#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

[dandeliondee]

another kirby oc has been created and it's orca/ CAT yippee

lore beneath cut, y'all know the gist

Ok, so Orca! Dunno if y'all couldn't tell but these are unscripted and are not proofread till weeks after published but not the point! Orca is a Florialian that left there in the wake of Queen Sectonia's reign and decided he needed out of there. So he moved down to Popstar and largely serves as a gardener for Castle Dedede due to its enormous gardens, yet hasn't been properly hired by the titular king. Probably because Orca constantly hides away but not the point! They really are a silly guy that was really suspicious of Taranza when he became a ally of Kirby but didn't tell much anyone about this. Now for some design lore! CAT came to be during a car ride where I noticed that it was quite overcast and it's autumn where I live, so the prompt Overcast Autumn came into mind and I have kinda been wanting to make a Florialian for some time. I sketched out some design sketches before immediately moving to the final product whenever time allowed itself and yea.

The overcast part is obvious due to the rain gem-like,, things and the prominently blue palette but the autumn part really just comes in for gardening. So yea, there ya go.

[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…..

[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.

[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.

[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]

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

[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

[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!

[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]

Let's have some fun!

Willow: Ah, Princess Pamela Platinum and Prince Vangelis! I wish you both luck over your reigns! Ladybug Knight: BLACK KNIGHT, I DEMAND A FIGHT WITH YOU!!

"Oh,,,,such kind words,,,"-Prince Vangelis👑

"Thank you! We'll do our best!!!"-Princess Pamela🌓

"SOMEONE FINALLY WANTS TO FIGHT ME?!!?!?! TOOK LONG ENOUGH!!!!! LETS GO TO THE NEAREST ARENA RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!"-Black Knight⚔️

[con-fection]

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | part 1/13

Summary: 

Jim Moriarty has always loved fairytales. In particular, grim, macabre ones that end in bloodshed. You've been abused by your step-family for years - in every meaningful way, you embody the story of Cinderella. Except, in your version, Cinderella murders her family and burns the house down. When Sherlock Holmes is assigned to find the killers of your step-family, he inadvertently becomes obsessed with you. And when Sherlock is obsessed, Jim Moriarty becomes a man intrigued.Word Count: 4k 

Most fairy tales follow the same format. A lovely, picturesque life, subsequently followed by a tragedy, a period of hardship, all of which is solved by the power of love. The dashing prince saves the damsel in distress, and they remain happy and in love forever, having easily recovered from the trauma of the tragedy and hardship.

Originally, fairy tales did not end quite so nicely. They were macabre, morbid and horrifying. Just as real-life has a tendency to be.  They weren't an idyllic escape from everyday life. They were nightmarish stories that reflected the fears of society.

By 1815, The Brothers Grimm had compiled several stories, among them The Frog Prince, Hansel and Gretel, Little Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel... and Cinderella.

The latter had always, always been your favourite. You had memorised every line, every word, every single mark of punctuation. You could recite every single version of the story off-by-heart. All of the variations sparked a deep-rooted curiosity in you.

How could the same story end so differently?

All that changed was the person reciting the story - and they would chip away at it, changing it piece by piece, passing it down orally, until it was barely recognisable. In some versions, the characters got their happy ending. Cinderella would marry her Prince Charming with the help of her Fairy Godmother. In others, they didn't. One of her vile step-sisters will hack off parts of their feet and marry Prince Charming, and Cinderella would be left alone.

Sometimes minor aspects of the story would change. Different variations would feature doves, her dead Mother, fairies, and occasionally, the glass slipper would be golden.

Your version was entirely different to anything imagined before.

...unbeknownst to you, however, was the fact that you weren't the only person that liked grim fairytales.

---

Your mother's battle with her myriad of diseases had been one that had defined your childhood. She had been ever-so frail, perpetually in and out of hospitals, constantly deteriorating. There was more than one occasion where you had watched her drop to the floor, her body entirely limp, and you had to be the one to call the ambulance. There were always, always, blood-soaked handkerchiefs strewn around the house.

She was plagued by illness, and in some ways you were suffering just as much as she was. Most children were afforded the luxury of not having to confront the idea of death - often they simply could not even comprehend it. You weren't so lucky as to experience that naivety.

There had been no play-dates for you, there was no time to entertain any other children when each moment had the potential to be her last. Every single waking moment was occupied with the crippling, gut-wrenching fear that one day she might fall down and that the paramedics wouldn't be able to find a pulse.

Every night you would go to bed praying that she would be there in the morning, that she would get her happy ending, that she could read your favourite fairy-tale to you night after night.

"And Cinderella and Prince Charming lived happily ever after, the end!" She would say, smiling brightly as if she hadn't read this to you so many times that she was bored of it. Your mother could probably recite it by heart now, too.

"Do we get a happily ever after, Mommy?" You had asked one night, right after your mother had set the book of fairy-tales down on your bedside table.

"If you pray, God will answer."  She replied, ever-so-vaguely, fiddling with the little golden cross necklace dangling between her collarbones. Now you can recognise that she didn't look surprised by your question, rather, she was in the throes of longing for that happily ever after.

You liked 'happily ever after'. It was a comforting lie that you would willingly believe. In 'happily ever after' there was no pain - in your idea of a happy ending, your mother would recover and you wouldn't burst into tears the moment she staggered out of the room.

But 'happily ever after' had to come after years of torment and misery. It always did. There was no story in which the protagonist began happy and remained that way for all eternity. That would be dreadfully boring, and yet it was what you yearned for the most. Boring and happy would be good.

Her death was a mercy - quick and painless, in her sleep. Her funeral was equally as brief as her life, a bleak affair that you can hardly recall. You had been so, so young then, and the tears just wouldn't stop coming, rolling down your face as your chest wracked with sobs. You can't remember much about it, other than the feeling of your father's hand on your shoulder and the awful, almighty bitterness that threatened to send you to your knees.

Naturally, your mother's funeral had been one of the worst days of your life. She looked so small, so ashen in her casket. Her lips were completely unmoving, drawn into a thin line. Never again would she recite your favourite bedtime story. She didn't look like she was sleeping, not when all vibrancy had been removed from her skin, to the point where it was practically grey and she smelled like a chemical preservative that made you wrinkle your nose and sob even harder.

But, even worse than the funeral had been the wedding.

It had been horrifically easy for your father to move on, and to find comfort in your step-mother, Verona. You had only met her once before they were married.

"Honey, I want you to meet somebody." Your father had said. He looked so happy, smiling in a way that you hadn't seen him do since before your mother died, his lips curved upwards and a strange look in his eyes. "This is Verona, and she means a lot to me."

He looked at Verona the same way that you looked at your fairy-tales. They were an escape, a place where you could pretend that things were different and that you were happy. Verona, with her perfectly curled hair and pearly-white teeth, was his escape, his happy ending. You wanted so badly for her to be yours, as well. It wasn't to be.

"Hello," She cooed down at you. She could smile so sweetly, her peach-pink lips drawn upwards to reveal just a flash of white teeth. It was so saccharine, so lovely. Her voice could take on this mellow, melodic tone. It reminded you terribly of a siren's call - beautiful, and so, so alluring, but it wasn't something that you should put your trust in unless you wanted to drown. Verona always looked down at you - there never came a point where you were to be considered an equal. Never.

There was something about her that made your skin crawl. She was a vile lady, with a wicked grin, honey-blonde hair and long nails that looked like talons. To you as a child, you came to view her as practically a witch, clawing her way into your life just to destroy it for her own amusement. Your father was completely and utterly blind, incapable of seeing any flaw within her.

Now that you were older, you could see her as more than a one-dimensional figure that was simply labelled 'the villain'. She wasn't a nice person, not by your account, but she was complex. Verona was always distant from you, eternally glacial and condescending whenever nobody was watching. She wasn't like that to everybody, though.

Along with the step-mother came two of what you had assumed to be Satan's most accomplished demons. They had inherited a fascinating ability from their mother. The instant your father was in the room, all torment would cease. Whether it be pulling your hair, or vandalising your possessions, they had an innate ability to tell whenever your father was close by.

Verona loved them. It was the only time where she seemed to be genuine in her affection. She would dote on them constantly, cooing at them and reading them stories in the same way that your mother had once done for you. She could pretend to tolerate you in public, and at first, you had lapped it up, basking in her siren's call voice and gazing upon her like she could be your escape, too, like she was something to be cherished, to be worshipped.

She bombarded you with an eternal cycle of love - so much love that you couldn't even feel the pain of losing your mother. She would treat you like you were her own daughter. She would pat you on the head and speak to you so sweetly. And after, would always come the abuse. The screaming, the slapping, the hissed remarks, the threats.

It was hard to deify her after that. So, Verona became the villain, the terrible step-mother who was always there to hold you down.

The wedding itself had been hosted at the very same church your parents had been married in. Their vows were exchanged between what you remembered to be Verona's awful giggles, and you yourself had been a flower girl, along with your step-sisters.

Somehow you managed to feel even worse than you had at your mother's funeral. It wasn't really acceptable to scream and cry at a wedding, so you did your best to look at the very least neutral.

You had spent most of the day staring at the gaudy paper garlands strung from the ceiling, doing your best to avoid thinking about the three women joining the family.

Everybody seemed to adore your step-sisters. They were perfect when they had to be, blonde angels with blue eyes and the sweetest disposition. Aubrey and Alora - twins that were identical in every sense of the word. Your father loved these girls, and he loved his new wife. It was like his previous one, and his first, biological daughter had simply been discarded and pushed to the periphery.

There were no more blood-speckled handkerchiefs strewn about the house, no more pills stashed above the sink, and no more quick trips to the hospital. Instead, there were Verona's lipsticks, and your step-sisters' toys. Pictures of them dominated the mantle place. Their achievements were the ones to be celebrated.

"Well done, Alora. We're so proud of you."

"Oh, Aubrey, you're so smart!"

Any incidents of your step-family's cruelty that you did manage to complain to your father about were either dismissed as the lies of a girl acting out as a result of her grief, or as some minor sibling rivalry that you would get over in time. In fact, your father seemed delighted when he interpreted it as the latter. Sibling rivalry meant that you were coming to see each other as sisters.

"You know, one day, when you grow up, I bet you're doing to be so glad to have Aubrey and Alora. I know that you girls don't always get along, but this is a good thing. They're your sisters." Your father had said, so gently, so softly that you wished for a moment you could believe it - that it was true and you could bring yourself to be thankful.

It flooded you with some kind of resentment - that he could be so passive, so enchanted by Verona and her perfect daughters, that you could become practically irrelevant. That of all of them, your concerns were the ones to be disregarded.

That resentment didn't fade when he died.

It had been an accident - a car-crash. It hadn't even been his fault. He had been on his way home to you, and some maniac had run him off the road. It could have happened to anybody. It should have happened to somebody else. It should have been something you saw on the news and thought about briefly. Instead, you were left an orphan.

His body was far too mangled for any kind of open-casket funeral. By the age of twelve, you had been to two funerals - one for each parent. What most children would do is to hope they were happy together, reunited in heaven. That's what you should have hoped for. Instead, you would pray, over and over again, every single fucking night, that they were burning. That they were being roasted in the flames of hell, and that they were screaming out for your forgiveness.

God hadn't listened when you had asked for your mother to get well and recover from her illnesses, nor when you asked for her to come back to you. Life had been so cruel, and so, you reasoned that its creator must be cruel, too. Perhaps God would listen if you wanted to inflict pain, instead.

The resentment didn't fade - rather, it intensified. After that, you really didn't need anybody to read Cinderella to you.

You had lived it.

---

The first person to rise was always you. It had been that way for years, the beginning of your well-established daily routine.

It was so cold, down in the basement. It wasn't given the same insulation as the rest of the house - and why would it have been? Your parents had mostly used it for storage, primarily for things like your bike, tools, and those family picture albums that you couldn't even bring yourself to open. At the time, there was nothing down there that had really deserved to be kept warm.

It was in rather poor condition. The bricks that comprised the walls were all cracked, and the black paint covering them was chipped and unevenly applied, the shelves looked liable to fall down any minute, and there were piles and piles of things everywhere. There is a saw lying on the ground, next to a few planks of wood that your father had never had an opportunity to use for anything and a stack of cannisters of gasoline that you eye affectionately.

There was always a breeze blowing through the basement, too. Your parents had discarded what they didn't need and stored it in the basement, and once they were both dead and buried, your step-mother had done the same to you.

Your old bedroom, where your mother used to read you bedtime stories and you would fret over her health, had been stripped bare and subsequently turned into Verona's walk-in wardrobe. You had been relegated to the basement, left to freeze whilst fur-coats and cocktail dresses got to enjoy central heating.

To keep warm, you would bundle yourself up in whatever shoddy blankets you could find. They would scratch at your skin and you would shiver against them, grinding your teeth together and hissing at the cold, silently cursing at Verona. It wasn't entirely uncommon for you to wake up and discover your lips had turned blue. It would worry you sometimes, that if it got too cold, you would simply die in the night and there would be nobody to notice.

It was early enough that you could hear the birds cooing sweetly outside, singing to one another as they flit through the branches in the trees outside. It was such a lovely thing to watch, and even lovelier to hear. It's such a pretty sound. You're not entirely sure that your step-family have ever woken early enough to hear it. If they hadn't before, then by now they had certainly missed their chance.

This was meant to be when you would start your chores. Your step-mother had left you to take on a maid role in the house, cooking and cleaning for them, waiting on them hand and foot, scrubbing the floors and surfaces until they shined. It filled you with rage.

Of the four of you, you were by far the best in every measurable way. Verona and her daughters were harpies, beasts with perfect faces that managed to fool just about everybody they came into contact with. Your father had been just one of many that was too naive to see it. They didn't bother with the pretenses around you - you had always seen them for what they were.

By now, you should be starting to sweep the bottom floor of the house, and making breakfast. But today would be different.

You creep up the stairs, your eyes constantly darting around the house, searching for any sign of the other inhabitants. They aren't awake, and you don't expect them to be, but it's always good to check, just in case.

Verona's left her purse on the countertop, next to a wine glass with a pink smudge on its rim and a pair of black elbow-length gloves she'd worn to a dinner the night before. The mere sight of it makes your lips curve up into a sneer. It's the ugliest shade of pink lipstick - vibrant and bold in all the wrong ways, but she somehow makes it look good. Of course she does - it's a talent of hers, really, to make the worst things seem not simply palatable, but also tempting.

You leave the wine glass, there will be no need to clean it today. With a sharp intake of breath, you open the purse, snatching all the money you can from it. Fortunately, Verona likes to keep most of her money in cash, so there's a decent amount. There's enough, at the very least.

The kitchen is obsessively cleaned - every surface shines from your efforts. It's clinical, sterile even, and the smell of cleaning products still permeates the air. There's a broom in the parlour, but you won't be using it.

Never before had you done anything like this. Today was a day that you had fantasised about for years, exploring and navigating different variations of it before constructing the master plan. These steps you were taking had been carefully considered, each and every action poured over obsessively, to the point of madness. All aspects of the plan were to be treated with reverence - they had practically become holy, and you recited them more often than you would prayers.

Already, you were breathing too quickly. There was adrenaline in your system, and your hands were slightly clammy. Nerves - but you weren't nervous. Not really. This was a burning, scalding anticipation that writhed around in your gut and clawed at your insides.

You allow yourself a brief moment to try and relax, letting your eyes flutter shut and letting your shoulders drop. There is a need to be tense - everything hinges on today, on whether or not you accomplish the plan.

When your eyes open, you immediately gravitate towards the knives. Before you select one, you go for Verona's black silk gloves, putting them on and admiring the way they look against your skin, and how smooth they are. They're the kind that's awfully expensive, but they look glamorous. She had worn them just the night prior, when she went to some fancy dinner.

They're hauntingly elegant, a mark of sophistication that contrasts so nicely with what you're about to do. They're a rather lovely way of ensuring that there's no fingerprints left in the house.

It's then that you pick a knife - a weighty silver meat cleaver with dark grey indentations on the handle. They make it look almost porous, and you know that the knife had been part of a set, a gift from one of Verona's friends who was into the culinary arts.

It's heavy, and you test the weight, passing it between your hands, looking at it reverently. The birds are still singing, chirping in harmony, nature's soundtrack to what is about to become a horrific crime. Whether the birdsong will harmonise with screams has yet to be determined. It has the potential to sound like a symphony - a completely lovely cacophony of everything you enjoy.

The meat cleaver shines in the soft sunlight - simply holding it makes you feel assured.

---

You create your own version of Cinderella. One where the house burns down.

The evil step-mother and bratty step-sisters are already dead when the match hits the gasoline that's long-since soaked into the floors. They had been hacked to pieces, their throats split open, almost to the point of decapitation. The blood would seep from the gaping wounds, spilling onto the bed sheets and staining their blonde hair red. They had looked so human in their sleep, so unsuspecting.

There wasn't even any time for them to awake and feel terror, or shock. That, at the very least, is a mercy. You had never really intended for it to be - it was more of a practicality than a fantasy. In the fantasies, the executions had lasted far, far longer.

As a child, experiencing the pains of loss, you had prayed for your parents to burn, so that they may feel as much pain as you. There was no way of knowing whether or not God would come to answer your prayers, so you decide instead to burn the people you can reach.

The meat cleaver is placed back into the kitchen - there's a chance that the wooden knife block may burn and char it and obscure the fact that it was the murder weapon. You keep Verona's gloves and you keep the cash.

There's something so beautiful, so incredibly vindicating about watching it all go up in smoke.

The house burns so beautifully. Flames dance in the windows, consuming the lacey white curtains, creeping their way up the ceiling until the roof catches fire and slowly caves in on itself, the slate-grey tiles becoming charred, crumbling and sliding over one another.

The birds stop singing. They squawk in agitation, fleeing from the nearby trees and taking to the skies. They, much like you, evacuate and watch the show from afar. They start their birdsong afresh once they're out of danger, singing proudly.

Plumes of smoke take to the air, contaminating and invading the morning sky. It's so dark, so thick that it's liable to block out the sun. The smoke's descending to the ground, too, sweeping over the grass like a terrible, ominous fog, rolling over the street and barrelling towards you in waves.

Your eyes and throat burn - you can feel the heat, even from a distance. You're breathing in wisps of the smoke - it's so strong that you feel simultaneously feel like you're choking, juxtaposed with this great, overwhelming sense of freedom. It smells so horrible you want to gag - it's not like the comforting smell from whenever your father would barbeque. It's stifling, oppressive, even.

And yet, despite your eyes watering and the feeling of nausea that the smell inspires within you, you doubt there has ever been a sweeter smell.

The flames flicker so brightly, swaying in tandem in a variety of oranges, reds, yellows and even a flash of white. They're so bright you can see it reflected on your skin.

The plan has been completed. You're entirely satisfied, and yet you're left directionless. Everything has amounted to this moment - to the burning of the monsters. This is your happy ever after, you think.

You stand there, bathed in an orange hue, simply watching, for as long as you're able.

Inevitably, you have to leave. You're rather tempted to dash back across the street and take Verona's car, if only to steal away another thing she loved. Her daughters, her life, her car. But you don't, as much as you would like to. It's another whim, another fleeting fantasy that has to be sacrificed for the sake of your freedom. Perhaps the car would burn, too. It's relatively close to the house.

Getting caught would simply transfer you from one life of imprisonment to another. The inner city of London seems as good a destination as any - it's not too far, and there nobody will know your name.