermore, to do so in the aftermath of such rampant death and destruction would summon within his heart guilt in such quantities that he could not abide.

Turning his attention back to her leg, he laid his palm as lightly as he could over her thigh. He whispered in Quenya, allowing the magic from his ring and from his own healing abilities to seep into her skin and numb her pain. Working quickly, he removed the arrowhead and pressed his hand over the wound, murmuring some of the same healing spells he and Elrond had used on Galadriel.

Fortunately, though, this was not a cursed wound as the former had sustained from Morgoth's crown, nor was it as severe. Her skin glowed readily beneath his touch. Within moments, the skin bound itself shut and his lady shuddered in relief as a trickle of light penetrated the canopy of trees overhead to mingle with their own.

Her hand had fallen limply away after mere moments, but Gil-Galad retrieved it once his work was complete, grasping it gently between his own blood-stained fingers. Her pulse beat steady and strong in his grasp, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he breathed a sigh of relief. She would be alright. She had survived.

"Did you mean it?" She breathed, and he was so surprised that she was conscious that his eyes snapped immediately to hers. Despite the dirt and grime coating them both, he felt entirely exposed beneath her gaze - vulnerable and transparent before her.

He relished the sensation of being known so completely. To everyone else, he was Gil-Galad, the High King of Lindon, the bastion of strength from which his people drew their courage when darkness threatened.

To her, he was simply Ereinion. The feeling was more pleasant and intoxicating than he could possibly express.

"You called me your beloved," she continued. "Did you mean it?"

How could he deny it? He loved her. He had for centuries. Since the moment she set foot in Lindon nearly three hundred years before, Gil-Galad had surrendered to the realization that his heart would settle for no other. Her light was beyond compare, shining into even the most uncertain parts of his heart which he hid from all others. She drew him out so easily, comforted him simply by smiling in his direction. She was his strength, his courage, his most luxuriant pleasure and joy.

But, he was a king. Because she knew him, she also knew better than any other how taxing his position was. Over time, he'd convinced himself that she would not wish to bear the burden of ruling by his side, so he'd remained silent - reluctant to steal her own contentment and joy by forcing the responsibilities of a ruler upon her. She deserved to have a life unburdened by the weight of a crown.

In his secrecy, however, his heart had grown accustomed to a more profound loneliness than he'd ever previously known. On too-silent nights in his chambers, he longed to hold her close and whisper poetry in her ear - he'd composed more verses in her honor than he'd expected his heart to harbor. On tranquil mornings before the rush of the day's duties began, he ached with the need to see her curled peacefully in his arms as the light of the sunrise spilled in through the windows.

No longer. After today's battle, Ereinion could no more hold his tongue than the pair of robins who sang so freely in his gardens each morning.

"Yes. With all of my foolish heart, I meant it," he admitted, his heart singing with every word, and she lifted her free hand, threading it lightly into his hair. The King savored the feeling. Never before had she touched him so brazenly - he'd made it clear that she was more than welcome to, of course, but she never availed herself of such liberties.

He bent lower, hoping to encourage her by making his person easier to reach. He felt her bare wrist brush against the tip of his ear - sharper than her own, thanks to her half-mortal parentage - but he could not hide his blush nor the light groan she tugged from his chest.

"You have tempted me...enchanted me since our first meeting. I have eyes only for you, but if you do not feel the same, I swear on my honor that I will not torment you further." The King's oath came from the most sincere depths of his heart. For her, he would. Much as it would pain him, if she wanted nothing to do with his feelings, he would bury them deep so that only he would feel the ache. She would suffer no discomfort at his hands.

Her lips met his, stopping his spiraling thoughts in their tracks, and all his worries fell away beneath the most delicious relief. They were as soft and sumptuous as they looked - as he'd imagined them to be - and Ereinion didn't hesitate to return her affection. He may have healed her leg, but with that once simple act, she had healed the King's heart.

~*~*~

Elvish Words (Quenya):

ondórëa ingaranya = my hard-hearted/pitiless high-king

meldanya = my beloved

~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1 @gandalfthepimp @horta-in-charge

[howtoexloveback]

How Actually Does The Black Magic Work

Indeed, we all know that black magic is an ancient science, which has a great history in the past. According to the experts, the black magic is a supernatural power that has a strong mention in many kinds of literature and religions. At the present moment, most of the people trust the black magic due to its powerful effects to destroy someone who you do not like at all. In addition, you can use…

[witchyintention]

🔋 What Is Energy in Witchcraft, Really?

You hear it all the time:

“Cleanse your energy.” “Protect your energy.” “That spell didn’t work because the energy was off.”

But what is energy in witchcraft, really? Is it just a vibe? A feeling? A force? Let’s cut through the fluff and take a deep dive into the heartbeat of magical practice.

🌀 Energy: The Foundation of Magical Work

In witchcraft, “energy” is the invisible current that flows through all things — living and nonliving. It's the pulse of existence, the unseen thread connecting the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual worlds.

Some traditions call it life force, chi, prana, or mana. In the witchcraft and pagan world, we often just call it energy.

But make no mistake: it’s not a metaphor. It's a real and felt experience, even if it’s hard to measure.

🧙‍♀️ How Witches Work With Energy

Energy is to witches what paint is to a painter. It’s the material we shape, shift, direct, and transform. Whether we’re casting a spell, drawing a sigil, or charging a talisman — we are engaging with energetic intention.

Common Practices Involving Energy:

Cleansing – removing unwanted or stagnant energy from people, tools, or spaces

Charging – imbuing objects with intention or power (like charging a crystal or candle)

Grounding – reconnecting with the earth to stabilize your energy

Centering – drawing scattered energy inward to prepare for ritual or spellwork

Casting a Circle – creating an energetic boundary for sacred space

⚡ But Where Does Energy Come From?

There are multiple sources, depending on your path:

Your own body and spirit (personal power)

The elements (earth, air, fire, water, spirit)

The cosmos (moon phases, planetary movements, sun cycles)

Nature and land spirits

Deities and ancestors

Tools and objects (which hold residual or programmed energy)

The key is intention + direction. You don’t need to “have power” in some fantasy sense — you need awareness and relationship.

💡 What Does Energy Feel Like?

Everyone perceives energy differently, but here are some common signs:

A tingling or buzzing in your hands or chest

A pressure shift (like the air thickens or thins)

A sudden temperature change

Emotion rising unexpectedly

Feeling drawn or repelled by an object, space, or person

Energy is subtle. You don’t have to “see auras” to be an energy worker. It’s a muscle — the more you practice sensing it, the stronger your sensitivity becomes.

🛑 Misconceptions to Clear Up

Let’s talk about what energy is NOT in witchcraft:

🚫 It’s not just being “positive” or “good vibes only” 🚫 It’s not a magical shortcut that replaces skill or knowledge 🚫 It’s not a way to excuse harm or spiritual bypassing 🚫 It’s not always pure — all energy has frequency, and some needs cleansing

Energy can carry memory, intention, emotion, and even spiritual residue. That’s why regular practices like cleansing, shielding, and grounding aren’t extra — they’re foundational.

🔧 Tools That Help You Work With Energy

These aren't required — you are always your most powerful tool — but they help:

Crystals – amplify or transmute energy (e.g., black tourmaline for protection)

Herbs – each carries a specific vibration (e.g., rosemary for clarity)

Incense & Smoke – shifts the energetic field

Sound – bells, singing bowls, clapping, or chanting can cleanse or raise energy

Salt & Water – ground and absorb unwanted energy

Visualization – one of the strongest tools to direct energy flow

🧘‍♀️ Developing Your Energetic Awareness

Here are some simple ways to get better at sensing and directing energy:

✋ Energy Ball Exercise:

Rub your hands together, then slowly pull them apart. Can you feel the subtle resistance or pressure between your palms? That’s you — your energy. Now imagine shaping it into a sphere. This is what spellcasting feels like.

🌳 Tree Grounding:

Visualize roots growing from your feet into the earth. Feel the energy of the earth rise up and stabilize you. Release anything heavy or chaotic — give it back to the earth to compost.

🌊 Water Cleanse:

Place your hands in water. Visualize it pulling stress and static out of your body. Add salt, herbs, or oil to deepen the ritual.

🔮 Final Thoughts

Energy is real — and it's everywhere. In witchcraft, energy isn’t something spooky or exclusive. It’s something intimate, natural, and deeply connected to how we move through the world.

Understanding it is about learning your own rhythms, listening to your environment, and practicing trust. You don’t have to “see” it to know it. You don’t need fancy gear to direct it. You just need awareness, intention, and respect.

So next time someone says, “protect your energy,” remember: Your energy is sacred. It is life force. It is your most powerful form of magic.

🕯 Blessed Be — and may your energy flow freely and fiercely.

[forsaken-headcanons]

7n7 and the c00lgui are connected physically kinda? A long time ago when he was first making it and younger (and stupid) 7n7 decided to sort of connect himself to the c00lgui’s code physically and allow himself to do even more fun exploiter stuff. Nowadays he kind of regrets doing it especially linking so much of himself to it initially. He can’t really undo it but he can change how much they’re connected with the c00lgui’s settings (he really doesn’t like messing with it too much though because he’s too scared that he’ll end up putting too much of himself and the code together and become something he’s Not like John Doe’s become with the corrupted code)

Stuff 7n7 does because of this;

He glitches in and out of reality sometimes especially when stressed. He can’t do this in rounds because the Spectre thinks it wouldn’t be fun (most anything useful the code can do isn’t really allowed in rounds aside from his main abilities). He can also teleport using this ability if stressed enough or panicking but he never really learned how to control it so most often he just ends up somewhere like his room because he subconsciously wants to be somewhere safe and quiet (think of it like the Quantum Slimes in Slime Rancher)

He doesn’t exactly need food and drink as much as the others since he is partially made of code. He still needs it but he can go without it for longer. He can adjust this a bit with the c00lgui to make himself need food even less but he doesn’t do that often because he’s kind of scared that something bad will happen if he increases it too far . This specific trait is also useful for avoiding Elliot between rounds

7n7 can sort of “patch” himself with updates/patches to the gui. Which is sort of open-ended but he can heal minor scrapes and wounds with this . He can also remove tiredness though he often passes out before he gets to use that particular function . He can just sort of minorly modify himself whenever he types in the commands

He used to be able to do things like clip through walls modify his permissions and other fun exploiter things but he’s sworn off using those functions ever since he stopped being an exploiter (he could do them but he’d feel far too bad about it)

If the c00lgui is damaged or handled by anyone other than him he can feel it and so he’s protective of the device. If someone that’s not him touches it it feels like he’s being burned though no damage actually happens. As C00lkidd is his son 7n7 modified the gui to accept his touch but it still causes him to feel like he’s near a fire when C00lkidd messes with it. The gui is constantly backed up into a computer in his room but if a tablet is ever broken (it fixes itself at the end of the round/by the next morning out of rounds. Spectre magic everyone) it causes A Lot Of Pain for 7n7 so he tries to avoid it whenever possible (during rounds he always makes sure to try and put it somewhere on his outfit where the killer can’t easily destroy it if they harm him)

Whenever he zones out (which is 70% of his daily routine at minimum) you can faintly see lines of code executing in his eyes real time. Most of them are related to what he’s thinking about/going through at the time. When he dies you can either see cracks in his eyes, a bluescreen, an error message, or a black screen depending on the tablet’s condition

He can instinctively sort of understand code whenever he sees it . The downside of this is that when he first saw John Doe in a round he got a massive migraine because the corrupted code was so overwhelming and incomprehensible his mind struggled to even begin to handle it. He’s learned parts of the code (enough for his brain to stop freaking out and giving him extreme headaches whenever he saw John Doe) but being near John Doe still gives him a headache if he thinks for long enough about it

He corrected his myopia with the gui when he first got trapped in the game. It doesn’t last forever (only around a day) but he doesn’t want to wear glasses or contacts while in rounds so this will have to do for now

Him and Builderman (in an AI interpretation) are actually rather friendly if only because they sense something similarly Off about the other and will occasionally have vague conversations about robotics and code because they’re both dancing around addressing the fact the other is Not (Fully) Human. Maybe one day they’ll actually talk about it and become friends This was a ramble and a half sorry LOL I did not anticipate this hc to get this many words from me when I started writing -🪶anon

I love headcanons about the logistics behind hacking and code in the Forsaken verse. You really cooked. While this was definitely a long one, I enjoyed reading through it.

Builderman and 007n7 get the 'vibe' from each other and maybe they even know that the other is not human (or at least not entirely) but neither of them will actually start a conversation about it. Too awkward.

[theadhddimsenion]

Something that helluva boss is incredibly brave in doing is refusing to bow down to any kind of black and white morality system.

First and foremost I should bring up is how some so called "critics" of this show have attempted to claim that vivi is an "elitist apologist" because striker is a villain and it doesn't make the simple "eat the rich" ideology the most moral one.

I know that especially in times like these that resentment and anger towards those who are behind the massive mess we find ourselves in is at an all time high and 99% of it is totally and completely justified but one thing we have to remember is that the moment we stop considering another group as some evil and/or lesser we cross a very dangerous line.

What many of these people fail to understand is that the fact of the matter is that not every one of the "bourgeois" is a single minded monster determined to ruin the lives of the common folk for their own amusement. For sure the elites of the world are often the cause of most of our problems but acting as if they are simply evil by nature of what class they were born into is bigotry plan and simple.

People have a problem with conflating revenge with justice. Some people will insist that villains like magnetio and kill monger where justified in their actions because they only wished to bring an end to systemic oppression but the reality is that the mere act of opposesing systemic abuse and oppression is not some grand moral statement that places one above all criticism it just means you have enough compassion and Decency to understand that building systems that force people into horrible and unfair places is wrong which shouldn't be treated as if it's some massive moral revaluation!!

Strikers character is all about this folly. He's supposed to be a deconstruction of the idea that all it takes to fix a society is to give it the right leader because sometimes the problems with system are just too deeply rooted and much like a rotten foundation of a house the whole thing has to knocked down to start from scratch. He also embodies the folly that simply removing the people that created and corrupt system will magically make the system go away.

In some ways it makes sense that people would think this way. Many times when a tyrant is exposed as fallible in any way even against something as unbickqoutus as death their cults of personality die with them. But other times their influence will never seem to die and their will always be stupid, ignorant and/or evil people who will continue to rally to their vile cause even after it's creators death.

The point I'm trying to make is that what some people don't seem to understand is that their is more to social justice than just yelling "eat the rich!" And "fuck the one percent!" You have to actually look a the real problems of society, their causes and how to fix them and not be naive enough to belive that killing rich people indiscriminately will cause the world's evils and oppressive systems to vanish into thin air.

I've said it before and I will say it again. Striker is nothing but a bag of hot air and if you couldn't figure that out even after he had his own song about his own "greatness" then I'm not sure I can help you. Striker represents a type of villain some people on the left side of the political spectrum Don't want to acknowledge (for fair reasons as this often used to deny any form of societal reform) a performative Activest and a fake revolutionary. He is a reminder that there is a right and a wrong way to go about toppling corrupt systems. Their is blitzs way of actually doing something that would help your fellow victims of the system and help them rise up and then their is strikers way of yelling "eat the rich" expecting people to bow down to your Riddick and respect you for the most basic of social commentary and doing anything and everything to hurt those above you regardless if they are actually responsible for the injustices of the system all while comprising your "ideals" in the support of your own personal need for power and revenge.

[vintagerpg]

I13: Adventure Pack I (1987) is part of a larger trend for TSR in the late ’80s, moving from the module format to a perfect bound book. Most collected older material, but this is one of a handful (Castle Greyhawk, Tales of the Outer Planes, Mists of Krynn, etc) that presented an anthology of new material. True to the RPG Curse, though, there never emerged an Adventure Pack II.

The most interesting facet of this book is how the scenarios are grouped, which is by theme: Deceiving Appearances, Intrigue, Mystery, Good Guys & Bad Guys and Competition. Right off the bat, you can get a sense of what you’re getting yourself into. Bizarrely, though they are grouped thematically in the table of contents, they are not sequenced that way in the book — the last scenario in the TOC is the first to appear in the book? That is the weirdest choice.

Anyway. The mix is a little odd. Ray Winninger’s scenario is basically the D&D Olympics. Warren Spector contributes an investigation into a mysterious circus that employs the old “magically remove the players’ powers” gag that everyone always loves. Players can cross paths with a druid who has a Poison Ivy/Black Orchid complex. Steve Perrin’s entry pits players against an assassin’s guild comprised of former adventurers like themselves (I like this one). There’s some bandits to kill, a pair of quarrelsome sisters to help, a scavenger hunt to…hunt? There’s one with a zoo and more clowns. There are so many clowns in this book!

The two best are by Allen Varney and Jennell Jaquays. The former delivers a gross-out shorty centering on keeping a chef supplied with the very special steaks his clientèle is clamoring for (there are options, including unicorns and gold dragons, but the real choice is purple worms, ugh!). Jaquays takes to the skies, which I am not a huge fan of, but delivers a fun jam with a floating castle and some perytons. There is a pretty big gap in quality between these two and the others, but honestly, everything in the book is serviceable enough with a little elbow grease on the DM’s part.

Cover by Easley, whose horses here are strangely hypnotic, like a Muybridge reel. Jeff Butler and Valerie Valusek keep things nicely grounded inside.

[american-delirium]

˖ ֹ੭୧ peter maximoff headcanons ⊹ ࣪

ft. angst ㆍ rambling ㆍ fluff ㆍ sfw - slightly suggestive languageㆍ i completely ignored cannon ㆍ i switch up between using pietro and peter :)

⸝⸝ ⟢ O1

peter is originally from sokovia, his mother was caught between jobs and the war going on there, erik was simply a one night stand and she had no way to contact him, so at ten years old pietro was sent to magda in america, wanda was only two at the time, she doesn't remember life without him, pietro changed, albeit not legally, to peter, he finds its just makes it easier for everyone

⸝⸝ ⟢ O1.5

pietro's mother tongue is sokovian, he naturally thinks in it and has to manually translate everything he says and what others say, though due to his mutation, people don't realise he does it, he also still has an accent, considering he lived there for the first ten years of his life, although he masks it often times, but it slips out when he's tried, angry, when speaking sokovian or when aroused

⸝⸝ ⟢ O2

peter considers wanda to be his biological sister, he will protect her to the death, wanda isn't aware that her big brother whom she adores isn't related to him at all, peter usually calls magda mom around her, just to make the lie seem more real, if he addresses magda without wanda present, he'll call her magda, his mother will always be his actual mother

⸝⸝ ⟢ O2.5

pietro did end up finding his biological mother, unfortunately she was at the end of her life due to lung cancer she got from the war chemicals she inhaled during the war, she told pietro everything he wanted to know, she shortly died after his visit, he still gets upset about her death despite not remembering the early memories of her very well and the memories he has of her when he was old enough to remember properly where blocked out due to the trauma of the war

⸝⸝ ⟢ O3

peter does secretly prefer the name pietro, although no one has called him that for years and years, the last he heard it was when his bio mother said it to him

⸝⸝ ⟢ O4

pietro's mind runs so fast, telepaths aren't able to understand what he's thinking, to them they get a jumbled mess of everything pietro thought, and considering his clear adhd, they usually overlap like crazy, it often hurts telepaths when they try and mind read him

⸝⸝ ⟢ O5

not really a headcannon, but for sokovian, considering on the map it borders slovakia and the czech republic, it would probably be very, very similar to them, i think it's similar to jamaican in the fact it's base language is english, sokovian's base language is slovakian/czech (although i know slovakian so i'll likely use that one lmao)

⸝⸝ ⟢ O6

peter is terrified of rejection or abandonment, it got to a point where most of his relationships he was quite toxic and controlling, he got his ass in therapy and mostly learnt how to manage and overcome those problematic urges

⸝⸝ ⟢ O7

on the topic of sokovian, sometimes he makes a translation error and says something like "me ate pizza today" instead of "i ate pizza today"

⸝⸝ ⟢ O8

pietro had an emo phase when he was 17, he got snake bites and sometimes he wears them 'just cause', he keeps his earrings in though, just some classic black studs, he is quite thankful he didn't go all the way and tried to stretch his ears

⸝⸝ ⟢ O9

(based on this beautiful fic by @bohnerrific69 )

his silver hair wasn't always there, he grew it due to the stress of the war and having to move, he was a mama's boy and being stripped from his momma to a country he didn't know and a language he knew 3 sentences in didn't exactly help

an. yes i am aware the fic is quite different to my head cannon but you should still read it because hello? it's gorgeous writing and also julia deserves all the love in the world because she's a sweetheart and an amazing person, am i fangirling? proudly. i have a big fat platonic crush on her

did this magically remove my writers block and burn out? boy i hope so..! anyway enjoy my rambling and nonsense about my favourite boy, i tagged this as my yaps because it has no structure and it's basically word vomit

tags. @anxiousgrungynympho

[swordy-da-goat]

(last ask for a while bc I feel like I'm nagging you sorryy)

I thought road wiz was like an scp, and now we have hazard monster.

Anyway I wonder how either of them would react to being treated like scps? Hazard would be a keter for sure.

Also if you made a road wiz plush I'd 100% buy it I love him sm

got carried away my bad

The Road Wiz

Item# : SCP-████

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Contained within a Standard Secure Humanoid Containment Cell in ██████, Sector-██ at Site-██. SCP-████ will often teleport out of their containment cell for an unprecedented amount of time before teleporting back. They are allowed to freely walk around the foundation as their skills and “magic” are very useful in securing anomalies, reducing injuries and casualties, and dealing with containment breaches.

Description: A humanoid entity (hard to distinguish if SCP-████ is a human or some other entity due to their hat and scarf obscuring facial view. Request to remove hat was met with opposition) wearing a hat resembling an orange traffic cone with one big and small white, reflective stripes, an orange safety vest with a long cloak attached from the backend, a yellow and black safety coverall, and long black leather and rubber gloves and boots.

SCP-████ is also in possession of a long black staff with a ring on the tip of unknown material. This staff is able to produced anomalous properties which can be better described as “magic.” Their “magic” seems to be a parody of signs, spells being correlated by the top of their staff in a hologram visual. One example being the staff projecting a deer sign when generating a glowing holographic version with mass of any of the Cervidae family.

Addendum 1: Discovery

SCP-████ was first captured near American state highway ██. The foundation was alerted when nearby police claimed that quote, “a portal just f█cking opened in the middle of the lobby where then a weirdly dressed guy wearing a cone on their head kicked a guy through saying to arrest him for drunk driving.” All personnel in the police station were given Class A amnestics. Foundation personnel were then deployed to the last place SCP-████ was spotted. Foundation were able to find SCP-████ feeding some stray dogs under American state highway ██. SCP-████ willingly agreed to come with the foundation for questioning.

Addendum 2: Interview

The following interview was conducted by Dr. Richards

Dr. Richards: Good afternoon SCP-████, I hope you’re feeling comfortable right now.

SCP-████: No, no, I’m fine thank you. Though I would prefer if you addressed me by “Road Wizard” or just “Wiz.” SCP-████ sounds a bit degrading.

Dr. Richards: …Noted. Anyways the foundation would like to ask you questions regarding your… job.

SCP-████: My job! Well you see Dr., as my name suggests, I am a wizard. My job is simply to keep everyone safe and responsible. The world is a very dangerous place, you SCP foundation folks would know that better than anyone about that fact!

Dr. Richards: You know of the SCP foundation?

SCP-████: Of course I do! Very big fan of your work! Trying to keep everyone safe from all these dangerous anomalies. Kudos to you guys, kudos!

Dr. Richards: Uh, thank you? Anyways, can you detail how you usually preform your job, or keep people “safe?”

SCP-████: Uh… I guess lecturing people on the rules and importance of road rules, filling up potholes, sticking reflective poles near edges, stuff like that. Pretty mundane huh?

Dr. Richards: What about your staff? What do you use that for?

SCP-████: Oh my staff! Well, I use it to channel my magic for the more dangerous part of my job. Magic can be real dandy in a rock slide.

Dr. Richards: I see.

Room is silent as Dr. Richard pauses to write notes.

Dr. Richards: *coughs* Um, SCP- sorry, Road Wizard. If you don’t mind me asking, I know you dub yourself as the “Road Wizard,” but is that the only safety concern you have? Or are there others like you that specialize in other hazards?

SCP-████: Funny you should ask that Dr., my real name’s actually the Safety Wizard. I just go with road because America has a crap ton of cars you know? And no, there's no one else like me so far that I know of.

Dr. Richards: So do you specialize in anything else then?

SCP-████: Sure I do! Let me just-

SCP-████ then manifests their staff from their hand which starts to emit a blue glow. A train sign then projects at the tip.

SCP-████’s outfit then suddenly shifts into a mock version of a steam engine engineer of their outfit, complete with a cap, denim overalls, vest-cloak and a yellow and black striped bandana.

SCP-████: Trains! Guess you could say I’ve become the “Rail Wizard!”

Silence.

SCP-████: Haha, sorry. There are other specialities too, but it’d probably take a while to show you all of them.

Dr. Richards: So are you able to switch forms like that?

SCP-████: That’s right miss! It’s very important to be dressed proper for any job!

SCP-████’s staff projects a car sign and outfit returns to previous description.

SCP-████: So any other questions for me Dr.? I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to be going soon.

Dr. Richards: SCP- I mean Road Wizard, you are aware that we can’t just let you go out.

SCP-████: I understand your concerns Dr., seeing what kind of place you guys run. But believe me, I’m not a dangerous guy! And it’s not like you folks can keep me in here anyways.

Dr. Richards: What do you mean by that?

SCP-████: Oh nothing. Anyways, it was nice chatting with you Dr. Richards, but I really must be on my way. See you later!

Dr. Richards: Hey, wait!

*SCP-████’s staff projects a Two Way Traffic sign and a glowing, yellow portal appeared to the right of SCP-████. SCP-████ then enters through the portal which disappears.

[END LOG]

——————————————————————————————————

The Hazard Monster

Item# : SCP-█████

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-█████ should be contained within a 5 m x 5 m x 5 m chamber of reinforced concrete. Door and windows should be tightly sealed to prevent SCP-█████ from escaping through any cracks.

Description: SCP-█████ is an amorphous, black blob which can change its mass, texture, shape, and composition through anomalous means. SCP-█████’s face appears to be an NFPA 704 Diamond symbol. Each section of diamond can open up to reveal a set of teeth or eyes (amount varies). SCP-█████ normally uses its anomalous abilities to inflict injuries on people. The relationship between SCP-████, or as they dubbed themself, the Road Wizard, is very negative.

Addendum 1: Discovery

Foundation was first alerted of SCP-█████ when reports of multiple incidents were reported by the people in the town of █████████. Residents were reported being injured by a black shapeshifting blob. Foundation, with the help of the Road Wizard, were able to track down SCP-██████ and capture it. All town residents were given Class A amnestics.