#death's recital and lucky charms

[jichulichu]

another one of my doodle dumps, featuring eden nineheart from @/fuwaketsuu (come back demonieee) and enigma from @freshbaked-bread

[goldyke]

This sinophobic nonsense with the fake sun bear is the exact premise of a really old Jewish joke. The idea that anyone’s supposed to take this seriously…..

[dandeliondee]

in light of @opal-owl-flight 's current saga with magowhore

[soullessdianthus]

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘

Summary: Reader's everyday life had been turned upside down since she had been recruited to Ghost's team. As a young, but prominent soldier she had to face many obstacles, but there was one in particular that made her blood boil ━ Commander Phillip Graves of Shadow Company. Little did she knew, that the blonde man with angelic was face going to make her suffer and bleed, wishing for the embrace of Death to swallow her whole. Y/C ━ your callsign Also posted on my ao3 ⟶ 𝕏

A/N: Basically, a whump where Graves is torturing the Reader after trying to frame her for a federal crime. Then Ghost finds out. Dark themes ahead.

Warnings: graves, canon typical violence (blood, guns, implied sexual harrasment), gore (desc. of tortures), angst, some sprinkles of comfort at the end

Word count: 7.6k

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄

For as long as you could remember, the commander of Shadow Company made you feel uneasy. At first, you couldn’t precisely determine what was wrong – with him or you. There was this strange feeling, an odd hunch regarding Phillip Graves. Thank God, you didn’t work for him. 

The whole collaboration thing that General Shepherd had with them was bizarre. A private military company? As far as you knew, they were called mercenaries, not some elitist soldier group. Their commander was oddly loyal to the general, it almost seemed like their bonds were far more complicated than a paycheck. 

Soon enough you realized he was his executioner, a war criminal literally. 

But your colleagues kept chastising you for making such hideous assumptions about higher ranks. You rather quickly learned not to share too much of your personal opinion with the other cadets. 

Thereby, your voice of reason and concerns were sealed within your own mind, left to take roots. Particularly when you sat on your own on the side of the training grounds just after lunch break. Your gaze was focused on the fellow soldiers battling with the obstacle course, although your thoughts kept spinning in a never ending cycle – analyzing the latest mission, what happened step by step, what went wrong, what you had done poorly. 

That was your key to survival – repeating the excellently executed tasks and never letting yourself slip up. Because there won’t be a second chance. 

Some may say that you were an overthinker. That such shredding of each event into smaller pieces might mess up with your brain or worse – sanity. 

But who the fuck cared about your sanity in a military? All of them had their hands tainted with blood, all of you had done some things that a perfectly ordinary person would find atrocious. 

And sometimes you were ashamed of that. There was a time, at the beginning of your service where you couldn’t face your God at all. The evening prayers ceased, as the shame pooling in you forbade you from reciting the lines. 

In spite of that, what wise people used to say that “time heals wounds” became your truth. You reconciled that death would be following you no matter where you would go. And each day, over and over you tried to omit feeding her greedy pit of a stomach.

Until you met Graves –  in many ways he resembled your friend reaper.  But he was far from being a friend. Mowing the fields of living, leaving corpses behind – “claw one’s way” was his motto. But there was a charming shell of a man that many seemed to fall for. 

A soft, rounded face covered with shallow frowns and not so many scars. Short, yellow hair kept impeccably brushed to the side, beard usually trimmed or shaved. And those piercing eyes of his. Phillip’s glance balanced on the edge of calmness and hatred. Only thanks to his brows could you tell the difference.

Some of your colleagues from the cadet group stalked behind you into the shower room as soon as you returned from the latest mission, still drenched in sweat and the scent of war. Pestering, but not about you of course. 

Since you passed all of the tests, you were amongst the few lucky ones that got introduced to the lieutenant's team. It wasn’t just any ordinary lieutenant, it was Ghost. Infamous man who wore a skull mask. Belonging to his division felt like joining some exclusive special forces. Which, in a way, was true. 

But at the end of the day, you were just a private. You have heard from your current superiors that you might have the potential to make it to sergeant in the next few years. Only if you stay alive, that is. So therefore it became your priority. 

Another week began, but you stopped counting days in the calendar. Every morning when you woke up, you checked the temperature and the schedule for the day. The decision of not tracing the days of the week seemed more… soothing. You were not counting the days until your demise, so what was the point of knowing if it was the third or fourth of the month?

Within the short period of time you have spent in the army you learned that time is the most precious thing in the world. The minutes, the seconds of you breathing in and out, devouring the essence of living. 

Time was fleeting and you were ready to do everything, not to let it slip away. 

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈

As the new week started, a new mission was approaching. All you knew was where to report, in what type of gear with what kind of weapon. You were just a private after all. So when you happened to find yourself, sitting on the bench amongst the fellow soldiers, his raspy voice echoed like war drums. The thuds of Ghost’s steps synchronized with the beating of your heart and the loud sways of helo’s propellers.

There it was – the adrenaline. The sweet hormone that kept you going. 

Tonight’s objective was crystal clear – ambush, then break in the building and search through it, looking for a man called Barnet. He was a federal agent, yet allegedly he was involved with illegal weapons dealing in and beyond the country’s borders. Now, he hired some mercenaries to protect his ass. Your group, with the help of Shadows, was supposed to capture that man alive for further investigation.

After another happy landing, you abandoned the helo and walked toward the gathering point where some Shadows were already standing. To your misfortune, Phillip was standing beside them.

And until your last step, you tried to manifest that he wouldn’t notice you this time. Well, the universe wasn’t too indulgent for you lately. 

━ There she is! 

“Oh, fuck me, everything but not him again”, you thought to yourself, making your way to the rest of the group. Your fingers clenched tightly over the M4 rifle you were carrying. 

━ Commander. 

You tried to keep a professional facade, referring to him with his rank. There was no time for a small talk as the clock was ticking. 

━ It have been a while, wasn’t it? ━ Graves turned his body towards you, causing a dozen of eyes landing over your frame. Somehow, the tactical vest and your equipment began weighing on under their curious looks. The lieutenant’s was the heaviest of them. ━ Let me tell you something, doll. I’ve never thought I’d meet someone colder than Ghost here. Are you always like this, huh?

━ I’m not cold. Just focused on my job, sir. 

He kept drilling a hole into your soul by looking a little too long to your liking with his blue eyes. They were the color of the ocean, of the sea you missed so much. God, how long was it since you last let the waves splash over your ankles?

━ That’s appreciated, soldier. 

Only then he returned to evaluating the situation with Ghost. In a matter of seconds you were supposed to enter the battlefield. Therefore you had to get your act together.

Breath in and breathe out. Try to focus on the commands, but count the prime numbers in your head at the same time. The simple mathematics helped you in distress.  At least the technique helped with your panic attacks through the years prior.

Within the next twenty minutes you found yourself with one of your teammates, callsign Omen, on their way, clearing out the second floor, left wing of the building. Since he was physically bigger than his partner, it was you who was going first. In case of need, you would quickly disappear behind the corner – you weren’t as easy to spot as he was. 

The building itself seemed to resemble a school or some sort of city council – the countless hallways and rooms made it an ideal layout for a shoutout with the enemy. Apparently, from what the two of you heard through the radio, Ghost was right after the target. It meant the mission was about to end.

Mrs. Laswell was right, calling it an “in and out” type of operation. All that was left to do was to keep your position until your lieutenant captured the objective. 

Because there was no sign of the opponent’s forces nearby, you and Omen split to sweep through the rooms departing from the long hallway. Perhaps, hiding some mercenaries?

You found yourself standing in front of the locked doors. Your heart slowed down by now, your body wanting to refuse to stay in combat mode. With a few firm kicks, you broke down the blocked doors to find yourself facing… an office or an archive.

The room had no windows and it was almost dark inside, the light from the hallway illuminating the interior. An uneasy sensation creeping up your spine. Plans and stacks of files laying on the table’s surface, pulling you closer. Hanging board, closed laptop still plugged in and a pot of recently brewed coffee. 

In that moment, as you stepped inside the room, you sealed your fate. Your curiosity became your doom, but you didn’t know that yet.

As your gaze wandered through some handwritten notes on the board, you heard a clunking sound of a metal bin rolling next to you on the ground. For some time you couldn’t register what exactly happened. 

Suddenly you began to run through the hallway, before “the bin” exploded. The recoil of the grenade made you stumble forward until your knees and fists hit the concrete ground.

For a moment there was silence. Blissful silence. 

Then the muffled thuds of someone’s steps blended with the squeaking noise ringing in your both ears. The fear pooled in your stomach, causing you to gasp for fresh air. You only noticed their presence as you saw the tip of their shoes right in your face.

The vision in front of your eyes was blurry, the image shaking uncontrollably. It felt almost like you were drunk, but you were clearly not. You were very much sober. 

The tight straps of your helmet dug into your head and temple like they were squeezing your brain out. The helmet weighed down on your poor head, so you tried to take it off – fingers awkwardly struggling with the straps.

The person standing in front of you grabbed you by your arm and helped you get on your feet. Then another set of arms wrapped around your back, but this touch was different – you knew this one belonged to Omen. A colleague, a friend.

Your heart was swaddled with warmth for a minute, until the other person decided to open their big mouth.

━ Come on, doll, we’re leaving. ━ A familiar, southern accent almost made your blood boil.

If God was real, he was clearly turning your life into a comedic spectacle of misery. Of all the possibilities it had to be him. 

━ Can you walk? ━ Omen asked and it was the first thing you registered correctly. The buzzing noise finally freed your eardrums, now leaking with blood. You nodded, but his hand was still belaying behind you. ━ What was that?

━ Some pre-installed grenade, I think. 

“Or someone rolled it beneath my feet”, you thought about that being a possibility too. You always considered other scenarios. It wasn’t your first encounter with an explosive, you knew the pre-installed ones usually weren’t rolling down the ground and you hadn’t nudged any cord. 

Besides, how come the Shadows and Graves suddenly happened to be there? 

Maybe your friends were right and you have already lost your sanity. Perhaps you went absolutely crazy, but that madness made you want to place together the sequence of events. You needed to understand what happened, because something was off. 

And there he was, walking on your right – Commander Graves, the reaper. It seemed that him and his Shadows were escorting the two of you to the gathering point as you were still numb after the explosion. He walked with his chin high, eyes sparkling with confidence after a successful mission. The aura that surrounded him made you feel like a prisoner of a warhound. 

Why?

Everything following “your salvation” blended together into one mush. Omen was a good friend of yours and he made sure you were not seriously injured. Only when the two of you sat on the bench inside the helo, you told him the whole truth.

━ There was something in that room. Something important. Papers. 

━ And they secured the evidence by destroying it with that grenade? ━ He was quick to follow your pattern of thinking, but it still wasn’t enough. You had a feeling it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

At the end of the day, Barnet got arrested and by this time he should be escorted by the Shadow Company to the FBI associated facility, meanwhile Ghost’s team was on their way back to the base. Everything from now on should have felt steady. 

But it didn’t.

━ Wounded? ━ Lieutenant interrupted the conversations that were being held between the teammates. 

━ Survivor of grenade here, sir. ━ Omen pointed at your bloodied earlobes, the dried liquid staining your neck. As the tall Britishman approached, you sent your colleague a death stare – you didn’t need his attention like this. You were alive, therefore no one should worry. 

━ Can you hear? ━ Ghost leaned over his knees to reach your level, his dark irises looking over you to search for far more serious wounds. You nodded after making sure your hearing was intact.  ━ Then you’ll be fine, Y/C. 

He patted your shoulder before turning around to take his own seat. How lovely of him, a very worried superior he was.

During your way back to the base, you tried to calm your own thoughts. There was a need to stop them from crushing over you, your head still hurt like hell. For the first time in a good while, the thoughts felt overwhelming rather than helpful. You tried to brush them off, but it was unsuccessful. 

You really needed to lay down and rest. A cup of tea would be lovely. 

When the helo landed on the grounds of the British Army’s facilities and everyone slowly was walking away to take a shower and rest, you stayed behind going at your own pace.

And so did Ghost. A lone wolf.

━ Sir? ━ The masked man hummed, joining you on a walk to the barracks. ━ Would you find some time for me tomorrow? I really need to talk to you about the operation and the explosion. 

━ It’s related?

━ I think so, yes, sir. 

━ You think? Are you sure, you’re not wastin’ my time, Y/C?

It took a moment for you to reply, but now you were entirely sure. Your gut feeling never failed you before. 

━ I would never waste time of a lieutenant, sir. I’m sure about that. ━ You tried to conceal the smirk twisting corners of your lips, but it became almost impossible with Ghost’s stupid questions. So you played along.  

━ Alright, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Now, take a good rest and watch that head of yours, private. Don’t lose it. 

Ghost could be funny sometimes, if you got to know him a little better. And of course, if he didn’t eat you earlier on – he could be an incarnation of a Behemoth himself sometimes. Even you were afraid of him at first, but that fear grew into a familiarity. 

Little did you know that you were being watched by a shadow as you spoke with your superior. The all-seeing gaze already began consuming your poor, oblivious soul. You already were a victim of his mischievous plan. 

Yet, you still had a chance for an absolution.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈

A warm shower, good sleep and a few pills of paracetamol was all you needed to regain most of your strength after the latest mission. Despite a new day beginning, sun hovering over the horizon, your head or rather thoughts were coming back to the events of last night. Nervously picking up the cuticles and pinching your own skin, trying to let go of that obsession. 

Yes, obsession. It became pathetically weird at this point, you had no physical evidence to show your superior. Perhaps, you were just overreacting or your mind got to the breaking point? 

None of that. You shook your head to the sides, brushing the fragility and doubts away. 

You were not weak, if you happened to be in his team. Ghost’s team. You were observant, noticing the smallest details – the superiors commented, after the successful recruitment to special forces. 

A voice of reason led you to the women’s bathroom and straight to the sinks. At this time of the day, the facility was empty, so you enjoyed the silence and loneliness. You turned on the tap, before splashing your face with cold water. 

“Breathe in and out, soldier”, you instructed yourself. 

As you calmed down a little, you dried off your face with paper towels. Soon after, you found yourself on the way to Ghost’s office. While you were walking down the hallway, you noticed the presence of Shadows. They were still sticking around. Just, you didn’t know why and probably won’t even know – you were only a private after all.

So to ease your curiosity, you decided to believe they were here for another collaboration. You shouldn’t be so nosy – that’s what your mother used to tell you, when she caught you eavesdropping on a conversation you were not supposed to hear.

━ Good morning, sunshine!

Graves suddenly placed his palm onto your shoulder, causing you to flinch. Fuck, you almost never flinched. Its weight felt abnormally heavy on your body, just like he was pulling you down hills with him – back to the gates of hell. 

━ Jesus Christ ━ you murmured quietly, barely audible. Your eyes shooting up to him, smiling like an idiot  ━ are you scaring everyone like this? 

━ Not particularly, no ━ Phillip grinned, exposing his pearly white teeth. ━ Would you mind going for a walk with me, soldier? There is… a matter we have to discuss. 

━ To be honest, I was on the way to my lieutenant’s office.

━ Why?

When he asked you this simple, one-worded question, you knew Graves was playing a sort of game with you – trying to squeeze as much information out of you, before you realized. But you were far from naive, you were an equal player in the game of shadows. 

There were no obligations towards the commander, he wasn’t a part of the army. So therefore, you decided to bluntly lie.

━ I don’t know, he called me in this morning. 

━ Bet he can wait a lil’ longer. Come on, I’ll take the blame, sugar.

For a couple of seconds you stayed behind, rethinking the decision you've already made. But then your legs aligned with the pace of his steps. The bold curiosity drove your actions. You decided to follow him outside of the building for a walk. 

It was quite a nice day outside. Clouds covered the blue sky, but it didn’t seem to be raining until the evening. It was pleasantly warm, a little too dry to your liking as the dust floating off the ground dirtied your trousers. 

The two of you followed the path near the fence between the storage buildings – armory, garages. Captain Price liked to call it a dumpster and he was right about that. 

The silence that fell between you two wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the pure anticipation of the other person’s next move – will he start a small talk? Because you wouldn’t. Or maybe Phillip would be straightforward with you? But about what exactly? 

━ So ━ you finally spoke out, letting your hands collapse at your sides ━ what was so important that had my superior to wait?

Your gaze landed on his face, searching for any tiny spasms of facial muscles. You needed something to work with. To figure him out.

━ I could have asked you the same question. 

━ I already told you, sir – I don’t know why the lieutenant called me in. 

━ No? ━ Graves suddenly stopped and turned his whole body towards you. A truly natural response was to face him too. ━ Weren’t you two talking in private yesterday? Following the return to the base, no? 

━ Ghost was worried about my ears, I was bleeding after the explosion. You saw it yourself, sir. Why does it matter anyway? 

He had the audacity to speak freely, to admit, that he had kept an eye on you yesterday. The arising question on your mind was: why? Why was he monitoring you?

━ You two seem to be quite close. ━ Graves continued poking the hornet’s nest.

━ He’s my lieutenant.

It took every inch of your willpower to withhold the fastened beating of your heart. You couldn’t be delusional, not right now. Ghost was just your superior.

━ Is he though? You make me wonder ━ he turned his head to the right, before clicking with his tongue. On purpose Phillip was keeping you on edge, waiting before you finally snap ━ if he plays a part of this venture. Is Ghost also involved?

━ What the fuck are you talking about? 

You finally raised your voice at Graves, annoyance flooding your veins. Nothing coming out of his mouth made sense, he was wasting your time here. 

━ I’m afraid you’ve been caught red-handed, sugar. Trying to destroy the evidence of your contribution to illegal weapon trafficking. Some money on the side, huh?

You snorted, amused by this sickening accusation. And until now, you thought your deductions were childish and foolish. Until Commander Graves opened his mouth, spilling more nonsense.

━ You think I planted the grenade? That’s bullshit, Graves. You ━ you took a step forward and your pointing finger dug into the material of his tactical vest, just above the dip between the collarbones ━ were there. You saw everything.

The last sentence came out more of a whisper, carefully threatening him that you knew he was fucking around with you. But he had orders to complete. The commander of Shadow Company would do everything for the sake of good fucking show. 

━ ‘m afraid I have to take you for further interrogation, soldier. 

Graves suddenly grabbed your forearm with a force you would never expect he would bare. At that moment you were confused, standing between a rock and a hard place – should you obediently follow him for “a talk” or should you resist his actions? Phillip was not your boss, he wasn’t in place of authority.

But, there was a hesitation if you should punch him or not. 

━ You can’t do that without my superior presence. ━ You struggled against his grip, looking around and searching for any witnesses. To your misfortune, again, there was none. The training grounds were empty.

━ See ━ he managed to pull you with him, while he made his way to the magazine nearby ━ this is a military rule, princess. It has nothing to do with me.

Graves was playing dirty, when he finally dragged you inside the empty hall. You clung to the both sides of his vest, before smashing your forehead against his face. The blonde man stumbled backwards, cursing loudly, calling you all sorts of names. It had to hurt like a bitch, if all might Phillip Graves was whining like a little boy kicked in the balls. 

━ You little– Fuck!

You tried to pass by him, before one of his Shadows revealed his presence, standing between you and the doors. Then another man emerged from the darkness, until you counted three of them in total. 

“Great”, you thought. 

A deep breath of not so fresh air filled your lungs. A hint of moisture hit your nostrils, while your sight was still getting accustomed to the dim lighting of the hall. Slowly you began to worry as you happened to be cornered by the Shadows with no one by your side. It made you vulnerable – like a wounded animal to a vulture.

━ What is this really about? ━ A simple question was asked, when you carefully tried to back out as far from the reach of his loyal soldiers. The situation was getting far more intense than you thought. 

━ You’re related to Barnet’s scandal or at least you're messing up the evidence, all I have to hear is a confirmation.

Commander, whose hands were dirtier than anyone you knew, wanted you to confess. Ironic, wasn’t it?

━ Don’t make this harder than it has to be, doll ━ Graves wiped his bloody nose with a material of his sleeve, slowly walking in circle around you, a lamb to the slaughter ━ just face the consequences of your own actions. 

━ You know it’s not true. I have nothing to confirm, sir. 

If you were the same person you were years ago, you would fidget with your silver medallion. Praying for courage in a situation like this, facing the personification of evil. But that necklace was laying forgotten in the abyss of your drawer. 

The painful truth was, you were left all alone in an uneven fight. 

━ I was afraid you would say so. 

With the slightest nod of his head you noticed the change in soldiers’ stance. They were about to charge at you and that familiar, eerie feeling in your bones. So you did all that you could to prepare for the upcoming attack. 

When the first soldier swung with his clenched fist towards your face, you swiftly managed to avoid it. Then, you succeed another time. But by omitting the hits you wouldn’t last long, so the next strike had to be blocked. 

Your forearm acted as a shield, when you tried to charge forward the Shadow. The second soldier joined the brawl, kicking you in the back of your knee. The punch in the joint made you stumble.

You decided to push away the first opponent and then with all your body mass, pin the second Shadow to the ground. Your arms wrapped around his thighs and you fell onto the soldier with a thud, punching his jaw with your clenched fist. 

The adrenaline made your nervous system numb to the pain you inflicted upon yourself. If not for the blood staining his jawline, you wouldn’t notice when your knuckles began to bleed. 

As soon as the pinned Shadow’s hands gripped your waist tightly, trying to push you off, you knew the outcome of the fight. Even if you had an upper hand for a split moment. There was no magical foreseeing – a simple conclusion told you, that you against the three of them was an already sealed result. 

But you had to put up a fight – you wouldn’t allow yourself to cross the gates of heaven or any other sort of afterlife if you hadn’t tried.

A sudden yank on your hair, made you cry out and fall off the soldier laying on the ground. Before you managed to get up, the third Shadow, until now standing still and watching, kicked you in your ribs. And then another time.

And another.

You stumbled to the side of your thigh, gripping the aching side of your bones and flesh, blood spilling beneath the surface of your smooth skin. Breathing, such a fundamental ability to live, became harder with each passing second. 

Your mouth fell agape, greedily trying to swallow some air, searching for a boost of energy. 

The three demons abused your position on the ground as they began kicking you around – aiming for your stomach, ribs, arms. It almost felt like you were their soccer ball. 

Graves stood tall near the raging chaos with his arms crossed over the tactical vest. Only when one of his puppets smacked you across the face, causing you to fall onto your stomach, he intervened. 

━ Not in the face, idiot! She’s quite pretty, isn’t she? Would be such a waste to permanently mutilate such a face. 

The blonde man crouched down and gripped your jaw, taking a closer look at the red mark pulsating on your cheek. It seemed that he was savoring the hurt look on his victim. The commander smirked, finally acknowledging the fear in your eyes. 

The taste of copper spreaded over your tongue, it felt disgusting and made you lightheaded. Only then the pain they inflicted on you began to sink in, causing all of your limbs to become extremely warm. Almost like the tongues of flames were dancing over your skin. 

If the Shadows kill you that night, will you become a martyr? Or would you be remembered as a traitor as Graves wanted to?

They swept you off the floor, upholding your fragile body by hooking under your armpits. Your head craved to hang low, but your consciousness needed to follow their movements, trying to predict what they would do to you next. 

 ━ I don’t like repeating myself, soldier, but I’ll give you another chance ━ Graves leaned in front of you, his hands resting upon his thighs. He became irritated that you hadn’t broken already ━ were you involved with Barnet or his partners in smuggling the federal weapons? 

━ I’m just a private, you fucking fuck! ━ You spat out the truth, brows narrowing close to your eyelashes. ━ I. Did. Not. 

His blue gaze wandered somewhere behind your back. Graves nodded and a sudden wave of stabbing pain spreaded around your kidneys. You cried out, spine arching, pathetically trying to escape the ache. 

Then they would give you a few seconds of break, you trying to breathe through the pain. But the cycle would continue as the Shadow behind your back kept electrocuting you over and over and over. 

The motherfuckers tased you. And they would not stop until you were a panting mess, limp within their hold. Poor mind of yours fried, barely holding onto the debrises of sanity. 

When your body reached some sort of limit and your vision became blurry, you really began to think you were to die tonight. In a matter of hours, you would have to face your friend – death and let her mock you for such an early encounter. 

But at least, you would not die untruthful to yourself.

Within the next couple hours, when your consciousness was wandering between the limbo of the Sandman’s realm and the reality, you gradually managed to understand the truth. 

That night during the operation Barnet, you saw something you never should have. The office and the crumbles of it. There was something inside so fragile and precious that made a person in a position of power command Graves to frame and torture you. As you were the only witness of it.

And for whom Shadow Company worked for?

The picture became crystal clear and you laughed like a madman. A trickle of blood dripped down the corner of your mouth, when they kept inflicting pain onto the poor soul of yours. And your young body too, staining it forever.

General Shepherd’s hands were not as clean as everyone thought so. He had to have something in common with those weapons being smuggled to the terrorists. Shepherd might have been afraid that you knew that, so therefore he needed you dead. Even though you hadn’t managed to read any of the notes before their destruction.

He wanted you buried six feet under the ground with no gravestone. No monument. 

And you know what they say – if you don't know what it is about, it’s probably about the money.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Although the pieces of puzzles fit together perfectly, their borders clinging tightly to each other, you hadn’t experienced satisfaction at all. 

The exhaustion became helpful at some point, separating your body from all the pain you’ve endured during the last couple of hours. The blood on your cuts dried up, but the smell of it made your stomach turn. 

You couldn’t believe that the scent and sight of blood would make you lightheaded, ever in your lifetime. Not as a woman of course, they see much more blood than the average man. 

But all of the beatings that those demons inflicted upon you was bearable. Painful obviously, but bearable. If your assessment was correct, they hadn’t broken any bones till now. The split skin on your collar bones, separated with the sharp blade of the knife could be stitched up. With good care the scars would eventually fade. 

If you survive this interrogation. 

Your grunts and whines filled Phillip’s ears, yet he still craved more than this. He hadn’t heard you scream and he would extort those sounds from you pretty soon.

The Shadows dragged you to sit at the wooden chair near the old table, your shoulders slowly sinking to the furniture’s backrest. They gave you a break as their knuckles were bloodied and scratched. Perhaps, they were thinking of another way to push you into the Behemoth’s maw. 

The time between your interactions passed quickly. Your eyelids closed loosely, but you heard the surroundings very well – the gravel crunching beneath the soles of their shoes, the way they shifted their weight. You noticed that, all of it. Your mind was alerted and aware. 

━ Have to give that to Ghost, he trained you well ━ Graves dragged another chair near yours and sat comfortably in it. Too close to your liking though. ━ But you must be tired, don’t you?

━ I’m fine.

A whisper hummed in the storage hall, filling the silence between your breaths. Those which might be your last ones. 

━ You look shit to be honest ━ the commander put his hands in the air, just like he didn’t want it to sound like an insult. ━ It didn’t have to come to this, doll. You wouldn’t have suffered if you just confessed when I asked you to. 

You scoffed, raising your head to face him with a look full of disgust.

━ That false confession is a death sentence. 

Graves shifted in his seat, getting closer to you as he leaned to your ear. One of his hands pushed the loose strands of hair behind your cartilage, while the other rested on your thigh.

Your whole body tensed, when his palm squeezed the soft flesh of your inner thigh. It wandered far too close to the crotch, even through the material of clothes. 

When your hands shoot to grab his, the Shadow standing beside grabbed your left arm and pinned it to the table’s surface. Your other hand’s fingers were entangled around Graves’ wrist, trying to stop him from moving any further. 

You had heard that he was wicked and unpredictable, but not to this extent. 

━ Listen up ━ he said so quietly it might have eluded from you, if you didn’t pay enough attention ━ I’m being generous here and giving you one, last chance, princess. Confess and you’ll be under my arrest. No further harm will happen to you, if you behave, that is. 

The audacity of this sickening man never stopped surprising you. You knew perfectly well what he meant by being under his arrest, what it meant to be Phillip Graves’ prisoner. It was a fate far worse than death. 

Your eyes were locked on his mischievous smile, twisting soft cheeks and underlining the wrinkles on his forehead. He was abusing his power and was perfectly aware of that. It was you against the devil. 

━ Come on, be a good girl. ━ He tried to persuade you with the sweet words and empty promises. It was kind of insulting, Graves thought he would convince you to change your mind. ━ Just say it was you, hm? 

But little did he know, your pride and stubbornness was far greater than his. 

You hung your head low again, before chuckling softly, shoulders trembling. It caught him off guard, you noticed. Graves probably thought you’ve gone far from sanity. 

Naturally you were weary of the pain, of the constant soreness in your muscles, the painful stretch of dried up blood. Yes, you were scared of upcoming tortures, you already admitted to that before yourself. But you would never forgive yourself if you weren’t true to the beliefs that got you here in the first place. You couldn’t let them frame you. 

Not this motherfucker in particular.

━ Go fuck yourself.

Then it was you who spilled out some words coated in pure hatred, almost an exorcism to make him go away. Your faith in your truth was strong. Graves’ hand released your thigh with a disappointed look on his angelic face, instead forcing your right forearm into his chest. He was keeping your limb too tight, while the other one was still pinned to the table.

Another Shadow appeared in the corner of your eye, slowly making his way towards your splayed out hand on the flat surface. Only then you noticed the thing he was holding. 

“Fuck.”

━ Alright, the hard way it is. ━ Phillip said, savoring the building fear in your eyes as your shrinking pupils were following the outline of the drill. A simple machine you would put your furniture together.

But in the right hands it would be a torture device.

━ You can’t be serious. You c-can’t– Y-You–

He shushed you, cradling your right arm within his hold. One of the Shadows stood on the other side of you, squeezing the elbow and your wrist so roughly, it almost made the bones pop out of the joint. 

Your instinct was to try and wiggle away, but the two men held you steadily. The third one flicked the power button and you looked at the small, but pointy drill turning with a mechanic sound. 

━ No, no, no, no, don’t, DON’T! 

The panic and fear overtook your stoic strategy. Only then you began being truly scared of their sinister games. You pleaded, you fought back, you begged until you screamed so loudly, there had to be someone hearing you from the outside. The pain of your flesh getting twisted and ripped off, made you want to vomit, if not the screaming tightening your throat muscles.

Then the drill stopped. You estimated it hadn’t even reached your bone, yet. But the crimson, syrupy liquid climbed up the length of the metal part and trickled to the sides of your assaulted forearm. 

You were breathing loudly, gasping for air. A droplet of sweat rolled down your temple. Every single finger of yours was trembling, muscles spasming from the pain. 

Graves reached one of his hands and forcefully squeezed your jaw and cheeks. He forced your pretty face to stare directly at him. Then, when he noticed how salty tears were overflowing your waterline, he grinned.

━ Look at me, soldier ━ Graves gave an order, but you were not his subordinate. He had to yank your head and dig his digits into your flesh again. ━ Look. At. Me!

The Shadow continued the assault, turning the power back on. This time, he expected resistance from the hard tissues so he pushed harder. 

Your shrieks filled his ears like cathedral music, a gospel of his liking. The tears streaming down your face finally reached his palm that was squeezing your face. Graves wanted to have a good look at all the scowls of ache. 

You swore you had heard the bone cracking, a muscle perforated already. White, blunt pain blinded your senses, only the warm embrace of the commander sitting across you kept you aware that you were still in the land of living. 

Your stomach was hurting – God, you were going to puke. 

━ What’s the meanin’ ‘f this?!

The voice of your savior, echoed somewhere in the back of your consciousness. The mechanical drill stopped its work and you actually felt it when it was ripped off your forearm. You whined, letting your eyelids shut. Blood splashed across the table. 

The two Shadows remained by your side, meanwhile Graves stood up from his seat and took a walk towards the intruders. 

You felt the familiar smell of tobacco, a very specific species of tobacco used only for cigars. 

━ Captain, I can assure–

━ Assure what? ━ John Price said, venom and hatred rolling down his tongue. He was pissed and dear God, you don’t want to anger this man. ━ That you mutilated one of my soldiers? Who gave you the order? 

Graves pressed his lips into a thin line.

━ General himself.

━ Why? ━ Ghost raspy voice sounded next to your limp form and it made you feel protected.

When you opened your eyes, you saw him towering over you even when he slouched to reach your level. You forced yourself to form a subtle smile, because somehow, the fight was over. You were being taken away from the monster that Graves was. 

━ She destroyed the only fucking evidence, trying to cover her own ass.

The lieutenant took a quick look over your body, you felt his gaze roaming on yourself. He was looking for serious wounds, but the one on your forearm seemed to be the nastiest one. 

Ghost helped you rise up from the chair, securing you in the straight line by holding onto your shoulders. Before he did that, he seemed to ask nonverbally with his dark eyes if you could walk. You nodded weakly. 

━ She’s a private under my command ━ Captain Price kept lecturing the blonde man, standing still like a tree. ━ If she had been accused, I’m the one to take her for questioning, not you. This is my team, my base and you will follow my rules, is that clear? 

You couldn’t exactly point to the moment where you walked past Price and Graves. Your eyes were so heavy and the main focus was to keep walking forward. If not Ghost upholding your posture straight by holding onto your arms, you wouldn’t be able to stand by your own strength. 

Despite the stories you had heard about him being rough, he wasn’t with you, at all. His grip was firm, but no digit of his calloused fingers dug into the beaten flesh of yours. Should a soldier ever feel comfort rather than dread in the presence of their superior? Was this normal? Were you? 

━ I had my own orders, the intel pointed out she was a suspect. Apparently ━ he took a deep breath in, keeping his anger on a leash ━ there was a misunderstanding. I apologize for any… inconveniences. 

━ I’ll talk to Shepherd about this one, you stay out of it ━ Price stated, before turning around on his heel. He was walking behind the two of you. ━ Oh, and you owe this lady an apology. Better be a good one, boy.

No. 

You wanted to scream that word over and over. If Graves ever bothered you again, you would gouge his blue eyes out – gladly looking at the soft tissues getting stuck under your nails, Phillip’s blood staining your hands. Ghost felt when your body tensed under his grip as he led you out of the storage hall. Of all people, he could sympathize with you the most. 

You walked in silence, only the echo of the gravel mixed with sand echoed in your ears. The chilly, evening breeze awoke your senses, although it didn’t give you more strength. Your hand clutched to Ghost’s, when you felt your stomach shrinking.

━ God ━ you leaned over your own knees, gasping for air ━ I think, I’m gonna… ‘m gonna puke.

He followed your poor soul to the side of the road. Before you could deny his help, Ghost was collecting your loose strands of hair and holding it firmly behind your neck. 

━ That’s alright. Take your time.

He wasn’t angry or disappointed with you. Ghost wasn’t rushing you as you tried to catch your uneven breath. The lieutenant just stood there, holding the hair out of your face in case you would vomit.

But you hadn’t thrown up at all. You just crouched there gasping for air, pressing your wounded forearm to your chest, blood staining the military shirt. Your limbs began to shiver, but not from the low temperature. Only then you allowed yourself for a display of any weaknesses, for a way to express your pain and exhaustion.

━ I d-didn’t do any-anything. I promise.

Your tone sounded broken and he couldn’t bear it. His stone cold heart couldn’t withstand the look in front of him. Ghost pulled you up from the crouching position, before pressing your forehead into his chest. He could still hear your quiet sobs, your blood surely staining his clothes too. But he didn’t care about some piece of cloth. 

━ I know.

Ghost was already soaked with blood of all the lives he ended miserably, but to be stained with something that belonged to you? That was something different. To him your blood could be the red wine that turns into the blood of Christ during each mass.

The lieutenant wrapped his arms around your back and kept one palm on the back of your head. Ghost caught the glimpse of your tired eyes and all he could see was himself. A reflection of sort, only a shard perhaps. When everything he had held dear to him – the dignity and humanity of Simon Riley, was taken away from him all those years ago, all he needed was a solace. 

The man didn’t have to say much, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to hear him pity you. But Ghost’s presence was enough, his warm and gentle touch made you feel somehow protected. 

Perhaps it was the exhaustion causing you to melt into his embrace, because how could you feel any special, different from your teammates in his beautiful, dark eyes? He was your lieutenant for God’s sake.

Would he console the others if needed? Or maybe he sees you as weak? A fragile package that needs to be handled with care? Why was he so sympathetic with you of all the people? 

You stopped thinking and sank into the feeling of his soft and clean shirt that covered the man’s sternum and chest. You brushed the idiotic thoughts away, because you deserved that kind of affection. 

You deserved to be held close and to feel safe. 

And in his arms it all became very real. 

Even for a moment.

━ Come on, moppets ━ Price’s now calm voice, broke the heated thoughts and raging emotions as he got closer to them. ━ She needs to see a doctor.

A/N: The end of this fanfic has an open sort of ending so therefore I can write more comfort with Reader/Ghost in the bonus chapter if you would like to. ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[zinya]

How brothers would react to an MC with bad grades ?

Because we've all had bad grades one day and we all deserve to be comforted.

Lucifer:

Being one of the students in the exchange program he will look at your grades very closely , he may even be aware of your grade before you do.

If it's just one bad grade he will lecture you and probably ban you from certain activities so that you work more (You can say goodbye to video game nights with Levi)

If it's several bad grades he will start asking you questions about what you don't understand and will give you lessons.

Of course, if it's grades that start to weigh on your morale, once your homework is finished, you're welcome to his room to relax.

"I believe in you, don't be discouraged, my love"

Mammon

welcome to the club

If it's a bad grade in math don't worry, The Great Mammon can help you.

Don't be discouraged human, he also has bad grades and lives very well

If he sees that you are depressed because of your grades he will suggest that you go out somewhere with him to take your mind off things. Do you prefer to go shopping or maybe go party somewhere?

If you don't want to go out then he will take you into his room and watch a movie in his arms while he comforts you and cuddle with you

Leviathan

I am convinced that he will show you anime with heroes at school to remotivate you "Hey I have a new anime called "I have bad grades and then everything changed the day I made friends"

If you don't want to, you can always watch TSL with him

But don't get me wrong he will encourage you to work too but he will come get you to take a break if it's been a long time

I don't know if devildom has computer science, but in any case if it's this subject that you're struggling with, he can help you.

Satan

Literally become your personal teacher after all, all his knowledge is yours.

Will lend you textbooks and workbooks

He will always encourage you to do your best

Like mammon he will also offer to go out and clear your mind: Do you want to buy new books? Go drink something at the cat cafe? Maybe the park?

Will read books to you or recite lessons at night in his room when you sleep together

Asmodeus

Positive affirmations

Are you discouraged? Has your self-confidence taken a hit? Spend 10 minutes with him and none of this will happen

"Honey don't cry your pretty skin and your beautiful eyes will suffer "

Will ask you to go shopping with him and you will receive 2 or 3 gifts so he can see you smile

He will help you with the charms lessons (TP too perhaps XD)

You will have the right to take a bath in his bathroom with his products to relax

Beelzebub

Will give you food to comfort you

Would like to help you with potions classes but we all know how it will end

Will give you hugs to comfort you and take you to exercise (if you want of course) to clear your mind

If you decide to study more he will come see you like Levi to take breaks and he will often bring you water or snacks

He will cheer you to death like you do during his matches

Maybe give you a kind of lucky charm to bring you luck for the next exams

Belphegor

Cuddle time

Since it concerns you, he will listen to you talk, like Asmo, about what is wrong

Then he will take you to the top of the Attic to sleep and relax with him

When you revise he comes and sleeps in your bed to keep you company

If you can't sleep because of stress you know where his room is , just kidding, he's already next to you in your bed, can't you see him?

(I don't know who drew this but it's so beautiful.) Anyway, I wrote that instead of studying my exam for tomorrow haha 😅🥲

Sorry for the mistakes, English is not my first language and sometimes I don't understand your abbreviations or expressions🤣

Tell me if you want the others

And don't forget that the most important thing is to do all you can and to be proud of yourself.

Have a Good day 💋

[shadowsandkingdom]

<3

Send in an ask containing <3 or 'Heart' to see an event during the Millennium War

Description of a zombie, mentions of deathly illness.

Cracked skin, eyes sunken and apathetic, bones broken and exposed, and yet the owner of this body didn't seem to care.

Eira understood this, she was looking at a moving Corpse. But no fear rose in her, despite it's towering stature, she knew he couldn't hurt her.

"Back from your little outburst, hm?" She smiled, waving her tail absently. "We're lucky your brother was so quick to save us."

The Corpse narrowed it's eyes. There seemed to be something in there - recognition, maybe? - That The Corpse couldn't quite reach. An emotion, clouded by it's own spilled blood.

Instinctively, The Corpse looked down to it's opened hand, revealing a blank yellow Zap Plate, and a well-worn Rock Charm.

"...Ah, right." Eira's smile fell slightly, as she extended her paw to take the charm.

The corpse retracted it's own hand.

"Worried about me?" She trilled. "I can handle myself, you know."

"I'll get it back home safe." She assured, extending her paw once more.

The Corpse nodded absentmindedly, dropping the Rock Charm in Eira's paw.

Just as quickly, it turned around, off to cause more problems for it's enemy.

"Leaving already?" Eira frowned. "What happened to even in death, hm?" She chided, reciting her own husband's vows.

The Corpse stopped, only for a moment, then continued on it's path.

Eira sighed as she watched it leave. It had already been explained to her, that thing, that walking Corpse, was no longer her husband, just a shell of the two lives already lost in this dilemma.

She would like to pretend he was, though.

Stuffing the charm in her chest fur, she scoffed. Who was she kidding, herself? She couldn't convince him that they were married if she refused to even say his name. Maybe he wouldn't remember, but she would remember for him. That's the important part, and she had to act like it.

She just hoped she'd see him again before this sickness overtook her.

[officerwhitmore]

Vince only managed to understand the words ‘thank you father for … amen’ from among Tony’s recital of his father’s prayer, but if given the option to hear it in English instead, he would’ve chosen Spanish every time. The man spoke it with a graceful cadence, his tongue flawlessly rolling the ‘r’s in a way Vince had never quite been capable of mastering. It took him back to Chicago — particularly, the old Mexican couple across the street whose grandchildren would shoot water guns at each other in the front yard while their abuela read books on the porch. Vincent had been lucky enough to play with them more than once, somehow managing to charm his way into a glass of horchata nearly every time the grandchildren came to visit. At the time, he’d marveled at the warmth of their environment — family photos on every wall, Spanish music on the radio, something delicious always cooking in the oven. And the love. So much love in that household. Returning to the cold, quiet environment of his own home, Vincent’s own childhood had always felt empty in comparison.

Suddenly, it struck Vincent that he hadn’t had horchata in over a decade, and there was no fucking way anyone in this town short of Tony knew what it was or how to make it. Maybe he could convince Tony to teach him. June would love the experience of making a drink so unique and unfamiliar — especially considering her proclivity for putting cinnamon in random drinks. Vince would just have to come up with an excuse for how he’d learned it.

He looked away from Tony at that thought, the bruise on his neck suddenly aching worse. No point in asking. No point in thinking about the future at all, with or without Tony. Which was a good thing. Vince had to remember that. It was good, not horrifying, that his misery would finally end.

Tony’s laugh was infectious, deep and rich and vibrant, and Vince instantly knew he had to hear it again before he died. He needed to watch his head fall back, his eyes squeeze shut, his teeth glitter as he laughed. He needed all of that again because for one bright, impossible moment, he felt happy — like this was good, like this was normal. Like everything had always been okay. Vince was so taken with the sight in front of him, he was unable to do anything more than smile and stare open-mouthed like a man witnessing a total eclipse. Or, to put it less melodramatically, a boy witnessing boobs for the first time.

Tony caught his breath and painted a picture of Vince starring in a sex scene, bloody and sweaty after a battle of some kind, and Vince finally did laugh, the sound loud and genuine, even if he was a bit concerned about the violent details of the man’s sexual fantasy. In Vince’s opinion, the best sex scenes were also the most ridiculous ones — the random smash cuts to hard, loud fucking immediately after a comparatively tame interaction. It was one of the many reasons Stella hated going to the movies with him. While everyone else in the audience cringed and looked away, Vincent would burst out laughing. He’d almost pissed himself at the close-up of Patrick Wilson’s flat ass as he thrusted into Silk Spectre in The Watchmen. He still couldn’t listen to Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’ without giggle-snorting like a moron.

“So what you’re saying is, you wanna have sweaty, rattled, bloody victory sex with me. Am I hearing that right?” Vincent teased between chuckles. “I guess we can fit that in after we defeat the intruder who chainsaws his way through your chain lock. Well — after you defeat him. Remember, I’ll be hiding in the closet while you spatula him to death.”

Vincent wore his poker face well when Tony joked about other people touching his cock. It was bizarre, the brief, jarring sting of jealousy that shot through him at that image — some man with his mouth stuffed full and drooling, some woman bouncing on his cock and moaning wildly, nails biting into his thighs. Fucks, flings, exes. Exes like the one that must’ve lived nearby, given the fact that they got close enough to bruise him so recently. Since when had Vince been jealous of anything that wasn’t related to other people’s happy marriages? What reason did he have to be jealous over Tony’s cock? He was a stranger, a fucking hot one, who’d probably slept with ten times the number of people Vincent had so much as kissed on the cheek. Suddenly, he realized that must’ve been what was actually going on with him — he was only jealous of the man’s sexual accomplishments, not the people who’d been lucky enough to sleep with him. Yeah. That made more sense.

When Tony joked that the Catholics had dibs on him, Vincent laughed, tilted his head, and furrowed his brows. “You don’t remember your baptism? Lucky guy. I was ten years old when I was waterboarded for Jesus in my cousin’s backyard. They told me it was a fucking pool party. Couldn’t get the water out of my ears for a whole fucking day.”

Vince shook his head when Tony thanked him for bringing the ingredients. He’d hoped it would remain unspoken — hadn’t wanted Tony to feel like he’d done it out of charity or pity, because despite Vince’s sympathies for the man’s financial state, he’d never once felt like he was better than him. Back in Chicago, Vince had been surrounded by struggling people, folks of lesser means. Tony was no different. Supplying the ingredients for this rendezvous hadn’t been a burden at all.

“That’s sweet of you to say, but I was happy to do it,” Vincent said, shooting Tony a smile. He didn’t miss the soft flush on Tony’s face, the sight of it making his heart flutter a little. “Don’t sell yourself short, dude. I bet you could make a five-star meal out of a pack of ramen and some cheese whiz. Besides… honestly?” Vincent glanced away for a moment, grinning, his cheeks tingling with heat. “It’s not about the nachos. It’s about being here with you, y’know?”

Vincent raised a brow when Tony leaned across the table and used a chip to scoop the jalapenos off of his plate, impressed by both the man’s audacity and mastery of the chip as a utensil in equal measures. It brought back the memory of June playing keep-away with Vince’s burger at Pa’s Diner, laughing and teasing and grinning like crazy. “God, you’re just like my kid,” he chucked, so amused by their similarities that he hardly spared a moment to regret bringing up something so personal. “She does that shit all the time. You look away to check your phone and half your food is gone when you look back. Fucking menace, I swear to god.” He rolled his eyes with a little scoff, imagining her mischievous grin. He considered offering up the fact that the hottest pepper he could stand was Anaheim, but decided against it. No need to give Tony any indication that he’d be coming back for another round of whatever this was turning out to be. It’d only make him more disappointed in the end — assuming he’d care at all when Vince left the land of the living.

Vince snorted when Tony said he’d never look at queso blanco the same. “You’re more than welcome, Tony. I’m always happy to offer a change of perspective.” With a devious smirk, he tossed Tony a wink.

Vince hadn’t expected his question about Tony’s cooking to unlock a monologue about the man’s life and childhood, but — and this was scary — he found himself glad for it, so invested in his backstory that he was almost willing to ignore the fact that this kind of personal discussion was something he was supposed to avoid. Hookups definitely didn’t involve long, detailed, emotional stories about home and poverty and illness and grief, but apparently this one did. Because the man in front of him was spilling his past into Vincent’s hands, eyes looking through him, not at him, as he relived the memories he spoke. The man knew how to paint a picture, filling Vince’s mind with images of a young dark-haired boy growing up in his father’s kitchen, forgoing homework in favor of helping the cook because, frankly, anything had to be better than learning fractions. Vince’s time in highschool had been a little like that, though instead of doing something productive, he’d been fucking Stella up against her Maroon 5 poster while she gasped into his ear — a lovely routine he’d liked to call ‘studying with my girlfriend after school.’

Vincent found himself smiling, soft, faint, while Tony spoke of pots and pans and sizzling and boiling — the ever-present ambiance of a busy kitchen — like he could hear it now, just underneath the music still playing on Vince’s phone. His dark eyes were soft and distant, nostalgic for a past that was full of difficulties yet remarkably wholesome, and Vincent felt like he was seeing more of the man now than he would after the clothes came off. There was a difference between the body and the soul — the body Vincent wanted desperately to fuck, and the soul Vincent should’ve forbidden himself from peeking into. But here he was, listening intently, drinking in the heart Tony let show in those eyes before he came back to himself. Vincent followed his eyes down to his plate, where Tony scooped up some fixings with a chip, and it was only then that he realized he’d forgotten to breathe.

Tony’s revelation of his father’s illness made the smile slip from Vincent’s lips, replaced with a sympathetic frown. Not for the first time, he sympathized with the man, but could only relate tangentially, through the things he’d seen others go through back home as opposed to in his own life. He’d been lucky enough to grow up in an environment that was relatively working middle-class, born parents with decent jobs and good health that lasted even to the present day, if their continued presence in the workforce was any indication. Last he heard, his mother was still working in the hospital, albeit as a secretary rather than a nurse, and his father was still at the police station barking orders to those who were paid to listen to him. And unlike Tony, Vince had never had to share his things growing up. Being an only child had been a lonely existence, especially with parents so consistently busy, but Vince could only imagine it was preferable to having a little sibling to worry about at such a young age, all while being forced to take on a restaurant position to keep the family afloat.

Vince’s frown deepened when Tony explained that they’d sold the business in the wake of his father’s death. He glanced down at his plate, lips twitching at the corner in a bitter way, frustrated on Tony’s behalf. “It’s kinda frustrating, isn’t it, when the best case scenario for your childhood town is the whole place getting gentrified.” He said the words without thinking, and by the time he noticed the turn the conversation was taking, it was too late to stop. “Happens in Chicago all the time. Rich fucks buy up cheap property and build expensive housing. Poor fucks can’t afford the rent. Rich fucks doll up the place so other rich fucks will replace the poor fucks, and then the poor fucks have to move somewhere that’s even worse than where they started. Either that, or they wind up on the streets or in jail because they had to resort to crime to make ends meet.” He shook his head, uncapping his water bottle and taking a swig before sealing and setting it down. “S’all fucked, honestly. But it’s the system we live in.”

Grabbing a broken nacho, he looked back up at Tony, meeting his eyes. If Tony’s story was to be believed, he likely would’ve moved to Maine shortly after they sold the business. It was the only way his timeline would make sense. “And then your family moved up north, right? After selling the restaurant?” Vince took a small bite of the nacho, chewing on the chip. “I bet it was a huge culture shock for you guys, moving up from Texas to lily-white Maine. It was probably like a different fucking planet.”

He smiled at Tony’s soft chuckle, though it was clear that it contained very little humor. It was strange seeing the shade of sadness in Tony's face, his eyes dropping down to his plate to avoid him, his mouth pulling down at the corners until he shoved a nacho in it to shut himself up. But the sadness in Vince’s own chest was even stranger; the thick, heavy weight of his sudden sympathy. His hand twitched with the impulse to reach out and touch him, but he held himself back, settling for sadly smiling at him instead.

“Bartending doesn’t sound so bad… ‘specially up here in Maine, where people are more tame about that kinda stuff than in the cities,” he said, his voice soft and easy. “I bet you used to make a killer drink. Back when I still drank, white Russians were my favorite. God, they hit just right. The sugar and the cream and that nice little vodka burn in the back of your throat? Fuck, I can almost taste it. When it got cold, I used to drink them on the balcony with St—” Vincent drew in a sharp breath through his nose, squeezing his eyes in a momentary cringe as he caught himself. “I used to drink them on the balcony in the winter. I lived along the Chicago River in an apartment building shaped kinda like a corn cob. Marina City? Look it up sometime, real cool architecture. Tons of spiders, but the view was spectacular. Nothing better than getting buzzed and looking out at the river as it snowed.”��He sighed softly, basking in the memory. “It gets cold in Chicago. Almost as cold as it gets up here.”

Vince’s stomach twisted when Tony asked him why he made the move. He usually didn’t talk this much about Chicago in a whole year, let alone a week, but there was something about the man that had loosened his tongue. Even still, that was one question that Vincent refused to answer and hated to be asked. Talking about the city was a far cry from talking about why he’d left it. He still recalled the fear in his bones when the first shots had fired, the adrenaline so hot and wild that he’d hardly noticed any more than a sting when the bullets hit his left thigh. He’d been lucky to make it out alive. His partner had fallen almost immediately. Vince had been newer then, had only shot at a perpetrator one time before, so his returning fire was more like a wild spray, hitting the shooter in three different places before he landed the killing shot. He’d never forget the look on his face. The fear and pain and fury. Before then, he’d never seen a dead body in person. That night, he saw two.

Vincent could feel it on his face — could feel the way his eyes dropped and his smile fell and his brows pulled down at the edges. Could feel his shoulders tighten; saw his own fist clench and relax and clench again. “I, uh…” Vincent cleared his throat, his voice suddenly uncomfortable, suddenly tight. Beneath the table, his thumb rubbed over the healed wound on his left thigh, dipping into the deep divot he still couldn’t feel. “I wanted my daughter to grow up somewhere safe,” he said softly. "But I do miss it sometimes. The diversity, the food, the buildings, the street performers, the noise. Even the fucking stench. Plus the pigeons there are fat as fuck,” he said, shocking himself out of his sadness with a laugh. “And to be honest? I kinda liked how you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a Dunkin’ Donuts. The iced lattes were pure sugar, but god were they cheap.” He cut his eyes up at Tony sharply, flashing him a playful grin. “You make one fucking donut joke, and I’m outta here, I swear to god.”

It was curious just how the other man’s demeanor turned on a dime so fast. It felt like just seconds ago Vince was ready to turn tail and run, block his number, move out of the country, the whole works. And now? Now Vince was sitting at his table, laughing, talking about good family memories. It made Tony’s head spin a little. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he would be paying closer attention - not only to see if it happened again, but to try and figure out how he turned a bad moment into a good one. Was it something he said?

Vince’s story about his dad made him grin as well, and he couldn’t help but wrack his memories for similar things about his own father while he gathered plates. They were few and far between - but there were a couple. “Mh, my father didn’t have much of a sense of humor about anything either. He kept his pre-meal grace short and sweet though. ‘Gracias Señor por estos alimentos y bendice las manos que los prepararon. Amén.’ That way, he could spend less time talking and more time eating.” The words rolled off his tongue easily, even the little roll to the Rs. He left out the part about trying to eat. That probably wasn’t a topic of discussion for today.

As he sat in front of their respective meals, Tony couldn’t help but appreciate the color they brought to this otherwise pathetically beige apartment they were in - and his pathetically beige life in general, too. Blue, yellow, green, red - it just made the meal even better, presentation-wise. He wondered if Vince bought the blue tortilla chips specifically for that reason, or if it was just because he liked them.

It was entrancing watching Vince turn his napkin into origami, the crane slowly taking shape. Here he’d been thinking the napkins were sadly as lame as everything else here, and he hated their stiff feeling - but now, in Vince’s hands, they were made beautiful. He wasn’t sure what he liked more - watching Vince’s hands work, or the crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he laughed or smiled.

Tony stared at Vince as he revealed his intentions, initially expecting some explanation about a loveless marriage or maybe even an open one, when the perfectly-delivered deadpan joke hit him just right. He sat back in his chair a bit and laughed - a real, honest belly laugh, one hand on the napkin in his lap and the other drumming his fingers against the table - and shook his head.

“Damn shame, I would have liked watching you on the big screen - especially if they gave you a steamy scene with your co-star or something. Right after the action scene, you know? So you’re both sweaty and rattled, maybe even a little bloody. I guess I’ll just have to see that scene in person then. Sorry though, my cock does tend to make people forget what they were doing with themselves before they touched it. Secret weapon and all.” He gave Vince a playful wink, leaning into the joke and continuing it on.

“Send my apologies to the cult. I think the Catholics technically have dibs on me? I don’t know, I was too young to remember it when I was baptized. Does it still count?” Tony offered a smile when Vince gave him honest thanks, shaking his head a little.

“It’s my pleasure. Thank you for bringing this.” He motioned to his plate, meaning the ingredients for dinner. He certainly didn’t have anywhere near half of this on hand already. “I didn’t think you’d find ramen or leftovers from the diner all that appetizing.” Vince’s compliment to his cooking - and if he took it a lewd way, to himself - made him flush a little. Somehow, compliments from him made him happier than the general public who visited the diner. Most people just thanked the waitress because she was near, as if she had a hand in cooking anything.

Vince’s internal struggle with accepting the jalapenos or not played out in front of him like a miniature movie, and he could see the gears turning in the man’s head. When Vince ultimately turned them down for being too spicy, Tony chuckled, picking up a only-half-covered chip from the edge of his plate, leaning forward, and using it to scoop all the jalapenos off Vince’s plate and deposit them on his own. It was a little invasive and presumptive, acting like Vince would be okay with him stealing the jalapenos right off his plate, but he loved jalapenos and wasn’t about to let them go uneaten. “Not a problem. I put them on the side because I wasn’t sure where your spice tolerance was at. So - waste not, want not. Good news for you is I made the nachos pretty mild, spice-wise, to be safe.”

Tony took the opportunity to take his first bite as well. He was always his own worst critic, mostly because he compared his cooking to his mother’s all the time. Most of the time his food was as good, or maybe even better, but sometimes meals felt lacking…something.

The nachos were more mild than he personally preferred, and the meat was a little over-done thanks to their earlier adventures. He cursed himself silently for being such a horndog he couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself until after the meal. He didn’t regret it though - Vince was an absolute Goddamn treat and he had no idea why a man that handsome even looked twice at him. He just expected his scumbag status to somehow show through the cracks, no matter how much he lied, to the point that other people could just sense it. But, that wasn’t happening, and now this man - who, honest to God, really did look like he belonged on the big screen - was sitting across from him. Smiling.

The nachos were perfect. They were not lacking anything, despite what should have been shortcomings and failures. ’It’s because I’m not eating this meal alone,’ Tony realized mid-chew. That was the something that often felt missing.

Company.

It made Tony’s heart flutter a little in ways he didn’t want to think about.

“Queso blanco?” He snorted a laugh at the comment that it looked like jizz. “I mean, it's a little salty, I guess that comparison works… now I’ll never look at it the same.” He glanced down at his plate, not being fully willing to tear his eyes off Vince but he had to consider the idea of adding queso blanco to what could be offered at the diner. People would probably go for it, especially the slightly younger population. There was no catering towards the oldest folks in town. “Hm. I could do queso blanco, yeah. That’d also work.”

The question as to how he became such a good cook brought a smile to his face again and nudged his eyes up from his plate back to Vince. “I grew up surrounded by cooks and people who cared about food. My dad, he used to own this tiny little Mexican restaurant back home in Texas. More-or-less authentic food, the way his mom taught him. My dad met my mom there - she was a waitress. It was probably not totally ethical to date your boss but, y’know, things happen. Money was always a bit tight so there was never a babysitter. I pretty much grew up in the kitchen, doing my homework there after school. Or at least I’d tell people I was doing my homework. I was actually just screwing around helping the cook in the back when my parents weren’t looking.” He grinned, looking at a distant spot on the wall over Vince’s shoulder as he thought back.

“I don’t think I even register the sound of kitchen-noises as something distracting anymore. The clatter of pots and pans, things sizzling, people shouting over the sound of timers buzzing and oil boiling, all that good stuff.” He looked far away for another moment before coming back to the present, scooping another mouthful of nacho-fixings with a thick blue chip.

“My dad was always sick, and only got worse as I got older. I started working in the kitchen to fill in for him when he couldn’t. I was young enough it probably wasn’t legal, but we had no choice. The restaurant wasn’t doing great - the whole neighborhood wasn’t - so we couldn’t afford to hire someone else to take his place. So… it was down to me. My sister was too young, and I didn’t exactly trust her around hot oil and sharp things yet.” Tony looked down at his plate and shrugged, the conversation taking yet another turn he didn’t expect - a sadly personal one.

“When he died, we sold the restaurant to some developer. They bulldozed it, I think it’s some Section 8 housing now or something. Like this.” He motioned around to his apartment in general. “Or it was years ago. I dunno, maybe it’s a damn Apple Store or Starbucks or some shit, if the neighborhood is doing any better… but I can’t imagine that it is.” Tony shrugged.

“I bounced around after that, mostly working the same kind of job at other places. I did bartending for awhile too, but that’s not quite as satisfying. Decent gig for a second job though, because of the late hours, presuming you have no need for sleep whatsoever.” He chuckled a little, a dry one without much humor in it, and shoved a chip’s worth of food in his mouth to shut himself up before he said too much. As he chewed, he averted his eyes away from Vince. He didn’t want to risk seeing any pity.

“Why move here? Chicago seems more your style. More going on, more things to do. This town’s gotta be driving you nuts.”

[jichulichu]

yeaa, there's probably gonna be lotsa doodle dumps in the queue, anyways! oc focused, with a appearance from @opal-owl-flight's magolor

[dandeliondee]

tosses my hat into the catboy judas ring @opal-owl-flight

[dandeliondee]

Well why don’t you take a closer look at my “eyes” as you can see it’s just two holes Eyelise is just a fun way to say eyeless.

[georgiesdarling]

orchideous | g.w.

pairing: george weasley x female reader

warnings: brief mention of death (fred’s), but nothing major

summary: george remembers an old spell and decides to use it during the wedding.

word count: 0.7 k

a/n: flashbacks/memories are in italics.

orchideous. george weasley had learned that charm whilst prank planning with his twin brother ages upon ages ago. it was in their third year that they discovered that spell, but george could remember the day like it was yesterday. 

“georgie, look. i found this spell in an old textbook. what d’you think it does?” fred asked his twin, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. george peered over his brother’s shoulder, squinting at the text plopped down on the desk before him. “i’m not sure, fred. but there’s always one way to learn.” they simultaneously decided that they needed to test the charm in order to know what it was meant to do. george raised his wand and casted the ‘orchideous’ spell, which instantly caused a shower of flowers, dozens of various kinds, to rain down from out of nowhere. “wicked!” the twins exclaimed in unison, wearing matching grins of pride. perhaps the spell could prove useful whilst plotting their next escapade.

george, seated in the groom’s suite, peered at his reflection in the mirror adjacent to himself. the day was here; it was finally here. he had fallen in love with a girl, and now he found himself dressed in a morning coat, anxious on the day of his wedding. 

he didn’t doubt the union for a moment. his love was a true as could be, he was sure of that. george merely paused a moment, wishing that his beloved twin had survived long enough to witness this day. the memories he held of fred, he reminisced fondly upon. particularly, their discovery of the ‘orchideous’ spell during their third year at hogwarts. 

then, his inspiration struck. fred had passed away, but that didn’t mean that george wasn’t able to honor him during the ceremony. 

y/n y/l/n and george weasley had been a wonderful couple for two years. several months ago, he proposed with a brilliant fireworks display, to which she happily accepted. how couldn’t she? george was the boy of her dreams, a million times over. any girl would be lucky to have george weasley. but there was only one who had his heart. y/n.

“so, y/n. what d’you say? you? me? marriage?” she could recall him being nearly out of breath from running around like a maniac. an adorable maniac. her maniac. “yes, georgie! a thousand times yes...” y/n could still remember the way he swooped you up in his arms, twirling her around, that positively slap-happy grin plastered across his face.

she was seated on a chaise in the bridal suite, her bridesmaids and the maid of honor all fussing over her dress and her makeup and her hair. preening over every detail, they were intent to assure that y/n looked her best.

it felt like something out of a dream or a novel, or perhaps a film. she was adorned in a stunning wedding dress, and if all the ladies attending to her so carefully were being honest, she looked like a dream. 

george felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest, so fast that he was afraid he may swoon. gazing upon the love of his life, walking down the aisle, he was filled with a sensation stronger than any regular joy he’d ever felt. y/n felt just the same, an overwhelming sense of happiness. 

in front of friends and family, they confessed their love for one another and recited their vows. just like that, as if by magic, they were married. but the groom had one last trick up his sleeve. 

“and for my best man, freddie, who had the audacity to leave us before i had the chance to prove that i can get a girl,” george announcenced, lifting his wand towards the sky. “orchideous.” 

a large assortment of flowers and colorful petals blessed the congregation of loved ones, who had begun to smile and laugh, enjoying the blissful moment. george, putting one hand on the small of her back, leaned in and kissed his wife, eliciting cheers from the crowd. 

“merlin, how i love you, mr. weasley.” y/n smiled, meeting her husband’s eyes.

“and i love you, mrs. weasley.”

[nolawritesfanfics-deactive]

hello!! can i request a fluff fic with bennet on a picnic/cafe date with his s/o in a modern setting, tysm!!

Hello!!! I love this idea sm, it’s so flipping adorable!! Bennett just existing gives me a serotonin boost but this is just too cute ahdghagshshegsh—

Bennett may be a bit OOC since I haven’t written anything for him yet, so lmk if there are any mistakes!! (^///^)

Genre: Fluff

Summary: When Bennett’s picnic date with you gets ruined, the cafe serves as a form of comfort to both of you.

Warnings: None

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡

Modern!Bennett taking his Gn!(s/o) on a picnic/cafe date

Bennett loves exploring, so picnics are his cup of tea. And when you’re there, his favorite things become ten times better!!

Every week, you decide to go far away from the city, to an empty, open field. No bad luck can find either of you there, since nothing resides there. Or at least, that’s what you usually think.

You would make food together before you leave, hoping that it doesn’t rain on your way over. Even if it does rain and get the food wet, Bennett is happy wherever you are, no matter what! And if everything does get ruined, cafe dates are always a thing too!

Bennett would be so nervous about it too because of his luck, the last thing he want to do is get you hurt. But it happens anyway, which lowers his self esteem by a lot. Please tell him you don’t mind. This poor boy needs lots of hugs and reassurance. (ToT)💖

You loved Bennett, but it was no secret that his luck effected everything he touched. Quite literally. For example, he tried petting a stray cat one time, (which was a bad idea in the first place) and not even a minute later, it scratched both of you and ran off.

At times, it would get a bit frustrating, but you knew that it wasn’t his fault. Whenever you were just hanging out after school, you both would get turned down by nearby stores due to his past incidents with his luck, leaving you to wander aimlessly around the city until you got bored and went home.

So, earlier today, Bennett got fed up with his situation and met you at the front gates. He suggested going on a picnic for a change of scenery. He had already planned everything out, rambling excitedly about all the things you could do there. You reluctantly agreed, silently hoping that nothing would go wrong. It was better than another long walk, at least.

It’s wasn’t a surprise that your boyfriend wanted to go elsewhere for your date, but you weren’t sure if it was safe.

If Bennett couldn’t survive in the comfort of his own home, then how would his luck effect nature? It could rain, getting all of your food wet- but that was only the best case scenario. For all you knew, there could be a sudden tornado or hurricane that hits just as you finish unpacking everything.

Going on a picnic seemed like a death wish, and both of you knew that. So why did Bennett want take that risk?

He said that it was an empty field, so there wouldn’t be any chance of dangerous entities. And, he said that things would be alright as long as you were with him. He thought you were his lucky charm. And in truth, you were.

When he met you, he felt like the luckiest boy in the world. You gravitated towards each other, quickly becoming friends, then working your way up to something more. You were precious to him, and he was precious to you.

So, you and Bennett set a date for your picnic. Thank the archons that today was that day. Today was Saturday, the only day that contained endless free time.

You had been so excited that you could hardly sleep on the nights before your meet up. To make things worse, you woke up way too early out of excitement. But, on the bright side, this meant that you could prepare more.

You grabbed a package of cookies and sandwiches, along with your phone in case of any emergencies. After throwing all of these into your backpack, you left your apartment and headed off to Bennett’s house.

The walk there wasn’t too long, especially since you were familiar with a few of the shortcuts lying within the city. A while ago, Fischl had introduced you to them, all while reciting a monologue about her “secret base”. (Which really just ended up being her room.)

You dashed down the empty sidewalk as soon as Bennett’s door came into view. A rush of adrenaline hit you as you climbed up the cement stairs. You knocked on the door, which flung open almost immediately, revealing Bennett.

A blush washed over Bennett’s cheeks as he looked at you. “(Y/n), Hey! P-please, come inside!”

You nodded and happily followed him inside. His Dads were scattered all over the living room, making breakfast and going about their day as usual. As you entered, all of them greeted you. They added in a few comments about how Bennett never stops talking about you, much to his embarrassment.

It wasn’t the first time you had visited Bennett’s home. In fact, you were practically family to everyone related to him. Sometimes, if you two got bored, (which was quite often) you would sleep over at his house, or he would sleep over at yours. It was safe inside, which was a harsh contrast to what the outside world was like.

Whenever you wanted to go on dates together, both of your families would help set them up for you. They knew Bennett would need the help, especially with his terrible luck and romantic obliviousness. However, it turned out that he was pretty much fine on his own. But, if either of you needed help with anything in general, you knew you had support.

You chuckled and took his hand. “You ready?”

Bennett nodded, grabbing his bag. Soon enough, you were being pulled out of the room and onto the streets. The sun had fully risen, indicating that today’s weather would be optimal for a picnic. You had no idea where he was taking you, but you trusted him enough for your anxiety to subside.

There were a few close calls with wild animals and speeding drivers, but overall, Bennett’s luck seemed to be doing alright today. All you needed to do was get to your meeting spot without getting hurt, and everything would be fine.

Or so it seemed.

The houses and tall buildings started to fade as you ventured far outside the city. In front of you was a massive open field, Cecilias and Windwheel Asters scattered all over the grass. Your heart swelled at the beautiful view before you, grasping your beloved’s hand even tighter than before.

“Benny… this is amazing- how did you find this place?” You breathed.

“Ehe! Well, one day I was trying to walk school, but I got lost and ended up here. Looks like I got pretty lucky after all!” Bennett said, sheepishly tubbing the back of his head. “Come on, let’s go set up.”

You set down your bag and started unwrapping the food you brought. Bennett laid out a blanket beside you, and started unpacking food of his own. When you both were finished, you sat next to him, laying your head on his shoulder.

Heat radiated off of Bennett’s skin as he wrapped an arm around you. He was internally sent into a flustered panic whenever you made contact with him, which wasn’t a surprise. Right now, hugging you was the only way to hide the fact that he was blushing furiously. Besides, the feeling of your arms around his waist made him feel safe.

The only thing you could hear was the steady, fast-paced beating of Bennett’s heart, and the rusting of flowers and grass. Almost ten minutes passed before you pulled away, looking at his face. You smiled as you observed every detail of his eyes.

Suddenly, an ear shattering clap of thunder echoed throughout the valley. Not even a second later, heavy rain was pouring on both of you, completely destroying your food. The two of just sat there in both despair and surprise, watching as your picnic got ruined.

Why did this happen? The weather was perfectly fine this morning- what changed? Bennett silently cursed his luck for ruining his date with you, his demeanor shriveling as the rain continued to pour. Normally, He wouldn’t let something like this get him down, but today it was harder.

“I-I’m really sorry, (Y/n)…. I swear, it wasn’t meant to turn out like this- ah!”

Noticing the change in his mood, you pulled Bennett up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry! I don’t mind the rain, but we should leave so that we don’t get colds. If you want, I know a nice cafe we can go to instead!”

Bennett blinked a few times, obviously surprised by your cheery attitude. Most people would’ve given up on him at this point. However, you stayed with him, which is one of the many reasons why he loved you. You never gave up on him, no matter how many times your plans were ruined.

Bennett nodded his head with a determined grin before scurrying to help you pack up. The thunder you had hear a few minutes ago had started up again, making both of you nervous. So, as soon as you were done, you led him to the cafe, holding his hand.

At this point, both of your clothes were completely soaked and water was dripping from your hair. But neither of you minded, you were just happy that you got to go on an adventure together. You and Bennett bolted towards the cafe as soon as you saw it. Warm, pastry scented air hit you two, beckoning you inside.

The cafe was busy, many people coming here to take shelter from the rain. But, there were a few tables left so you told Bennett to grab one while you got some coffee and cookies for you both. Luckily, the cafe was swift in their preparations, causing you to return to Bennett before anything went wrong.

You sat across from your boyfriend, smiling as his eyes lit up at your presence. He opened his mouth to apologize, but opted to bite into a cookie you bought him instead. Anxiety was radiating off of him. So much so that it physically hurt to watch.

So, you held out your hand for him to take. You knew that he didn’t have anyone else to come to for comfort, and that he would get chewed out for the smallest mistakes. You wanted to help him, and teach him that it’s okay to be loved, even if it’s a foreign experience for him.

Bennett was finally starting to realize that. He was finally staring to realize why you stayed with him. It wasn’t out of pity or spite, no, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It was because you genuinely loved who he was as a person, despite his bad luck.

And that meant more to him than anything in the world.

So, he took your hand, and silently made a promise to you.

{🔥..^v~} “(Y/n), for all of the times you’ve helped me… I promise to stay by your side whenever things get rough.”

[lailoken]

“Ash (Fraxinus excelsior).

In the nineteenth century it was believed that if ash trees failed to produce fruit — keys — disaster was foretold.

In Yorkshire:

Some people every summer examined the ash tree . . . to see whether or not they had produced any seed; for the barrenness of the ash was said to be a sure sign of public calamity. It was a tradition among aged and thoughtful men, that the ash trees of England produced no seed during the year in which Charles the First was beheaded. [Jackson, 1873: 14]

In East Anglia:

The failure of the Crop of Ash-keys portends a death in the Royal Family . . . The failure in question is certainly, in some seasons, very remarkable; many an old woman believes that, if she were the fortunate finder of a bunch, and could get introduced to the king, he would give her a great deal of money for it. [Forby, 1830: 406]

ROWAN Or mountain ash, an unrelated tree which has leaves similar to those of ash, was widely considered to provide protection. Occasionally ash itself was also believed to be protective.

Rowan and ash sticks were used to drive cattle . . . believed to be 'kindly' and both trees were believed to be endowed with properties that ensured no interference from harmful influences. [Larne, Co. Antrim, October 1993]

In rural areas 'even' ash leaves-those leaves which lack a terminal leaflet and therefore have an even number of leaflets-were used in love DIVINATION. In Dorset:

The ash leaf is frequently invoked by young girls as a matrimonial oracle in the following way: The girl who wishes to divine who her future lover or husband is to be plucks an even ash leaf, and holding it in her hand, says:

“The even ash leaf in my hand, The first I meet shall be my man.’

Then putting it into her glove, adds:

‘The even ash leaf in my glove, The first I meet shall be my love.'

And lastly, into her bosom, saying:

‘The even ash leaf in my bosom, The first I meet shall be my husband.'

Soon after which the future lover or husband will be sure to make his appearance. [Udal, 1922: 254]

According to a 52-year-old woman who described how she used ash leaves for divination during her childhood:

Start at the bottom leaflet on the left-hand side and say:

“An even ash is in my hand

The first I meet will be my man.

If he don't speak and I don't speak,

This even ash I will not keep.”

As each word is said, count a leaflet around the leaf until the rhyme is completed (this probably entails going round the leaf several times). When the rhyme is finished, continue by reciting the alphabet until the bottom right-hand leaflet is reached. The letter given to this leaflet gives the initial of your boyfriend. Two or three leaves may be used so that you get a greater range of letters. [Thorncombe, Dorset, June 1976]

In many parts of northern Britain ash was known as esh. In north Lincolnshire:

There is a widespread opinion that if a man takes a newly-cut 'esh-plant' not thicker than his thumb, he may lawfully beat his wife with it. [Britten and Holland, 1886: 170]

Burning the ashen faggot — a faggot made from young ash saplings — was a widespread Christmastide custom in Devon and Somerset during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. According to a late nineteenth-century writer, it was:

an ancient ceremony transmitted to us from the Scandinavians who at their feast of Juul were accustomed to kindle huge bonfires in honour of Thor. The faggot is composed of ashen sticks, hooped round with bands of the same tree, nine in number. When placed on the fire, fun and jollity commence-master and servant are now all at equal footing. Sports begin-jumping in sacks, diving in the water for APPLES, and many other innocent games engage the attention of the rustics. Every time the bands crack by reason of the heat of the fire, all present are supposed to drink liberally of cider or egg-hot, a mixture of cider, eggs, etc. The reason why ash is selected in preference to any other timber is that tradition assigns it as the wood with which Our Lady kindled a fire in order to wash her new-born Son. [Poole, 1877: 6]

Ashen faggots are still burnt in a few West Country pubs, and miniature faggots are occasionally prepared for burning on domestic hearths.

On the evening of January sth ('old' Christmas Eve) at Curry Rivel, a Somerset village situated on the southern edge of Kings Sedgemoor, the wassailers go visiting' around the parish with their wassail song and the ashen faggot is ceremoniously burned at the King William IV public house. The faggot is made from young ash saplings and bound with bonds ('fonds,' 'fronds,' 'thongs,' or 'bonds') of withies (osiers); bramble has been used occasionally in the past. The number of bonds is variable but since the bursting of any one during the burning is a signal to ʻdrink up,' decency and country logic demands a 'reasonable few'. Either five or six are normally used. At the appropriate moment the faggot is placed on the fire, traditionally by the oldest customer-one villager can recall the fag- got being brought in a wheelbarrow as was 'right and proper'-and as each bond bursts there is much cheering and a general clamour for drink. The landlord, Mr John Cousins, prepares a bowl of hot punch for the occasion to augment the barrel of beer usually provided by the house Brewery. Until quite recently cider was consumed in large quantities; the 'brew' of cider and perry donated by the (Langs) Hambridge Brewery in 1957 is particularly remembered. [Willey, 1983: 40]

In the first half of the nineteenth century:

Some towns in Somerset held 'Ashen Faggot Balls'. The one in Taunton on January 2nd, 1826 was 'most respectably attended by the principal families of the town and neighbourhood'. It was still held twenty years later, but by then the event was losing its appeal. [Legg, 1986: 54]

In some parts of southern England ash twigs were carried by children on ASH WEDNESDAY.

In villages around Alton in Hampshire, and as far away as East Meon, near Petersfield, at Crowborough in Sussex, and doubtless in other places, children pick a black-budded twig of ash and put it in their pocket on this day. A child who does not remember to bring a piece of ash to school on Ash Wednesday can expect to have his feet trodden on by every child who possesses a twig, unless, that is, he or she is lucky enough to escape until midday. [Opie, 1959: 240]

I was born and lived as a child in Crowborough . . . On Ash Wednesday it was always the custom to take a piece of the [ash] tree around with you. The piece had to have a black bud, without it it was void. If you were unable to produce the piece when asked the rest of the children could stamp on your toes. I remember one day whan I was playing about with it in school and was told to take it to the front and leave it in the waste- paper basket-and all the way back to the seat had to dodge the stamps! Ever prudent I had another piece for play time! This all stopped at 12 mid-day. [Pershore, Worcester shire, October 1991]

[At Heston, Middlesex, in the 1930s] on Ash Wednesday we all took a twig of ash tree to school and produced it when challenged or risked a kick-and we had to get rid of it at 12 noon. We even risked the wrath of the teacher by rushing to an open window to throw out our twigs as soon as the mid-day dinner bell rang. [St Ervan, Cornwall, February 1992]

A widespread cure for HERNIA involved passing the patient through a split ash sapling, preferably one which had grown naturally from seed and had not previously been damaged by man. The tree was then tightly bound up and as it grew together so the patient would be healed. A full description provided in 1878 by the wife of a Sussex clergyman demonstrates how this cure, which required communal cooperation, was considered to be quite normal:

A child so afflicted must be passed nine times every morning on nine suc- cessive days at sunrise through a cleft in a sapling ash tree, which has been so far given up by the owner of it to the parents of the child as that there is an understanding that it shall not be cut down during the life of the infant that is passed through it. The sapling must be sound of heart, and the cleft must be made with an axe. The child, on being carried to the tree, must be attended by nine persons, each of whom must pass it through the cleft from west to east. On the ninth morning the solemn ceremony is concluded by binding the tree tightly with a cord, and it is supposed that as the cleft closes the health of the child will improve. In the neighbourhood of Petworth some cleft ashes may be seen, through which children have very recently been passed. I may add that only a few weeks since, a person who lately purchased an ash-tree standing in this parish, intended to cut it down, was told by the father of the child who had some time before passed through it, that the infirmity would be sure to return upon his son if it were felled. Whereupon the good man said, he knew such would be the case; and therefore he would not fell it for the world. [Latham, 1878: 40]

Similarly:

A remarkable instance of the extraordinary superstition which still prevails in the rural districts of Somerset has lately come to light at Athelney. It appears that a child was recently born in the neighbourhood with a physical ailment, and the neighbours persuaded the parents to resort to a very novel method of charming away the complaint. A sapling ash was split down the centre, and wedges were inserted so as to afford an opening sufficient for the child's body to pass through without touching either side of the tree. This having been done, the child was undressed, and, with its face held heavenward, it was drawn through the sapling in strict accord- ance with the superstition. Afterwards the child was dressed and simul- taneously the tree was bound up. The belief of those who took part in this strange ceremony is that if the tree grows the child will grow out of its bodily ills. The affair took place at the rising of the sun on a recent Sunday morning, in the presence of the child's parents, several of the neighbours, and the parish police-constable. [Bath and Wells Diocesan Magazine, 1886: 178]

An example ofan ash thus used can be seen in the Somerset Rural Life Museum at Glastonbury. A similar practice could be used to overcome IMPOTENCE.

In Wales the similar ritual was to split a young ash or HAZEL stem and hold it just fastened at the top. This made a symbolic vulva into which the impotent male introduced his recalcitrant organ. Binding up the tree again enabled it to heal, during which the impotence faded. [Richards, 1979: 13]

In Cheshire a cure for WARTS

was to steal a piece of bacon and push it under a piece of ash-bark. Excrescences would then appear on the tree; as they grew, the warts would van- ish. [Hole, 1937: 12]

In Wiltshire sufferers seeking a cure from NEURALGIA were advised:

Cut off a piece of each finger and toe nail and a piece off your hair. Get up on the next Sunday morning before sunrise and with a gimlet bore a hole in the first maiden ash you come across and put the nails and hair in; then plug the hole up. [Whitlock, 1976: 167]

In many areas 'shrew-ashes' were used to cure lameness in cattle and other illnesses. In a letter dated 8 January 1776, Gilbert White of Selborne, Hampshire, wrote:

A shrew-ash is an ash whose twigs or branches, when gently applied to the limbs of cattle, will immediately relieve the pains which a beast suffers from the running of a shrew-mouse over the part affected . . . Against this accident, to which they were continually liable, our provident fore- fathers always kept a shrew-ash at hand, which, once medicated, would maintain its virtue for ever. A shew-ash was made thus:- Into the body of the tree a deep hole was bored with an auger, and a poor devoted shrew- mouse was thrust in alive, and plugged in, no doubt, with several quaint incantations long since forgotten. [White, 1822, I: 344]

In the nineteenth century a particularly well-known shrew-ash in Richmond Park, Surrey. According to the park-keepers' tradition ʻgood Queen Bess had lurked under its shade to shoot deer as they were driven past’ [Ffennell, 1898: 333]. This tree was closely observed by Sir Richard Owen (1804-92), first director of the Natural History Museum in London, who lived near the tree, at Sheen Lodge, from grew 1852.

Either the year he came to live in the park or the year after . . . he first encountered a young mother with a sick child accompanied by 'an old dame', 'a shrew-mother', or, as he generally called her a 'witch-mother'. They were going straight for the tree; but when they saw him, they turned off in quite another direction till they supposed he was out of sight. He, however, struck by their sudden avoidance of him, watched them from a distance, saw them return to the tree, where they remained some little time, as if busily engaged with it; then they went away. He was too far off to hear anything said, but heard the sounds of voices in unison on other occasions. He heard afterwards from the keeper of Sheen Gate... that mothers with 'bewitched' infants, or with young children afficted with WHOOPING COUGH, decline, and other ailments, often came, some- times from long distances, to this tree. It was necessary that they should arrive before sunrise . . . Many children were said to be cured at the tree. The greatest secrecy was always observed when visiting. This was re- spected by Sir Richard Owen, who, whenever he saw a group advanc- ing towards it, moved away, and was always anxious that they should not be disturbed. He could not tell me in what year he last saw a group approach the tree to seek its aid. He could only say he had seen them often, and thought they continued to come for many years. [Ffennell, 1898: 334]

During a recent survey [of Richmond Park] the site of the old shrew ash was identified. This proved to be . . . the spot where an ancient ash still stood in 1987. A sucker from its roots was still alive, although the tree itself was passé. The storm of autumn brought the trunk down. A railing has now been erected around the remains, which are to be left in the ground, and a young ash is to be planted alongside the stump. Presumably it will eventually replace the old tree, but it means that the site at least will remain identifiable. [Kew, Surrey, February 1994]

There uses included curing EARACHE, RINGWORM, and SNAKE BITES.

The sap of a young ash sapling was used to cure earache. A sapling was cut and put into a fire so that when the stick started to burn the sap came out the end and was caught on a spoon. This could be put on cotton wool and put into the ear. [Daingean, Co. Offaly, January 1985]

Ringworm was more common in my childhood . . . a remedy resorted to was to burn ash twigs in a tin box or similar container and allow the smoke from the smouldering twigs to envelop the affected part—usually arms, neck or face. [Larne, Co. Antrim, October 1993]

Ash leaves are used to combat viper bites. When an animal has been bitten farmers boil ash leaves and give the animal the resulting liquid and place the boiled leaves as a poultice on the bite. Works on people too! [Dorchester, Dorset, February 1992]

Ash sticks were used as weapons.

The Joyces are tinkers . . . they are wary and row among themselves. They do have some fierce fights in which the women join in. When they have each others heads well cut with ash plants they settle down and are as friendly as ever. [IFCSS MSS 750: 242, Co. Longford]

Stories relating to Ireland's past tell of fair-day brawls where ash plants were used and blood flowed freely. [Ballymote, Co. Sligo, May 1994]”

—

The Oxford Dictionary of Plant-Lore

by Roy Vickery

[thaiamulet-us]

Powerful Black magic love oil : Nammunprai 59 spirits

Powerful Black magic love oil : Nammunprai 59 spirits

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Made By : Ajarn Lersi Akkharadej

The Black Magic Love Oil - This is a very rare, sacred oil that possesses a powerful enchantment, rare and highly sought after,This oil contains spiritual light energies which resonate at high frequencies and therefore it can be used for a number of different purposes, This magical oil has undergone several powerful rituals in order for it to be empowered with these blessings. A spiritual adept has performed many recitations of divine names and sacred prayers to allow for the Spiritual Power/blessings of this oil to benefit the user. the oil will help you find and pull forth magical success Nammun prai Oil : is very powerful having superb power of charm and luck , is usable for almost all needs and tasks,strong power of charm that helps you get love from someone easily is extremely potent can be used to initiate a new love, spice up your existing love life and harvest marriage luck,one of great charming oil that can make worshipper to be more sex appeal, charming and attractive , enchanted ,moreover this Charming oil can bring success

The Black magic Nammun prai Oil ; Made with the cooperation of 59 spirits that have volunteered to assist the keeper. The objective for them is to ease their karma so that they can be reborn. The Nammunprai oil is made from:mystical oil such as oil of female 59 spirit that died while getting pregnant Female died a sudden death that died violently, extracted from Pregnant females breast, chin. and is haunting the item to work for you, elephants oil , coconut oil, water used to wash dead corpse of pregnant female's face and 59 other ingredients, etc. The Spiritual have to agree. The culmination of magic is then to invite spirits of the area where this is the item is consecrated (his location is usually in the cemeteries) or from the collected items to sit in Love Spell Charming oil to help the keeper. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The Powerful Nammun prai oil  ,will make those who stand near feel attracted and want to come close, aslo suitable for those seeking to attract a lover,(are great for seduce and enchant people attracting lovers or simply improve popularity and increase mercy and compassion towards you ) and those in performing arts can also use this amulet, If you possess the desire to attract love, compassion, and looking for a suitable love partner in life, This Best Nammunprai oil can help you find the perfect match of your dreams. and furthermore, the mystical properties of this Powerful oil, can also be used to restore a broken marriage or love relationship,allowing the separated couple to reunite again. An excellent Nammunprai oil for seduction attraction, strong effects on opposite n same sex , flirtation for those that enjoy the night life, you ll be love and admired by other, attract new lovers or call back love one lost , improving your personal relationship, great for siang choke immense luck in gambling and fortune , wealth fetching increase business sales , customers ,profits as well as protection and evasion You can raise your attraction powers and appear radiant and enchanting to the opposite sex. All you need to do is recite the short love spell mantra before touching your target person for seduce others to fall under your influence through fascination and sexual attraction, or to induce Mercy charm in the Hearts of Superiors, or Enemies. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Black Magic Oil : Suitable for those in sales, promoters, entertainment line , property agents ,business Help them improve the chances of closing deals ,Also good for increasing windfall luck (4D,ToTo,Casino) Whoever owns this charming oil will be very attractive and interesting and very lucky with business and gambling

How to use : Namman Prai Oil 59 Spirit Pray Your Wishes , You can carry The Black Magic Love oil with you wherever you go as the power of it will inspire other people to like and love you. It is not permitted to smear the oil on your lips. You can smear it on your body, or onto objects or clothes, that help increase one's physical attraction, charisma and sex appeal. It is, however, also possible to anoint the nammunprai oil on another person's body. simply apply a little oil to your hands before you touch any intended target to influence. use for applying thinly on targets' skin If you are trying to attract a specific person, simply apply a little oil to intended target (best on neck area) After that the oil will osmosis into that person's body and flow into the heart. Use the oil mixture constantly whenever you can.  for strengthen ones Relationship Or improve relationships and attracts compassion, love and caring ,That person will always think of you without reasons until happen to be the mental relationship.also supports your business, job, and negotiations. Powerful Black magic love oil : Nammunprai 59 spirits > Magically enchant your target for love or attraction purposes Influence people around you > Create lasting impressions, causing your target woman to remember you constantly > Enchant all the women you interact by using your charm and magnetism > Attract sales and customers into your shop/office or business premises > Attract wealth and prosperity into your life without difficulty Increase your personal magnetism and charismatic presence > Great for convincing customers ,clients to take your offers, successfully seal important deals, attract unexpected Bonuses, promotions. Enhancing Your Wealth Fetching & Business/Sales Luck, Gambling Luck. Secure Good fortune to Prosperity (Ideal For Windfall Luck & Attracting Customers & Opportunities To You) Quick Boost Of Persuasion & Influencing Power; Success in Negotiation In Different Usages e.g. In Business Deals, In Convincing Your Partner, etc

            Read the full article

[dandeliondee]

Melem: I forgot that the effect of the spell changes depending on my location. I never casted it outside my lab…! Xandos: Why did you cast that spell in the first place!? Melem: I just got too excited to meet another Halcandran and my brain short circuited, I don't know!

[jichulichu]

we back at the grind